Before I lost weight, I would frequent Facebook pages, Tumblr blogs, and other such nonsense that supported the fat acceptance movement. For hours, I would scroll through photo after photo of plus-sized (usually size 8/10 and above) women who were amazing beautiful and rocked whatever swimsuit, lingerie, or short-shorts they wore. They were unafraid to show skin despite being overweight, and it inspired me to be as confident as they appeared. Whenever I saw men share or re-post pictures with quotes like, “Dogs like bones, men like curves,” I secretly congratulated them and told myself that being skinny wasn’t everything.

Meghan Trainer’s pop hit about the beauty of plus sized women hit the radio right in the middle of my weight loss journey. At that point, I was 190/180-ish, which still put me in the plus-sized category at stores like Forever 21 and Target. I knew I was curvy, but I was drifting further away from the kind of curvy that gets shared on social media. When I heard Trainor’s song, I cringed. It was bizarre, listening to a song that urged people to accept one body type while simultaneously putting another down. Sure, I knew that the intention wasn’t harmful, and I didn’t find offense to the song as a woman whose body type Trainor could have been singing about. I understand that slender women have been the standard of beauty for a long time, and plus-sized women have had a heck of a time in this country finding a niche for themselves in the beauty industry. As a former-plus-sized woman, I understand the struggle, and I felt guilty for not being more supportive of this woman who was speaking up about society’s narrow view of beauty.

The thing that confused me the most about the fat acceptance movement was the very portrayal of plus-sized models. The thing that baffled me the most about the plus-sized models of Instagram were their bellies. While not taught and toned like runway models’, these women still had tummies that didn’t spill over their underwear. Even before my weight loss, when I was about the same size as some of them, I never had an hourglass shape, or a stomach that I was willing to show off. My thighs and ass ballooned out from my bottom half, disproportionate to the rest of my body. I wondered what it was that made their bodies more acceptable to behold. Even though I might have been a couple sizes smaller than them, I could never—and still couldn’t—pull off half of their outfits. I chalked it up to sheer confidence, and I wanted to mimic their confidence in the hopes that maybe people wouldn’t notice my rolls as much.

After a while, I stopped admiring these women for being brave and baring it all to change the face of beauty and began to feel bad about myself all over again. I was overweight like them, but my fat didn’t accumulate in flattering places. I validated my size by justifying it with the posts and shares from chubby chasers on social media. Now that I’ve lost weight and actually read about some of the women I used to religiously follow, I learned a couple things. Here’s a secret: many plus sized models work out, and they do specific work outs to keep their curvy shape but still have the bod to rock those skimpy bikinis. Most of them lead healthy lifestyles, eat right, and take care of themselves.

What I’m trying to get at is that I do think that “every body is beautiful,” and it is good that plus-sized models are garnering attention and helping to change the way people perceive beauty. What I don’t think is okay is when people use terms like “fat acceptance” as an excuse to neglect their own health or put down people who are more slender than they. As someone who has been on both sides of the spectrum, the pressure to meet society’s beauty standards weigh equally heavy (hur hur hur). There doesn’t need to be a defined “fat acceptance” movement. If I tried to create a “skinny acceptance” movement, then there would be a definite backlash.

I don’t know if there was a point to this article besides just stating yet another opinion about yet another social media thing, but I just had to get it out there. Fat doesn’t mean curvy, and curvy doesn’t mean fat. I don’t think that there is anything wrong with being over a certain weight or a specific size, because everybody is different. When I was 60 pounds overweight (and gaining), no one said anything to me about my health, at least to my face. Now that I am a healthy, average weight, I get comments like, “oh, don’t lose any more weight, you’re too skinny,” or “you looked better when you were bigger.” I guess these mostly well-meaning comments come from a good place, they grate on my nerves because I worked hard to develop habits and a routine that have made me a happier person.

Food is fuel, and what I put into my body affects the way I feel mentally and physically. Being called skinny is a great feeling, but I think I’ve reached the point where that isn’t the main thing that motivates me anymore. I want to feel good physically, but my mental and emotional health have become my new project. By fueling my body with good things and maintaining a healthy routine, I find a sort of balance that makes it easier for me to pull myself out of the dumps whenever I get to feeling depressed. And that is probably the most important thing I can do for myself.