I was expected to pursue a serious, stable, and traditional career with upward mobility.
My familys concern over my body was a familiar presence throughout my teenage years and into adulthood.
I wasnt eating enough, or I was eating too much.
Courtesy of the author
I was too thin, or I was not thin enough.
So I tried my hardest to mold my body into an acceptable form.
I read nutrition labels.
This content can also be viewed on the site itoriginatesfrom.
I felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction every time I increased the weight and completed a set successfully.
As the weights went up, my muscles grew…and grew, and grew.
Here, I had proof that working hard at something would bring real results.
As long as I put in the work, my body would respond.
I began to like how I looked for the first time in my life.
Along with the butt I conjured up out of thin air, my thighs grew as well.
They grew bigger and closer until I started seeing the outlines of my quadriceps.
Id flex in the mirror, feeling powerful.
These thighs could squat my bodyweight; they could crush a watermelon!
Why are your legs so big?"
My muscle-building aspirations just didn’t jive with the traditional expectations of Asian women that they were used to.
“Why are you trying to be white?
Youre not like them, youre Asian.”
Clashing with my immigrant and refugee parents was normal.
Tiffany Nguyen, a competitive powerlifter who can squat 250 pounds, is the daughter of Vietnamese immigrants.
For me, being Asian is the hardest thing because youre expected to become a doctor.
“Your thighs are too thick,” was a comment she was used to hearing.
I tracked every single calorie I ate, justifying it as a need to hit my macros.
I’d have a panic attack thinking about rest days.
My doctor prescribed less exercise and more meditation.
He reminded me I was beautiful despite the anxieties I had in my own head.
I eventually learned to eat pizza without spending the next day mentally punishing myself.
But I dont want thighs like yours.
And thats the way I like them.
