Don’t get me wrong, physical health is incredibly important. As Plato said, a person must cultivate their mind and body. However, my worries over my body were taking over my life, especially as an overweight teenager. With school, work and finding free time between all the homework and club activities I had to do as a busy high school and then a college student, issues over my physique only worsened. I didn’t have time to treat my body the way I should. I put on weight and when I was diagnosed with depression at the lowest stage in my life, I could barely move, let alone workout. It was during these harrowing months that followed that I was able to learn how to like myself even if I didn’t like my weight.

I’ve never been good at making or keeping friends. I tried and still do try but even now, I often feel alone. When I was struggling through the first friendless semester of college, I only had myself to rely on. Sure, my family and friends back home helped out a lot. But in between phone calls and text messages, I was on my own, traversing a world of college freshman that seemed to have everything sorted out.

I became closer with my friends back home, even though distance separated us. The phone calls and various forms of social media gave me the feeling of being linked even though they were far away. As I cried, I realized my tears fell into my own hands and that those same hands were the ones that plucked the tissue from the box to dry my eyes. I kept asking myself, what was wrong with me?

I ate alone. I studied alone. I walked alone. And soon, I realized that eating alone was great because I didn’t have to talk between mouthfuls. Studying was smoother without entertaining someone else at the same time. I began to enjoy moody walks across campus with only my earbuds for company. Sooner than later, I began walking in silence, with only my thoughts to keep me idle.

I noticed that I liked the cracks in sidewalks where cigarette butts got stuck. I liked the way the clouds hung low, shaking as they almost touched the crest of the valley. I realized that counseling was my decision and that it helped me understand situations I couldn’t hope to wrap my head around when I was so emotional.

I realized that being emotional was a part of who I am.

It doesn’t define me, not in the slightest. But the over-analytical nature that pushed potential friends away also paved the way for me to get to know myself. I was done crying about the way my flabby body looked because I was focusing on something much more important in the time being: myself.

I’m more than just my body. This saying gets tossed around all the time in various forms, but it was only when I took a strong, on-going, year-long look at myself that I realized it to be true. I have career aspirations I hope to achieve in the near future. I go to a great school. I have friends that have somehow managed to stick by me, proving that I’m not such a shitty friend after all. I have a brain that empathizes as well as a jackhammer pummels pavement. I have a bad way with analogies (as a creative writing major, it sucks).

Sure, wishing I have a nice body is a stressor and I’m definitely taking steps to change that facet of my life. But in the grand scope of things, I was happy to find that I’m a cool person despite the extra meat on my bones. It didn’t stop me from dating and it didn’t stop me from landing internships; it didn’t stop me from getting my license or taking a train for the first time; it didn’t stop me from going to the movies or buying new clothes that I felt confident in. I wish I didn’t spend so many years crying as a high schooler, wanting I had a flatter tummy and thinner arms.

I realized something important: being fit means nothing if you don’t like yourself. Becoming a better person and working on who I am was more important than stressing out over being a size 2, or even a size 8. I wish I learned to like myself sooner. Because now that I like myself, I can finally start to improve myself.