In our culture, losing weight is a big deal. Weight loss is an industry that often disguises itself as an individual’s end goal; a dream only the most dedicated can attain. This industry carefully hides behind the scenes of our lives, shaping how media, fashion, and casual conversations handle such a complicated topic.
So if I told you that I shed 30 lbs in nine months back in 2020, would you assume I’d made it my New Year’s Resolution, let this ambition consume my every thought, and now consider it the defining moment of my life?
Because the truth is, I often forget I ever lost weight until my phone shows “memories” from my teen years, or someone mentions their own attempts at ridding themselves of their worst enemy: fat.
My “weight loss journey,” as many articles and advertisements call this process, began in mid-March when COVID-19 locked everyone in their houses. When my junior year of high school moved online, all my classes met over Zoom… all before 9 a.m. At the time, I thought my teachers gave me the most inconvenient scheduling, but now I realize how finishing classes earlier in the day left me with more free time than I’d had in years.
My family is lucky enough to live in a quiet neighborhood, where spending time outdoors has little risk of interacting with others – a privilege I’m aware wasn’t available to everyone during the pandemic. But my parents, my brother, and I took advantage of this opportunity by reembracing hobbies from years ago. We would ride our bikes everywhere, walk our dog whenever we wanted, and roller skate through the streets, unworried about the school musical, the soccer match, the group project, the appointment, or the other time-fillers to cross off our checklists.
I almost immediately noticed my new happiness, but it took much longer to realize how this way of living changed my body.
Only losing weight when not trying was definitely ironic. My earlier attempts at doing so had quickly backfired when a depressive state unhealthily increased my appetite, or when my schedule erased any chance of exercise. Maybe I was making excuses to not sort my life out, but it’s a shame that a global disaster felt like the one opportunity life would ever give me. If COVID-19 never happened, who knows if time ever would have slowed down enough for me to find what I really needed.
When I think of every accomplishment I have ever made, weight loss doesn’t immediately spring to mind, even when focusing on the strange era that was the pandemic. I’m more proud of improving in roller skating and decorating my own skates (a big deal for artistically challenged people like myself) than I am of how those skates slimmed me down. Sure, I technically fit into more of my clothes now, but I liked what I was wearing anyway – even if my outfits hadn’t been a cure-all for my self-image.
My phone sometimes presents a slideshow titled “HAPPY TIMES,” clashing with awkward photos of myself before I became an adult. Still, if the title doesn’t match what was hidden behind smiles for the camera, that’s not just because of the extra weight I carried. What dragged my teen-self down was the idea creeping into the mirrors I avoided: the idea of who I thought I’d doomed myself to be.
I only later realized that running from these self-perceived failures wasn’t the end goal, but is something that happens naturally when working toward smaller achievements.
Weight loss didn’t make me happier. Weight loss was a side effect of running in the right direction.