There's been a huge movement in recent years for young women to love their bodies—big or small—in the overwhelming floods of Photoshopped magazines, social desires, and the push for nationwide body acceptance. We've seen Tess Holliday, Zach Miko, and Ashley Graham--plus-sized models--making it big in an industry formerly focused on showcasing thinner bodies.

Disclaimer: skinny girls are beautiful, too. If you're a thinner girl reading this, I want you to know that you're beautiful and fantastic. I am a fat girl, and this particular article is about my struggle with acceptance of my current body image. Do not think you're lesser.

I come from a family of bigger people on both sides. My body is built thicker—big booty, tummy pooch, thick thighs, double chin, jiggly arms—and it took me many years to realize that no matter how much I exercised or how fit I tried to be, I'm never going to look like the #fitspo women on Instagram. My body just isn't made to look like that.

And that's OK.

When I was little, probably in sixth or seventh grade, I distinctly remember creating my own "spanx" with scarves. I'd tie them as tight as possible around my stomach and thighs to hold my fat in. I'd squish and squash and shove my butt into clothes that fit too tightly.

I remember once being told during the rise of skinny jeans' popularity that they are "made for skinny people," aka someone I was not.

Yes, it's important to be healthy. Yes, it's important to be in shape as best as you can to avoid health problems. But it's also important to remember that "in shape" for your body might not look the same as "in shape" for your friend's body. I've always been the biggest in my group of friends, continually being surrounded by skinny humans, especially during shaky body confidence years, like late middle school and early high school.

It probably doesn't help that I'm super short (4'10") because if I were a foot taller, I'd look like the models in the magazines. That had always been in the back of my mind. However, that's something coming from both sides of my family, too. Stupid genetics!

I came to terms with my hobbit self way earlier than I did with my fat self. My mom is 5 feet tall. Once I was done growing, I was done. The only way I can change my height is by wearing heels (and even then I barely hit 5'1" depending on the shoes), so I think that's why it was so much easier to accept my height as something that was solidified.

One day, I think I woke up and decided I was OK with the way my body looked. I liked my fat tummy and (thanks to the ongoing big booty movement) the attention I got for my fat behind. I believe this happened four years ago, sometime during my junior year of high school.

Then I got to Wheaton, and I saw all kinds of beautiful people. There are tons, including my roommate. I thought she was "Allison 2.0," a prettier, thinner, improved version of myself. The boy I liked was dating her at the time, which made me secretly very bitter. I was conflicted because I wanted so badly to get along since she was nothing but kind and sweet to me, but for months I harbored an inner jealousy.

Until she told me I was her "confidence goals."

I learned she doesn't like to speak up in front of others. I learned she worked very hard (going to the gym every day) to look the way she does. I learned she had body image issues herself. And I realized that day that there's more to me than just being a fat girl.

I am fat, I am confident, and I am proud to say that I am completely fine with the way I look. Sure, sometimes I get frustrated when thigh-high socks cut off the circulation in my upper legs, or when I try to wear a floaty skirt and the fabric barely covers my butt, or when I wear a fitted shirt and everyone can see my squishy tummy.

Don't sell yourself short—squishy tummies are great for hugs and snugs. I promise that you're a beautiful human being. I'll share with you the best compliment I've ever received: "You're a prism. That means you're beautiful, no matter what angle you're looked at."

Be a prism.