I fixed my life, and people got offended. Go figure.
You know what’s exhausting?
Not the workouts. Not the meal prep. Not even skipping that glass (okay, bottle) of wine that used to whisper sweet nothings at 10 p.m. on a Tuesday.
No. What’s truly exhausting is other people’s opinions about how you live your life.
Because apparently, I’ve been doing it wrong all along.
When I was overweight, the commentary was rich and abundant.
“You’d be so beautiful if you just lost a few kilos.”
Oh, thank you, Doctor of Aesthetics. How generous of you to diagnose me with potential.
So, I did it. I lost 25 kilos.
That’s a small human. Gone.
Cue applause, standing ovation, DMs from people I haven’t spoken to since the iPhone 6 era:
“OMG, you look incredible!”
“What’s your secret?”
“How did you do it?”
Secret? Discipline, tears, and an emotionally abusive relationship with chicken breast.
But then suddenly, like a plot twist in a bad Netflix show – the compliments aged like milk.
Now it’s:
“Don’t you think you’ve gone too far?”
“You should stop now.”
“You’re looking… tired.”
Oh, I’m sorry – I didn’t realise happiness had a BMI.
Then came my decision to stop drinking alcohol.
Not for any dramatic reason, no rock bottom story here – just a quiet realisation that I was tired of pretending hangovers were a personality trait.
You’d think I announced I was renouncing citizenship.
“What do you mean you don’t drink?”
“You’re no fun anymore.”
Ah yes, because nothing screams fun like slurring through small talk and waking up to a text that says, “Did you mean to post that?”
But the best part? The same person lecturing me about my “boring lifestyle”, mid-third beer, suddenly becomes a nutritionist when I drink an isotonic.
“You know that stuff has a lot of sugar, right?”
Right. And that beer you’re holding? That’s basically a liquid salad.
Then I started lifting weights.
At first, it was fine. Cute even.
People love it when a woman “goes to the gym.” You know, as long as she stays soft, small, manageable.
But the minute I started actually building muscle, the narrative shifted.
“Oh, careful, you’ll get bulky.”
“It’s not good for women to have big arms.”
I love how men with beer bellies feel qualified to give out aesthetic advice.
Apparently, I should look “fit,” but not too fit.
Healthy, but not too healthy.
Happy, but not too happy – because then I must be faking it.
There’s this invisible committee, I swear, a secret society of “Life Critics” whose sole purpose is to keep the world properly mediocre. They meet weekly. The agenda?
“Things Erika did wrong this week.”
Because whatever you do – eat well, sleep well, train hard, quit drinking – there’s always someone ready to remind you you’re doing it “too much.”
Too much discipline. Too much focus. Too much energy.
Apparently, moderation now means “doing whatever everyone else is doing.”
And honestly? I’ve learned this:
People don’t actually want you to change.
They want you to stay familiar. Predictable. A version of you that doesn’t make them uncomfortable about their own choices.
Your transformation becomes a mirror, and not everyone likes what they see in it.
It’s not about the isotonic drinks or the weights or the wine.
It’s about the quiet rebellion of choosing yourself.
Of saying, “I don’t need to perform comfort for your sake.”
So, I let them talk.
I let them analyse my grocery list, my biceps, my beverage choices.
Let them shake their heads and whisper, “She’s changed.”
Because – newsflash! That was the whole point.
Change is uncomfortable. Especially for the people who refuse to do it.
And I’m done making myself small just so others can feel comfortable in their own stagnation.
If my joy, health, and peace look “extreme” to someone – maybe they should ask themselves why mediocrity feels safer.
So yes, I’ll keep doing my “crazy” things:
Drinking my suspiciously sugary isotonic drink,
Lifting my unfeminine weights,
Living my extreme life.
Because it’s mine.
And if that bothers anyone, there’s an entire committee waiting to discuss it.
Without me.
Erika Matic writes about transformation, resistance, and the hilarious discomfort of being alive in a world that wants you to shrink – literally and metaphorically. She lifts heavy, thinks deeply, and laughs at the absurdity of people’s expectations. Somewhere between self-growth and sarcasm, she’s just figuring it out – unapologetically, and with a protein shake in hand.
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