Do you know you’re beautiful by blogger Jasmine?

Whenever someone says, “High school was one of the best experiences of my life before I got to college,” I gag a little inside. One of the best experiences of your life, you say? I would have rather gotten frost bite in Chicago’s blizzard of 2010 than relive some of my high school years. I only say this because I let my insecurities and low self-esteem get in the way of enjoying myself and making the most out of everyday.

I went to a predominantly African-American high school, and there were body image pressures out the wazoo during my four years. I was the 5’3” short, skinny girl with glasses and crooked teeth. Anybody who is anybody knows that guys like their women curvaceous, bodacious, and luscious. To them, it’s sexy. It’s perfection. The girls around me grew earlier than I did, so I was stuck with B-cups and a size 0 pants, while the other girls transformed into goddesses around me. I felt like I stuck out, and not in a good way. I used to get made fun of for being so small and so skinny. None of the guys would dance with me at parties because I was a stick, while the girl next to me had the “perfect” body. For the longest time, I tried tricks and cheat codes to find the right route to become sexy.

In college, I spent the first 2.5 years eating as much as I could to desperately gain the “freshman 15” everyone was raving about. While other girls spent hours in the gym, I spent hours in the cafeteria trying to force my body to mature. Then, in the Spring of my sophomore year, I realized how much I didn’t care about what people had to say about my body. I was tired of trying to get a size 9 booty just so some random guy on the street could try and spit game at me just so I could turn him down with pride and confidence. I was tired of doing 70 squats a day and getting little to no results. I realized that it wasn’t worth it anymore and that I needed to love me for me.

I am currently still 5’3” and still a “stick.”

I don’t have huge boobs or a big butt, despite the stereotype that all black women have either or both. I eat healthy and nap more than I should. I’m confident in the way I look, and I dress for myself. My best friend and cousin is the exact opposite, and she loves the curvy body she was born with. There is no right or wrong, there are millions of gray areas that you just have to make yourself. When you start dictating that you love your body in spite of the stretch marks, saggy boobs, hairy armpits, and crooked smile, you will be happier, and being happier means being healthier.