Page 94 of Set on You

Interestingly, my “Likes” list is twice as long as my “Dislikes”list. I also put a bunch of things into both lists. I stare at the lists as it all begins to seep in.

Confidence and love for yourself are ever-changing. I’m allowed to feel good sometimes, and not so good at other times. Who’s to tell me I should be ashamed for not feeling my best after being humiliated online only days ago?

With this in mind, I get back on track with my workouts over the next few days, slowly but surely. Every time I return to the gym, my confidence returns, piece by piece.

I’m beginning to respect the image I see in the mirror, even if I don’t love it all the time. The other day, I caught my reflection after doing a challenging set of Romanian deadlifts. I actually smiled, not just because I was having a good hair day, but because I was proud of myself. And that was probably the happiest moment I’ve had in a very long time.

Of course, there are setbacks with every step forward. But as long as I’m honest with myself in my dark moments, as long as I’m moving forward, finding little ways to counter the negative with positive, that’s all I can really ask for.

7:30 P.M.—INSTAGRAM POST: “I’M SORRY” BYCURVYFITNESSCRYSTAL:

Hi, everyone. This post is hard. I owe you guys a sincere apology. Not just for being MIA. But I’m sorry about my Size Positive campaign. I’m sorry about every time I told you to love yourself ALL THE TIME. I’m sorry about all the times I used words like “body positivity” and “self-love.” Basically, I’m apologizing for my entire platform up until now.

I am no longer an advocate for terms like “body positivity” and “self-love.” And here’s why:

Growing up as a chubby half Asian girl, I never saw myself reflected in the media as an object of affection or beauty. I didn’t conform to societal standards of beauty. I wasn’t supposed to love myself.

And then it was like a switch. The term “body positivity” was everywhere. Suddenly, popular brands that previously only used size-zero, airbrushed models were using curvier women in their ads. Curvy blondes were telling me I needed to LOVE MYSELF and everything would be okay. That I wasn’t allowed to have any ounce of self-doubt, ever.

Of course, loving yourself is the ultimate goal. I’m not saying not to love yourself if you do (seriously, I respect that so much). But this concept takes longer for some. It’s a lifelong journey. I hate this onus on people whose bodies don’t conform to society’s standards to change the perception that’s been drilled into our heads. Suddenly, it’s not socially acceptable to feel bad about yourself, ever.

I’m sorry, but I can’t say I love every roll and all my cellulite all day, every day. At the same time, I don’t need to self-loathe and hate myself either. It’s about accepting and respecting yourself, while realizing there is so much more to you than just your body.

Things are going to change on my account. I’m still going to be offering my programs, doing workout tutorials, etc. But mymessage will be different. You will no longer see the comment section in some of my posts. Instead, I made a private Facebook group for all my clients and vetted followers to congregate.

I really hope you guys will join me in my new group and follow along for the ride.

Crystal

Comment bytrainerrachel_1990: I love this!! You’re so right. We’re taught to hate anything that’s not society’s beauty standard, and then at the same time, we’re being told to suck it up and love it anyway and made to feel bad about it.

Comment byfitnessgoalsbymadison: Wow. This message is so powerful. I’m along for the ride with you.

Comment bygainz_gurlie: Crystal this is amazing!!!! I’m so glad you’ve embraced body respect.

Comment byDarcyChapman12: I miss your posts. I hope you’re back for good?

chapter thirty-three

GRANDMA FLO FINALLYcajoled Martin into moving into her Hoarder House of Horrors (as Tara calls it). The place is still piled with junk to the ceiling, but Martin convinced her to throw out at least some unnecessary items, including but not limited to her collection of old, stained lampshades (she was convinced she would make use of them), three KitchenAid mixers (all unused and in mint condition), and two deluxe birdcages (she never owned birds) to make room for his things.

“How’s Scotty lately?” Martin asks while hacking at his overcooked steak.

While my parents know about my breakup with Scott thanks to Tara’s big mouth, I’ve been hesitant to share the news with Grandma Flo and Martin, knowing they would be devastated. Grandma Flo would surely lose her marbles over the prospect of me dying all by my lonesome.

I haven’t seen Scott in almost a week and a half. Acknowledging how long it’s been since I’ve been able to talk to him brings my entire mood down.

As proud as I am that I’m finally seeing the light at the end of this shit tunnel, I’m starting to think maybe Scott had a point. Maybe this would have been easier with him by my side.

Before I’m forced to respond to Martin, Mom distracts everyone by resettling a high-strung Hillary in her lap. “No more steak for you,” she says, poking Hillary in the back.

I zone out as the family chatters on about Flo and Martin’s upcoming honeymoon in Hawaii, as well as Martin’s great-niece’s acceptance into medical school. All I can think about is how much I miss having Scott by my side, his hand protectively squeezing my thigh under the table.

When dinner is over, I drift onto Grandma Flo’s rickety deck and sit, taking in the remainder of today’s sunshine. I make a concerted effort to avoid direct eye contact with the terrifying lawn gnomes scattered about the lawn. When we were young, I took pleasure in convincing Tara they were alive, akin to Chucky the redheaded serial killer doll. I squint, covering my eyes as I settle onto the retro lawn chair, a relic as old as I am.

Dad is quick to follow me outside, beer in hand. “Did you find the steak was overdone?” he asks, in typical Dad fashion. He always opens a conversation with a random question.

The setting sun casts a radiant golden light off the brown lawn, desperate for some rain in this particularly dry summer. “Yeah. But it was okay.”

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