Category: Life Lessons
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How Wearing Shorts to the Gym Became a Radical Act of Self-Love
I have always been self-conscious about my legs. By the look of them, you might say that’s where I hold most of my strength.
After gaining thirty pounds last year, I grew tired of feeling uncomfortable in my body—like I didn’t even recognize the person staring back at me in the mirror. That frustration sparked my third attempt to recommit to a workout routine and a healthier lifestyle.
Turning thirty reinforced my hope of one day feeling comfortable in my own skin. But I also wanted to prioritize my health and longevity.
After a month of faithfully showing up at my favorite LA Fitness, I noticed something unexpected: my confidence wasn’t coming from how I looked, but from my ability to consistently show up for myself.
I started finding my footing in the gym, watching my discipline strengthen with each visit. I set non–scale-related goals—wearing shorts to the gym, building strength, walking up a flight of stairs without losing my breath.
The “shorts goal” was the scariest. I hadn’t worn them in years, but I committed to choosing growth over fear.
In the name of exposure therapy—and thanks to Amazon Prime Day—I ordered a pair. They were an earthy, chocolate-brown shade that perfectly matched the aesthetic I was creating. But once they arrived, the real challenge began: putting them on and actually wearing them out.
After picking myself apart in the mirror for what felt like forever, I finally gathered the courage to leave the house. My discomfort was loud, threatening to drown out the confidence I had been building. Every glance in my direction felt like confirmation that my legs were too big, too full of cellulite, to be on display.
“These are just my legs,” I reminded myself. “There’s nothing wrong with them.”
At the gym, there was no turning back. I stepped out of the car, breathing in the affirmations I’d practiced.
Women are taught that beauty is currency—that without it, we lose power. Most days, I’m fed up with those standards. The pressure to fit into a certain “aesthetic” hangs over me like a dark cloud.
I was exhausted from being insecure. It had reached the point where I couldn’t even pinpoint what I disliked—it felt like everything about me needed to change.
I had braced for wearing the shorts to cause some kind of upheaval, an experience so negative that I’d never want to wear them again.
But none of that happened. I slipped into my usual flow at the gym and forgot I was even wearing them.
I left that day proud, knowing I’d proven myself wrong and faced my fears despite the story I had been telling myself.
Beauty standards will always shift, as they have for centuries. Whether I fit them or not, it’s my responsibility to love myself in spite of them. Self-love is rarely easy; these days, I think of it as a muscle—something I have to strengthen and recommit to over and over again.
I’m still nervous to wear the shorts a second time, but now I know I can.
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LoveSick
Written, Directed, Filmed, and Produced by Marisol Gainey
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Voices of Rage
Written by Marisol Gainey
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How to Leave Your Life Behind
It was approximately two hours into my bus ride to Manual Antonio when the tears hit. Frustrated, I thought, “God, if you’re real, you’ll help me feel better.” Just seven months before, I begged the universe to help me make my study abroad trip to Costa Rica a reality. And there I was, choking on tears, living in the middle of a prayer and complaining about it.
I embarked on this journey intending to find myself and silence the voices of old programming. I questioned who I was beyond my conditioning? I wondered whether I could discover a new version of myself beyond who I thought I was? I anticipated this new growth to feel uncomfortable and challenging, but not like this. Three thousand six hundred and nine miles away from home, three weeks into my program, and I was ready to bow out.
This feeling continued for days as I forced myself to wear a fake smile while I pushed through my day the best I could. And then one afternoon I finally fell apart at the seams, crying for what seemed like hours, and unlocking a depth of self-loathing that I’d never felt before. I quickly picked up the phone and called my mom, sister, and friends hoping that someone could pluck the self-doubt from my heart. I was consistently met with the same words “But Mari, you are so courageous and brave to be doing something like this”. I didn’t feel courageous, intelligent, or brave. I felt stupid and utterly helpless, knowing that I willingly left my entire life behind for a new life I had to learn to live.
I decided to call my aunt, who I knew could somewhat empathize with this dark moment I had found myself in, considering that she had studied abroad during her undergrad. I could feel the pressure in my head building from crying all afternoon as I let my sadness free for the last time that day. She listened intently as a look of understanding washed over her. “Sometimes it’s enough to exist,” she said. “This period doesn’t have to BE anything.”
She continued, “Whether your experience is good or bad will be up to you to decide, if you end up hating this, it will still be worth it because then at least you know you tried.” Suddenly, I felt a sense of calm, recognizing that I was hearing something profound.
At that moment I remembered that I didn’t choose to move to Costa Rica because it would be easy. Nothing about expanding past one’s limitations is a cake walk. In many ways, this new chapter of my life is supposed to feel exactly like this. In the moments where I feel as though I am losing myself, it’s because a brand new possibility is emerging.
Leaving familiarity for the opportunity to learn more about the world around me is the scariest thing I’ve done thus far. It may be an experience that I come to appreciate or regret, but I’m proud that I still decided to do it anyway. As far as learning how to leave my life behind, there’s no secret formula, no step-by-step guide to ease into a process like this. Sometimes in life, you have to let go first and figure out the rest later.
msoull 