Chasing Perfection

Recently, my phone sent me a progress photo from October 2019. Looking at it, I was struck by how much I’ve changed physically and emotionally over the past five years. It was an image of me at my leanest, weighing 145 pounds. At the time, my doctor set a goal weight of 150, but I surpassed it because I wanted to shed fat so I could replace it with muscle.

I didn’t expect my reaction. I never thought I’d see a photo of me at my skinniest and think, “Wow. I look way better with meat on my bones.”

Back then, working out and managing my diet was a part-time job. Between calorie and macro counting, hours at the gym, and meticulously planning meals, I was committed. Looking back, I didn’t fall into disordered eating, but I finally understood how easily people do.

I worked out at Mark Fisher Fitness, where I felt part of a supportive, queer-friendly community and honestly loved it. I worked my literal ass off, and the results were undeniable: I lost over 45 pounds and felt like I was on my way to becoming the muscle otter of my dreams.

The Pause

Then, in March 2020, a shoulder injury sidelined me, and weeks later, COVID-19 turned the world upside down. Between quarantine, the shoulder issue, and the reality of hitting 40, I started gaining weight. Adding to the mix, I was prescribed Lexapro for my depression, and my weight wasn’t just coming back—it was bringing reinforcements.

After the world reopened, I found my local Mark Fisher had closed, and I had to commute for an hour to the next closest location. I was committed, so I made the trip several times per week. I also kept up my almost-daily little 3-mile, mental-health walks; the pounds refused to budge. All those warnings I’d heard about metabolism slowing down had finally caught up with me. To see real progress again, I’d have to double down and work even harder than before. I felt like a failure when I couldn’t get the results I wanted. I felt I wasn’t committed enough to make the sacrifices needed to be lean again.

Around this time, I quit my day job to grow Natural Pursuits and focus on other projects. Stabilizing my income took up the space that transforming my body once had; it wasn’t that I suddenly thought differently about my body—I just had to stop prioritizing it out of necessity.

Body Neutrality and Self-Worth

I felt like a failure for not putting in the work because I’d bought into the fitness influencers’ advice that there were no real excuses. If I wanted it bad enough, I’d find a way to make it happen. And that’s when my therapist introduced me to body neutrality—the idea that I don’t need to love every part of my body, or even feel a certain way about it at all. Instead, I could just focus on what my body does.

At that time, I was photographed naked from every angle every month at Natural Pursuits events, so I was keenly aware of all the things I hated about my body. Realizing I didn’t have to spend my energy trying to love every part was a relief. Instead, I could use that energy to learn to love my life.

Rediscovering Joy

That realization opened up so much for me. Between the aftermath of quarantine and all the time I’d spent criticizing myself and focusing on diet and exercise, I suddenly saw how many things I loved that I wasn’t doing anymore. I wanted my life—and my approach to fitness—to be about adding joy, not just chasing an ideal.

So I made some changes. Instead of stressing over the perfect gym routine, I began asking different questions about my body: Does my gut make moving around harder? Am I fit enough to do the things I enjoy? Rather than relying on weight as my main progress marker, I began tracking other indicators—blood sugar, cholesterol, and more. (Being on PrEP means I get quarterly bloodwork, so keeping up with these is easier.)

If I want to lose some weight, I use a concept a coach introduced me to: growth mindset. This approach sees change as flexible, not all-or-nothing. I build a plan around the time I have and then put it into action.

Each week, I assess what worked, what didn’t, and why. Instead of constantly thinking about my diet, I only focus on it once a week. For example, “Okay, turns out I’m a volume snacker, so I need to find lower-calorie snacks I actually enjoy.” Or, “Skipping breakfast isn’t working. Time to find a quick, calorie-dense option.” Or, “How can I switch up my carbs to something I like that also supports my goals?”

My rule is that any replacement has to be close to something I’m already doing and genuinely enjoy, so it’s easy to implement, and I’m not sacrificing anything—I’m just making better choices for myself. This isn’t a short-term, quick-results plan; it’s about finding what actually works for me. The physical changes might be subtle, but the shift in my mental health is profound.

Switching out those things allowed me to recconect with things and people I love. I started reading again, hung out with friends I lost contact with during the pandemic, going out to meals, attending plays and lectures. Those things enriched my life overall more than setting a new personal record at the gym. There was variety. I laughed more.  

And, I learned that there are PLENTY of people who thought I was sexy with more weight. Honestly, it’s probably easier for me to get laid now.  

Redefining Worth

When I was down to 145 pounds, I wasn’t happy with how I looked. It felt like just the first step toward gaining muscle—like happiness would come after I reached some next level. Looking back, I realize I would never have been satisfied, no matter how much progress I made. I’ve included a photoshoot from winter 2020 that I did with my friend and photographer, Bryson Rand. In retrospect, these photos are amazing and I think I looked great.

But at the time, when I first saw them, I recognized the quality of the shots while immediately zeroing in on everything I didn’t like about myself: the way my jockstrap cut into my love handles, my lack of a six-pack, wishing I had a bigger dick.

I realize now that this dissatisfaction was deeply tied to the standards of the gay community—especially the ones reinforced in pop culture and on social media. In a community where physical appearance is valued so highly, the pressure to fit the lean, muscular image can feel intense.

This isn’t just about perception; it’s tangible.

After I lost the weight, some popular figures in the gay community reached out to me directly, letting me know how differently people would treat me if I gained muscle. They meant it in good faith—a friendly heads-up about the shift that would come with looking a certain way. The message was clear: meeting the gay standard had a material value, an impact on social acceptance and status.

By those standards, I’m technically worth less now. Lean, muscular bodies are prized, and anything that strays from that ideal is devalued.

But even as my “worth” in those terms has supposedly decreased, my self-worth has grown. I’ve learned that self-worth isn’t tied to how I stack up against those ideals; it’s about feeling good in my own skin, enjoying my life, and connecting with people who see me for who I am. Letting go of that chase for physical perfection has, ironically, happier with how I look.

Embracing a New Standard

When I mentioned I was writing this piece, a lot of people shared that they feel the same way—they think they look better and are happier when they’re bigger. So, while I believe many find their sacrifices to stay lean and muscular worthwhile, for just as many, those sacrifices absolutely are not.

Learning to embrace my larger body has been about breaking free from expectations that, in the end, only boxed me in. I’ve come to see that the energy I once poured into achieving a “perfect” image can now be invested in other, more fulfilling parts of my life. I don’t need to chase approval based on how closely I align with community standards. Instead, I can do what -I- want to do.

In letting go of that constant striving, I’ve come to realize that self-worth isn’t measured by how I match up to an ideal but by how connected I am to the things that make life genuinely satisfying.

And as it turns out, when I look at photos of myself now, I don’t criticize them—I can actually appreciate the moment, the person, and the confidence that comes from feeling fully comfortable in my own skin. It’s far more attractive than the leanest body I could ever sculpt.

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Capitalism Corner

Okay! I swear, I wrote this because I thought sharing my story might be helpful (and maybe a little cathartic). But we live under capitalism, and stabilizing my income is still very much a journey. So, if you’re interested, here are a few ways to support both yourself and Natural Pursuits in the process:

• Free 10-Day Course: I’m finalizing a course to help you shift how you use social media, so you can find more joy and self-acceptance along the way. Sign up to be notified when it’s finished here.
• One-on-One Coaching: For more personalized support, I offer coaching sessions focused on body image and self-worth. Learn more here.
• Become a Member: Join Natural Pursuits Online as a paid member. I run this project solo, and your support allows me to create more work that celebrates the diversity of bodies—work that challenges and expands what we see represented. Plus, members get exclusive content and a deeper connection to our community!

Thanks for reading, and for being part of this community—it truly means the world.

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