For my article this week, I originally planned to write about the movies I grew up watching. I was set on that until about five minutes ago. I was scrolling through my Facebook feed, like always, and came up on a picture that said, "A real woman will not make you choose between her or fishing. A real woman will make you take her and will proceed to get the biggest fish." I'm sorry, but no.

Actually, you know what, I'm not sorry. A real woman doesn't have to be anything you tell her you think she should be!

I'm almost 21 years old, and all of my life I have been told what a "real" woman is more times than I can count. I'm so tired of people trying to tell me how women should be or how I should be, so this is what I have to say.

A real woman is short, and she's tall. She has more curves than a winding road, and she is straight as a board. A real woman has long flowing hair, a short pixie cut, a partially shaved head, and she is completely bald. She has mile-long legs, average length muscular legs, and short legs that require her jeans to be rolled at the bottom. A real woman wears pearls and heels every day. She can rock jeans and a T-shirt or a romper with wedges. A real woman loves to go fishing. She loves to stay in the house and cook. She also loves to go out every night and head bang at a concert.

A real woman is soft-spoken, but she can also rip you to shreds using only words. A real woman only listens to country music or listens to Atreyu and Panic! At the Disco every night, but she listens to classical music and plays any instrument. She has no tattoos or piercings, but she also has tattoos up and down her arms as well as a stud in her nose. A real woman doesn't play sports because she feels it isn't for her, but if you put her on any field she will turn a double-play or fake left and shoot a jump shot.

A real woman loves all animals, but she doesn't see herself as an animal person. She loves to be in a relationship, and she also enjoys being single. A real woman has tons of female friends, and she has many male friends. She wants to be a teacher, a singer, a chef, a writer, an athlete, and a CEO.

It is no one's place—even mine—to tell a woman what she can be. It is no one's place to tell her what she can and cannot do. It's no one's place to tell anyone how to live their life. Let them make their choices. Let them rejoice in their triumphs and regret their mistakes.

It doesn't matter who you are, what you look like, how old you are, or how you choose to live your life. The moral of this story is: It's 2016. A real woman can be or look like whatever the hell she wants to. Period.