Let me share something personal with you. The woman you see in the first image is me—just a few years back, after having three kids. This picture was taken at the lake, just two months before I turned 35. Believe it or not, I was the smallest I had been since I was 17, weighing in at 123 pounds. When I went shopping for khaki pants at J Crew, I confidently asked for a size 8. The friendly associate insisted I was more of a size 4, but I insisted on the 8—and they practically fell off me. Despite being at my lightest in years, I looked at that photo and thought I looked fat.
Now, fast forward to the present day. I recently snapped a picture with my five kids, just four months after hitting the big 4-0. I’ve fluctuated in weight over the years—up and down like a rollercoaster ride, but not the fun kind. This fluctuation is a result of everything from pregnancy and breastfeeding to nursing school and gym commitments.
The body you see in the “after” photo was achieved through a series of life events: losing a baby, moving several times, experiencing a marriage and a divorce, and even dealing with injuries as a labor and delivery nurse. I reached that “ideal” look by drastically restricting my calories to a mere 1,000 a day, running 35 miles a week, and sacrificing sleep. I meticulously tracked everything I consumed, even down to a single cherry tomato. Despite all this effort, I found myself obsessing over my body—and not in a healthy way.
I know what you’re thinking. Many will glance at these images and assume one of a few things: “Wow, you looked amazing! What happened?” or “How did you gain so much weight?” Some might even wonder why I look worse in the after photo. And yes, a few might even call me fat. But the truth is, I am both fat and happy. I want to challenge the stereotype that equates thinness with happiness.
My journey has shown me that being thin does not guarantee joy. I was fit, but my emotional wellbeing suffered as I became consumed with body image. I was constantly counting calories, avoiding foods I loved, and forcing myself to work out, all in the name of being thin. Yet, none of that brought me happiness.
I’m not implying that thin people can’t be happy—far from it. The key takeaway here is that happiness isn’t contingent on being thin. In fact, I’ve come to realize that fatness doesn’t equate to sadness either.
After reading a thought-provoking piece by a fellow writer, I felt compelled to share my own story. We need more voices to drown out the narrative pushed by the media and the industries that profit off our insecurities about weight. Recently, medication changes for my bipolar disorder led to an additional 10 pounds. My clothes don’t fit as well, and while that can be frustrating, I’ve gained something far more valuable: a sense of peace and joy I never had before. This newfound happiness is worth every pound I’ve gained.
Want to shake things up? Be unapologetically fat and happy. Wear that bikini with pride, indulge in your favorite pizza, and savor life without the burden of societal expectations. The world may want you to strive for thinness, but it’s all an illusion; a facade created by industries that thrive on your insecurities.
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In summary, I am embracing my body, my happiness, and the journey that has brought me here. I am fat, and I am truly happy.
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