Ten years ago, I weighed 214 pounds. Whenever I had ice cream, milkshakes, a piece of pie, a cupcake, anything delicious and sweet and wonderful, I was looked at with disapproving glances, so many shaking heads. “You’re just going to get fatter if you continue to eat like that!” “You’re way too big for a teenager, you’re too big for any age.” “You should eat something healthy for a change.”

Ten years ago, I was also diagnosed with type 2 diabetes. After some good ol' fashion doctor scaring and threats of having my foot amputated, I chose to lose weight for the first time in my life.

Now, I weigh 145 pounds. It occurred to me just today that now I can eat whatever sweet I want, the same ice cream, milkshakes, pies, cupcakes, cookies, popsicles, all things wonderful, and even though I still have diabetes and maybe probably shouldn’t do those things, it’s totally socially acceptable now that I’m smaller. No one shames me for it, now it is seen as, “it’s fine to treat yourself every now and then. Go on, you earned it!” Earned it how?

Who is to say I didn’t earn those sweets ten years earlier? Getting a good grade on a test, keeping my room clean, helping a younger sibling with homework, completing an art project, exercising for two weeks straight and just wanting something a little sweet to cap it off? Hell no, fatty pants. Reward yourself with more exercise!

My former self deserved that caramel ice cream bar just as much as my current self. Fat, skinny, whatever. And I’m pretty sure my feet are staying attached to the rest of me, despite that fun size Pay Day I had earlier.