I have always been a sweaty person. When I go the gym, people ask casually if I did some laps in the pool. When I show up to class on a hot day, it looks like I sprinted there from across campus under layers of saran wrap. It’s not glamorous sweat, either. Less like this and more like this.

I come by it honestly, at least—my dad once rusted out his treadmill and my grandfather waters his lawn more than his sprinklers when he works in the yard. But the truth is, it’s hard to be sweaty and a girl. Girls are not supposed to sweat. We’re supposed to glow, to sparkle and smile as we dab a single drop from our forehead. We’re supposed to look pleasantly unruffled, even after a killer workout, even when it’s 90 degrees outside and we’ve just climbed three flights of stairs, even when we’ve got a massive test in the next class and JUST CAN’T REMEMBER WHEN THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS HAPPENED.

Girls are supposed to hide our sweat. Or, if we must sweat, it should be sexy.

But that’s ridiculous—and it plays right into the idea that everything we do, even a human function as common, (and beneficial!), as sweating, needs to be controlled or hidden away to preserve some arbitrary feminine mystique.

Just a few days ago, I was walking back from the gym, mentally listing off the risks of going into the student center to retrieve my mail before I took a shower. I was legitimately concerned that people would think less of me, or be disgusted by me if I dared to show my still dripping face and sweat-darkened clothes.

So, these last few weeks I’ve decided to try something different. I’ve decided to be proud of my sweat, whether it's a result of working out, being anxious, going dancing, or even just a being outside on a humid day. Because being sweaty is part of being a living, breathing, active person. It’s not something I should have to meticulously try and erase to keep others from being grossed out.

The first day was, quite frankly, a little terrifying. My friend and I went to a kickboxing class and then strait to dinner after it was over. She looked normal. I looked like this. The thought of everyone staring at me only made me more sweaty and I found myself darting my eyes around the cafeteria, searching for the judgment that I just knew was coming.

But it never did.

No one so much as glanced my way. It was an almost shocking revelation. All the glares I had imagined were just that—imagined.

The next time I felt much better about myself. After walking to work on a crazy-hot day, I found myself swiping my forehead with my sleeve. When one of my co-workers raised an eyebrow asked me if I had sprinted to the office, I was able to shrug and say, “no,” without feeling I owed him an explanation. It’s a small thing, but it was exhilarating all the same.

As I’ve continued with this attitude, I’ve realized something important: I don’t need to apologize for my sweat. I don’t need to make amends for the way my body reacts to a physical or mental challenge. I don’t need to cover the signs of my exertion with dark clothing or obsessively applied layers of shine control powder.