Overachiever.

This one’s been percolating in my mind for a few days now, ever since A’s comment made me think a bit.

He wrote: In some way I still feel as if I am defined by my work and by what I accomplish, and while that is definitely more healthy than defining oneself from their exterior physique, it’s still somewhat problematic.

I agree that it’s problematic, and that’s because I think it’s a problem to define yourself solely by your exterior or by your interior. Of course there’s the concept of “inner beauty” and the fact that personality is vastly more important than looks. I believe those things 100%. I also believe that a person becomes more beautiful to you the more you like them. And If I had to choose one or the other, I’d much, much, much rather be defined by who I am than what I look like. Of course.

Let me back up a little bit. I’ve always been an overachiever. I learned to read before the age of four. I’ve always gotten straight As – and I mean always. My transcript shows only As and A+s all the way through graduate school. I was the girl who joined fifteen clubs in high school and wanted to be the president of each one. I’ve won a lot of awards. I got into my dream graduate program straight out of my undergrad and I excelled there, too. I’ve always been eager to define myself by my accomplishments, because I’m extremely proud of them. I’ve also had a very high self-esteem (which some perceive as arrogance, and which has definitely been so in the past – I hope it’s not the case anymore) all my life.

I was thin until I was about nine years old, then I became chubby. It was something that hung over me until I was sixteen and dieted for the first time. I was the overacheiver in every aspect of life except my looks. I was never the pretty one (that was my younger sister; I know she always felt she fell short compared to me, but I envied her effortless beauty). I didn’t feel ugly, I just felt plain and chubby.

When I dieted at the age of sixteen and began seven years of yo-yo diets and weight losses and gains, I threw myself into it with the same effort and passion I did everything else in life. I lost forty pounds in four months and loved the compliments, loved that I was as good as dieting as I thought I should be. Even when I gained weight and had to diet again, I was proud of the way I could jump back on the dieting bandwagon and drop ten pounds in two weeks. I was a good dieter. Sure, it didn’t stick, but when I put my mind to it, I was damn good at it. Of course I was – I can be good at anything I put my mind to, right?

In a way, quitting dieting feels like giving up, feels like taking the easy way out. The know-how is right there, within reach. I could drop ten pounds by the middle of July if I chose to do it. I’d gain it back once I stopped restricting, but the fact is that I could do it, and I am actively choosing not to. It’s not a passive choice not to diet, no matter what some may think about fatness and weight gain equating to laziness and a refusal to “just make an effort.” But I’d be lying if I said that the way I’m living my life now isn’t easier than it was to diet. It’s easier, more enjoyable, less stressful. But there’s guilt lurking behind every diet ad or offhand comment from a friend … Julia, you could be thin. Why did you give up?

This is why I refuse to define myself only by my accomplishments and personality. They don’t show the whole person. My body is part of me, and I don’t care that it’s chubby and I don’t care that I’m not as conventionally pretty as my sister (by the way, she thinks I’m prettier. The grass is never greener). Who says I’m not pretty? Society? What do I care about the opinions of nameless, faceless people, when those closest to me – my fiance, my family, my friends – think I’m great as I am, inside and out?

By refusing to try to mold myself into standards that don’t fit me, I am making a statement about who I am. My looks don’t matter at all in terms of my worth as a person, but they do matter insofar as I need to be comfortable with the image I see in the mirror and need to be able to embrace it. I don’t have to think I’m prettier than the girl next door, but I do have to recognize the beautiful parts of me. I have to have enough respect for my body not to torture it into submission. I have to have enough respect for my fiance and my closest friends to believe them when they tell me I am beautiful just as I am. They see all of me – inside and out – and they love me for me.

After so many years of trying to compensate for my perceived physical shortcomings, I’m now trying to bring it all together into one package: me. And that, I think, is an achievement worth being proud of.