I'm 23-years -old and I still hate myself like a thirteen-year-old hates herself. Seriously, not much has changed.

I remember looking in the mirror at thirteen and pulling at my belly and feeling the skin through my pressed thumbs and fingers. I remember tilting my head, turning my body slightly, sucking it in so tightly that I would find, moments later, I wasn't breathing.

But this wasn't limited to unwanted "belly rolls." My hair was unsightly. I had too much acne. I was too short. My shoulders were too broad. my chin multiplied when I smiled. And even though puberty hadn't hit yet, I was positive that this was it for me. I could imagine my life as one moment: In front of the mirror, begging for things to be different. I've tried to accept this reality. This is the way life was going to be: unbearable and consistently uncomfortable.

I'm not quite sure what made me care so much. Scholars would like to attribute this insecurity to media representations and fashion magazines. They're probably right. But honestly, I don't think I paid much attention to that kind of stuff. Sure, there were moments where I so desperately wished I could fit into a pair of those flashy jeans like the models could, but those moments were truly a flicker; I never meditated on that feeling.

But what I did meditate on was this feeling of never being enough. And this is truly a likely story. I've talked to so many people about these exact feelings while recognizing that all of us, at some time or another, have felt this bout of inadequacy, especially in reference to our bodies. It doesn't matter if the world sees us as the most beautiful person alive, we have the ability to feel like utter garbage.

But perhaps it goes deeper than that. It's more than just an adolescent bodily insecurity. It's the tying of our worth to something tangible. Something we can see, feel and touch. Because the idea of worthiness might just be too crazy for us to fully wrap our heads around. When we are not "beautiful" we are not worthy. We don't deserve love, attention, or care. In our minds, we are trash.

I'm trash.

I'm trash when I pull on my jeans and the button doesn't reach. I'm trash when I find a newly formed zit on my chin. I'm trash when I under perform at work. When I say my shoulders are too broad, I'm too flabby, my hair is too frizzy, and my butt is too big, I mean it. I feel these things. I beat myself down time and time again because it truly is a wonder how I've allowed myself to be such a piece of trash. It truly is a wonder how after ten years I still feel these very things. I may have gotten older but I surely am not wiser. I still pinch at my stomach and tilt my head to the side. I still squint my eyes to imagine myself as skinnier, taller, cleaner, smarter, more capable, worthy. And I fail. I'm sent spiraling into a whirlwind of anxiety. I become crippled by own self-doubt. It's exhausting. I'm exhausted.

A few months ago, I had the opportunity to sit down with a group of women and discuss these feelings. And while I may have felt the embodiment of my pre-adolescent self as we carried on this conversation, I realized that the chairs surrounding me occupied women that were just as uncomfortable as I. These women knew what I meant when I said I felt worthless. They knew the pain of waking up in the morning and tearing apart your entire closet in effort of finding something that doesn't make you feel like a beluga whale. These women understood when I called myself trash. They nodded their heads in solidarity and, just momentarily, I felt a bit at peace.

But what stuck with me that day was a single comment: "Do not dismiss God when he tells you you are beautiful."

Initially I wanted to argue. But as I tried to form an internal argument, I found that I was unable to finish the thought. If everything God had made was good (Gen. 1:31) and if we are his workmanship (Ephesians 2:10) then how could I possibly argue? How could I look in myself in the mirror with my stomach pinched between my fingers on the verge of defeated tears? How could I spend the drive home from work verbally abusing my own self? How could I see myself as trash? I WAS dismissing God.

I wish I could say that this moment has forever changed me and that I will never struggle with insecurity ever again. I have struggled and will continue to struggle. Just this week I've struggled. And the week before. And probably the week before that. But I'm trying my hardest. I'm trying to remember that I was created for a reason. I'm trying to remember that my existence is more than a pair of skinny jeans and frizz-free hair. I'm trying to remember that I am smart and capable. I'm trying to remember that my body's sole purpose isn't to satisfy but to perform.

I'm trying to remember that I'm not trash. It's a work in progress.