Matt Joseph Diaz

I was definitely what you might consider a “late bloomer.” When I was younger, I was exceedingly shy around women and insecure about my weight, and I put no effort into my appearance whatsoever. I didn’t have a decent haircut until 2013, and even that’s debatable.

Taking the time to find clothes that I liked, to dye my hair, and get tattooed — for the first time I was building a place of my own.

When I lost that ability for a while, being too weak and swollen to really put the effort in, it felt like I’d lost a part of myself. It felt like I’d regressed, like I’d gotten to the finish line and was forced back into the race.

This is the trap we fall into when we discuss recovery, emotional development, mental health, or body image: believing there’s a destination.

When I share that I’m in a bad place, I’m told to curl up in bed with a nice book, eat my favorite ice cream or to take a relaxing bath. While these are all wonderful and helpful ideas, I think it’s important to discuss aspects of self-care that aren’t all about resting and treating yourself.

Wondering how you can be be ready for the beach? Wonder no more! Matt shares three steps to help you get your body positivity on!

Tinder's convenience hasn't “converted” anyone into suddenly only wanting one-night stands. I’ve never heard anyone say “I used to only want to sleep with people I was emotionally invested in, but Tinder is SO CONVENIENT.” Nobody’s treating their sexuality like impulse-buying a candy bar by the checkout counter at a fucking grocery store, so stop treating them like they do.

Being asked about my weight-loss “secrets” make me uncomfortable. It feels very different from people wanting to know about my story. It feels like being asked to provide a shortcut.

“She just grabbed the bacon off my plate! She didn’t ask, she didn’t even say anything, she just assumed it was OK and took it!”
“It’s just bacon —”
“It’s NOT about the Bacon, Donald. It’s about the principle.”

When you go through a difficult, traumatic, or transformative experience, there’s a part of you that wants to hold onto the person you were before it happened. You try so hard to hold onto a simpler time–a time when things weren’t so scary. But you can’t.

For some of us, our first real taste of adulthood comes from sitting alone in a clinic, waiting to get our ding-dongs tested.

Dear 16-Year-Old, 500 Pound Matt,