I spent 13 years in Catholic school. While I don’t think that was altogether bad thing, it also had some drawbacks. One of the worst ones for me personally was the almost debilitating side of guilt that comes with practically everything.

By the time I was twelve, I had already spent the better part of my childhood in the shadow of the cross. I had left the “Jesus loves you” years and just entered the “Things That Will Land You in Hell” phase of Catholicism. While many people can survive and even continue to live comfortably in this phase, I never fully adjusted. It filled me with anxiety and doubts that I still carry to this day. I second guess everything. I question everything I say and do, even among my closest friends. I agonize over every insignificant slip I make, lose sleep over my mistakes, and feel guilty about almost everything I do.

I wish I could tell myself at age 12 that people make mistakes. Not only that, but even when they do, things are usually okay.

Between religion, grades, and basketball, which was practically my father’s religion, 12 year old me had little room for error. Every step out of line (almost all of which were accidental) came with swift retribution akin to a fire breathing dragon. Maybe it just felt that way because I was getting sensitive. Maybe it really did happen and I’m just led to believe the dragon was only a figment of my imagination.

Either way, I can look back and pinpoint the time when I first began to feel completely ashamed of myself.

Granted, shame is sometimes warranted. Funny enough, the people who I think should be most ashamed never are. I know some people who say absolutely horrible, cruel things and think they are 100% right and don’t doubt themselves for a second. I beat myself up if I think I forgot to say please. Really, I should be satisfied. I’m not dumb, I intend to treat everyone respectfully and try my best to do so, and I don’t like to curse….but I’m from New Jersey, and sometimes I forget that certain words even are curse words. Still, I try to keep it clean around children especially.

I wish someone had told me that was enough. Maybe by this point in my life, I would agree. And get some sleep.

The more I read about or watch Jennifer Lawrence, the more I wish she had been around when I was 15.

At 15, I arrived at that awkward “filling out” stage that all girls go through. I had always been skinny, and suddenly I found myself battling with extra weight that refused to budge. Plus, I had always had chubby cheeks, even while skinny, and while they had once been cute, they soon became embarrassing.

I hated it and didn’t know what to do.

I had always been physically active, and at this time was running about five miles a day for cross country. I started dieting, or at least trying to eat healthier, although even that backfired. I went through one of my first phases of vegetarianism, which basically for a high school kid meant eating a lot of carbs or nothing at all. Plus, my long day meant I went 8 hours at a time without eating or drinking anything. So the three meals I did get I usually ate as if I were being sent to the electric chair. This is why I think allowing snack time would actually curb childhood obesity.

So anyway, I carried a few extra pounds but was still very much within the healthy range. I exercised, I ate healthy foods, even if I ate too much of them, and could still run a mile well below the required time for a girl my age.

I just felt fat. And the media didn’t help.

Those were the years of Calista Flockhart and Kate Moss. Kate Winslet, another idol of mine, was around because of Titanic, but she wasn’t as prominent as the other two at the time, or Jennifer Lawrence today. Otherwise, I might have heard the message that both Jennifer and Kate consciously and subconsciously give young girls.

Healthy is beautiful.

Not being a size 2 with razor sharp cheekbones, unless that’s your natural size. Not living off of bananas and rice cakes. But being healthy.

I wish that message came across more often. I feel like too often in society we focus on telling girls one extreme or another. Skinny is beautiful. Curvy is beautiful.

How about, wherever you are at your healthiest is beautiful?

I have gone all over the scale in my life. For years I battled with extra pounds. When I turned twenty-five, a combination of things led me to lose a significant amount of weight, so I was constantly being told to gain. But even then I wasn’t at my healthiest. I wasn’t eating well and hardly exercised at all, and I certainly wouldn’t say I was happier. After many years, I feel I finally found a place where I can be happy with the way I look. I eat my vegetables, get more protein, exercise a few days a week, and let myself have an occasional cookie, and can look at myself in a mirror and smile. I’m no Victoria’s Secret model, but I’m okay with that.

   When I was ten years old, I had absolutely remarkable self-esteem, which I don’t remember possessing at any other time in my life. I have no idea why. I wasn’t the most attractive kid. My hair was a blonde frizzy mess, my teeth were virtually deformed, and I managed to be so skinny my ribs poked out, but my stomach (as always) remained soft and pudgy. I had good friends, but would certainly not be confused with one of the “cool kids”. I had some pretty average talents….actually, some were even slightly above average, but I never considered myself better than anyone else. I was decidedly me, and very happy to be just that.

If I had a chance to talk to myself at that age, I would tell myself to hold on to that confidence. Or at least 90% of it.

Ever since that time, I remember battling with self esteem. Once sixth grade came around, I became less and less sure of myself. I got braces, glasses, but no boobs. At age ten I had had a role in the school play that became a stand out performance not because I was incredibly talented, but because I was fearless, threw myself into the role, and sang with my whole heart and a little skill. By seventh grade I had developed a bit of stage fright. I went from being happy with my friends to getting upset when people teased me about my inability to wear make up, and I felt weird around boys. I went from loving sports to dreading the pressure I felt on the field and from my father. The one thing that somewhat remained was my faith in my brain, and even then slowly diminished over time. Now, even things I say with certainty I inwardly question. Google both helps and hurts with that.

Maybe it was just that transition from childhood to adulthood, although even as a child I don’t remember being so amazingly confident. I almost always was – and still am – perfectly comfortable being different from the rest of the crowd, as long as it’s on my own terms. But sometimes I am absolutely awed by myself at that age, when I did crazy things that now would never even cross my mind. I was just so happy to be me, and alive, and didn’t need validation from anyone, really.

If I could talk to that girl, I would tell her to hold on to that feeling, that firm belief that “I am fine just the way I am”, and moreover, everyone else is fine the way they are, too. (Unless they say or do something ignorant in mean, in which case they deserve a punch in the face. That was me at age ten, too.) If I could talk to other girls at that age, I would tell them the same thing. The years that follow are extremely difficult for boys and girls, and they end up being wrought with insecurities. I want to tell them to stay strong, and hold on to that childish innocence that sees the good in everything.

Especially in themselves.