After a night out at university, it was often easier to crash at a teammate’s place than trek back to my own. It happened pretty frequently, but this time I hadn’t planned on it and didn’t have much to change into.
“Here,” she said, emerging from her closet with a drunk stumble, “I got you some pajamas.”
She tossed me a pair of old track shorts and a worn tee. I smiled back gratefully—she meant well—but behind the smile I was painfully aware of the contrast between us. My petite friend, barely 5'2" and 100 pounds (157cm,45kg), had handed me clothes that would barely stretch across my thighs becoming more of a tournaquet than a comfort. Still, I accepted them with a quiet thanks and discreetly swapped the shorts for the ones I had worn earlier to get ready. I hated the idea of wearing "dirty" clothes to bed, but I made do.
This wasn’t the first time I knew my friend’s clothes wouldn’t fit me. In fact, the first time had been at least fifteen years prior. I was never large, always active, but from a young age, I was far too aware my body didn’t fit the mold of what was considered desirable.
There comes a moment in the life of every female where they become hyper-aware of their bodies. In a way, it's a painful, but unavoidable, rite of passage. I was 11 the first time I distinctly remember hating my body, though I know it had been simmering below the surface for awhile. But this was the first time I was repulsed by a photo of myself in a bathing suit. I was just a child, yet I was already learning to despise what I saw in the mirror, how to welcome the sting of self-hatred. I was only eleven.
If you were raised by women who grew up in 90s, the era of heroin-chic, then you were probably fortunate enough to grow up in to early 2000s era of diet culture and low-rise jeans. Everything seemed to scream that smaller was better. The women in magazines were all angles and shadows, their bodies more bone than muscle. Every other ad was a rotation of P90X, Sharon Osbourne and her Atkins diet, or Yoplait light. You watched all of this, saw the rail-thin celebrities, the shredded guides in workout videos, gobbling it all down like it was written truth. It’s no wonder a young child’s mind could be so easily distorted. Society, in all its insidiousness, told you that if you weren’t skinny, you weren’t enough. Meanwhile, you were given a body of curves and strength, a body made for endurance and power, not for slipping into size-zero jeans.
While I wasn’t overweight, I wasn’t naturally small. To put it simply, I was born with the genetic predisposition to survive a famine and peasant life—big thighs, broad shoulders, and an overall muscularity to me. Unfortunately, that was the polar-oppostie of what was conventionally attractive when I was young. Like many women, leaving a pressure to “fix” myself.
As you get older, that pressure never disappears, it just embeds itself further into your life and mental well-being. Over were the days of Wii Fit informing you of your “obesity” and you hiding in your room to workout, afraid someone would catch you, but now new reminders of your "bigness" appeared in their place. Social media came into the picture, bringing with it an endless stream of “perfect” bodies. Comparison became second nature, and no matter what, you could never quite change yourself to fit the mold.
Social media only amplified the pressures you grew up with, offering a curated world where everyone seems effortlessly perfect. It’s a daily exercise in comparison, scrolling through endless feeds of influencers with sculpted bodies and flawless skin, all under the guise of “fitness” and “wellness.” The irony is that this portrayal of health is anything but healthy. It’s a toxic cycle of chasing an unattainable ideal, driven by the fear of not measuring up. In a world where filters and Photoshop reign supreme, reality becomes distorted, and the lines between self-improvement and self-destruction blurred.
This distortion doesn’t just warp the way you view others—it deeply affects how you view yourself. The constant exposure to these unattainable standards plants seeds of self-doubt and dissatisfaction. You became your own harshest critic, scrutinizing every perceived flaw and comparing yourself to an ideal that doesn’t even exist. And while the conversation around body positivity and acceptance has gained momentum, it often feels like lip service—talked about in theory but rarely addressed in practice. The images that flooded your screens still prioritized a certain look and perfection over diversity and reality, and the cycle of comparison continued sucking you in with it.
At some point you had convinced yourself that when you reached some set weight, some arbitrary number, then it would be the perfect weight for you. At that weight, you would be on the low end of a “Normal” BMI. You would be skinny. You would be pretty. Most of all, you would be finally happy.
I did eventually reach that weight. It was my last year at university; I was 20 years old and barely had enough free time to think. But suddenly, I weighed xx lbs without trying, then a couple more down, and then finally, that coveted arbitrary number. Stars and hearts probably spilled from my eyes when I saw that number on the scale. Come a little closer though, I am going to let you in on a secret, one you might already know because maybe you have the same secret: I still hated my body more than anything.
At my “perfect weight”, shortly after turning 21, I was the most miserable I’ve ever been. I was coming off one of the most challenging years of my life (that’s a whole other story), preparing to graduate, and barely surviving. Now, add being constantly tired, always getting sick, and my life had turned into a living hell. But I weighed the ideal amount so I should be happy, right?
In chasing this ideal of "perfection," you lost sight of what truly mattered—your health, your strength, and your well-being. You had finally reached what you thought was your dream weight, but it felt more like a nightmare. You had become a prisoner to your own body, trapped by the relentless pursuit of an unattainable standard. It wasn’t that you were starving yourself or over-exercising, but the obsession with being “healthy” consumed you.
Sometime after graduation and “retiring” as a student-athlete, I decided to pick up crossfit as a way to stay “healthy” and skinny and fit. That choice, as intimated as I was to go (I didn’t get out of my car but instead turned around and went home the first morning I tried to go—something I’ve never admitted before), was the best thing I could have ever done for myself. It healed me in ways I had never anticipated. In that gym, surrounded by people of all shapes and sizes, I began to see my body in a new light. I saw how incredibly strong and capable the women there were, no matter what they looked like or their age, and I wanted to be like them. The focus shifted from how my body looked to what it could do. The weight I had once feared gaining back crept up, but instead of dread, I felt pride. Those pounds weren’t just weight—they were muscle, they were proof of my resilience, they were a testament to the hard work I was putting in.
It wasn’t about fitting into a certain size or reaching a specific weight anymore; it was about feeling strong, feeling healthy, and most importantly, feeling at peace with myself. I learned to let go of my “healthy” eating habits and fuel my body in the way it deserves. I am learning to be okay with eating way more than my friends because the truth is, on intense training days, I need every calorie I can get.
Healing wasn’t—still isn’t—an overnight, linear process. There were still days when I caught myself in the mirror, scrutinizing every inch. Even now, I have moments where I catch myself slipping into old patterns of self-criticism, but those moments are becoming less frequent, less consuming. I had spent years fighting against my natural build, trying to conform to a shape that was never meant to be mine. The culture that glorified thinness had convinced me that my body was something to be ashamed of. Slowly, I have learned to replace self-criticism with self-compassion. I learned to honor my body for all it had been through and all it was capable of—a body that can carry me for miles while running, that could carry my dog should she ever get hurt on a hike, help my friends move, and so much more.
Looking back, I realize that my journey wasn’t just about weight—it was about self-worth. It was about learning to see myself as more than just a body, learning to value my strength, my resilience, and my spirit. Teaching myself it is okay to take up space.
But even as I reach this understanding, I can’t ignore the fact that little has changed in the broader landscape. The same distorted images that shaped my insecurities continue to dominate, and the media, while occasionally nodding towards body positivity, still largely upholds unrealistic standards. Despite the growing awareness and conversation, the truth is, we’re still a long way from embracing and promoting truly realistic body images. Real change requires a shift not just in the images we consume but in the values we hold as a society.
I wish I could go back and tell my younger self that she was always enough, just as she was. That the size of her jeans didn’t determine her worth, and that happiness could never be found on a scale. But since I can’t, I’ll tell you instead: Your body is not a problem to be solved. It’s a powerful, incredible, and beautiful vessel that deserves love and respect. Don’t waste years trying to shrink yourself down to fit someone else’s idea of beauty. They’re going to pass either way. Embrace the strength and resilience that you were born with. After all, you were built to survive, and that is something to be proud of.
I want you to know I still love you just the way you are, even if you can’t righ now.
xx
KB
“…because our bodies are not us, we are what’s inside.” -Laura Horvath, 2023 CrossFit Games Champ