I was 13 years old the first time I realized my body was different from everyone else's. I was standing in a two-piece bathing suit at the pool when I noticed that other people were staring at me and talking amongst themselves as they looked over at my body. Grabbing a towel to cover up the lines and marks that showed my struggle with cystic fibrosis, I ran to the bathroom crying and looked down at my scars with disgust. “Am I even normal? Why am I different? What are these scars? What does the word 'beautiful' even mean?” I thought to myself as I stared in the mirror. Honestly, it had never occurred to me how CF made me so different until that day.

As time went on, I became obsessed with what is considered to be "normal" and "beautiful" in our society -- always looking at magazines and picking out what I thought made the women in them beautiful. For starters, there were no scars or marks on their bodies; my body alone had nine major marks. To me, that was nine too many. I also had dark circles under my eyes from always being tired, which the magazine models definitely did not. It got to the point where I would look in the mirror and just cry because of how ugly I thought I was -- and I wasn't just talking about my body anymore. It became all of me … my face, my eyes, you name it, I hated it.

Around the time I turned 20, my disease started to progress more quickly than it had before. My lungs became more infected, and I was put on 8 liters of oxygen, 24/7. I was house-bound for almost a year. Simple tasks like walking around the store became nearly impossible for me, and I was losing hope in myself. I started to tell people goodbye, preparing myself to leave the people I loved the most.

But then, in one day, my entire outlook changed. My sister took me on a hike to one of our favorite look-out spots, and I hadn't done it in months. Before we went, I had it in my mind that this would be the last time I would ever do this. When I finally got to the top -- out of breath and barely able to stand -- I looked at the sunset and began to cry. That's when I realized: I am a fighter and always have been, and fighting is exactly what I had to do now. I had to fight for breath and for life. After that day, I began to push my body to new limits and make new goals for myself -- to see and do things that others do not think are possible for someone with cystic fibrosis.

Through my new goals and adventures, you can say I have fallen in love with myself. In fact, I love every scar on my body, as each one tells a story of how I am still alive and breathing. After all, a lot of people can't say that they have overcome more than 120 surgeries, so far, in their lifetime. Even my man-made belly button is beautiful. Today, I'm embracing every single scar with a new perspective and love for myself.

Now that I've become stronger with who I am, I wanted to make myself a promise. It had to be something very meaningful and concrete. I found a ring company that makes pinky promise self-love rings. When I got my ring, I made a pinky promise: to put myself and my health first; to love me, and all of me; to only allow people into my life that respect both me and my body; to never take less than what I deserve; to stand up for what I want and what I believe in; and to live each day to the fullest and hold nothing back. I live out this promise every single day. When I start to feel weak, I look at my ring and remember my promise and how far I have come.

I am going to end with a quote that inspired me. "You will never be successful unless you turn your pain into greatness. Allow your pain to push you from where you are to where you need to be. Stop running from your pain, and embrace your pain. Your pain is going to be part of your prize and product.”

So, here is my challenge to you: push yourself and love yourself every day. All of you!