Here’s something I never thought I’d admit on the internet: I now work out in very short shorts. I also wear tops that are extremely cropped. Not even the postman has seen me in them.
These are not the curated, influencer-type outfits either. These are the “only acceptable behind closed blinds” combos. These outfits would make me run — not walk — out of a gym. I would be convinced someone was about to use me as a cautionary tale for skipping workouts in your 30s.
But in the comfort of my home? I wear them.
And you know what? I own them.
Somewhere between chasing results and trying to keep my core tight, I made an important realization. I did not want to resemble a dropped sponge cake. I needed to bring joy back into the routine. This means bringing real, unfiltered, slightly ridiculous joy.
It started with music. I ditched the serious yoga girl playlists. Instead, I queued up 90s R&B, Afrobeats, and that one J-Lo remix. It turns my kitchen into a stage. I’m now convinced that doing squats while mouthing “If You Had My Love” burns more calories — science pending.
And then came the movement itself. I stopped chasing perfection and started chasing the feeling. Missed a workout? Danced it off. Didn’t hit my step count? Did a full-body wiggle while boiling rice. Let’s be honest — joy burns calories too.
My daughter occasionally pops in to critique my form. She labels my wobbly bits like a museum exhibit. Even that adds to the fun. It’s light. It’s ours. And it reminds me that this isn’t punishment — it’s play.
Because honestly, I’ve done the guilt-laced workout routines. The ones where every move is fueled by shame. Where joy is something you earn, not something you lead with. And that just doesn’t work anymore. Not for the woman I am now. Not for the body I’m finally learning to treat like a teammate, not a project.
So yes, the shorts are short. The tops are cropped. And the belly still has its soft corners and semi-ovals. But the smile? That’s real. So is the music. So is the shift in how I feel — lighter, freer, and just a little bit cheeky.
This is movement, not misery.
This is change, with laughter.
This is me, dancing my way home to myself — one joyful squat at a time.
