Let me share a little revelation with you. The woman in the first image, that’s me—five years back, post-three kids. This snapshot was captured at a lake, just two months shy of my 35th birthday, and I was the smallest I’d been since I was 17. After this photo, I walked into a J.Crew to purchase khaki pants and requested a size 8. The friendly sales associate insisted I was more of a size 4, but I insisted on the 8, which promptly fell down. I weighed 123 pounds, my lightest since I was 15 years old. Yet, when I looked at that picture, I still thought I looked overweight.
Fast forward to now, and here’s the more recent version of me, captured just two months ago, four months after I turned 40, alongside my five kids. I’m the one who looks like the mother.
My weight has fluctuated significantly over the years—soaring high like in the bottom image and dipping low like the top. It’s been less of a thrill ride and more of a turbulent journey. That’s life when you’re navigating the ups and downs of pregnancy, breastfeeding, nursing school, and the complex relationship we often have with exercise.
The body in the “after” photo wasn’t achieved without sacrifices. I lost a precious baby girl and endured the challenges of marriage, divorce, and relocation. I’ve dealt with injuries, worked as a labor and delivery nurse, and provided care for those at the end of life. The “ideal” body I had came from a grueling routine of eating just 1,000 calories a day, running 35 miles weekly, and sacrificing sleep. I meticulously counted every morsel I consumed, even a single cherry tomato, and pushed myself physically to extremes—all while losing my menstrual cycle and ignoring hunger signals.
Confused? You might see where I’m headed with this. Many will likely respond with one of three comments: 1. “You looked amazing! What happened?” 2. “How did you let yourself gain so much weight?” 3. “Why do you appear less attractive in the second picture?” Some might even outright say, “You’re fat.” Others might remark, “You look joyful and healthy.”
I encompass both of those descriptors. I aim to shatter the stereotype that thinness equates to happiness. The truth is, being thin didn’t bring me joy. Having a toned physique may have made shopping easier and resulted in compliments, but it also spiraled me into an obsession with my body—fixating on everything from my stretch marks to muscle definition.
It didn’t lead me to happiness; it made me hyper-focused on workouts and calorie counting, forcing me to consume foods I detested while avoiding those I cherished. All of this led to a thinner frame, yet not a happier one.
This isn’t to imply that all thin individuals are unhappy, but it is to assert that thinness is not a remedy for sadness nor a guarantee of joy. True happiness does not hinge upon size, and being larger does not indicate despair.
I’ve been contemplating this message for weeks. After reading a thought-provoking post by Mia Thompson, I felt compelled to share my own story. We need more voices rising above the noise of weight loss advertisements and quick-fix schemes that promote the idea that our worth is tied to our appearance.
In recent months, my medication adjustments for bipolar disorder have led to an additional 10 pounds. Many of my clothes no longer fit, which is disheartening. Squeezing into jeans that are two sizes too small is definitely not enjoyable. However, I’ve experienced profound changes in my mindset. There’s a newfound calmness, joy, and peace that I’ve never encountered before. This realization is worth far more than 10 pounds, which seem insignificant compared to the moments spent with my children and the importance of rest.
I’m genuinely happy. I’m overweight—and happy. Want to surprise people? Embrace being both overweight and joyful. Wear that bikini with pride, indulge in pizza and ice cream without guilt, and savor life unapologetically.
Society wants you to strive for thinness, feeding industries built on your insecurities. It perpetuates the belief that beauty is synonymous with being skinny, and that love is reserved for the conventionally attractive. But perhaps beauty can exist in various forms, including when one is larger.
In Closing
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