Why I stopped giving a shit about my size

Guest post by Meghan Hartley, 2015

Recently a friend and I were chatting, and the conversation got around to dieting and working out.  She was feeling bad because she missed a workout and there we were, eating.  I shrugged and honestly said how I feel about the whole topic, “I don’t care anymore and I’ve never felt more beautiful”.

Just a little over a year ago something shifted in me. It was one of the first things I stopped giving a shit about whilst applying the philosophy of “fuck it“. Health is important to me, don’t get me wrong.  I just really don’t care what size I am, and I am SO over wishing I was smaller.

The times of my life when I was at my thinnest I was also at my unhealthiest — skinny doesn’t equal healthy for everyone.  I remember living at the top of a hill when I was super thin, and how winded I always felt when I finally made it to the top.  Totally feeling like I was going to DIIIIIE.  I visited that hill last month, ’bout thirty pounds heavier, turned, and enjoyed the view… then realized I felt friggin’ awesome.

If it wasn’t about my health, then what was my desire to be thin about?

It was part of the over-arching issue that was contributing to so many other struggles — the need for approval.  It took me a very long time to realize that it really didn’t matter how skinny I was, or how many boys thought I was hot, or how fancy my job was, because I really don’t give a shit about that stuff.

My motivation for succeeding at these things had to do with other people’s opinions of me — and they are really none of my business.

People don’t become happier because they gain the approval of people they hardly know.  People become happier when they truly know who they are, and they fully embrace that person.

Back to the conversation with my friend…  As I noticed the dude behind the bar nodding with approval at my comment, she said, “you’re the second… um, shapely friend of mine to say something like that this week, it’s making me think.”  I was nearly offended, I could feel giving a fuck coming right back at me, it was zooming in my direction… and fast.

Then I suddenly recalled saying something like that to a friend right before I stepped into a new version of myself, a happier, and much more confident one.  I realized that this slightly offensive comment was representative of my accomplishing one of my most favoritest things — helping a homie out.  I smiled and said, “glad I could help.”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s