I know that I am not the most modest of dressers. I constantly worry about where the line exists, and if I've ever crossed it with any of my outfits. Maybe I have. At this moment I'm working on filling up a portion of my bedroom wall with quotes, and I stumbled across one that I wrote early spring semester: "I want to have something to offer; something more than the superficial idea that my beauty is all I have to give." I have been struggling with the reason behind my clothing. I felt the need to justify my short shorts, felt the need to excuse my exposed back. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to explain my love for freckled shoulders and pale midriff. Is there really a good enough reason? Isn't it just as easy for me to toss on any of Bryce's t-shirts? It is just as easy, I admit. But looking at this quote again, I remember the desperation behind my clothing. I realize the conflicts that have been swirling around my head. I have some things to say to y'all.

As a college student at 19, I am prone to make mistakes. I think any college-aged student is prone to such a thing. My biggest flaws are avoiding studying and taking too many naps; That, and outfit decisions. I do believe I showed too much sideboob at a football game a few weekends back, and sure, I talk too openly about all things boob and female related. I don't know how you, the reader, feel about the word "boob." I do not write this article so frankly to offend you. I write it to express my confusion. Maybe too much of my butt shows at times, and maybe I should be a little more concerned about how much middle exposure there is. These past few weeks, I have been obsessed with my clothing. I haven't talked about it to anyone until this week exploded on me, but I have been thinking about it. Thinking about my modesty and how what I wear reflects who I am, thinking about the outline of a bra that presses against any dress that I wear, thinking about the back that peers stare at as I sit in class. I feel so lost. The world is telling me that on gamedays I am not dressed to the correct, sexy, dressed up standard, but is also telling me that on any normal day I am dressed too revealing for a respectful standard. I am sick of worrying. I am sick of the scathing judgments I feel in my heart. I am sick of thinking that I have to demoralize myself when I reveal too much skin instead of just putting on a cardigan. I am sick of wondering if my friends are ashamed of me, if my friends are judging me, if I am failing at whatever standard I am desperately trying to set for myself.

I am worried that the person at the end of the tunnel isn't someone that I will be proud of becoming. I am so frustrated with myself because I do not want to doubt the character that I know I am capable of being, and of the courage I am capable of having. I want to be able to define myself -- people say I can define myself -- but there are so many boxes that I am supposed to fit into.

I am afraid of disappointing myself and everyone around me. I want to have courage but there is too much yelling in the world for me to understand it.

This past Wednesday, a professor of mine asked if I own appropriate clothing. She told me that she saw me around campus and was worried that I wasn't a good representation of the education program that I am in. She wasn't talking about my professional wear, she was talking specifically about the crop tops and backless shirts that I attended my classes in. I sobbed to my mom. It took minutes for me to grasp a breath. It took even more minutes to begin to understand the hurt that was wallowing within me. This professor, this mentor, of mine wasn't talking about professional settings. She wasn't worried about how I presented myself at the middle school. She was worried that my casual clothing was lackluster to the standard she wanted to set for us -- a standard that included nikes and sweatpants and t-shirts, just not my skin. I looked at her, I looked at the stereotypes I saw swimming in her eyes, and I cried to my mom. I do not feel as if my character, actions, or words reflect the stereotypes that exist based on my clothing. I do not feel as if this superficial tissue paper on my skin has any capability to spoil the passion, love, and maturity that I try to have. I know I fail at times. I know that I am not loving, or passionate, or mature at all moments in my life. I am growing. I am working on it. And I hope, I pray, I beg that I am defined by those wants, by those attempts at action, by all of the work I am desperate to do on myself, than by the percentage of skin that I expose.

I am a student here at the University of Mississippi to worry about my academic success, not my standard of classroom dress.

I remember sometime during my high school years, a wrestler from another high school supposed that I "am a screamer." I don't recall what I tossed back, but it definitely wasn't anything that protected me or made me feel better or defended me. I wasn't sure how to handle such a situation. You don't expect people to say such sexualized things to you when you're 16 and dressed in leggings and a wrestling t-shirt. They do. I don't know if I ever told anyone that. It was a weird moment that I just tossed into the pile of weird moments I had at wrestling tournaments. Is that locker room talk? Is that the impression we allow our president to have? Do we want a president who equates at the same level as a high school sophomore wrestler?

Donald Trump tossed away his apology for me when he said that his decade-old words are just a "distraction... from the important issues." He claims that we're "living in the real world," which many of his supporters assumed to mean that locker room talk is just a part of this "real world." Isn't that an important issue? Isn't this "locker room talk" the misogyny that plagues the girls who are worried about walking home alone at night? I almost didn't go to a house party last weekend to meet up with an old friend because I was so paranoid about going alone. I didn't want to miss out on catching up with a neighbor, but I didn't want to risk my safety. Isn't that the issue? That women don't feel safe, and that men in power allow college rapists to not face appropriate consequences because the woman was drunk? Asking for it? Dressed like a Marilyn? Isn't the important issue that people are against mothers feeding their newborns in public because they are offended by the means of sustenance? Isn't the issue that we let our sons, our students, our loved ones talk like this because we do not know how to express that they should behave differently? I am tired of the idea that tradition trumps goodness, and that actions trump words. How have we become such an inconsiderate society that we no longer care for our neighbors' feelings? The important issue is that my professor judged my character based off of how I was dressed. The issue is that a rapist judged his victim based off of how she was dressed. The issue is that we allow people to judge women based not on their character, or their morals, or just their basic existence in humanity, but on how they can be used for others' gain. Don't just say "sorry that you got offended by my words," Trump, say, "sorry that our society allows myself and others to feel comfortable saying things like that. Let's fix it."

I dress the way I do because I yearn to be defined by what is inside of me, not by what is outside. I am not just a superficial idea of beauty, I am a person who has more to give to the world than my sexuality.

My heart hurts for every girl who feels like me. My heart hurts for every girl who feels as if her dress-code is a reflection of her character. My heart hurts for every girl who feels as if her space in society is not one of the "real issues." I am so, so sorry. Let's fix it.