I remember the day when I stepped onto the scale in 6th grade and looked at my number. 135. That number shocked me. I had only weighed just under 100 pounds six months ago. But the numbers on the scale spelled out a word that no one else but me could see:

FAT.

I had never thought about my weight before that. No one at my school ever talked about it. I could eat whatever I wanted and I never gained any weight. But seeing that number completely changed the way I looked at not only myself, but at the rest of the world.

I noticed the word “skinny” around me everywhere, from magazines to movies to the daily banter of my friends. Beauty became the unattainable goal that all of a sudden, I, and all of the girls around me were expected to reach. And the older I got, the more beauty was forced upon me, to the point where I spent about fifty percent of my day analyzing my appearance.

Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw flaws. My stomach was too bulgy no matter how much I sucked in, my thighs were growing way too fast and when I put my head down, a double chin sat there comfortably. I would look at all my friends with envy, seeing how skinny they were. They all were a size two and below, had symmetrical features, and frankly, had no reason to gripe about their looks. But, every single day, they would have the same complaints as I did; their stomach was too big, hips were too wide...

We were all fat.

I would stress over how big I was getting, that my clothes were getting too tight on me, that I was too chubby for any guy to ever like me. I would try to lose weight, exercise, go on low carb, and then would beat myself up for not sticking to it. And I would always compare myself to the cross-country runner, the dancer, or the model. I simply wasn’t good enough.

When I got to high school, I thought that my body image issues would grow increasingly worse, since I was going to be around so many other girls. I led myself to believe that these girls would look like models, be the perfect image of beauty, and, therefore, be happy. But my future had something different in store.

My high school is a Barbie doll factory. Almost all of the girls that go there are short, blonde, dress like baby prostitutes, have an eating disorder, cover their faces with makeup and have guys grope them on a day-to-day basis.  The first day, going to all of my classes, seeing the way my peers behave, I realized that they are unhappy. These girls feel they need to hide who they are in order to conform, to plaster themselves with makeup and to get as many guys as they can to be attracted to them so that they feel a sense of belonging. And they still don’t think that they are good enough or feel beautiful. And they believe that by choosing this lifestyle for themselves, they will somehow gain that unattainable beauty, but in fact it is only taking them farther from it.

As I grew more accustomed to my environment and made friends, I saw what true beauty was, and it has nothing to do with appearance. My friend Kamren is beautiful because she has a passion for helping others. My friend Sophie is beautiful because she has a gift for writing and a kindness about her that is unparalleled. Every single person who brings a positive light to this Earth is beautiful because of what’s inside of them.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not completely unburdened. I still worry about my weight and am uncomfortable with my belly. But I no longer try to reach this unattainable goal of beauty.

Anyone who brings light already has.