As we pulled into the gym parking lot, I spotted her right away and let out an exaggerated groan. “Ugh, there she is,” I said to my partner, rolling my eyes. “This is exactly why I dread coming here—having to deal with people like that.”
She was far from overweight; in fact, she looked flawless. You know the type: the bubbly gal at the gym, practically dressed in a bikini top and yoga pants, always striking a pose and soaking up the attention she clearly craves.
So, why do I resent her beauty? Why does her popularity bother me so much? Honestly, I have zero desire for that kind of attention myself—I’m not even comfortable with my own reflection!
Sometimes, I find myself wishing she’d just trip on the gym stairs and take a little tumble—nothing too severe, just a little embarrassing spill off the latest piece of exercise equipment. Gym drama at its finest!
Has she ever struggled with her weight? I wouldn’t be surprised if she just had twins and “bounced back” effortlessly. Why do I roll my eyes at her? She’s probably not a criminal—unless you count the crime against my self-esteem.
I don’t know any of the women at my gym. Some look like me, but many resemble her. Perhaps she’s a giant mirror, reflecting back my own insecurities and shortcomings. Maybe she embodies the self-discipline and control over food and exercise that I just can’t seem to master.
Seeing her reminds me that my wardrobe is filled with mom jeans and I’m on the brink of a lifelong record for scrunchie ownership. Her toned midriff is a painful reminder of my sagging belly, a souvenir from carrying two hefty little ones.
Maybe she makes me confront the fact that my kids can now whip up their own sandwiches, leaving me without any excuses. And her perfect hairstyle? A stark contrast to my messy locks, which I’m currently trying to rescue with dry shampoo on day three.
I can’t help but feel a twinge of envy that she’s seemingly flawless—no scars, no varicose veins. She probably doesn’t feel the need to hide her body.
Or perhaps I’m mistakenly assuming that just because she looks fantastic, she must also be perfectly happy and fulfilled. Maybe she’s struggling too, staring into the mirror and seeing flaws of her own.
Nah, she probably has a stellar self-esteem. I can just picture her in therapy sessions focused on maintaining that perfect confidence. And of course, she must have an amazing corporate job to fund those sessions—not to mention some exotic trips around the world, all on the company’s dime.
As I step off the cardio machine and head out, more thoughts swirl in my head. Maybe hating on the fit girl is just as unfair as fat-shaming. Deep down, perhaps it’s not her I resent—it’s me.
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In summary, we often project our insecurities onto others, especially those who seem to embody what we wish to be. Instead of letting envy fester, it might be healthier to focus on our own journeys and celebrate our unique paths.