In Your Own Corner: On “You” Positivity

My husband, Cas, is a large man. He’s seventy years old and he’s had his share of health challenges. Yet he’s never unhappy with himself. When I project that he might feel self-conscious, or try to make him feel “better” about some perceived flaw, he shrugs and says, “I’m fine. I like myself.”

He’s not just body positive. He’s Cas positive.

Body positivity is usually defined as accepting the body you have and enjoying it regardless of changes that happen naturally with aging or lifestyle. Its benefits include improved mental health, increased self-esteem, and a challenge to harmful cultural norms. “You positivity,” as I’ve come to think of it, goes a step further. It’s the practice of accepting yourself entirely—your quirks, history, mistakes, needs, wants, and preferences—without requiring approval from anyone else.

I’ve spent years trying to cultivate this stance toward myself, with mixed results. On my better days, I remind myself that in twenty years I’ll look back and wish for the version of me I inhabit right now, physically and emotionally. Like finding an old photo you once cringed at and thinking, I would love to look like that again.

If only I could enjoy and savor today with that same generosity. And this isn’t just about appearance. It shows up in how I assert myself, how carefully I edit my words, how often I shrink to avoid judgment or disapproval. God forbid anyone not like me.

Cas, meanwhile, delights in being exactly who he is. He’ll prance around the house in his birthday suit or cheerfully push back when negotiating a good price. But the clearest expression of his self-positivity came after surgery, when we were taking a slow walk around his hospital ward. He was tethered to an IV and a catheter, shuffling along in a thin gown. As we passed the nurses’ station, he lifted the yellow catheter bag and swung it like a purse, striking a dramatic pose as he walked by.

Most of us feel exposed and diminished in moments like that—small, fragile, apologetic for existing. Not Mr. Cas. That bag was a prop, not a humiliation. He was simply happy to be upright and moving. By the end of his stay, the staff had nicknamed him Papa Cas.

Another expression of this same inner alignment shows up in how he asks for what he wants. At restaurants, he’ll almost always amend the order: “Could I have an extra sauce?” or “Can you make the Cadillac margarita like you do at home—just a bit more Grand Marnier?” He’s unfailingly pleasant, unapologetic, and satisfied, because he gets what he asked for.

Many of us do the opposite. We accept what we’re given, swallow the small disappointment, and apologize if we think we’ve caused even mild inconvenience. We tell ourselves it’s easier, more polite, less risky. What we don’t always notice is the quiet cost: we rarely get what we actually want.

As a therapist, I see how early and how deeply many of us learn to monitor ourselves—our needs, our desires, our very presence—in order to stay safe and liked. Over time, that vigilance can become internalized, turning into a belief that something is wrong with us if we want too much, take up space, or risk being seen.

But imagine what might change if acceptance didn’t have to come from the outside. Imagine being in your own corner first. We might apply for the grant. We might enter rooms we once avoided. We might ask—clearly and calmly—for what we want, trusting that our needs are not an inconvenience.

“You positivity” isn’t bravado or narcissism. It’s a quiet, steady allegiance to yourself. It’s removing the hurdles you place in front of your own path before anyone else has a chance to. And when obstacles do appear—as they inevitably will—it’s remembering that they are not evidence of your unworthiness.

I’m fine. I like myself.

What might become possible if we believed that too?