Confidence: it’s a non-negotiable in my world—but it hasn’t always been.

Having confidence has intimidated me since I was six years old. When you wear a bra in kindergarten and measure in at 6’1 before the sixth grade, blending in is a luxury your soul never tastes.

I spent most of my adolescence trying to hide my body. My high school bestie can tell you I lived in Under Armour sports bras that stretched to my collar bone, and I never passed up an opportunity to cross my arms over my chest.

Going to dances gave me severe anxiety—not even being at eye level with a single boy will do that to ya. And I know you might be thinking how great my height must have been for sports, but growing seven inches in a year makes you feel as athletic as a turtle.

I say all of this because I had so much hatred. It led me down a pattern of disordered eating, toxic lovers, and an inner critic that was louder than a rap concert.

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Confidence always felt like ego in a culture that uses shame as a synonym for different—honoring, loving, and owning my body didn’t even feel like a choice.

I witness others fight this same battle, daily—because the world tells us that if our exterior doesn’t match certain criteria, then everything else we are here to do, say, and create should be deemed worthless.

But that’s a toxic narrative, and I’m here to tell you it’s bullsh*t.

Confidence has never been a narrative centered around being better than the woman next to you—it’s having the courage to see, celebrate, and enhance her light without dimming your own.

There‘s space for all of it. And the way you love, move, shimmy, and shake is done in a way that only you can do. So, own it—and do so while you celebrate the souls around you.

It’s in the decision to do both that you find your deepest freedom.

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