I am not OK with the way I look—the way I look and the lack of appreciation I have for my own skin.

You’ve probably read an article or six about the best way to have a bikini body: have a body and put a bikini on it.

How could I possibly expose this body to someone else when I don’t like to look at it myself? I am able to change in front of my roommate, but only comfortably so when I make self-deprecating jokes in the process.

It’s kind of terrible that the only way I can see my own bare skin is by reminding myself and the other people around by saying, “Don’t worry! I know it’s gross!”

But I am far more disgusted with the reality that that’s actually how I feel. How terrible is it that I can sit around and write essays on what I don’t like about my physical self?

Walking to class is the worst part of my day. Walking toward other people means that they see my legs shake. No matter how tight the leggings or how skinny the jeans, my body moves in ways that I can’t control and can’t restrain.

What about the physical challenges that my DDs present? I have permanent bra imprints under my breasts and purple and red burns from where the bones of the bra sit under my arms.

The stretch marks that appear out of nowhere and the way they not only rip my skin, but make me feel ashamed to wear the marks that are naturally part of a woman’s body.

I don’t love my body.

I wish that I had the ability to blame the relationships I don’t have on something other than my physical appearance.

But don’t get confused, I don’t think that I’m single because of the way I look, I think that I let my lack of self-confidence get in the way of taking myself seriously.

I don’t love my body, but that’s OK.

If you asked me to list the things I do like, well, I would have a genuine list for you. Numbers one and two would be my hair (because it rocks) and my big, brown and sometimes overly expressive eyes.

I think that sometimes we get carried away by the idea that we should love ourselves unconditionally, which we should. But, we forget that sometimes, that there’s a journey to getting there.

I just told you that I could list the things that I like about myself.

I’m on my way to loving myself. I’m not there yet, and I think that that is perfectly perfect!

As Hannah Montana once said, “It’s the climb."

Isn’t the path to loving all of myself a journey worth taking?

Sure, it’s sad that I can write 500 words on what I know to be “wrong” with my body, but maybe someday I could write 5,000 on just how amazing it is.

It doesn’t matter what size, shape, color, or species you are, you are allowed to not be in love with yourself.

Yeah, I hope that one day we can all find happiness in our own skin, but I’m not there, and that’s fine with me.