by Erika Matic, currently flexing her biceps in the bathroom mirror
There are certain types of people I’ve always silently resented. You know the ones.
The “I woke up one day and changed my life” people.
The “I quit alcohol and now my skin glows like a newborn angel moisturised with moonwater” people.
The “I lift weights at 5 a.m. because discipline is my love language” people.
I used to look at them and think:
Congratulations, Stela. Enjoy your kale. I’ll be over here dying inside, but with snacks.
And then – horrifically, unexpectedly – I became one of them.
Not because of a TED Talk. Not because a fitness influencer bullied me with their eyebrows. Not even because I wanted to. I changed because my life fell apart in a way so dramatic it could’ve been written by a particularly emotional telenovela intern.
The Year Everything Went Wrong… and Then Kept Getting Worse Just to Make a Point
It’s September 2024. I’m overweight, exhausted, depressed, drinking like a Victorian poet, and held together by caffeine and resentment. My thyroid is on strike. My mental health has filed for bankruptcy. My child is adorable but feral. My house is chaotic.
And then – because apparently the universe loves symbolism – my family home burned down.
Actual flames. Actual smoke. Actual “Is this meaningful or simply rude?” energy.
There’s nothing like watching your childhood melt to remind you that life is fragile and extremely uninterested in your convenience.
Everyone kept saying, “It’s lucky no one got hurt,” and I kept thinking, Okay but can someone check on my will to live?
The Epiphany Nobody Warns You About
After the fire, I woke up one morning and simply… decided.
I didn’t make a vision board.
I didn’t whisper affirmations into herbal tea.
I just hit the emotional basement and thought:
Well, I guess it’s time to stop being a sad croissant.
So I stepped on my elliptical.
For 10 minutes.
Which nearly killed me.
But I came back the next day.
And the next.
And then I blinked and it was March 2025 and I wasn’t drinking anymore – a sentence I never expected to write unless threatened by a detox pamphlet.
The Summer of Gains (Emotional and Physical)
In August, I made the bold but financially questionable decision to build a home gym.
Friends…
Weights. Changed. My. Body.
But also my brain.
Lifting heavy things is the only therapy where you get visibly hotter. Suddenly I had muscles. Hope. Shoulders. Opinions. A protein intake that could terrify livestock.
I lost 25 kilos.
I stopped needing wine to tolerate myself.
I started eating like someone who knows what nutrients are.
I read 96 books.
I wrote again.
I visited my parents more.
I felt… alive.
Disgusting, honestly.
The Most Annoying Part: Realising It Was Always Me
What keeps me up at night isn’t the fire or the depression or the toddler whose tantrums sound like she’s auditioning for a horror film.
It’s this:
I could’ve done this sooner.
But I didn’t.
Because I didn’t believe I could.
Now I walk around like some Netflix documentary character thinking things like:
“Wow, discipline feels good,”
“My body can do hard things,”
and
“Protein is my best friend now – sorry, carbs.”
Humiliating.
The Part Where I Accidentally Inspire You Too (Sorry in Advance)
Here’s the truth I hate admitting:
If a tired, wine-marinated, emotionally crispy post-fire goblin like me can get her life together… so can anyone.
I’m not special.
I’m not magical.
I just got tired of my own bullshit.
The moment I stopped waiting to feel ready, the cutscene finally un-paused.
What One Year Can Do (Apparently Everything)
Last year I was a walking cautionary tale.
This year I am:
- Sober (???)
- Strong enough to lift actual weights, not just emotional baggage
- 25 kilos lighter and 90% less miserable
- Reading like I’m training for the literary Olympics
- Writing because I want to, not because I’m avoiding deadlines
- Eating protein like it’s a religion
- Visiting family without guilt
- Actually excited about the future
Next year? No idea.
But for once, I’m looking forward to it.
A Tiny, Slightly Sweaty Love Letter to Anyone Who Needs It
If you’re thinking, “I want that, but I’ll never get there,” please know:
I thought that too.
But change doesn’t demand perfection.
It demands starting.
Ten minutes on an elliptical.
Drinking water.
Sleeping.
Walking.
One day not drinking.
One healthy meal.
One tiny choice.
Unsexy things.
But they stack. Quietly. Slowly. Like a revolution done in leggings.
The Quiet Thing I Learned When the Smoke Finally Cleared
Everyone talks about transformation like it’s a before-and-after photo – abs and smoothies and a sudden personality upgrade.
But real change happens in the quiet:
When you’re tired of abandoning yourself.
When you choose action over misery.
When you realise you deserve more than survival.
For me, it also happened standing in front of ashes. Because once you’ve seen how fast everything can disappear, you stop pretending you have endless time to change.
You understand you either rebuild or you remain rubble.
And here’s what I wish someone had told me, loudly and rudely, years ago:
You don’t become a new person.
You return to the person you were before life buried you.
That’s why I’m excited for next year – not because it will be perfect, but because I finally trust myself to handle the imperfect parts without abandoning ship.
If you’re in your own chaos, fog, burnout, or fire (literal or metaphorical), remember:
You don’t need a plan.
You don’t need January.
You don’t need a sign carved into a burning building.
You need one tiny act of rebellion against the story you’ve been stuck in.
It won’t feel important.
It won’t feel magical.
It won’t even feel inspiring.
But a year from now, you’ll look back and realise:
That tiny choice saved you.
Because it led you back to yourself.
Erika Matic writes about domestic chaos, emotional glow-ups, and the tragic hilarity of becoming the kind of woman who enjoys weightlifting. She believes change doesn’t require a perfect plan – just the moment you decide you’ve had enough.
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