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The wellness lifestyle offers agency, but often breeds shame. Body positivity fights shame, but often rejects agency.

"Stop asking what a workout will burn and start asking what it will do ," says Jessamyn Stanley, a renowned queer, fat, yoga teacher. In her classes, she reframes the narrative. You don't squat to shrink your thighs; you squat to feel the power in your legs. You don't run to lose weight; you run to clear your mind. When the goal is function , not form , the shame evaporates.

For a decade, Sarah, a 34-year-old graphic designer from Portland, lived by a strict mantra: love your body exactly as it is. She unfollowed diet culture accounts, bought clothes that fit her current shape, and practiced daily affirmations. She felt liberated.

"The commercialized version of body positivity became a passive state," says Dr. Lena Harding, a clinical psychologist specializing in eating disorders. "It told people that any desire to move, eat a vegetable, or lift a weight was inherently 'diet culture.' In doing so, it accidentally demonized health."

"I realized I had confused stasis with love ," Sarah says. "I love my partner, but we still go to therapy. I love my dog, but I still take him for walks. Loving my body doesn't mean letting it rot on the couch. It means giving it what it needs—movement, vegetables, rest—without punishing it for existing."

But last January, her doctor delivered sobering news. Her blood pressure was creeping up, and her joints ached. "I was terrified," Sarah admits. "I thought that if I tried to change my body—even for health reasons—I was betraying the body positive movement."

Here is what that looks like in practice:

The answer emerging from therapists and inclusive fitness instructors is —a step beyond positivity. Body liberation doesn't require you to love your rolls or cellulite. It simply asks you to respect your body’s agency enough to care for it.