During my first pregnancy, I gained a total of 50 pounds. For someone like me, who had long been fixated on being thin, this was a significant shift. I had battled disordered eating for nearly two decades, often using exercise as a form of punishment and perceiving my body as far larger than it truly was. I had dedicated years of my teenage life to a weight loss pill addiction, and the cycle of binging and purging felt like a fad diet I couldn’t resist revisiting.
Despite my ultra-slim appearance, no one ever took the time to check in on my well-being. Spoiler alert: I wasn’t okay.
Then came my first pregnancy. I embraced the natural weight gain necessary to nurture the little girl growing inside me, and my OB was delighted. At my final prenatal checkup, she even joked about my weight gain, suggesting that my newfound “cushion” would ease the birthing process. For the first time in my life, I was gaining weight and receiving praise for it. I had no idea that was even a possibility.
However, my second pregnancy brought a different experience. I hadn’t lost any weight before conceiving my son. After many futile attempts to shed pounds, I finally stood before a mirror one day, gazing at my body, and made a pivotal decision to accept myself. The added weight, stretch marks, cellulite, and mommy pouch were all reminders of the miraculous feat my body had accomplished: it carried and brought forth a child.
That realization prompted me to embrace self-love. Two years later, I remain committed to this journey of self-acceptance. I genuinely appreciate my plus-sized body, and my struggles with disordered eating are now behind me. Cue Lizzo’s “Good as Hell”—that’s the vibe I’ve been radiating.
However, my second round of prenatal visits was less than encouraging. My new OB, while kind, still seemed to prioritize my size over my overall health. I shared my history with food and body image, hoping she would focus on what mattered. For years, I had harmed my body under the guise of “health,” fearing I might fall victim to the “obesity epidemic” I was taught to dread.
My blood tests often came back great, yet she insisted on retesting, “just in case.” When my son appeared to fall into a higher weight and height percentile than my daughter, it was assumed my size played a role. I was bombarded with unsolicited messages about weight loss, “just in case.” Even after my glucose test yielded a perfect result, I was still provided information regarding gestational diabetes—“just in case.”
At every appointment, despite feeling healthier than I had in years, I was met with one frustrating word: “Obesity.” It was a constant reminder that I was medically categorized as obese, which overshadowed my joy during pregnancy. I felt pressure to monitor every pound I gained and to remain vigilant about my health. Just seeing that term made me want to rebel, flip tables, and cry over the self-doubt it generated.
The truth is, I had spent years running from the term “obesity,” ever since I first saw news reports highlighting it. In middle school, I was horrified by images of faceless, overweight individuals. I had inflicted harm on myself in the name of health, desperately trying to avoid becoming part of what I believed was an epidemic.
It took me a long time to understand that obesity isn’t a disease you can catch. The diet industry misleads us about the supposed dangers of different body sizes, while research increasingly shows that health exists at various weights. We must change our mindset. It’s disheartening to assume that thin people are always healthy and that those with larger bodies must be unwell.
Pregnancy and motherhood are vulnerable journeys, and we need to treat women’s bodies with equal respect and care, regardless of size. Younger me would have appreciated someone addressing her destructive behavior regarding her dangerously thin frame, and my current self craved acknowledgment of the strong, healthy woman I have become.
My journey toward body acceptance allowed me to shift my perspective during prenatal visits, enabling me to celebrate my second pregnancy without shame. In fact, carrying my son felt surprisingly easy. The time flew by as I chased and played with my energetic toddler.
When my due date arrived, I labored for less than 12 hours, delivering my son with just three pushes. I even laughed during one of them while “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen played in the background, and my birthing team danced along. It was the perfect anthem for such a momentous occasion.
I thrived during my pregnancy and delivery in a “medically obese” body, and that is a point of pride.
For those interested in exploring the journey of pregnancy and motherhood, check out this resource for donor insemination or dive into at-home insemination kits for your own journey. Additionally, Lifestyle Blog offers valuable insights.
In summary, my experience illustrates the importance of body acceptance, especially during significant life events like pregnancy. It’s crucial to move beyond outdated stereotypes and recognize that health comes in all shapes and sizes.