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Finding my body in an age of strife feels like a gargantuan task, another thing to do, to mark off my list. Such is the task capitalism has thrust on all of us, making our bodies a commodity; we buy and trade time for the sake of self-care and still don’t know who we are.
But I know, if I don’t keep returning to her, if I don’t make it a prioritized practice, I will become disconnected, and the eventual explosion will waste me.
So, lately…
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