For as long as I can remember, my new year’s resolutions always focused on my weight.

“New year, new me,” I’d exclaim, as I swallowed non-FDA-approved diet pills with a bottle of whatever juice fast was trending. Two hours on the elliptical, muscles quivering from lack of nutrition, I’d feel certain that this year would be the one I finally lost the weight and found the skinny girl living within my rolls of flesh. Encouraged by the incessant bray of body-shaming weight loss adverts that accompany the start of every new year, I’d continue this quest as long as I could, until I’d inevitably eat something “bad,” miss a few workouts, and then spend the rest of the year bemoaning my fat fate.