I don’t like the gym.

It’s no secret that I don’t like the gym.
But here’s some honesty friends.

I don’t like that I went undiagnosed with a thyroid disorder my whole life and every diet and workout plan was therefore ineffective. That no matter what I did, I would gain. That doctor after doctor missed it, and acted surprised when my labs came back that I was really healthy.

I don’t like that.

I don’t like that I can’t go into the same store as you and pick out an outfit because I like it, not just because it fits.

I don’t like that I still have panic attacks when flying because the belt didn’t fit once, when I was 50 pounds heavier than I am now.

I don’t like the the cruelty of others wasn’t limited to the endless childhood bullying. I don’t like other peoples thoughts and actual verbalizations on my excess weight. That I am lazy, a glutton,  asexual, and even “God will send you your husband once you get that weight situation figured out.”

Judgements on my physical, spiritual, relational, and even sexual health.


I may not like the gym, but I am trading in a whole crap load of things that I don’t like and that are far more uncomfortable than feeling insecure at the weights or doing cardio for an hour.

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