Ever since I can remember, I’ve been a bigger person. I’ve always had the belly, the stretch marks, the body that never seemed to match what society told me was “beautiful.” For years, I struggled to love myself. I was so quick to hate my own reflection—grabbing my rolls and wishing I could rip them off. As a 16-year-old, back-to-school season was supposed to be exciting—the chance to buy new clothes, to reinvent yourself, to step into the new year with confidence. For most girls, it was exhilarating. For me? It was terrifying.
Back-to-school shopping was a nightmare. While other girls twirled in crop tops and skinny jeans, showing off their new looks to family and friends, I stood frozen in front of the mirror. I felt the familiar dread of trying on more clothes that would never feel right. Shirt after shirt came off in frustration as my family tried to help me find something I could wear without wanting to disappear. Nothing fit. The tops were either too tight, revealing every roll I hated, or so loose I felt swallowed by fabric. I hated my body, and I hated shopping.
School didn’t make it any easier. Being the only plus-size girl among skinny friends made every hallway, every lunch table, every classroom feel like a minefield. I constantly worried that people whispered about me behind my back. My heart would pound so hard walking down the hall, I could barely breathe. Some mornings, I skipped breakfast entirely, showing up starved. On those days, I’d sneak a granola bar into first period, taking tiny bites while feeling the weight of judgment in every glance. ‘She can’t wait until lunch?’ ‘She carries snacks in her bag? No wonder she’s fat.’ Why did I feel ashamed for trying to nourish myself? I was exhausted from hating myself so much.
Society didn’t make it easy. Plus-size women were painted as something to avoid, something to be ashamed of. Magazines, movies, ads—they all offered impossible standards. Stores carried only up to a size XL and labeled it “plus-size,” while models in the clothes were a size 00. I wanted to look like the woman in the ad, but when I tried, I felt like a busted can of biscuits. All I wanted was to feel pretty. To feel skinny. To feel normal.
Then I met my husband during my sophomore year of high school. He was plus-size too, and being around him felt safe, comforting. Even when I doubted myself, even when I thought I wasn’t skinny enough, he always reminded me that I was beautiful. Six years later, he still stands behind me every day, complimenting me as if it’s the first time he’s ever seen me. He has been a cornerstone in my journey to self-love. He admires my curves, my rolls, my so-called imperfections, every single day.
In early fall 2018, we found out we were expecting. I immediately searched “plus-size pregnancy” and the horror stories hit me like a brick wall. Stories of prejudice, judgment, even doctors calling mothers fat as if it were nothing. My first appointment brought more fear when my doctor commented, “You probably won’t be able to pull off a vaginal delivery due to your size.” My heart sank. But at our next appointment, I voiced my fears. He listened. He respected my wishes. He never commented on my weight again and was genuinely surprised that I didn’t develop gestational diabetes and that my weight gain was minimal.
By 38 weeks, complications arose—cholestasis affecting my liver and, ultimately, my baby. I was rushed to the hospital and induced. Forty-two grueling hours later, I delivered my son via c-section. And in that moment, holding him for the first time, everything changed. My body—my plus-size body that I had often despised—had created life. I had done something incredible. My perception of myself shifted forever.
In the seven months since my son was born, I’ve learned that weight has nothing to do with worth. I look in the mirror and see beauty in my stretch marks, scars, and birthmarks. I’ve realized that my body is a masterpiece, one I was given to cherish. I’m raising my son to understand that everyBODY is beautiful, unique, and worthy. I pray he never doubts himself the way I once did.
These days, I post full-body photos without shame. I take family pictures without worrying about how I’ll look. Women have reached out to me, telling me I’ve helped them embrace their bodies. Knowing that my journey can inspire others is incredible.
Times are changing. Stores are carrying sizes above 14. Media is casting plus-size people. Icons like Lizzo are giving millions of people hope. Slowly, the world—and I—have learned to love our bodies. There is hope for plus-size women, plus-size mothers, daughters, and sons. No more crying over mirrors, no more self-criticism. We are beautiful. We are worthy. We are plus-size and proud.
