When I decided to get healthy 12 years ago, I was 100% prepared for what typically comes along with 100+ lbs of weight loss: the resulting excess skin. After all, the most important thing was that whole “getting healthy” part. If I had to pay in aesthetics for my earlier carelessness, so be it.

Twelve years ago.

I look fine in clothes. In fact, in some clothes, I look fantastic. I know how to flatter the good parts and mask the flaws. It can be really frustrating at times to actually find clothes that can do this considering the weird nature of excess skin, but after twelve years, I at least know how to hunt.

And it’s in those clothes that I have no worries. I have self-confidence out the wazoo. I’m the exact opposite of a shrinking violet. My job requires me to be assertive, and I do that just fine. Things are good. No complaints.

Well… no complaints until someone tells me how to feel about what’s under those clothes.

It would be one thing if I wasn’t in my mid-thirties. It would be one thing if the weight loss was recent and I was still evolving from my pre-weight-loss sense of self. It would be one thing if I wasn’t so enthusiastic about my level of fitness.

I get it. Culturally, there is an epidemic of women basing their self-worth on what their bodies look like. The push is on to empower everyone to accept their flaws and “the only body you’ve got,” rejecting unrealistic Photoshopped portrayals of body in the media. We shouldn’t compare ourselves to nonsensical perfection and focus on self-confidence in our own skin.

And that’s great, for most people. There truly are a lot of women out there who are insecure for no good reason and need to have this pounded into their skulls. You don’t have to see ribs to wear a bikini. You don’t have to care what others think about how you look in that bikini, either. Rock it if you so choose.

But I do not choose that bikini. And no matter how much you tell me to love my body the way it is, I’m NEVER going to choose that bikini.

I do not find my excess skin to be aesthetically pleasing. Whether or not you or anyone else finds it aesthetically pleasing is not my concern. And just like I’m not going to wake up tomorrow being attracted to women, I am not going to wake up tomorrow and look at my naked body thinking, “damn, I love this.”

I am the type of person that if I’m not happy about something that I can change, I change it. Clearly, I did that when I lost 140 pounds and kept it off. When I wanted to get out of my tiny hometown, I took a practical risk and got out. When I wanted to change careers, I followed a path to do so. When I wanted to be strong, I set off on programming to get stronger.

The truth is, I love what my body is capable of. I’m just irritated by this layer that hides all the hard work I’ve put in.

Of course, with the excess skin, the only thing that can change it is surgery. I’ve tolerated the skin for a very long time. I’ve done everything I can do outside of that realm. I’ve long since accepted that I have no other options and made peace with it. Technically, I could tolerate it forever. I’ll never love it, but tolerate it, sure. It’s like family that you don’t really want to hang out with. It is what it is.

I’m a realist. I would look like shit in a bikini, bottom line. I don’t hate myself because I’d look like shit in a bikini. I just know better than to make myself feel like shit by trying to force myself to like how I’d look in a bikini. I know better than to believe I’m broken because I don’t think my excess skin in a bikini is attractive. Just like I know I’m not broken because I don’t find every man on the planet attractive.

***

This spring, I had surgery consultation to possibly get the excess skin removed once and for all. The cost is astronomical, and I knew that going in. What I didn’t expect was encouragement from my fitness-minded friends that I should attempt to crowdfund to make it happen. And while I’m not normally the type to do something like that, our finances proved that we could afford about 2/3 of the cost, so attempting to fund the last third didn’t seem too crazy.

What I did underestimate, however, was just how virulently people would object to the idea that I’d want to have the surgery at all. Apparently, pursuing plastic surgery means that you are full of self-loathing, and surgery is incapable of fixing what’s REALLY wrong — your head.

I’ve been told outright, “once you have the surgery, you’ll just find something else to hate about yourself, like the scars.”

I’m repeatedly reminded, “but you look GREAT! You look JUST FINE the way you are! You don’t need surgery!”

And yet, in the face of these concerns, nobody actually asks me about my motivations. Nobody asks questions about its benefits beyond the superficial. Nobody even pretends to have a clue about what is actually going on in my head. They assume, and then preach on that assumption.

I’m sorry, everyone: I don’t hate myself. I don’t sit in a puddle of self-loathing. I don’t measure my worth by what my body looks like. I’ve done awesome things with my life and I will continue to do awesome things with my life regardless of whether the extra skin is there or not. After all… twelve years, remember? If I was completely emotionally crippled by my excess skin, I really doubt I’d be where I am today.

This isn’t about me wanting a culturally-approved bikini body, either. Nobody has asked me about that, but a whole lot of people sure have seemed to think my end game has something to do with a broken-brained dream that I need to conform to screwed-up standards. Those who have known me since I was a kid would tell you in a heartbeat that this has never, ever been something I’ve given two shits about.

So what is it about?

It’s about getting rid of something I don’t like. Think of it as a really huge version of having a wart on your face.

It’s about making my life easier when it comes to clothing. Seriously, you have no idea how annoying it is to try and fit around this stupid skin. I look great when I pull it off, but it’s no small process.

It’s about getting rid of 4–8 pounds of garbage that does nothing to add strength to my lifts. (And actually gets in my way trying to do yoga. Nothing like having to rearrange your butt when you change poses.)

It’s about being tired of tolerating this crap. Yeah, I’ve lived with it and I can continue to live with it if I have to. But lordy, I am TIRED of it.

And it’s about maybe having what empowered women say I should have: belief that I have a bikini body, no matter how many stretch marks, lumps, or scars remain after the fact. I am happy to love everything that I absolutely cannot (or am not willing to) change. Change the excess skin, and that hurdle is gone.

All I ask is for support. Otherwise, please take your judgmental assumptions and your bikini-body nonsense and stick it squarely up your ass.