Dear 12-year-old Me,

Honey, let me put it out on the table - loud and clear so that everyone can hear:
Your body will never look like those of the women on the cover of the magazines. It just won’t.

Your arms aren’t as muscular. They aren’t as perfectly toned.
But hey, have you noticed the way your arms move? Look at your arms; just look at them…Look at the way they bend and swing when you’re playing sports, and pick things up when you want to touch them; the way they propel your fists to pump through the air when your favorite team wins a game. And yes they are scarred from those times you’ve fallen down. They are bruised from days when you fell down again. But be grateful for all they can do, because someone, somewhere, is wishing their arms could hug like yours can.

And honey, no; your legs don’t look like hers.
Yours are not a mile long, and they aren’t so tanned or smooth. And they won’t be, no matter how much you spend on fancy razors or tanning cream. Save that money; save it for the day that you break your leg skiing down an icy slope, and you need crutches. And then watch in awe as your legs work their way back to functioning. Notice the way your kneecaps bend every time you tell them to, every time they take a step. You will hit bumps along this road, but those legs will keep walking. Say thank you for those legs of yours. They may not be as long or dark as the lady on the magazine, but have you seen they way they can run and jump and dance the tango?

And yes, her lips may be pinker and plumper and perfect-er. But don’t you remember those lips, and that tongue and those teeth of yours? The ones that allow to taste pasta and pizza and plums and...chocolate… the chocolate which you will try so hard to convince yourself that you don’t like…even though you know you do. Eat the damn chocolate, babe. And don’t stop giving kisses. Don’t stop saying the words that you were born to say. Speak and yell and sing and don’t forget to be grateful for your ability to speak your mind with those lovely little lips, because not everyone is so fortunate.

And baby, no, your eyes are not as blue as the ones on that cover. They aren’t so soaked, so stained with artificial coloring. But they aren’t glossed over, either. Your eyes, they’ll sparkle and gleam when you get excited about your newest love. And they’ll cry the saddest tears when he or she breaks your heart. But look at the way they to allow you to see the most beautiful sights in this world. Not everyone can see like you can. So don’t let anyone twist your vision, baby; you are beautiful.

And yes, her breasts are about 3 times the size of yours, maybe even 4. But look at the heart that lies beneath yours. Can you feel the way that it is still beating, after all the times it was frightened and broken? Taste the air as it flows through your lungs, those strong lungs of yours which are still pumping oxygen through your body after all those times your breath has been taken away. You’re a lucky one, baby, to still have a heart that beats after all the heartbreak in this world.

You see, little one, it’s a lot easier to be flawless when you’re two-dimensional. They will try to pump this idealized, over-produced image of a woman into your bloodstream. Don’t you dare let them. When they come knocking on your door and telling you that you don’t look like a perfect woman, you tell them that you’d rather look like you. You remind them of all that your body can do. And you tell them that in fact, you are so much more than your body. Tell them about your brain, tell them about your heart. Tell them DAMN RIGHT you’re beautiful. Because beauty is broader than that which is put forth by the magazines, and that a woman’s value is much broader than her beauty.