OMG, you ate WHAT?
Seriously, people say these things to me a lot.
“Go eat burger for fuck sakes”
“Get a life”
So, every now and then I decide to “get a life and have burger” and then it starts:
“Jesus, I thought you were a PERSONAL TRAINEEEERRRRR” “I can’t believe you eat that”.
There’s no winning. No matter what I say or do, there will always be criticism. Always. Does that suck? Yes. But sometimes (a lot ) people suck. We can get into the “why” and the “psychology of human behaviour” of why. We can talk about how they are just jealous and have to make me feel bad to make themselves feel better. But you know, it fucking sucks. It sucks to always be criticized. It hurts my feelings. Do I wallow in it? No. Do I cry about it? No, but it would be ok if I did. I don’t put much pass on it. Because I know it’s an indication of where they are; not where I am.
But it still just sucks sometimes. There was a time when I let it all get to me. When I cared about what people said and thought. The passive aggressive comments. The comments on my food by coworkers. The comments on my “bicep size” from my family. The comments on my v-taper (I’m not telling you what that it, that’s what google is for!) by male gym goers. The constant and never ending commentary to life. I got so sick of it all. I just stopped listening to people. I did what I wanted, when I wanted and every now and then I spoke up and said “well, it’s a good thing I don’t give a fuck what you think”.
I cared so much for so long about what people thought of me that I lived my life around pleasing everyone. And I was the least happy of all of those people.
One day I woke up and realized that people will say and do what they’re going to say and do. It sucks. Because people suck sometimes. But I don’t have to make that my story. For so long I strived for perfection because of fear of not being seen as a good personal trainer because I wasn’t perfect. So much so that I developed body image issues and disordered eating. I had so much fear because someone told me “who will take you seriously if you’re not ripped” and then the ones who said “I come to you because you’re not ripped”… WHA? Slow the fucked up train down.
That’s life. Some will love us as we are and others will always make us feel like we need to be better. But they can only do that if we allow it.
That day, when I truly decided to stop caring what other people thought of me, was the reality that I was living a life based on feeling not good enough and I needed outside approval from other people to have permission to like or love myself. When I got that love and happiness was an inside job, I was able to move on from those feelings, from wondering, worrying about what people thought about what I was eating, how I was training, if I had a few pounds on, etc.
Because their approval no longer matters to me.
Life is meant to be lived. I choose to mine in a healthy way, inspiring people, motivating people, giving people back their lives. Other people get to choose how they live their lives without my opinion mattering. But we’re all human. Getting to a place where you make decisions and live your life based on your desires, it’s a great place to be. But…
We’re all human. And sometimes the shit people say hurts. It makes you wonder “what did I ever do to them to have them say that about me?” Sometimes people suck. I get over it fast though, where once I’d let it consume for me days even weeks. Now I just recognize that it’s hurtful. I use it to remind myself why I don’t want to be that person, because I’d rather help someone up than push them down. And in my mind, I wish them the best (maybe after a few minutes of swearing and calling them insulting names in my head) because I know they need it.
Please try to remember, we’re all human. Just because I “work” at something. Just because I’m “passionate” about something. Just because I “love” something… it doesn’t mean that’s all I am. I have feelings. I’m not a robot. Words hurt. Gossip hurts.
Now, I’m gonna eat some cake as it’s my bday and we ALL know bday calories don’t count, right?