Big Deal

I’d stopped feeling shame about my size. But why was I going to the gym, if I didn’t want to lose weight?

- Meaghan Wray

I’ve been living a lie. Or, at least, it’s been feeling like that lately.

I openly reject diet culture, almost exclusively promote self-love on my Instagram and make a point of not knowing my weight. My doctor—the only person who knows the exact number on the scale—says I’m perfectly healthy. But according to prevailing health standards I’m overweight.

As a chubby kid, I came to believe my worth was intrinsically tied to my body size, and endured two decades of bullying and emotional trauma. Throughout my life, I wished I looked like someone else: Britney Spears or Christina Aguilera or Kim Kardashian. I was constantly aiming for unrealistic body standards, always missing and feeling unworthy of love. Ever since I first understood what a calorie is, I’ve tried to eat as few as possible, skipping meals when no one noticed. When that led to bingeing on food until I felt sick, I shifted to consuming 1,200 calories a day, an arbitrary number thrown around by many fitness bloggers. (Health Canada states that the average adult requires around 2,000 calories per day, children 1,500.)