There. 

I did it again. 

Now my face resembles a starry constellation of red blotches and old scars left by my expert fingers.

Pinching the skin tight enough for that satisfying moment. 

Have you ever had the experience where, the closer you bring your face to the mirror (so close you could draw doodles in the mist your breath leaves on it, rather than torturing your poor cells), the more black heads you spot? And the more you burst, the more precisely your cruel eyes find each and every pore that could be pinched?

Well, that’s what I’d been doing for the last five minutes when I thought—

Hey I bet I could be doing something better for myself right now. 

(just one more, this one right here..ha! oh and this one too! ) 

Don’t get me wrong—I totally understand the satisfaction of popping blackheads. I just realized that the longer I focused on imperfections in my skin, the longer I stayed in a place of not-enjoying-my-face.

The longer I was away from activities that could lead to better feelings.

So then you might ask:

but Sophie, 

What’s with your obsession with feeling good?

Would you rather have a face full of blackheads and feel good than suffer for a moment?

Well, the thing is, they’ll be there no matter what. So you better focus on something else when I talk to you. No, not my mustache nor my unibrow. How about you look me in the eyes and enjoy the beautiful things I tell you?