I was having lunch with a friend of mine a few days ago when we started looking back on the past few years of our friendship and lives, and analyzed the growth, change, and evolution we had both undergone. We talked about insecurities, regrets, frustrations, realizations, goals, hopes, and dreams. We reminisced on memories, old friends, interests, loves, and aversions; laughed about embarrassing moments, and fawned over our latest fashion obsessions, but it wasn't until she repeated her daily mantra of self-acceptance to me that I realized every concern and doubt I had felt while getting dressed that morning was completely nonsensical—in every way.

"I used to go shopping for clothes and fall in love with tiny mesh crop tops, sky-high boots, and bikinis of every color," she recalled, "but I knew that I would never look good in them, so I refused to even try."

"I always thought I was too big to wear these things that I loved so much, and I hid myself in black clothing that, I think, just reflected how I was made to feel about myself by the world on the inside." Standing at just over five-foot-four-inches, with porcelain skin and soft features seemingly belonging to another era, I always thought my friend was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen, unique and extraordinary in every way—except for in the way she has been made to feel about her body.

It's no secret that the body has always been a hot topic in every era's societal discourse. Today, however, with a world of information and images available at our fingertips, the pressure to be some "other" way is seemingly higher than ever. If you're naturally skinny, you're ridiculed for not having "enough meat on your bones" or for lacking that (impossible) hourglass figure popularized by certain celebrities. Yet, if the measurements of your hips and bust exceed a certain number, you're considered plus sized, and often immediately written off or condemned for embodying anything other than "ideal".

With so many more comparisons and dichotomies and rules that women are forced to figure out how to live in (and by) today, I have decided to no longer ask, "How can I alter myself, my heart, my thoughts, and my being to try to meet the expectations, unrealistic standards, or prejudices of others?" and instead look at myself for who I am—for all that I am—and understand the enormity of my acceptance that that is enough.

"One day I woke up, tired of feeling bad about my body, so I just thought, 'Dammit, if I don't love the woman I am, how the hell am I supposed to enjoy life?'" my friend proudly declared, "and that single thought has since shaped every move I make and thought that I have." Now, instead of hiding behind oversized clothing that refused to inspire any form of joy, my friend rocks hot pink bandage dresses, snakeskin mules, red-hot bikinis, and, most importantly, a confidence that shines out from every inch of her being, inspiring everyone else, myself included, to get dressed each morning and not look for those little flaws only I can see, and instead strike a pose in the mirror and think, "Damn, I look good."