I was only 10 years old when I first felt the weight of the world—or rather, the weight of my own body. It was back-to-school shopping time, and as I slipped into a dark blue T-shirt and plaid shorts, I could feel the fabric cling to me in all the wrong ways. In that moment, I cursed the petite figures of my classmates and, under the unforgiving glow of fluorescent lights, tears streamed down my face. It was the beginning of a long journey filled with tears and turmoil over my waistline.
Throughout my school years, I faced teasing that left its marks. Even kids can pick up on the cultural mantra that “thinness equals beauty.” My struggles with weight morphed into an obsession. At 19, I dove headfirst into an eating disorder, battling bulimia and working out obsessively—twice a day, because who needs balance? As I shed pounds, my fixation only grew.
Even at my thinnest, I never felt beautiful enough. I wanted toned arms and a flatter tummy, all while trapped in my anorexic mindset. The world, however, had different ideas about my looks. Friends and family sang my praises, and strangers treated me like royalty. People were friendlier, doors were held open, and for the first time, I tasted the intoxicating power that beauty seemed to confer.
But with great power comes great responsibility—or in my case, unwanted attention. My weight loss led to unfortunate incidents, including being almost assaulted by a close friend and facing harassment in various jobs. Just a stroll down a crowded street turned into a barrage of crude comments.
Fast forward a decade and two kids later, and I find myself at my heaviest outside of pregnancy. I hit the gym three times a week, determined to make a change. Unfortunately, dieting seems to be my Kryptonite. My metabolism isn’t what it used to be, and I’m learning to accept that.
The flirtatious glances and unsolicited attention have been replaced with dubious looks from cashiers as they eye me, questioning if I really need that 12-pack of beer. But there’s a strange comfort in blending in. While I once craved attention, I’ve come to appreciate the peace that anonymity brings.
Finding a healthy balance is the trickiest part of this journey. I want to be fit, yet I’m terrified of slipping back into obsession. Plus, I have a daughter now, and I’m hyper-aware that she learns from my actions as much as my words. I refuse to let her hear me call myself “fat.” I want her to know that her worth is not tied to a number on a scale. She’s creative, talented, brave, strong, and incredibly intelligent. I need her to grasp that true beauty is about how you treat others, not just how you look.
I strive to be a positive role model for her. I’m on a mission to embrace my body, flaws included. Every day is a battle against the negative thoughts that come with being heavier. While I can’t say I love my body yet, I can confidently state that I no longer hate it either.
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In summary, my relationship with my weight has been a tumultuous journey filled with ups and downs, but it’s one I’m learning to navigate with a healthier mindset—both for myself and for my daughter.