For as long as I can remember, I’ve been on the heavier side of the spectrum. It’s not that I was ever unhealthy; I just had a larger frame. I tried my best to brush it off, but deep down, it gnawed at me. Then came the day my daughter was born, and everything changed.
At over 200 pounds and wearing a size 16, the thought of being plus-sized was daunting. I envisioned a future where I couldn’t keep up with my little one as she began to run around. I pictured myself stuck in frumpy clothes from plus-sized stores (which, by the way, can be quite fashionable). I feared my husband might think less of me, and that society would give me the cold shoulder.
So, I took action. I worked out, ate healthier, and before long, I dropped to 165 pounds on my 5-foot-6-inch frame. I felt stronger than most of my friends, was more flexible, and could outrun them in a race. I was loving life and embraced my healthy lifestyle.
But then something shifted. Over the past three years, the weight crept back on. My muscles turned weak, my body felt stiff, and I was always tired. The worst part? I struggled to keep up with my now 7-year-old daughter, and she noticed.
“Why are you so much bigger than Dad?” she asked innocently. “Why is your tummy so squishy? What are those dimples on your thighs?” She even inquired about my stretch marks. Honestly, I’ve always had a soft belly, some cellulite, and those stripes that tell the story of my journey. I never cared until now.
How do I explain that life’s stressors—work, school, and parenting—have led to neglecting my health? How do I confess that I’m too drained to hit the gym after a long day? Or that I barely have time to prepare nutritious meals? Essentially, those are just excuses.
And then there’s the kicker: “Why are you fat, Mommy?” Now, she didn’t mean it in a hurtful way. In our household, “fat” isn’t a bad word; we don’t judge bodies, and I refuse to belittle myself in front of her. Still, I know I’ve internalized that word. I see myself as someone who carries extra weight—and a lot of it.
But why? Do I tell her it’s from indulging in junk food? That binging on shows is preferable to jogging? Or that stress and depression lead to mindless eating? No, because these are my burdens—challenges my 7-year-old shouldn’t bear. I wouldn’t want her to think all overweight individuals are unhealthy like I’ve been.
Her innocent questions have prompted me to reflect on my own choices. I know why I’ve gained weight and I’m aware that I’m not happy being out of shape. It’s not just about how I look; it’s about how I feel—and right now, I feel terrible.
And now, I’m asking myself: How do I regain my fitness? What changes do I need to make? What steps should I take? The truth is, I already have the answers. Now it’s time to put them into action—to be a role model for my daughter, live a healthier life, and keep up with her as she races around the playground.
I understand it sounds like I’m being hard on myself, but honestly, my health matters more than my size or how I look. With a family history of diabetes, cancer, heart disease, and brain aneurysms, prioritizing my well-being is essential. I want to instill those healthy habits in my daughter, too.
As I embark on this journey toward better health, I’m thankful for the support of friends, family, and my daughter, who inspire me to take care of myself and remind me of my value—regardless of my size.
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