Recently, I’ve shed a considerable amount of weight—more than I ever managed through harsh diets and extreme workouts. This change wasn’t a product of my own doing, but rather a side effect of medication I take for a non-weight-related issue, which surprisingly decreased my appetite and resulted in weight loss. I even welcomed a new baby this year, yet I somehow found myself lighter.
Let me clarify: I’m not on some grand “transformation” journey. This weight loss isn’t evidence of a calculated plan to morph my body from fat to thin. I’ve endured years of battling against the toxic messages of diet culture that society has incessantly drilled into me since I was a chubby kid just trying to navigate life in the body I was given. Over the last few years, I’ve embraced the belief that life is about more than the relentless pursuit of shrinking myself. I’m proud of being fat, and I refuse to associate with those who can’t accept diverse body types.
Yet… here’s the twist: This recent weight loss has left me feeling utterly perplexed. I’m confronted with a whirlwind of emotions tied to my body size—an unexpected reaction I didn’t foresee.
It’s strange because I’m still considered fat. While some might transition from plus-size to average with my amount of weight loss, that’s not my reality. I remain in a fat body, shopping in the plus-size section and experiencing life as a fat person. There are no before-and-after photos to showcase this journey; I’m merely a different size of the same identity.
I’m not reaping the benefits of thin privilege; the societal rules for fat individuals still apply to me. The only discernible change is the number on the scale, which is a private matter.
Despite knowing I’m still fat, I’ve developed a troubling sense of pride in being slightly less so. I’ve always felt at ease with fat bodies of all shapes and sizes, free from any judgment when seeing them. Everything I believe about the worth and beauty of fat bodies holds true—except when it comes to my own. Admitting this is gut-wrenching.
It’s essential to be transparent about these struggles. My journey toward embracing fat positivity is ongoing; I’ll never fully arrive at a destination. I’ve realized I can be an advocate for body positivity while still grappling with applying that acceptance to my own body.
I truly believed I had come to terms with every part of myself—my round belly, my chins, back fat, and dimply thighs. I felt a sense of peace. But as the scale dipped lower this year, it reignited my former obsession with weight.
My relationship with the scale is fraught with issues. I know it won’t lead to anything good, yet I find it hard to resist. This once-dreaded object has become my unexpected confidant. I know I shouldn’t let it dictate my feelings, as I believe wholeheartedly that the number on that scale bears no reflection of my human worth.
Yet, I feel an overwhelming urge to step on the scale each morning, eager for the “good news” it may offer. Typically, succumbing to such compulsions doesn’t lead anyone to a healthy place. I’m aware that this fixation isn’t right. Why am I seeking validation from the scale of all places?
The answer eludes me, but I know that measuring my weight loss—however it inches closer to societal ideals—has an oddly uplifting effect. Even though I know I’m still fat, any movement toward thinness is seen as an improvement in our diet-obsessed culture. I’ve begun to view my past size as something negative, and now I’m terrified of regaining that weight.
These emotions are not a mystery; they stem from a lifelong longing for this moment. I’ve always dreamed of effortless weight loss and fantasized about shrinking until I was a petite figure. I yearned to blend in as just another small woman in a society that reveres smallness above all else.
I thought I had buried that notion, but watching the weight drop off me without extreme effort has resurrected those desires. I find myself daydreaming about the possibility of achieving thinness after all. Thinness has always been the carrot dangled in front of me, something diet culture has urged me to chase. For two decades, I’ve pursued this dream relentlessly, never getting close.
So how did I end up back in this race? All my progress feels like it’s unraveling. I wish I could say I’ve devised a plan to overcome this. I’d love to declare that I’ll put the scale away and embrace my body through dance and love. But that would be disingenuous. I’m currently entrenched in this obsession with weight loss.
All I can do is stay vigilant and keep fighting. I’ll continue to celebrate bodies of all sizes and strive to include my own in that love. While diet culture may be triumphing in this moment, it won’t win the overall war.
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Summary
The author reflects on her recent unexpected weight loss, grappling with confusing emotions tied to body size and societal pressures. While she still identifies as fat, the change has reignited her past obsession with weight and the scale, leading her to confront her journey toward body positivity. Despite the struggle, she vows to continue advocating for acceptance of all body types, including her own.
Keyphrase: weight loss and body positivity
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