I know Swimsuit Season isn’t supposed to start until May, but, as the spring semester begins, I’ve already heard comments about slimming down for summer. Maybe girls just want to get a head start on shedding the extra cookies and butter-rolls they acquired from winter break.

Swimsuit Season is this crazy time of the year when all women everywhere turn into their worst version of PMS-like disgust at their own cellulite. Even if a woman doesn’t particularly “celebrate” this season, the thoughts will more than likely cross their mind and result in utterly discouraging self-loathing, because when they bend over, all they can see are the michelin rolls that form around their midsection, stretch marks that seem to navigate their way around the map of their bodies, and puckering cellulite dimpling their thighs.

Media shows us a woman’s “perfect” body; slim figures without curves, exaggerated hipbones, thigh gaps, toned arms, perky and full breasts, firm buttocks, and absolutely no spillage of your extra doughnuts and pies around your body. Because, heaven knows that if a woman doesn’t innately look like a squished and elongated toothpick, she’s not a “real woman,” or if she can’t have all the correct measurements, her body isn’t “ideal.”

Since the dawn of time, women have been told that their bodies need to resemble some kind of perfection that is only attainable by mythical gods. Why is this? Why are these prerequisites forced upon women? Why can’t every body-type be beautiful, special, and perfect just as it is? Whether you’re a 6 ft. tall, 130 lb. woman or a 5’3” ft. tall, 200 lb. woman, your body is absolutely lovely.

As more and more women talk about Swimsuit Season and go on crazy Beyonce diets, I remember a decision I made about swimsuits last year. Growing up, I was chubby. I hated my body and was disgusted with how I looked. Needless to say, I was never a fan of bathing suits. I resigned my life to one of shorts and t-shirts, but last year, I made the decision to not care. I bought myself a fun, black, bikini, and vowed to wear it. And I have, every time I’ve needed to wear a swimsuit since then. I vowed to myself to love my body, no matter how I actually feel about it.

Do I still feel self-conscious? Definitely. I do not cease to squirm when my friends, family, or boyfriend lovingly squishes my side. I am on a long journey toward self-acceptance, and I know I’ll get there, hopefully with a burrito in hand.

I am a 5’ ft. tall, 125 lb. multi-ethnic human with measurements of 34”, 26”, 36”. I’d rather enjoy a milkshake, wear a bathing suit that shows my love handles, and like how I look, than constantly monitor my caloric intake, exercise the life out of myself, and never be satisfied with my body.

So there, my measurements are up to your discretion, but I’m happy with my body and I hope you can one day feel similarly toward yours.