Here’s something I wish someone had handed me like a glass of cold water in the middle of a body-image meltdown: talking about weight doesn’t have to be an act of war against yourself.
But for a lot of us? It is. Or it has been. Or it’s still whispering in the background every time we say we’re “body neutral” but silently pull our shirt down before we sit.
This is the first in a series I never thought I’d write. Not because I don’t think about weight; I do, more than I want to admit, but because this conversation comes loaded with shame, confusion, and about twelve inner critics screaming at once. It should come with a trigger warning and a therapist on call.
But avoiding it hasn’t made it go away. It’s just made it lonelier. So yeah, we’re talking about it. Honestly. No thigh-gap propaganda. No smoothie cleanses. No shame spirals. Just truth, complexity, and a serious side-eye at diet culture.
Why talk about weight at all?
Because weight is never just a number. It’s a story. Or more like a thousand stories:
That time a doctor talked to you like your BMI was a personality flaw.
The jeans you swore you’d “earn” back.
The compliment that felt like a warning.
The breakup you blamed on your thighs.
The silent math you did before every meal.
Weight is memory. It’s grief. It’s every time someone taught us, explicitly or not, that our value had a dress size.
But also? It’s embodiment. Your body carries you through life. Through joy and loss and orgasms and hangovers. Through parenting, periods, dancing, surgery, and grief. It deserves care. But the way we’ve been taught to care for it? Mostly bullshit.
The emotional landmine of the word “diet”
Say it with me: diet.
Did your shoulders tense up? Mine did. It’s a word soaked in guilt, rebellion, hunger, and spreadsheets of sins. For many of us, “diet” means war; against our bodies, our cravings, and our sanity.
And now we’ve just rebranded it: “wellness,” “clean eating,” “biohacking.” Same control, different font.
But what if food wasn’t punishment? What if hunger wasn’t a moral failing? What if eating wasn’t something we had to earn?
This is where body trust comes in. It’s radical. It’s messy. And it starts with unlearning the idea that your body is a wild animal that needs to be tamed.
Respect > Restriction
I’m not here to sell you weight loss. I’m here to talk about body respect.
That might include weight loss. Or not. It might mean more movement. More rest. Less people-pleasing. More carbs.
It might mean feeding yourself like someone who matters.
Because weight loss, if it happens, should be a side effect of listening, not loathing. Not fixing. Not performing.
This isn’t about control. It’s about connection. It’s about neutrality over perfection. It’s about the kind of love that isn’t conditional.
Your body isn’t an algorithm
Your body doesn’t speak in macros or TikTok challenges. It doesn’t care what your fitness tracker says. It communicates in much quieter ways:
The ache in your shoulders after a day of pretending.
The craving for something warm when the world feels cold.
The anxiety that flares when you skip meals in the name of discipline.
The tears you swallow when you catch your reflection and feel like you failed.
This body? It’s not broken. It’s talking. Are you listening?
Because the minute you stop outsourcing your cues to apps, influencers, and medical charts, you remember something: you already know.
What you need isn’t another damn plan. You need presence. You need compassion. You need to stop treating your body like a battlefield.
So yeah. Let’s talk about weight.
Let’s drag it out of the shadows. Let’s unpack it. Let’s get messy and curious and kind. No “before and after.” Just the middle. Just this moment. Just you, as is.
What does body respect look like for you right now? Drop it in the comments. We’re building something here.
Rest Like a Rebel: Why the Soft Life Still Feels So Damn Hard
Let’s talk about something no one warns you about when you start unlearning hustle culture: rest guilt.
Even now, after years of therapy and self-work, rest still makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong.
I’ll be lying down—genuinely exhausted—and my brain will whisper that old poison: You should be working. You’re wasting time. You’re falling behind.
It’s not just internal. It’s cultural. We live in a world that worships busyness and treats slowing down like a character flaw. Choosing the soft life? That’s practically a subversive act.
I used to think rest was something you had to earn
Back when I was still trying to prove I was “normal” enough to keep up with a productivity-obsessed world, I saw rest as a luxury. A reward. Something you got after you did everything else: cleared the inbox, made dinner, replied to every text, pushed through every signal your body was sending.
But here’s the thing: the list never ends. The emails don’t stop. And if you live with chronic pain, burnout, trauma, neurodivergence, or literally any human vulnerability, waiting until it’s all done means you’ll never, ever rest.
The soft life; this idea of living gently, of choosing rest and slowness over grind and self-abandonment, isn’t something I just “have.” It’s something I have to actively choose. Every single day.
Some days I choose softness. Some days I don’t.
Some days, I override every signal my body sends. I hustle. I numb out. I spiral. The voice of internalised capitalism tells me I’m lazy, and I believe it.
But on the days I do choose rest?
It changes everything; not in some dramatic, movie-montage kind of way, but in small, sacred shifts.
Like:
Letting myself wake up without rushing or doomscrolling.
Drinking tea without multitasking.
Crying in the bath without apologising to myself.
Watching something light and letting that joy be enough.
These aren’t indulgences. They’re survival. They’re the daily rituals of someone trying to live outside the grind. Someone practising rest as resistance.
Softness isn’t weakness. It’s power in a quieter voice.
We don’t talk enough about how hard it is to choose the soft life in a culture built on overwork. It’s easier to stay busy than to feel. Easier to push through than to sit with what’s underneath.
But every time you choose rest, even when it feels wrong, you’re undoing a little piece of the lie that says your worth is in your output.
You’re reclaiming your humanity.
Maybe the real revolution isn’t about never feeling rest guilt. Maybe it’s about doing it anyway. Choosing softness. Slowing down. Giving yourself care without a justification.
The world doesn’t need more burned-out people who’ve forgotten how to breathe.
It needs people who’ve come home to themselves.
People who say no without a paragraph of explanation.
People who laugh, and cry, and rest, and rage; and don’t apologise for any of it.
Still feel guilty for resting? Yeah. Me too.
You’re not alone. You’re not lazy. You’re just unlearning a system that never had your best interest at heart.
Want to explore this more? Drop a comment below and tell me: What’s your relationship with rest right now? Let’s talk about it. Let’s make softness a conversation, not a secret.
Let’s start with a confession: I haven’t cried over a forehead line. That little guy can stay. But the chicken neck situation I’ve got developing? That’s a different story. One day I caught my reflection mid-turn and thought, When did I become someone who Googles “best neck creams 2025” at 11 p.m.?
It’s not vanity, it’s grief, confusion, a weird kind of identity crisis. Because no one prepared us for the moment when our outsides start changing faster than our insides.
And just like that, the invisibility spell begins.
The Disappearing Act
Women don’t age; we vanish. One wrinkle, one grey hair, one birthday over 40 at a time. You hit a certain age and suddenly:
You’re too old for that dress
Too “tired-looking” for that role
Too loud to be cute, too quiet to be seen
We’re told to be grateful for health, for wisdom, for “ageing gracefully.” But what they really mean is, Disappear quietly. Be wise, but wrinkle-free. Be strong, but not outspoken. Be sexy, but only if it’s subtle. God forbid you want to feel seen without apology.
The $60 Billion Lie
Here’s a fun fact: the anti-ageing industry is worth over $60 billion. That’s billion with a B; built on our fear of becoming irrelevant. Serums, supplements, surgeries, and shame. They sell us youth in dropper bottles and injectables, promising to erase the years that supposedly make us unworthy.
But here’s what no one’s selling: acceptance. Confidence. Visibility. The right to show up, as we are, age and all, without apology.
We’re not allowed to look older or talk about the shame we’re made to feel about it. So we go quiet. We hide. We smile through the Botox and pretend we feel empowered, when really, we feel erased.
What They Never Told Us About Ageing
No one warned me that midlife would come with so much shedding: of skin, of people, of illusions. And weirdly, it’s kind of beautiful.
Because under all that shedding? There’s me.
More sure-footed. Less willing to shrink. No longer willing to measure my worth in how easily I can be digested by a youth-obsessed culture.
And yes, I still want to feel beautiful. But on my terms. Not because a brand told me what “ageless” should look like.
What If We Refuse to Disappear?
What if we stopped spending our power on pretending we’re not aging and started investing it in showing the hell up as we are?
What if we:
Showed our lines and told the stories behind them
Refused to shrink our bodies, voices, or joy
Wore the damn red lipstick, or didn’t, for ourselves
Started seeing midlife not as the beginning of the end, but the beginning of being seen
Because the truth is, we were never meant to fade. We were meant to ignite.
So, what now?
I don’t have a tidy five-step plan to age gracefully. I’m not here to sell you a serum or preach a mantra. I’m just here, 40-something, noticing neck sag and still becoming, still shedding, and saying, Let’s burn the invisibility cloak.
Let’s get louder.
Let’s get unapologetically seen.
And let’s get something else straight while we’re here: I’m too damn tired from carrying around this much accumulated age-acquired wisdom to give a flying fuck if someone thinks I shouldn’t wear something, or should be dyeing my hair, or shouldn’t speak the way I do. I’m not going to be quiet for the sake of someone else’s comfort.
This is me. Warts, wobbles, and all.
Yes, I’m squishy. Yes, gravity is trying to make a slow meal of me. But that doesn’t diminish my worth. Not one bit. I’ve got stories to tell, love to give, and ideas to birth, and a hell of a lot to offer the world and future generations. And so do you!
What about you? Have you felt the slow fade into invisibility after 40? What would it look like to rewrite that story?
There are days my body feels like a battlefield. Days when getting out of bed is a full-contact sport. Days when nothing fits right, nothing looks right, and my reflection feels like it belongs to someone else — someone heavier, sicker, older, and more broken than the version of myself I still carry around in my head.
If you know that feeling — that deep, gut-punch disconnect between who you are and what you see — then you already know: Body positivity isn’t always about love. Sometimes, it’s just about survival.
Body respect: the version of self-love that doesn’t require a mood ring
For most of my life, I thought body positivity meant waking up every morning, throwing on a bikini, and twirling in front of a mirror, shouting, “I’m a goddess!” (Newsflash: That’s not reality. That’s an Instagram ad.)
When you’re living with chronic illness, disability, trauma, aging, or just…being a human being in an unpredictable body — forcing yourself to “love” everything all the time is another impossible standard. Another stick to beat yourself with.
So I stopped chasing love. I started chasing respect instead.
Feeding my body even when I’m mad at it.
Stretching gently, even when it feels stiff and foreign.
Dressing in clothes that fit me, not the me I “should” be.
Taking rest seriously, not as a guilty secret, but as a freaking necessity.
Speaking to myself like I would to a dear friend who’s fighting hard to stay alive.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not always photogenic. It’s real healing.
The world profits off our self-hate. I’m opting out.
The wellness industry, the beauty industry, even the so-called “body positivity” movement sometimes, they all whisper the same garbage: “If you just try harder, spend more, punish yourself longer — you’ll finally be good enough.”
You know what? I’m tired. And I’m not buying it anymore.
This body — right now, as it is, on its best day and its worst — is good enough. Not because it looks a certain way. Not because it performs a certain way. But because it’s mine. Because it carries me through all of it: the heartbreaks, the flare-ups, the ordinary Tuesdays, and the small, stubborn joys.
That’s worth respecting.
How I endeavour to practice body respect (even when I don’t feel like it)
Here’s what it looks like on a normal, messy Tuesday:
I move when I can, how I can. Sometimes it’s yoga. Sometimes it’s hobbling to the couch. Both are valid.
I feed myself like I deserve nourishment. No punishing diets. No apology meals.
I rest without guilt. Productivity culture can kiss my very tired, very worthy ass.
I set boundaries with media. If my feed makes me hate my body, I unfollow, block, delete, walk away.
I celebrate functionality over appearance. This body digests food. It hugs my people. It lets me laugh until I snort. That matters more than what it looks like.
I’m not aiming for perfect self-love. I’m aiming for loyalty. I’m aiming for partnership. I’m aiming for showing up for myself, even on the days I don’t feel lovable.
Because guess what? Respect doesn’t wait for perfection.
You deserve that too.
You don’t have to earn your own compassion. You don’t have to be “fixed” before you’re allowed to care for yourself.
If you’re breathing, you’re worthy. If you’re fighting, you’re worthy. If you’re just surviving today, you are already doing something extraordinary.
Let’s stop waiting until we feel like we “deserve” to treat ourselves kindly. Let’s just decide — right now — that we do.
Let’s be real: when someone pushes your buttons, mindfulness is usually the last thing on your mind. You want to lash out, shut down, defend yourself, or run for cover.
I know that feeling very well. For years, my reactions ran the show — and let me tell you, it rarely worked out in my favour.
But here’s what I’ve learned: sometimes the most powerful move isn’t saying the perfect comeback (as tempting as that is), or holding it all together like some Zen robot. Sometimes, the game-changer is the pause — that breath, that tiny moment where you resist the urge to react.
It sounds simple, doesn’t it? It’s not. But it is possible. And it changes everything.
Why Do We React Without Thinking?
When you’re stressed, angry, or overwhelmed, your body flips into survival mode: fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. That passive-aggressive text? That dismissive tone? Your brain treats it like you’re being chased by a lion.
You can’t logic your way out of a stress response — not in the moment. But you can learn to notice the signs and make space between trigger and response. That’s where emotional regulation begins.
How to Practice the Pause (Even When It Feels Impossible)
There’s no one-size-fits-all approach here. But these simple mindfulness techniques can help you interrupt the pattern — and choose your next move, rather than letting it choose you.
1. Notice Your Body’s Signals
Does your heart start racing? Do you clench your jaw? Feel heat rising in your chest? That’s your nervous system sounding the alarm. Pay attention — it’s your cue to hit pause.
2. Name the Feeling
Label it internally: “I’m feeling defensive.” Or “This hurts.” Naming an emotion creates just enough distance to break the autopilot response.
3. Take One Conscious Breath
You don’t need a full meditation session. Just one slow breath — in… out. Tell your body: We’re safe. We don’t need to explode.
4. Delay the Response
Say: “Give me a second.” “I need a moment to think.” It might feel awkward at first, but it creates space. And in that space? That’s where your power lives.
5. Move Your Body
If possible, walk away. Even just pacing the room helps. Movement clears the static and calms your system.
Why This Mindfulness Practice Matters
Pausing isn’t about being passive or letting people walk over you. It’s about choosing your response, not being hijacked by emotion or trauma.
Sometimes my pause looks messy — biting my lip, rummaging for my lip balm instead of saying something I’ll regret, or literally sitting on my hands.
But every time I choose to pause instead of react, I’m rebuilding trust with myself.
You Don’t Have to Be Perfect — Just Present
This is a practice. You’ll mess up. I still do. But if you catch yourself one second earlier than you did last time? That’s progress.
We don’t have to be perfect. We just have to be present enough to try again.
💬 Let’s Talk
How do you stay calm under pressure? Do you have a trick, phrase, or grounding tool that helps you pause before reacting?
Drop it in the comments — someone out there might need exactly what you’ve figured out. Or join the Facebook Group and joining the support circle.
Learn how to pause before reacting with this beautifully designed, printable journaling workbook. Whether you’re dealing with stress, conflict, or emotional overload, these prompts will help you reflect, reset, and respond with intention.
Click the button below to download your FREE “Pause Before You React” workbook.
Let’s talk about self-care. It’s a buzzword we hear all the time—usually alongside pictures of candles, fancy bath bombs, and someone blissfully sipping tea while wrapped in an overpriced weighted blanket. And while all of those things can be part of self-care (no judgment if you love a good eucalyptus-scented soak), the truth is, self-care is so much more than that.
What Is Self-Care, Really?
Self-care is basically the practice of taking care of yourself—physically, emotionally, and mentally. It’s about checking in with yourself and giving your mind and body what they actually need, not just what looks good on Instagram. Some days, self-care is a peaceful yoga session. Other days, it’s cancelling plans because you’re exhausted and need to recharge in your pajamas.
Think of it like maintaining a car. You wouldn’t expect your car to run smoothly if you never got an oil change, right? Well, your body and mind work the same way. Neglect them for too long, and things start to break down. Self-care is your way of keeping the engine running smoothly (or at least preventing a total breakdown on the side of life’s highway).
The Different Types of Self-Care
Self-care isn’t one-size-fits-all, and it comes in different forms. Here’s a quick breakdown:
1. Physical Self-Care
Moving your body in a way that feels good (not just punishing yourself at the gym)
Eating food that nourishes you and brings you joy (yes, balance includes pizza)
Getting enough sleep (because running on caffeine and vibes isn’t sustainable)
2. Emotional Self-Care
Setting boundaries (because “no” is a full sentence)
Allowing yourself to feel your feelings without guilt
Talking to someone when you need support—whether it’s a friend, therapist, or your dog
3. Mental Self-Care
Unplugging from social media when it starts feeling like a toxic comparison game
Learning new things and keeping your brain engaged
Giving yourself permission to rest, instead of glorifying being “busy”
4. Social Self-Care
Surrounding yourself with people who lift you up, not drain your energy
Making time for friendships that actually bring you joy
Saying goodbye to toxic relationships (because life is too short for drama)
5. Spiritual Self-Care (whatever that means to you)
Meditation, prayer, journaling, or just sitting in silence for five minutes
Spending time in nature and appreciating the little things
Practising gratitude—even on the days when everything feels like a mess
Why Self-Care Isn’t Selfish
A lot of us have been conditioned to think that taking time for ourselves is indulgent or selfish. But here’s the thing: you can’t pour from an empty jug. If you don’t take care of yourself, you’ll eventually hit a wall—and that doesn’t help anyone, least of all you. Prioritizing self-care means you’ll have more energy, patience, and clarity to handle life’s curveballs.
Final Thoughts: Start Small, Be Kind to Yourself
You don’t have to overhaul your entire life overnight. Self-care isn’t a checklist; it’s a practice. Start small—maybe by drinking an extra glass of water, taking a deep breath when you’re stressed, or finally making that doctor’s appointment you’ve been putting off.
And most importantly, be kind to yourself. Because at the end of the day, self-care is about treating yourself like someone you actually care about. And you deserve that.
So, what’s one small way you can take care of yourself today?
