It is what you carry inside.
When I met a friend after six long years, the first thing she asked wasn’t about my life, my work, or my kids.
“Are you still working out?” she asked.
“Of course,” I said, eyebrows crunched.
She paused, “But… you look the same.”
And before I could respond, she blurted: “How much do you weigh now?”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t react. I just laughed. Not the fake kind to dodge the question, but a genuine, heartfelt laugh.
After 14 years of cross-training, running marathons, and powerlifting, I know my body well enough not to give it up for a number on the scale to satisfy someone else’s ego.
The biggest misconception outside the fitness world is the obsession with the weighing machine. In the real fitness world, people applaud the numbers on dumbbells and barbells because those numbers actually measure strength.
Judging someone by their appearance or body weight is the most basic human flaw in fitness. It’s easy to map progress to a single number. What’s hard is understanding the truth behind the body: the anatomy, the body-fat composition, the physiological and hormonal shifts that happen before and after every workout. And how much it differs for women based on their monthly cycle.
So yes, ditch your weighing scale. Forget BMI charts. Step onto the floor barefoot, grip the bar, and train your body to lift its weight or more. That’s the only measure of strength that genuinely matters. It can only be felt, built, and sustained over time.
Real strength isn’t what you see; it’s what you carry inside.
A close friend once said something terrible during my postpartum. He said, “How come you have not yet lost all your baby weight?”
Mind you, I had resumed strength training barely six months after giving birth. When I resumed, lifting even five pounds in each hand felt like moving mountains. I asked my trainer if I would return to my pre-baby personal record — a 220-pound deadlift.
He smiled and said, “You’ll do more than that.”
So I began: step-ups, squats, slow jogs, squat jumps. What started as shaky repetitions slowly rebuilt into cross-training. Every day was a quiet comeback.
During that time, I’d take my 9-month-old baby for walks around the block in addition to my strength workouts. Almost without fail, someone would always appear — as if well-meaning, but never kind — to ask, “Are you pregnant again?” I’d dismiss it, smile politely, and keep moving.
But the comments piled up. So did the comparisons: “Oh, look how the celebrity already lost all her baby weight in three months!” or “My coworker lost her pregnancy weight and more in less than six months.”
That weight of expectation was heavier than any barbell I lifted. And remember, those weren’t even my expectations — they belonged to a culture obsessed with shrinkage, as if a woman’s success after birth could only be measured by how quickly she erased the evidence of it.
A new mom — with a baby and a full-time job — who still shows up at the gym is rarer than a shooting star. So when you see one, don’t compare her.
Make a wish that she gets lucky enough to rest after her workout, or sneak in a nap after her pumping session. Pray for her to feel seen, not judged.
Long story short, just like my trainer promised, I did break my pre-pregnancy record, exactly ten months later. But sorry, the weighing scale didn’t budge much.
Now, when someone makes baseless comments about strength training or warns that lifting heavier weights will make me “bulky,” I laugh. Not the polite laugh you use to cover shame, not the fake one to bluff discomfort or change the topic, but a genuine, no-nonsense laugh — the kind that bursts out when you see something so clearly, it can no longer hurt you.
It’s just my body recognizing wrong energy before my mind catches on.
I used to think strength was only about lifting weights. But here’s what I’ve learned: when you truly train your body — one muscle, one rep at a time — it starts training you back.
My body is far more intelligent than my mind. A decade of training has taught me when to push, when to rest, and when to walk away.
I no longer chase fatigue to prove discipline. I no longer need soreness to feel strong. My body has become a compass, pointing me toward what nourishes me and away from what doesn’t.
I slowly started noticing my strength making its shift outside the gym as well.
The myths of strength
If you’ve been strength training for years, shouldn’t you look like one of those models doing high-heel squats on dumbbells?
Trust me, I’m curious too. But my trainer would never let me. He’s the brains behind my body — why I haven’t wrecked my knees or torn a muscle chasing someone else’s aesthetics.
He says, “You’re doing well enough.” Sometimes, even, “Too good to ruin with nonsense.”
And he’s right. The longer I train, the clearer it becomes:
Strength training isn’t about changing how I look — it’s about changing how I live.
On social media, strength looks like sculpted abs and flawless lighting. Scroll through Instagram, and you’d think lifting makes you lighter, leaner, prettier.
But true strength doesn’t always look good. Some days, lifting heavy leaves me bloated, puffy, heavier than usual. Some days, my body feels sluggish instead of sleek. Powerlifting pumps you up — not always in a flattering way, on camera.
Here’s the lesson worth carrying:
Strength is rarely about appearances. It’s about resilience, confidence, and presence, even when you don’t look your best but keep showing up anyway.
Strength, at its core, isn’t about how you appear. It’s about how much weight — literal or metaphorical — you’re willing to lift, and how consistently you show up for the work.
That’s when I realized strength was not just about my body — it was also shaping my mind.
Listening to my body
A few years ago, my dad called while I was on the treadmill. He told me a close relative would be visiting in an hour.
My house was messy: toys scattered everywhere, crumbs on the counter, laundry in limbo. I was on mile two of a planned five-mile run — my first after months of struggle. And yet, this unexpected news hit me like a punch to the gut.
I wanted to stop. To clean. To rush into “host mode.”
But my body wouldn’t let me. It increased the tempo of my run, making it more effortless, so I kept going.
It felt selfish to keep running. Yet deep down, I knew that choosing myself should never feel like an obligation.
When I finally stepped out of my home gym, sweaty and breathless, I’d never felt more at peace — and ready to welcome the uninvited guest, not out of exhaustion, but out of wholeness.
When I give my body what it truly needs, it gives me back everything: energy, clarity, and strength to fully experience the rest of the day.
Then came another moment when I was not happy at my workplace. I dreaded my weekly work meeting — the kind that leaves you drained long before it even begins. I had to be present, not out of choice, but by force.
Before I could reject the meeting, my body rejected me. The thought of doing the same thing, again and again, just because someone told me to — made me want to throw up.
That’s when I realized how much anxiety had built up over the months. I had been contradicting myself, forcing compliance instead of listening to my instincts.
When I told my friends, they said, “You should talk to a therapist.” But my sister sent me a video instead — an interview with a woman whose body-mind connection had grown so strong that she would vomit at the thought of doing something her soul resisted.
Listening to her felt like breathing fresh air after years underwater. For the first time, I understood:
My body wasn’t betraying me. It was protecting me.
I listened to my body and switched my project. I realized that my subconscious wasn’t whispering anymore; it was speaking loud and clear.
The more I train, the more I move with intent. The more I listen, the more my body guides me toward what I really need in movement and life.
When the body feels strong, the mind stops asking for permission.
Lifting has never been about feeling powerful. It’s about being present. Each rep is a negotiation between mind and muscle — a practice in awareness, aliveness, and being completely here in the now.
Transformation begins with the body. The stronger it becomes, the deeper access we gain to our minds — and the more of our true potential we can reach.
The change has always been more mental than physical. It shattered my fixed mindset and replaced it with an unshakable belief that anything is possible. I’ve seen it firsthand.
When the body transforms, the mind reshapes itself to match what the body is capable of.
Real strength isn’t measured in pounds or reflected in a mirror. It’s how lightly you hold what’s heavy. It’s how you catch the lemons life throws without dropping yourself. It’s how you choose to live, free from fear’s control.
Strength is showing up for yourself, even when no one is watching. It’s trusting your body to guide, protect, and teach you what matters. It’s lifting more than your body weight in the gym and life, knowing that every extra load only makes you steadier.
Strength is laughing when someone tries to make you feel small because you’ve seen through the noise. Your body already knows what’s true.
After fourteen years of training, postpartum comebacks, and rebuilding myself rep by rep, I’ve learned this:
The day I stopped measuring my body and started trusting it was the day I finally became strong.
© Tamil, 2025.
Image credit: Photo by Priscilla Du Preez 🇨🇦 on Unsplash
My Magic Bytes 
Leave a comment