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My body could be a temple if we’re talking old, cursed and ruined. Apparently, my idea of "self-care" has involved more self-sabotage and less actual care. Who knew? (Spoiler alert: probably everyone who knows me). And for a long time, that's exactly how I felt about myself – a bit broken down, definitely not picture-perfect, and maybe in need of an exorcist or two.

But you know what I've realized? Temples, especially the old and ruined ones, have a certain undeniable charm. They tell a story. They've weathered storms, seen some things, and frankly, their imperfections are what make them interesting. Who wants a brand-spanking-new temple anyway? Where's the mystery? The history? The structural quirks that make you wonder how it's still standing?

And that got me thinking... maybe the same goes for us. We spend so much time and energy trying to smooth out our edges, hide our cracks, and present this flawless facade to the world. We scroll through endless feeds of airbrushed perfection and start to believe that anything less is, well, less.