There’s a dispute among body types, even as we dismiss society’s view on “the healthy body” or what qualifies as beautiful. People use demeaning arguments to defend their weight: no thigh gap is one step closer to becoming a mermaid and overweight means harder to kidnap and real women have curves. Some misconceive skinny as healthy, when health has nothing to do with body shape or form. Some girls are blessed with curves and others are graced with a high metabolism. Guys think girls want to hear “you’re so beautiful” as if we need the affirmation—hint: we don’t. I can’t post a picture of my legs to Instagram without a guy asking if I will wrap them around him. I don’t workout and tone for you. I don’t even shave for you. I do it all for me.

Six weeks after I gave birth to my daughter, I went out with my boyfriend (now my ex) and a few girlfriends to celebrate my 25^th birthday. I adorned a mini-dress and I looked stellar. I turned heads. And I should be able to say that without being labeled conceited. By that time, we had been dating for almost 18 months and he had never called me beautiful, but that night he told me multiple times and it was nails on chalkboard to my ears. After a complicated pregnancy, I lost all the weight and then some. 5’ 5” and I weighed 118 lbs. on a good day (bad days: 115 lbs. or below). The last time I weighed that little was my sophomore year of high school. As an ex of his walked into the bar, he warned me, “Don’t break up with me because all my exes get fat. It’s karma.” I wanted to be fat. It had never bothered me how he would comment on how “hot” a friend of mine or a coworker of ours was until it took me to lose weight for him to say it to me. And I didn’t want to hear it. I had never considered myself overweight before pregnancy. Looking back, I still don’t consider myself as having been overweight. I was a solid 140-143 lbs. I was healthy. I could outrun most girls (and boys) and I made healthy eating choices. I was a boss at soccer, could score off a corner kick, and played multiple times a week. I didn’t have high blood pressure and wasn’t concerned about diabetes. I started working out when I was in middle school. I had muscle. But suddenly, I wanted to be fat. Overweight: 1. Skinny Me: 0.

Working out has been a rollercoaster. For the past year, I have worked hard at putting on some weight. And for me to utter that sentence would be offensive for some people who can’t lose weight. How dare I? I’m not allowed to complain about not being able to gain weight. That’s unspeakable. But strong is the new skinny. My health is more important than any label given, doused in another’s insecurity. I realize I could easily eat unhealthy, consume preservatives and the artificial trio (sweetener, coloring, flavoring), sodium nitrate and MSG, and I’d quickly gain weight, but I’m not willing to eat junk and risk heart disease and diabetes. The seesaw of gaining muscle and burning calories is tipped in the wrong direction. Overweight: 2. Skinny Me: 0.

I lied. I want to be tone, not skin and bone. To my daughter, I am all bone. (I don’t care what other people think.) When she was younger and only weighed five or ten pounds, I could easily fit her along my body without my clavicle or rib cage or sternum—mine points outward compared to the flat norm—poking into her. As she grows older and taller, I’m not always the one she wants to curl up with. It became apparent early on that I have to wear a sweatshirt or a thick sweater to rock her to sleep most nights. Even then, some nights, it’s not enough. There are nights she cries because she wants the cushion her grandma can provide for her but she wants the comfort of her mother. Overweight: 3. Skinny Me: 0.

Look in the mirror and be thankful you’re overweight because your baby loves the cushion you can provide, not because you feel the need to defend yourself against society. Better yet, look at yourself in the mirror and accept your body because it is your body. Who cares if the girl on the train is skinnier than you? Who cares if your best friend has gained a few pounds? Are they happy? Are they healthy? Why do we have to follow up questions of “Did you lose weight?” with “You look awesome!” when it doesn’t matter. Tell them they look amazing. Tell them they look strong. Tell them they look confident. Tell them they look HEALTHY. People may label me as skinny—or as having an eating disorder because how else could I not be able to gain weight?—but I can promise you, I am so much more and I will not demean other body shapes by giving an excuse for mine. Society: 0. Me: Kiss my boney ass.