Learning how to be kind to my body 🩷

Ever since primary school, I felt like I was always the “fat kid.”

I did every sport you could think of and danced ballet about four times a week. I was active, but the thing adults seemed to notice most was my weight. They called me “cute and chubby” or made jokes about my size, while the boys at school had their own names for me.

At 15, I was 87kg. By then, I couldn’t dance as well as I used to, and the comments about my weight became more frequent. The funny thing is, I was still carefree. I was happy, ate whatever I wanted, stayed active and didn’t spend my days thinking about my body.

That changed when I turned 17.

During COVID, I stayed at my aunt’s house for a month and lost 10kg. It wasn’t a carefully planned weight-loss journey. I ate what she gave me, and because of the restrictions, the only way I could legally leave the house was to go running.

So I ran.

After that month, everyone had something to say.

“Wow, you look so much better.”

“You look so much healthier.”

“Good job!”

“I’m so proud of you.”

I hadn’t cared much about the number on the scale before, but I cared about how people reacted to me losing weight. Without realising it, I became addicted to losing weight for the compliments.

It became even more obvious when I started getting attention from boys. Boys who had previously seen me as the “fat girl” were suddenly finding me attractive, and as a teenage girl, that meant a lot to me. For the first time, I felt like losing weight had changed the way people saw me.

So I thought, if I could lose 10kg, why not lose another 10kg?

Except it wasn’t that easy.

The first 10kg had come off quickly because I had started at 87kg. When I reached 77kg, losing weight became much harder. Instead of understanding that this was normal, I assumed I wasn’t doing enough.

I tried everything: weight-loss programmes, crash diets, constantly weighing myself, starting over, giving up and starting again. I began tying my self-worth to the number on the scale. If it went down, I felt successful. If it went up, I felt like I had failed.

I would restrict myself, lose some weight, get tired of it, give up, regain some of it and start the cycle all over again. My weight kept fluctuating because I kept swinging between extremes.

This continued from 17 until now, at 22: five years of trying to lose weight, hoping the next diet would finally work and believing that if I reached a certain number, I would finally feel good enough.

During those years, I also had relationships with toxic guys who told me things like, “You could be skinnier,” “You can lose more weight,” “You would look better” and “You’d look hotter.”

So I tried to lose weight for them, too.

Whenever I couldn’t, I was terrified they would stop being attracted to me. I had already learned that being thinner meant being prettier, receiving more attention and getting more compliments. Now I was learning that it could also determine whether someone continued to desire me.

It became difficult to separate wanting to lose weight from being afraid of what would happen if I didn’t.

This year, I started with a different mindset. I told myself I was going to accept myself at 71–72kg. I would eat what I wanted, stop obsessing over my weight and let myself exist at that size without constantly thinking about becoming smaller.

I genuinely wanted to believe I was okay with it, but deep down, I still felt like I could be better.

This time, that feeling wasn’t coming from my boyfriend. He has never pressured me to lose weight. He has always accepted me at every size and reassured me that weight naturally fluctuates. He never made me feel like I had to look a certain way for him to find me attractive.

Being in a healthy relationship, growing older and developing a more mature mindset finally gave me the space to be kinder to myself. I stopped fighting myself so much. I let myself eat what I wanted, stopped punishing myself for eating and accepted that my body was allowed to fluctuate.

But something was still missing.

I could tell myself that I accepted my body and didn’t need to be skinny to be worthy or attractive, but I still didn’t feel good in my body.

That was when I began to understand that accepting yourself doesn’t mean you have to be completely satisfied with everything about yourself. I could love myself at 71–72kg and still want to change something.

The difference was that I no longer wanted to change because I was afraid someone would stop loving me. I didn’t need compliments, and I didn’t believe being thinner would finally make me worthy.

I wanted to do it for myself. I wanted to feel good in my body, feel strong and healthy, and honestly, look good too. I don’t think there is anything wrong with admitting that.

So I took the initiative and signed up for HYROX with my brother.

Looking back, I don’t know what possessed me to think, “You know what? Let’s train for HYROX.” But I’m so glad I did.

I joined a gym and started going regularly with my brother. Surprisingly, his comments about my weight never affected me in the same way other people’s did. Maybe it was because I felt comfortable with him. If he called me fat, it didn’t carry the same weight as when someone I was dating said it. I never felt like his attraction towards me depended on how I looked.

For the first time, talking about my body, food and weight didn’t feel like I was trying to prove something to someone.

My brother also taught me about proper nutrition. We count calories, but he never made me feel like eating something “bad” meant I had failed. He still made sure I enjoyed the things I loved: Yochi, bread, desserts and all the “guilty” foods I used to think I wasn’t allowed to eat while trying to lose weight.

I finally learned that I didn’t have to choose between losing weight and enjoying my life. I could do both.

At first, I still fell into some old habits. I tried to restrict my calories as much as possible because part of me was still looking for a quick result that would make me feel like I was doing enough.

Slowly, though, I started reminding myself to be kind and respectful to my body. I had to accept that I wasn’t going to lose 10kg in one month, and that was okay.

I became more patient and more conscious of how I spoke to myself. Instead of punishing myself for eating something I enjoyed or feeling guilty when the scale didn’t move, I reminded myself that I was still making progress.

I started to live my life, and somehow, that was what finally started working.

I no longer swing between 65kg and 70kg, desperately trying to get back down again. I’m not constantly moving between extremes, trying to lose 10kg quickly and then giving up when I can’t maintain it.

I’m progressing slowly, at my own pace.

For the first time, my progress doesn’t feel like something other people need to validate. I don’t need someone to tell me I’ve lost weight, a boyfriend to tell me I look hotter or compliments to convince me I’m doing well.

I can see the changes myself. I can feel them myself. Every day, I feel a little better in my body.

Maybe that’s what I was looking for all along: not just a smaller body, but a better relationship with the body I have.

So, to the Chloe who wanted to be 65kg so badly: we’re finally almost there.

And no, you didn’t have to eat one meal a day and only drink water. You didn’t have to starve yourself, punish yourself for enjoying food or spend years measuring your worth by a number on a scale.

You just had to be patient and kind to yourself. You had to allow yourself time and understand that your body was allowed to take its time, too.

Most importantly, you had to realise that you get to decide how you feel about yourself.

Not your exes. Not the boys at school. Not the people who complimented you when you lost weight. Not the people who made you feel like you needed to be smaller.

You get to decide your own worth.

You were never supposed to earn love by becoming smaller, earn compliments by becoming thinner or hate yourself into becoming someone you’re proud of.

You just needed to give yourself the same kindness you were always willing to give everyone else.

And that’s all I ever wanted for you. ❤️

#weightloss #selfcare #selflove #GirlTalk