Danielle Elmers, 22, New York, NY

The doctor looked at my chart, and then back at me with the most patronizing smile and a lecture on eating your veggies, exercising moderately, and the benefits of sacrificing a small child to the ancient gods for the perfect physique (that last one isn't true, but it might as well have been one of his talking points).

I slowly returned to my car, dazed and confused. I started ugly-crying the second I plopped down in the front seat. I cried over every lump, dip, and curve on my body that I've hated since I was 13. I cried over my grandparents asking me if I really needed that much dessert on my plate, and people sexualizing my one-piece lifeguard bathing suit, because I had the curves to “fill it out.” I cried for all the times other girls would say my butt was so big, and not meaning it as a compliment.

I cried and cried because, up until then, I felt healthy. No one ever straight up told me I looked unhealthy. I was curvy, muscular, toned, but never unhealthy. I could run a mile without stopping. I went to the gym when I had the time and needed to sweat it out. I danced regularly and walked everywhere. Even though I ate a combination of veggies and sugary midnight snacks, I never felt like my body became something that signified poor health and gluttony.

Yet, hearing the word “overweight” from the doctor left my mouth with a sour taste and had me questioning: Was I fat? Was this why my ex-boyfriend dumped me? Did this make me unattractive?

I let my doctor's statement control my insecurities. I started to cover up more, trying to hide my "imperfections" under loose clothing and using sarcasm to make fun of myself and my body. Even though I didn't necessarily change my diet, eating became a chore, rather than something I enjoyed.

Dancing is what lifted me off this edge I was dangling on. Through dance and the supportive friends I made, eating became something social, a time to bond with other human beings that loved both dance and food. Dancing removed the power food had over me. I needed the food to be able to dance, to have the energy to practice late into the night, and to make it through four-hour rehearsals, extra practices and whole-day competitions.

I still have those days where nothing looks right, and my body makes me question my health. Other days, I realize how amazing my body is. It can dance, swim, run, jump, surf, stretch, and flip. It's a fighter.

So what if my weight isn't within the limits of a doctor's chart? So what if I'm not the size 2 everyone expects? I am beautiful. I am strong. And, most importantly, I am healthy