I'm Not in Shape, But I'm Proud of My Body I noticed myself doing it again the other day. Saying I'm not in shape before anyone asked, like getting the criticism in first somehow made it hurt less if it came from someone else later. I don't actually know who taught me to lead with the apology. Probably nobody specific. Just years of absorbing the idea that a body only earns the right to be spoken about kindly once it's met some external requirement first, a size, a shape, a number on a tag. Until then, apparently, the polite thing to do is disclaim it before anyone else gets the chance to. I'm done doing that part. My body has carried me through years I didn't think I'd get through some days, whether or not it matches whatever shape gets held up as the correct one. It's let me laugh until it hurt in a good way, walk somewhere just because I wanted to see it, hug people I love without either of us thinking about anything except the hug. None of that required it to look a certain way first, just to keep going, which it has, reliably, every single day I've asked it to. I think pride and shape got tangled up somewhere along the way, like the only body worth being proud of is one that's already finished some kind of transformation. I don't buy that anymore. Pride can just show up now, for the body doing the actual work of being alive today, unfinished or not, no future version required first. I'm not pretending I never think about changing anything. That would be its own kind of dishonesty. But wanting something different someday and being proud of what's carrying me right now aren't actually in competition, no matter how much certain conversations make it sound like they are. So I'm not in shape. I already knew that before you did. I'm also proud of this body, the one that showed up for every hard year without asking permission first, and I don't think those two facts need to keep apologizing to each other.