In our society, there's this whole checklist of what makes a woman 'beautiful' - perfect body, perfect face, long tresses, fair skin, you name it. Moreover, women are often burdened with a laundry list of expectations beyond just physical appearance. We're expected to be caretakers, to put others' needs before our own, to be humble and self-effacing, to maintain our chastity and purity at all costs, and the list goes on.

It's like we're expected to fit into this narrow mould of what society deems to be the "ideal" woman - not only beautiful but obedient, submissive, and endlessly self-sacrificing. And if you don't tick all those boxes, well, you're made to feel like you're somehow lacking. I know because I've been there and done that.

I was born with a club foot, which basically meant I had one foot that didn't look like the other. Growing up with it wasn't easy. Kids can be cruel, especially if their parents encourage them to be. Adults can be worse with their sarcastic remarks and questions. I got teased a lot, and it made me feel like I didn't belong. But I wasn't going to let that define me. Despite my disability, I worked hard to excel academically, consistently ranking at the top of my class. Additionally, I found success in sports, demonstrating my determination and resilience in overcoming challenges.

As I got older, I started to realise that I didn't have to fit into society's narrow idea of beauty or good girl to be happy. My club foot wasn't a flaw; it was just a part of who I was, so was my rebellious nature. And slowly but surely, I started to embrace it.

But just when I was starting to feel comfortable in my own skin, life threw me another curveball: breast cancer. At the age of 29, it was like a punch to the gut. The thought of losing a part of my body, of not feeling whole anymore was terrifying.

But I made a decision then and there: I wasn't going to let cancer define me either. I chose not to have reconstruction surgery for one I couldn’t afford to get the surgery done back then, and also because I didn't want to hide the scars. They're a reminder of what I've been through, of the battles I've fought and won and value the life I got as a reward.

Today I have come to realise that my body is pretty amazing. It's survived so much - the teasing, the cancer, the harshness of housework, taking care of my daughter with special needs and many more - and fortunately it's still here, still standing; holding my life with love. It might not be perfect, but it's mine, and I love it.

The journey of learning to love my body, which some might call 'heavy' or 'obese' by societal standards, has been quite the adventure. Add to that the fact that I've lost a breast, my body walks on a club foot, and has already celebrated 57 years of life, and you've got yourself quite the journey!

But you know what? I see it as a great achievement. Sure, my body might not fit into the narrow definition of beauty that society tries to shove down our throats. But it's carried me through every twist and turn of life with grace and resilience.

I've learned to love every curve, every scar, every imperfection that makes me who I am. Because at the end of the day, it's not about conforming to society's standards. It's about embracing our uniqueness and celebrating the incredible things our bodies are capable of, regardless of what anyone else might say.

I have embraced my imperfections, learned to wear my scars with pride, and never let anyone tell me that I am anything less than amazing. Because I am today the warrior, a force to be reckoned with, and I don't allow anyone to forget it for long.

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