Okay, let’s set the scene. Last week, my bestie texted: “Girl, what’s your secret? You look 🔥!” And instead of my usual “Ugh, just cutting carbs” nonsense, I replied: “Deadlifted 200 lbs today. Also, I carried three grocery bags upstairs without crying. 💁🏻♀️” Cue the record scratch. Because here’s the tea: I’ve stopped chasing “skinny” and started chasing strong – and it’s the best rebellion against diet culture I’ve ever staged.
Let’s rewind. Two years ago, I was that girl obsessing over “toned arms” and “thigh gaps.” I’d do sad little pilates videos while side-eyeing the weight rack like it was cursed. Then one day, mid-plank, I realized: I was building a body that looked capable but couldn’t actually DO anything. My “fitness” journey felt as deep as an influencer’s caption about “self-care” (read: bubble baths and overpriced candles).
So I did something radical: I joined a women’s powerlifting group. First session? Humiliating. I struggled to bench an empty barbell (spoiler: it weighs 45 lbs). But here’s the magic – nobody laughed. Instead, a 60-year-old grandma deadlifting double her body weight cheered: “Progress starts when shame stops, honey!” 🏋️♀️💖
Fast-forward six months:
– I opened a stuck pickle jar during a girls’ trip (cue applause)
– Carried my sleeping niece for 20 blocks without arm tremors
– Felt my cortisol levels DROP after stress-lifting to Lizzo
But here’s the science-y part you’ll wanna screenshot 🧠: Studies show strength training boosts BDNF (brain fertilizer!) better than cardio. My therapist confirmed it – those post-workout endorphins made my anxiety meds work better. And get this: when I stopped fixating on the scale, my body fat percentage naturally balanced out. The universe’s way of saying “Told ya so”?
Last month, I did something terrifying: I tried aerial silks. That childhood dream of “flying”? Achieved it – not because I was lighter, but because my back muscles finally said “We got you, sis.”
So here’s my challenge to you: Next workout, chase a feeling, not a number. Can you do one more push-up than last week? Dance longer without getting winded? Carry all your Amazon packages in one trip? That’s your victory.
The scale didn’t magically disappear (it’s collecting dust under my bed). But now when I see that number, I laugh. Because my worth isn’t measured in pounds – it’s measured in how alive I feel when I hike uphill without stopping, how powerful I feel hoisting luggage overhead, how unshakeable I feel knowing my body isn’t decor… it’s my lifelong adventure partner.
