Fun Fact #1: Plus-sized models start at size eight. And yes, you read that right.

Fun Fact #2: "Plus-sizes" don't typically start until you are a size 14-16 in your average clothing store.

I don't know about you, but those numbers terrify me. I couldn't actually tell you truthfully the last time that I was a size eight, however, I have not made it to 14-16 (I'm usually a 10-12 depending on the designer if it makes you feel better). Now, I'm sure you're like, "Cool, Monica. Thanks for making me feel bad about myself." But that's not my goal.

Since I was a little girl, society has told me that I am too big. If there were plus-size model kids, I probably would have fit the criteria. I was made fun of and bullied all throughout school, but it was the worst in middle school. I had started playing volleyball year round, and I swear I spent more hours in the gym some weeks than I did at home. I thought it would have been nearly impossible to gain weight, but I did.

It was also about the same time where I was formally introduced to eating disorders: bulimia and anorexia. We watched documentary after documentary of women who had nearly starved themselves to death. They were quite literal skeletons. It was enough to scare me out of not eating enough, but not completely out of overeating. This was my first episode in binge eating.

I would eat and eat and eat until I felt sick. I would eat out of happiness, out of sadness, because I was bored. You name it, I ate because of it. Then would come the regret. I would lock myself in my room for hours on end purposefully not getting out of bed because I knew that my first stop would be the refrigerator.

But it didn't stop there. I had mastered the comparison game.

"You're not as skinny as her."

"You're not as pretty as her."

"She's better than you."

It was a vicious cycle that ruled my life. Society had engraved in my brain what the "perfect" girl should look like. The thoughts of magazine writers and photographers that I had never met told me how I should look. The featured models on the fronts of the magazines told me what "beautiful" looked like. The girls I thought were better than me at school dictated the food I ate. I gave control to everything and everyone else.

So I'm here to tell you to screw the number you are and embrace the body you have. (However, I have to say that the emphasis on excessive thigh gaps and flat tummies has gone down), but it's still too important to young girls. To have the perfect hair, mastering contour and highlighting. None of it is worth it if you're playing the comparison game. None of it compares to how you are viewed in the eyes of our Savior.

You are beautiful. You are made in the image of the Creator who is perfect and made without flaw. You are created fearlessly. You are created wonderfully. You are made to love and to be loved. You are called to be the light in the dark world, not hide in the back corner.

God does not care what you look like on your worst days. He doesn't care that you chose to not wear make up. He doesn't care if Freshman 15 turns into Freshman 50. He's not ashamed of you. He will not leave you. He will not give up on you. So don't be so hard on yourself. Flaunt your curves or your lack of them. Be courageous and wear neon green lipstick. Wear the dress you think you're too fat for. Be the perfectly imperfect person you were created to be. But most importantly, do not let a number control your life.