Several years ago, I had a huge crush on this guy. Then I started to think maybe I wasn’t that interested in him after all, but I’d liked him so much and for so long that I decided to, you know, put it out there and see how he responded. (Not something I plan to do again anytime soon.) We were in a bar and he’d already pointed out the “two women in the entire place” he found attractive, both of them stick-thin and boy-chested, maaaaybe size 2 on their PMS bloat days. So I should have known better than to ask if I was his type, and I guess I set myself up for a letdown, but that doesn’t make him less of an ass. His response? “Well, look at the women I’m attracted to, and look at you…. You’re a cool person and all, but I like skinny girls.”

If there is a more devastating rejection, I don’t know what it is. The irony is that I’d been effortlessly thin my entire life. My mom is the same way; it’s genetic. Then, within a six-month period, I had surgery, went onto birth control and antidepressants, and moved to the South, land of fried food and sumptuous desserts. Almost overnight, I packed on 30 pounds and started to loathe my body. (It was much easier to maintain feminist rage about cultural stereotypes when my body fit those stereotypes fairly well.) I didn’t try too hard to lose the weight, though, for a variety of reasons. One was that I wanted to weed out shallow guys, and I figured being a little heavy would help with that.

It did, although I didn’t expect it of a guy I thought I knew fairly well, had discussed my weight angst with, and considered a friend. I didn’t expect him to reduce everything I am, my personality and thoughts and beliefs and quirks, to, “Sorry, I’ll never be interested in you because you’re not thin enough.” But it confirmed that he was exactly the type of guy I’d wanted to avoid, and we never spoke again.

Apart from killing the final vestiges of the crush, I didn’t think I’d ever be glad of that experience, but this weekend I was. See, every Sunday and Monday night I have conversations with Korean high school students. We all read the same article, and I discuss it one-on-one with them for 15 minutes each. This week’s was about Korean women malnourishing themselves in pursuit of the latest diet craze. I already knew that most of the girls have been dieting; today they’re headed to Singapore for a week-long school trip, and they want to look svelte in their bathing suits. Anyway, one of the discussion questions was whether they think men are influenced by media images of anorexic-looking models. The girls told me that this is certainly true, that the boys at their school make snide comments because they aren’t as thin or as pretty as the singers in Korean girl bands. They feel constant pressure, just like American girls and women do, to be thinner, more beautiful; they’re convinced, and maybe it’s true in some cases, that beauty and slenderness are prerequisites for career sucess, love, and happiness.

But I found myself being able to offer an honest alternate perspective. Yeah, this one guy rejected me because I wasn’t thin enough to meet his ideal, and sure, it hurt like hell at the time, but you know what? He did me a favor. Guys like that aren’t worth it, and I wouldn’t have been happy with him. Besides, the older I get, the more I realize those guys aren’t in the majority–well, they probably are in high school, but most of them grow out of it. I have beautiful female friends of all sizes in healthy relationships with men who adore them, who love their curves and their real-ness. And while none of us may be entirely happy with our bodies–because we are, after all, women in a media-saturated culture–we aren’t starving ourselves or getting plastic surgery. Sure, most of us exercise and watch what we eat, but it isn’t because we think our lives would be better if we weighed 100 pounds. We’re striving to be healthy, and we understand that healthy looks different for everyone.

This is the kind of conversation I don’t recall ever having with an adult when I was in high school, the kind of perspective I wish someone had offered me (although I doubt I would have believed them). I’m glad I can provide it to these students, whether or not they believe me. If that jerk’s rejection adds to my credibility, then I’m glad for it, even if I cried a lot at the time.

And I don’t loathe my body anymore. Having a big dog, living in a hilly city with no car, living in a neighborhood with no fast-food restaurants, and not being at a stressful job have all helped me achieve a size I’m more comfortable with. Sure, I’ll probably never be quite as slender as I once was, but who cares? Not me, not anymore.