About

About me

I hated my body in a way that felt quiet but constant. Not dramatic hatred. The kind that sits in your chest all day. The kind where you avoid mirrors unless you’re braced for it. Where getting dressed feels like a negotiation between what fits and what you can tolerate seeing yourself in. Where you already know you’ll feel wrong before you even leave the house.

Being fat wasn’t just about how I looked. It was how I was perceived. I felt like I was always apologising for existing. Taking up too much space on chairs. Feeling hyper aware of my arms, my stomach, my thighs every time I sat down or walked past someone. I knew exactly which angles people would see me from and I hated that I couldn’t control it.

I didn’t feel sexy. I didn’t feel delicate. I didn’t feel chosen. I felt like I had to be funny or useful or agreeable to make up for my body. Like my body disqualified me from being soft or desired or taken seriously. I told myself I was confident but deep down I avoided photos, avoided certain clothes, avoided intimacy unless I was distracted enough to forget myself for a moment.

The worst part was how normal it all felt. How everyone pretends it’s just insecurity when really it’s grief. Grief for the body you want. Grief for how life might feel if you didn’t have to think about your weight every single day. Grief for how much mental space it takes up. The constant comparison. The constant shame. The constant feeling that you are one version away from being acceptable

I didn’t want to love my body. I wanted peace from it. I wanted to wake up and not feel dread. I wanted clothes to feel effortless. I wanted to walk into a room without scanning for judgment. I wanted to feel like my body wasn’t the loudest thing about me.

Changing my body didn’t fix my life overnight but it gave me something I never had before. Relief. Quiet. Space in my head. I stopped hating myself just to get through the day. I stopped feeling like I was waiting to start my life once I was smaller.

I share this because I know how lonely that hatred is. Fat women are told to be grateful. To be body positive. To be loud about confidence while suffering silently. I don’t want to lie about how deep it goes or how heavy it feels. If you’re in that place I want you to know you’re not weak and you’re not shallow. You’re tired. And you deserve to feel at home in your body

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