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Every day is a Monday if that means I can start again.

When I was in the 6th grade, I thought that if I held in my stomach, no one would know I was fat. A fool-proof plan, really, except for the fact that no one told me that when you suck in your stomach, your chest pops out, your shoulders lift, and your neck is practically nowhere to be seen. 

Now, if you’re shaking your head thinking that’s not the case, either I’ve been doing it wrong this whole time, or you’ve never felt guilt and insecurity deep enough to test the theory and if the latter one fits your bill, allow me to be the first to tell you….

You’re privileged. You, my friend, are PRIVILEGED — hear me out, I’m not poor sport, but you’re privileged. I said it.

Privileged.

Anyway, one day I was standing by my classroom, minding my own business mind you, when the coolest kid on the block was about to pass by. Now, this was during a purely innocent time in my life when you just had to like the coolest kid in school. That was the way. There was only one way, and that was it. He was cool, and I liked him. Where do you think they get that idea for the movies from, huh? Us. Kids like me. Truly, there’s nothing new under the sun. He was the Gotta Love It from Cold Stone’s, and I was ready to eat. Saw my prey, knew what I wanted, and the mission was clear — it was stomach sucking time.

And with my shoulders up, chest puffed, and neck on vacation, I was ready. Now, I say this laughingly because at the time, I literally had no idea any of this was happening to me. I genuinely thought I was the skinniest girl around and skinny equaled cool, so in my mind, this kid and I were in the same league. Little did I know though, I was about to get the roast of a lifetime that never ceases to amaze me whenever it pops back up in my day-to-day world.

And the funny thing is, I don’t even remember that much about the kid…other than his tight curls of course, his golden-brown skin, a jawline that could cut paper, hazel eyes, pretty sure his name started with a T… Tyler? Ty? I don’t know, something cool. Doesn’t matter, in five seconds, he’ll be within my reach and I could have sworn it would be the meet-cute we’d be telling our kids someday. I was about to get some heavy screen time on this one. 

But my role ended up being a part of a comedy film rather than a romance. 

Now, the kid had a posse with him at all times. Typical, really, but I didn’t mind witnesses to such a beautiful scene. 

He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming!

My skinny body never felt so confident. And just like that, we lock eyes, he stops, and I’ll never forget the immortal string of words that left his mouth that day.

“Dude, you look buff.”

And he walks away, his posse laughing in the background.

OK. I’m just going to say it. Buff me had no idea what buff meant, but I’d later find out and Ty, if you’re reading this, I’m just going to say one thing. 

Buff looks damn good on me now.

The truth is, weight has always been a problem for me, I’ve always been led to believe it’s more about the look than it is the performance. However, and this has always been a shameful truth of mine, I’ve always leaned more towards the performance, which is why I never know when to be satisfied with the look. If you were to tell me I need to lose weight, I’d feel pressured enough to lose it, sure, but I wouldn’t know how much to lose because you’re the person I’m trying to satisfy; I’ll keep losing until someone tells me to stop and that’s the problem. You see, I don’t know how I should look because I don’t stand in the mirror everyday obsessing over every detail of my face or my body. No, I change according to the people who actually interact with me because they’re the ones who have to deal with my appearance.

I don’t suppose you’d call that selfless, now would you?

I digress. I’ve always wanted to do strong things, hard things, but I struggle with this constant need to get confirmation from others that I look good. I can’t tell… and I am heavily convinced I don’t know how. 

But that’s why this part of Jöön matters. So, here’s my strategy — not a perfect plan, but a working one. When we think about tackling our weight, I’m sure it’s a shared perspective that the plan is, ultimately, to lose it, but I have a different idea that requires an unconventional approach. I am going to commit to finding peace with my reflection in order to put my undivided attention towards my performance, my stamina, and my range of ability in the things that I can do.

Now, that’s not to say, I don’t care if I look good, but I want to attempt to put away my constant need for affirmation from others because the truth of the matter is taste is not a one-size-fits-all. 

I like short hair. I like to live in baggy clothes and new balances. I like to wear boy shorts to bed and one-piece swimsuits to the pool. I don’t wear make-up because I don’t know how to blend it or even how to tell which formula fits my skin. I’m too afraid to wear anything other than sports bras because I don’t like the bulge it leaves in my shirts. I don’t wear skirts or short dresses because I have bruises all over my legs from lifting cars and changing tires every day at work. And I don’t like to leave the house with sandals because I hate the way my feet look in them. I have callouses from poor-fitting shoes and my cuticles are unforgiving in how they showcase my neglect.

I’m a monster, I’m a monster, I’m a monster. The thought plays over again in my mind. It’s the little things I can’t escape, like the concept of being a woman. 

Boys don’t like girls who look like boys, so grow your hair and don’t bite your nails.

Eat small to keep your girly figure, men don’t like it when we let ourselves go, and wear clothes that are uncomfortable if it means they’ll think you’re pretty.

Use make-up to hide the acne because everyone likes a clear face.

And be fragile, men like a damsel in distress; to protect, provide for, and conquer. Men want to feel needed, so step down from your high-horse of independence and learn to rely on them for the things that matter.

I’m conflicted and it all stems from the trauma I’ve accrued as a child.

I wear baggy clothes because I don’t like to have anything worth staring at. I have a fear of being judged, so I like to wear shades to avoid eye-contact. I like short hair because I’m an athlete with a real hatred for blow drying something that’s going to get sweaty anyway. I don’t like things that take a long time when it comes to how I look because I care more about the things that I’m planning to do.

I’m a monster, I’m a monster, I’m a monster. 

But if being a monster means choosing sweat over stillness, breath over beauty, and boldness over blending in — then maybe I’ve been misunderstood all along.

Maybe I’m not the kind of monster I’ve always been led to believe I am, maybe I’m just the kind of woman no one’s ever planned for. Maybe it’s time I redefined femininity in order to stop seeing my body as a roadblock and more of a source for strength and resilience. A foundation stable enough to build on, one that will welcome growth at every stage, unapologetically. 

I’m tired of adjusting myself for the mirror when all I really want is to adjust how far I can run, how long I can swim for, dance for, or play basketball for. So now, I’m choosing a new goal: to train not for how I look, but for how I live. And that shift — that mindset — needs more than just a mantra. It needs steps. Real, actionable ones.

So, here’s my plan:

1. I’m going to separate the mirror from the mission — I will continue to commit to good hygiene, but I will relieve myself from the stress that comes from appealing to others. That means no more wearing makeup just to hide my acne, squeezing into clothes I wish would fit instead of rocking the ones that do, or letting other people’s distaste in my style sway me from embracing who I am or want to be. I know that if I were to write down my appearance goals versus my performance goals, the contrast would be obvious: most of my appearance goals would be rooted in how I want others to view me, while my performance goals would actually be about how I want to view myself. So, I’ll just drop the appearance goals entirely because if the clothes fit and my shoes get me from point A to point B, then it ain’t broke, so I won’t fix it.
2. I’m going to define performance on my own terms, so here are three goals I’d like to work on:
   1. I want to run a half-marathon. Preferably without stopping, but if I end up running more miles than I walk, I’ll be happy. Therefore, I need to build my stamina, my endurance, and my discipline.
   2. I want to be able to play at least three rounds of basketball straight with my friends. I give defense my all and it often puts me out after round 2, so I’d like to build up my stamina to three games, then four, and so on.
   3. I want to eat nutrient-balanced meals. Eating better will help me improve my running, as well as my game, not to mention how I tackle the rest of the day in between. I’m already seeing the results of healthier eating since I’ve started my shopping ban, which includes no take-out (unless on vacation or spontaneous adventures because memories over macros), so it’s only a matter of time before I achieve my other two goals. But of course, consistency matters, so I consider this one a long-term goal, just as the others.
3. I will pursue healthy habits that will aid in my recovery and my everyday life — Referring back to what I’ve mentioned before in Jöön, Chapter Two, I will focus on intentional movement, food journaling, my water intake, and my sleeping habits.

All of this to say, I used to suck in my stomach, hoping to become less. Now, I embrace myself with the hope of becoming more. This isn’t just about weight anymore— it’s about life and finally setting aside the distractions that have kept me from living it. And a part of me has always known the truth, just as I’ve mentioned we all so often do. I’ve just been waiting for that part of me—the part that wants it enough—to finally wake up and decide that my dreams are worth fighting for. 

That they’re worth trying for.

And I’m happy to report that that part of me is up, and that part of me is ready.

So, let’s begin.

What about YOU? What’s in YOUR mirror?

Think about it.

Thank you all for reading, and for those of you that listened,

Thank you so much for being here and allowing me to process my mind,

I’ll see you on the next one.

Cheers,
B.