In a world that constantly nudges women to reveal more—nowhere more brazenly than the fitness industry, the message couldn’t be clearer: expertise, brains, and decades of dedication mean less than your willingness to perform sexuality for mass consumption.

I’ve chosen a different path. And apparently, that makes me the weirdo.

The “But You Have the Body for It” Dilemma

As an athlete with a physique honed by relentless discipline, the kind that fitness magazines would kill to put on their covers (I’m just being honest here), my choice to embrace modesty sends people into a complete tailspin. “But you have the body for it,” they insist, as if I’ve somehow missed the memo about what I’m supposed to do with my hard-earned muscle.

Here’s what gets me: what exactly is “it”? And why, just because my body reflects years of dedication and sacrifice, should the logical next step be putting it on display like a prize heifer at the county fair? (Give me a more accurate metaphor, I’ll wait.)

This assumption reveals everything wrong with how we view athletic women, we’re valued more for the spectacle than the sport, more for our aesthetics than our achievements. We’re supposed to be grateful for the opportunity to turn ourselves into content.

This isn’t me being “uptight,” “traditional,” or “backwards.” It’s certainly not shame, hell no. And spare me that tired line about how “the human body is so beautiful,” because that misses the point entirely. Beautiful or breathtaking, the human body isn’t a sculpture in a museum. We’re complex beings with souls, dignity, and stories that extend far beyond what meets the eye.

My choice isn’t some patriarchal concession either. As someone who actually studied feminism in college (shocking, I know), that assumption is particularly galling. I’m free, a nomad with zero ties constraining me. Nobody tells me what to do with my body. My modesty is a conscious, deeply personal decision that even puzzles my own family. It stems from profound respect for my body and an unshakeable sense of self-worth.

Translation: I didn’t survive decades of training to become someone else’s entertainment.

The Sacred Self: Why My Body Isn’t For Show

For me, my body is sacred territory. It’s a vessel of incredible strength and resilience, a living testament to my work ethic and determination. And precisely because it’s so precious, I refuse to grant unlimited access to every casual observer with an internet connection and the attention span of a goldfish.

We live in an age where social media has obliterated the line between private and public, where women are racing to “bare it all” for algorithmic approval. The research backs up what many of us feel in our guts: constant exposure to sexualized imagery leads viewers to objectify themselves and strip other women of basic human dignity. When we perform for the digital gaze, we’re not just harming ourselves, we’re feeding a system that diminishes how all women are perceived and valued.

Some women get paid handsomely for this exposure, which at least provides cold, hard justification. But what about the millions doing this for “likes”? The married ones posting thirst traps, what drives this insatiable hunger to be viewed, undressed, and evaluated by strangers whose intentions range from questionable to downright predatory?

Here’s the million-dollar question: what is this widespread exposure doing to women’s collective self-worth? (Spoiler alert: nothing good.)

Welcome to the Digital Panopticon

We’re living in what I call the digital panopticon—a space where the mere possibility of being watched transforms how we present ourselves, even in private moments. Social media platforms have weaponized attention, creating an economy where visibility equals value, and for women, that visibility has become increasingly, aggressively sexualized.

Researchers have a term for this: “self-sexualization” – women preemptively presenting themselves through a sexual lens not because they feel empowered, but because they’ve absorbed the toxic message that their professional worth depends on their ability to be sexually appealing to others. This isn’t liberation; it’s sophisticated professional coercion wrapped in empowerment rhetoric.

In other words: we’ve been sold a lie so pretty we forgot it was poison.

The Modern Trap: When “Freedom” Becomes Self-Objectification

Modernity promised women unprecedented freedom to define ourselves. The irony? Many women are now voluntarily objectifying themselves in ways that would have been unthinkable just decades ago.

Why this relentless compulsion to be exposed, to constantly display every curve and contour for public consumption? Is this genuine empowerment, or have we stumbled into a new form of servitude to external validation? When every woman’s worth seems tethered to her ability to rack up likes through revealing imagery, what happens to her intrinsic value? The line between authentic self-expression and commodification doesn’t just blur—it disappears entirely.

The algorithms reward this behavior ruthlessly, creating a feedback loop where increasingly sexualized content gets more engagement, pushing women toward ever more explicit self-presentations. The platforms profit, the viewers get their entertainment, but what does the woman get beyond a fleeting dopamine hit from hearts and fire emojis?

We’ve traded dignity for double-taps. And somehow convinced ourselves it’s progress.

The Societal Wreckage: Devaluing the Feminine

This culture of hyper-sexualization leaves casualties in its wake. When women are reduced to walking eye candy, society loses sight of their intellect, strength, compassion, and unique contributions beyond the purely aesthetic. We’ve created a narrative where a woman’s primary function is to be visually pleasing rather than to be a powerful, autonomous force in the world.

Worse, we’ve normalized a gaze that’s often disrespectful and predatory. Genuine connection and mutual respect get bulldozed by superficiality and instant gratification. What kind of society are we building when the constant visual assault of objectified women becomes background noise?

Young girls absorb this message with devastating clarity: your value lies in your ability to be sexually appealing to others. Not your thoughts, skills, character, or contributions, but how well you can perform femininity for mass consumption.

We’re raising a generation of girls who think their bodies are their business plan.

The Radical Act of Covering Up

Here’s where my choice becomes genuinely subversive. In a culture that has confused liberation with exposure, choosing modesty becomes a radical act of bodily autonomy. Far from neutering my power, my choice to dress modestly amplifies it. Instead of depending on strangers’ attention to validate my worth, I control the narrative. I decide who gets access, when, and on what terms.

This is authentic bodily autonomy, not the hollow freedom to perform for others, but the profound freedom to maintain boundaries, to keep parts of myself private, to be valued for the full spectrum of who I am. Bodily autonomy means having authority over decisions about your own body—and that’s a basic human right, not a performance opportunity.

My modesty isn’t rooted in shame or repression. It’s rooted in reverence. My body tells the story of my training, my discipline, my strength, and that story is too valuable to be consumed casually by anyone with a smartphone and an opinion.

Some stories aren’t for sale. Some strength isn’t for show.

My Choice, My Power

My decision to embrace modesty isn’t a retreat from modernity, it’s an active engagement with it. It’s a conscious middle finger to a trend that’s eroding the very foundation of female self-worth. It’s about owning my power instead of giving it away for free. It’s about understanding that my strength, beauty, and value aren’t measured by how much skin I show, but by the integrity of my character and the depth of my being.

True liberation for women isn’t about the absence of clothing; it’s about the presence of self-respect, agency, and the profound understanding that our bodies belong to us, to be revered and protected, not paraded for public consumption. It’s about choosing behaviors that elevate us, foster genuine connection, and allow us to define our worth on our own terms, regardless of societal pressure or fleeting trends.

When someone tells me I “have the body for it,” my response is simple: “Exactly. That’s why I’m keeping it for myself.”

Because some things are too sacred for social media. Some stories are too valuable to be consumed by strangers. And some strength is too real to be performed for likes.

My body is my temple. And temples aren’t tourist attractions, they’re places of worship, reverence, and profound respect.

The choice is yours. But choose consciously. Choose with full knowledge of what you’re giving away and what you’re gaining in return. And remember: in a world that profits from your insecurity and feeds on your need for validation, the most radical thing you can do might just be to keep something sacred for yourself.