And you should too! I trained for hours. I competed for a Big Ten program. My body could do things most people’s couldn’t — power through a swing, hold steady under pressure, show up again and again. And still, I couldn’t see it. Not the strength. Not the beauty. All I could see was what it wasn’t. Because the only bodies I was ever shown as “the standard” weren’t real. The models in the magazines I grew up comparing myself to weren’t just smaller than me — statistically, they were in the most underweight 1% of women. Not average. Not even something a body is built to look like. But I didn’t know that. I just knew I wasn’t that, and I let it mean something was wrong with me. Then there were the comments. Offhand ones, from guys who probably don’t even remember saying them. About my thighs. About being strong instead of small — said like it was an insult. Like an athlete’s body was something to apologize for instead of something to be proud of. And I let those throwaway comments live in me for years. Longer than any of them deserved. It took until I was 54 to finally put it down. For decades I dressed to disappear — to not take up too much space, to not draw the wrong kind of attention, to just get through the day unnoticed. And somewhere in the last few years, without even realizing exactly when it happened, that flipped. I stopped dressing to disappear. I started dressing to stand out. I’m not invisible. I never was. I just spent a long time trying to be. Not anymore. LTKootd LTKOver40