This is what is expected of a girl: Picking apart everything about yourself until you’ve run dry, until the only thing you crave more than being beautiful is attention from a man. Your sadness is only meant to exist so that a man can fulfill you, complete you because you are incomplete without him; being whole on your own is not enough. We were taught to look up to a certain type of model. Our society teaches us that the ideal female is one that is mysterious (but not TOO mysterious), allusive, skinny (but not TOO skinny), acne free, you aren’t pretty without makeup (but you can’t wear too much), confident (but not cocky), and interesting (but not inside the borderline of being strange). Every girl is your competetion, not friend. Women are flowery, fragile. Women are supposed to be looked at, are supposed to cook and reproduce. Your body is theirs, not yours, not anymore.

This is what is expected of a guy: Boys are taught to “man up”. Men don’t cry, even if you are hurt, even if you are aching with every inch of your soul to let it out, you are weak if you shed a tear. When you are angry, you are physical, because talking things out is foreign. The word gay is an insult. You are the provider. It is your job to text first. You are always lustful and wanting sex. Men like sports, cars, the great outdoors, and power. Without thick muscles, a cutting jaw line, and a height mark above six-foot, you are not desirable.

We hold people to unspoken rules about who they can and cannot be, inflicting stereotypes and labels of our own through terms of social conversation and power structures. You have to be different but within the parameters that are still normal, because having any radical views, or any unique outfit choices, and you are immediately put into a separate box. If you feel things deeply it is romanticized, but if you talk about how you feel, you are seeking attention. God forbid you show emotion.

Open your eyes, open your mind. 

Throughout my teenage years, my body has been ridiculed, criticized, and shamed.

I have been called every negative name I can think of because I’ve never been the skinny girl. I’ve never been the friend with the perfect face or long legs.

The worst part? I allowed these thoughts of others to control how I saw myself. I recently read a book titled The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz. Not only was this one of the most inspiring, eye-opening books I have ever read, but also something that affected how I controlled my thoughts. One of the agreements was to not let black magic effect you. Bad words are black magic and good words are white magic. When others speak negatively they  are putting their black magic on you, and if you allow it to effect you, you are agreeing with it. You are allowing their words to suffocate you. You never disliked the ways your ears looked until someone else did.

How sad is it to think that at some point I’ve cried over what others have said about my outsides when they haven’t had the opportunity to shake hands with my soul.

Look at yourself in the mirror and ask yourself why you don’t like certain parts of your body. Is it because it doesn’t look like someone else’s? Why do you want to look like someone else? You are you, I am me. We have lived two different lives, we have two different parents, with two different family histories, of course we are not the same.

Rather than hating your body, be thankful for it. You are alive. You may not have perfectly white teeth but they work great when smiling at a stranger on the street. Your nose may be a bit crooked but it still allows you to know the wonders of the smell of apple pie and freshly cut grass. Your ears may be too large for your head but you can hear the warm chords of your favorite song.

Your body may be a temple, but you are the god whom it was built for. Love yourself.

(Note: Parts of this were written and edited by my wonderful friend Rachel Fazio, follow her on instagram here)