Learning to Love the Body I Live In

In the fitness and health industry, there’s a common misconception that personal trainers, group instructors, and other fitness professionals are always comfortable, confident, and satisfied with their health and appearance. After all, we provide advice, coaching, and encouragement to help people improve their well-being—and that naturally includes how we look and feel in our bodies.

But here’s the truth: many fitness professionals experience the same insecurities, self-doubt, and obsessions as their clients… and sometimes even more intensely. Body image issues, perfectionism, disordered eating, and confidence struggles are more common than most people realize.

This isn’t a sad story—it’s a growth story. It’s about the long road from self-criticism to self-respect, and the moment I realized wellness isn’t about having a “perfect” body. It’s about learning to live in your body with more peace, more gratitude, and a lot more grace.

I’ve struggled with body image for as long as I can remember. If I’m being honest, my transition from being overweight and out of shape wasn’t fueled by a desire to be healthy—it was fueled by the need to feel better about how I looked and felt in my own skin.

That mindset became an overriding theme throughout my life. Somehow, I attached my self-worth to my perceived appearance. I haven’t always been kind to myself. I haven’t always given myself grace—or even credit for how far I’ve come. Yet, I am genuinely compassionate, encouraging, honest, caring, supportive, and accepting of my clients, friends, and family.

I would never dream of speaking to or thinking about others the way I do myself. I would never judge anyone as harshly or hold them to such high and unattainable expectations… and yet, even knowing everything I know about health, fitness, and wellness, I still struggle with this one piece.

It makes me wonder why.

It makes me wonder if other people struggle with these same insecurities and keep it hidden like I do.

And it makes me want to change this… for myself, and to help others.

Maybe the first step is being honest—transparent and vulnerable enough to share what I’ve kept buried for a long time.

When I was a little girl—maybe six or seven—I remember feeling uncomfortable about my appearance. I noticed I was bigger than the knobby-kneed, stick-thin girls in my class, and somehow I just knew that was a bad thing. I’ve always had a big, round butt and shapely thighs that set me apart. We lived in an apartment complex, and I can remember groups of mean-spirited kids chasing me around chanting “bubble butt.”

By age 10, I started trying to diet. I had thick thighs, big arms, and curves that my friends didn’t have. I felt huge in comparison.

My mother, grandmother, and stepmother were my female role models—and they all restricted their eating. Cutting out meals. Trying every diet fad from shakes to pills to whittle away their genetic curves. Looking back, it’s clear they had some level of disordered eating.

I started copying them. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t starve myself. I was hungry and uncomfortable, and I’d feel like a failure every time I “gave in” to hunger.

I was also clumsy and uncoordinated, and I heard plenty of comments that stuck with me. “Bull in a china closet.” Or the punchline to a joke: “When Heidi walks in the door, her butt comes in 10 minutes later.”

Middle school was hard. I hated gym class. I hated wearing shorts, dresses, or tank tops—anything that showed my arms and legs. I spent so much time trying to hide.

In high school, I was constantly trying a new diet. Restricting, binging, and feeling uncomfortable in my body and in social settings. Looking back, I’m saddened by the amount of time and energy I spent trying to change myself.

When I look back at photos from that time, I see a beautiful girl with a womanly figure. Not fat. Not huge. Just curvy and different from the skinny 90s girls. Naturally muscular and healthy-looking.

After high school, I went on a medication that caused weight gain. I went from a size 10 to a size 14, and my body became my enemy. I hated it. I can’t even begin to count the times I cried in a dressing room or in my bedroom because my clothes felt tight or I couldn’t stop focusing on every flaw—real or imagined.

I fell into a cycle of self-loathing and punishment. I would restrict only to binge and feel even worse. I tried diet pills, shakes, and extreme meal plans. I would go through phases of walking endless miles, trying to outrun my body… and then I’d crash and burn, sitting on the couch eating every snack food in sight.

I had my son just after I turned 23. I gained a lot of weight during pregnancy and developed preeclampsia, which caused me to balloon with water weight. Almost overnight, I had stretch marks from my armpits to my elbows and up my inner thighs. My stomach was covered in deep purple stretch marks, along with a C-section scar and an “apron.”

I was devastated.

I thought my body was ugly before—when there hadn’t really been anything wrong with it. Now I had permanent marks and scars, and I felt completely disconnected from myself.

For years, I felt terrible about my body.

In my late 20s, I got tired. Not just physically—emotionally. I was exhausted from the energy it took to hate myself, to obsess over my body and all of its flaws.

So I did something radical.

I decided I didn’t want to live like that anymore.

I flipped the script and chose to focus on getting stronger, healthier, more flexible… and more accepting.

I started challenging myself physically. I started running and cleaning up my diet—not to punish myself, but to feel better. I chose foods that nourished me. I stopped counting calories and fat. I stopped attacking my reflection in the mirror.

I started lifting weights and surrounding myself with like-minded people—people who focused on health, not appearance.

I wore a two-piece bathing suit and let all those stretch marks show.

Now, I’m not saying this was easy. And I’m definitely not saying it happened overnight.

My old demons still come back to visit me. I still have bad moments, days, and even weeks. I still feel uncomfortable in my skin sometimes. I still cry when my pants feel tight. I still get bristled and second-guess myself when someone says things like, “Look at that bubble,” “Whoa, here comes the linebacker,” or “Man, your arms are huge.”

(And yes—people have said these things to me.)

But I continue to coach myself through the hard moments. I remind myself that my body is strong and healthy. I try to focus on that, because really… nothing else matters.

As I get older, I realize this more and more. It doesn’t matter what my body looks like. The marks, rolls, cellulite, loose skin—I earned them all.

My body tells the story of a strong woman who had a baby and spent a lifetime learning how to care for herself.

My professional focus is the same as my personal focus:

Focus on being healthy and strong. Lift weights. Walk. Do a little cardio. Eat nourishing food that fuels your body and supports your energy. Love your family, your friends, your life… and yourself.

We only get to do this once. Don’t waste it chasing a body you were never meant to have.

And stop letting the scale decide your worth.