Guess what? I HAVE CELLULITE!!!!
So you know what I do? I say eff it. I've learned to be ok with it. We are not friends and never will be, but I'll let that freeloader ride around my thighs as long as she still lets the muscle show through most days. Because I'd rather be strong with a little dimpling on my legs than back to having weak bones (eating that little and that poorly took about 7 years to get my skeletal system back to normal... even after I'd finally made leaps and bounds mentally, my body reminded me it needs love 100% of the time).
Know what I've realized? NO ONE ELSE SEES IT. I'm probably the only one who looks at the side of my thighs when I sit down wearing shorts. I'm the only one who gets bothered by it when I fold over to stretch my hamstrings. I know for a fact my husband sees nothing wrong with it (btw: he's balding. and doesn't give 2 poops about it. I love it when he shaves his head).
My whole point is this: we all have issues, insecurities, etc. My students often ask me what I do for my arm workouts, or abs workouts.... they don't even notice the cellulite. We are our own worst critics. Once I stopped loathing myself and began to love myself, a true miracle happened: I WAS HAPPY. And then I met my husband. Funny how that works. And he has been there to remind me any time the stupid voices begin that they are just that: stupid.
Through my journey of being overweight, then underweight, and now healthy, I've made my motto:
What's the point of being skinny if you can't open a jar? Because believe me, when I was under 100, I could barely open a box of cereal.
I still have moments of negativity. My arms don't always fit in T-shirt sleeves. Where the old version of me might have been defeated, afraid I was getting fat again, and would have then went on a self-loathing rampage, now I look in the mirror and flex. Bam. Muscle. I am strong, I am powerful, I am awesome. Not perfect, but where's the fun in that, anyway?