Hey, I'm Caroline, and once upon a time, I didn't like my body.

In fact, that's kind of an understatement; really, I hated my body. I thought the skin I was in was so wrong for me, that I didn't work hard enough, that I ate too much. I zeroed in on every stretch mark, every scar, every hint of cellulite, and told myself I wasn't beautiful enough, that I wasn't thin enough, or pretty enough, and that I wouldn't ever look the way I (or anyone else) wanted to.

I was never overweight. I just wasn't - I was a normal kid. My mom made dinner every night, we rarely ate out, and my encounters with fast food were limited. I took horseback riding and dance classes, I walked a lot, and I played soccer, so I stayed reasonably active. Nevertheless, I remember I first started to think I was fat when I was twelve years old. Yeah, twelve. Sixth grade. When I should have been focusing on school, soccer, my friends, and my horse, I was instead focused on how much I was eating, or whether boys would notice that I wasn't thin like the other girls. In high school, I often skipped meals (or ate just a handful of almonds) because I felt better about myself when I didn't eat. I thought I was doing what I had to do to maintain that perfect 118 pounds (the weight I thought was ideal for me). In other words, I spent my entire high school career hurting myself because I thought it would make me better.

When I got to college, things changed a little. I was feeding myself exclusively for the first time, I had a new confidence, and I cared less what my body looked like, because, in my eyes, all the restricting and the dieting and the self-hating had paid off; I was at the weight I wanted to be. Life caught up with me, though; I gained ten pounds in my freshman year, and I didn't even realize it until I was home for the summer and dared to step on the scale. I wasn't really that surprised - there's a Burger King, a Panda Express, and a Chick-Fil-A all within a quarter of a mile from my dorm, and it wasn't like I really had a kitchen to cook in. I also didn't have much motivation to work out; I'd never really properly "worked out" before, and (let's be honest) my adult metabolism hadn't really caught up with me yet, so I never really thought I had to. But for the first time, I actually saw what happened to my body when I didn't take care of myself (ten pounds looked pretty significant on me, since I'm pretty short and small-framed), and I hated that, too.

I spent the first few weeks of summer with the same attitude I'd had in high school - this is my fault, I'm fat, I need to be more disciplined. Something in me had changed, though; it was harder, somehow, to be so hard on myself like I was before. At my core, I knew I was worth more than that, and I also knew there were healthy ways to feel better.

The first thing I changed was my diet, and I did it by, well, not dieting. I didn't restrict, I moderated. I didn't eat any more fast food, but I also didn't deny myself food truck tacos or homemade pimento cheese. I stopped eating when I was bored, but I didn't beat myself up if I ate a few too many cheese straws.

Next, I fell in love with exercise. This didn't happen overnight; I started going to a trainer who encouraged me not to focus on the results I saw, but the results I felt. Sure enough, after a few weeks of hard work, I did start to feel (and, admittedly, see) results. I could lift more, I lasted longer on the bike, and I kept my heart rate down. I could do sit-ups and lose count of how many I'd done. I learned to love every squat, every extension, every whack at the punching bag. In the mirror, I looked so different, I could hardly believe that body was mine. I was proud of my results and was finally ready to commit to keeping it that way.

The most important thing I changed, though, was my attitude. I stopped hating myself and started respecting myself. I gave up the tight leash in favor of moderation, not restriction. I learned to love myself, really love myself, no matter what my body looked like. After all, I deserved it! I deserved to feel worth it, I deserved to feel good enough - because I was all along.

So yeah, I'll eat that cookie. I'll get fries with that. Who cares? An order of fries or an extra cookie shouldn't have the power to make me hate myself again. Now that I have that power, I eat what makes me happy (in moderation, as always), I stay healthy, and I exercise - because I love it! And guess what - no more restricting, no more diets, no more self-hate; just love.

So eat that cookie, love yourself, enjoy your life!