I’ve never “struggled” with my weight in the traditional sense. I don’t know what it feels like to have someone call me “fat,” to tell me that I probably shouldn’t have that second piece of cake, or to be considered the “chubby friend.” I don’t know what it’s like to struggle with finding cute clothes in my size, of outgrowing items despite the fact that I’m eating right and exercising, or to look in the mirror and feel too big. I’ve never had a “fat day.” I’ve never felt “bloated.” I can’t relate to those struggles, because I’ve never faced them.

However, I do know what it feels like to be asked if I’m anorexic, to be told that I really should just “eat a cheeseburger,” or to be considered the “secretly bulimic girl” on the floor of my freshman dorm (because no one that eats the way that I do could possibly stay as thin as I am without throwing up all that food later, you know). I know what it’s like to be unable to buy clothing for work because they don’t sell work appropriate clothing in the junior’s section, to buy things in the hopes that I’ll grow into them but I never do, despite the fact that I’m taking protein supplements and eating everything that’s supposed to help you put on weight, or to look in the mirror and feel like a sickly pile of skin and bones. I’ve had a “feeling like shit day.” I’ve felt “emaciated.” So I can relate to dissatisfaction with one’s body, because I’ve faced that.

We so often hear of people struggling to accept their bodies the way they are, even though they’re larger than they’d like them to be. People scoff at the person that complains about not being able to put on weight. Any time I mention my struggle to gain weight, my friends laugh it off with a sarcastic, “Oh, poor you. It must be so hard being skinny!” But too skinny or too fat, it all boils down to the same feeling: being unhappy with the body you have. When people blow off my concerns, it completely invalidates my real and valid feelings about myself. Feelings that they should know aren’t pleasant ones, because they have them themselves.

Just because I’m thin doesn’t mean I’m happy with my body. I’ve struggled to love, accept, and feel beautiful in a body that I don’t find attractive. I don’t feel womanly. I don’t feel sexy. I have bones where I want hips, bones where I want an ass, and bones where I want curves. I’ve long ago accepted that it’s just the way I’m going to be; my dad has tried to gain weight for years, to no avail. It’s not in my genes to be able to acquire curves, no matter how badly I may want to. “Curvy,” “voluptuous,” and “shapely” will never be adjectives used to describe my body, no matter how badly I want them to be.

But my struggle with my body image is no less valid than anyone else’s. Despite what you think of my body, I’m still unsatisfied with it. Just like I can look at someone that considers themselves overweight and think, “My god, she’s beautiful. I would kill to look like her,” yet she continues to see herself as “fat,” the same can be said for me. Someone can tell me that they wish more than anything that they could have my body, but it doesn’t change the way I feel about it.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? Too fat, too skinny, too short, too tall. Breasts that are too large, breasts that are too small. Vulva that are too prominent, vulva that aren’t prominent enough. Hair that is too curly, hair that is too straight. No one ever seems to be happy with what they have, regardless of what that is. And to me, that’s the saddest thing of all. Because every single one of us is beautiful, just the way we are, and I wish that we could feel that way about ourselves.