When you’re the heaviest person at the gym, you expect looks of distaste and disparaging whispers from the employees when you swipe your card at the front desk. You expect to feel the judgments of teenagers, athletes, gym rats, hot dads, sexy soccer moms, and their children thundering upon the nape of your neck during the walk to the locker room, head down, chin and eyes to the floor. You take a glance at yourself in the mirror on your way out of the bathroom and see the reflection of a perfectly toned ass bent over the bench behind you. You can’t help but compare. Your deep, crimson stretch marks discern your problem-areas like someone has taken a raspberry Sharpie and written, “Check it out! I'm going to be a Portuguese Man O' War for Halloween this year—and every other day, too!" Yet somehow, the woman behind you not only has muscles in places you didn’t know you could flex, she is also evenly tan. Everywhere. I mean it… Everywhere. You don’t want to question how that happened, so you move on.

When you’re the heaviest person at the gym, you expect to feel self conscious among the Barbies and Kens of your university’s fitness center or your neighborhood club house—or in my case, the fabulous Lifetime Fitness. You expect you’re going to feel positively inadequate beside the flawless woman on the next elliptical in the Lululemon Yoga Pants and Victoria’s Secret sports bra. Whatever life choices you’ve made or whatever situation you’ve been thrust into without consent, this is where you are. You are the heaviest person at the gym.

That’s how I thought it was going to go. I remember pulling into the parking lot, desperately trying to control my heart rate—panicked by how bad I already felt about myself before my first trip to the gym had even started. Ladies and gentlemen, those worst fears, the ones I played over and over in my head on the drive, questioning again and again if I should turn around and go home…all of those fears…

Have never come true.

The people at the desk smiled. The woman in the locker room offered me her hair tie. The kids complimented me on my blue, plus-size Old Navy Active Yoga Capris. The enormous, muscular hulk lifting around the corner boasted a proud thumbs up as I sat down at the stationary bike. The staff prodded me with encouraging words and Can-I-Help-Yous and Let-Us-Know-If-You-Need-Anythings. My friends texted me to tell me they were proud of me. The hot soccer mom with the bangs and the pink lipstick never even looked at me—we were all too distracted by the handsome lifeguards at the indoor pool below.

I will admit, my paranoid thoughts were racing. I didn’t know what to repetitively pick up and put down or what “form” I should have while I’m doing it. None of it made sense to me. I figured, as long as I end up sweaty, I’m probably all right. So I started with cardio. After 32 minutes on the elliptical, I stood; shaking and elated. My legs were weak, my neck was dripping with sweat, and my collarbones had made their first appearance in over a year. As I hobbled down the stairs, I made the 20-year-old decision to check Twitter: low and behold, the first Tweet I saw was a photo of a very heavy-set man walking on a treadmill, captioned, “If you make fun of a fat person at the gym, you are the loser. They are actively trying to be in better shape and fix what you perceive to be a problem, and you’re putting them down. THAT’s messed up.” It’s a safe assumption that a “fit” person wrote this; I, for one, appreciated the sentiment.

Here’s the thing, I have no problem with being “overweight.” I especially have no problem with someone else being “overweight.” I believe that as long as we are all fit and healthy enough to be able to succeed in whatever profession, passion, education, or lifestyle we have chosen—that’s as fit as we have to be. If you join the military, you should be able to do ten thousand pushups. If you go to college, you should be able to walk a couple miles to your classes. If you work in a restaurant, you should be able to lift relatively heavy objects. If you are an athlete, everything about your lifestyle baffles me. But good for you for finding that passion! The point is, when I started going to the gym, I was getting over a very serious thyroid condition. I went from a size six to a size 16 in just over a year. I had never made fitness a priority, and now I needed to get back to a place where I could climb a staircase without getting lightheaded. I was terrified that the gym would be a place of discontentment, misery, and self-doubt. Instead, it is a safe haven. It is my favorite time of the day. I believe that even just 15 years ago, it would have been very difficult for a person like me to try to go to the gym—especially for the first time. But this past couple decades, the body acceptance movement has dramatically improved the way we see ourselves, and each other. Regardless of what size I am, what shape my rear is, or how plushy my arms are, I love myself. Loving your body at all times is one of the most important parts of the human experience. Regardless of weight, number of limbs, volume of hair, race, gender, height, anything, we must all love our bodies, and encourage each other to do the same. We’re stuck in them for the rest of our lives, so we might as well learn to appreciate them for what they are.

Though I’m not a size 16 anymore, I’m still technically plus size. I do, however, have significantly more muscle in my body. I can function in my everyday life with more ease, and I feel stronger and more empowered than I ever have. I am still, on most days, the heaviest person at the gym. I am also the person with the most work to do, and therefore, the longest journey to look forward to.

The moral of the story is to love yourself. Put good vibes into the world. Wave and smile to the slowest person on the track. Cheer on the slender, soccer girl who’s trying to reach a personal best on the treadmill. Teach your children to look past outward appearance and be kind. Befriend the scary Cross-Fit guys at the lifting mats. Give that nervous-looking person at the gym a Hulk-size thumbs up. Be compassionate of others’ situations. Strive to be as healthy as you can, given the circumstances. Be the best you that you can be—remember that being “fat” isn’t such a bad thing, and there is no shame in being the heaviest person at the gym.