When I was in high school I—like most teenagers—was extremely self-conscious about my body. I didn’t have the same stick thin build as my friends, and when I saw the way that type of frame was admired, I felt like my own body type was, for lack of a better term: wrong. So, I convinced myself that the only way I would be happy with my body is if I wore a specific size, a small size, the “right” size.

But you see, size is just a number. A meaningless integer stamped on itchy tags that you cut off the second you get home, and a value that pops up on the bathroom scale to ruin your day. Numbers do nothing but stare back at you. They treat you like an object, rather than a person. They convince you that their value determine your worth. But let me tell you something here and now: numbers lie.

For even among these “perfect sizes” and “ideal bodies” are hearts that hurt and words that cut; no number is ever going to protect you from judgment or comparison. Thus, beauty can never solely be something we see on ourselves, but something we must also feel in ourselves. Because if that admiration for our outward appearance acts as a flashlight does in darkness: temporarily piercing a narrow path of hope, complete acceptance of ourselves, inside and out, will act like the sun: swallowing darkness all together. And this light, this all-encompassing freedom, comes solely from within.

Size is a number but strength is a feeling. And no number, not one you find on your jeans, in your bank account, or among your social media followers, will ever determine how much you are worth. Strength is the only thing that can save us from ourselves, and it is something that we all have within, no matter how deep it is buried or how doubtful we are in our ability to find it.

With strength, our size doesn’t matter.

With strength, we are able to give what we previously only sought to receive: peace.

And in peace we can finally be happy, for we are finally the perfect size: Size Strong.

Envy