When Losing Weight becomes a cry for Acceptance.

Ever since I was a child, I always felt different.

I was the firstborn, a chubby, bulky baby. Back then, everyone said it was cute. My parents thought it was adorable, too. But what was unfortunate was that I grew up with that same body. And as I got older, people no longer found it cute. At school, I was constantly laughed at. My weight, my stomach, always something to point out. I was criticized and made to feel like my body was wrong. I tried to build confidence. I really did. I attempted to fit in with the “cool” girls, those who seemed to effortlessly glide through life, but I was always the outcast, the one who didn’t quite belong.

It felt as if I was wearing a sign that read “different” on my forehead, and no matter how hard I tried to blend in, it only served to highlight my insecurities. When I travelled abroad, I joined a gym and lost a reasonable amount of weight. I thought that would make me happy; it was supposed to, but it didn’t.

Deep down, I was sad, and that sadness was a weight I carried with me everywhere. I wasn’t going to the gym to feel good or to get healthy. I was going because I wanted to be accepted, to be seen as worthy in the eyes of others. I tried dieting too, but balancing it with school was nearly impossible. One day, I almost passed out from exhaustion and hunger, a stark reminder of how far I was pushing myself to fit a mould that didn’t feel right. And by the time Grade 12 came around, everything felt too heavy. School was stressful, and I had to let go of the gym for a while to make it through. But even then, the reminders never stopped. Friends. Family. “Make sure you don’t gain weight.” “Stop eating.” Unlike my siblings, my body doesn’t process carbs well. Even when I try to eat less, it still turns into fat, which feels like a betrayal of my own body.

Trying to balance that with school, seeing my classmates look confident and flawless while I felt invisible and judged, made me feel so mediocre. As expected, I gained weight. I put on around 10 more pounds, and each pound felt like another layer of judgment added to my existence. After graduation, my plan was simple: enjoy the summer, get a job, and adopt a healthy lifestyle before starting university. I wanted to feel good about myself, even if no one else did. But the comments returned, just like before, like echoes of my past. Every time I wore slim clothing or put anything in my mouth, someone would remind me to hit the gym.

So I went back earlier than planned. Not because I wanted to, but because I was tired of hearing the same things, tired of feeling the weight of their expectations on my shoulders. I cried during most of my workouts, tears mixing with sweat, but at least I was burning the calories, right? I’m 18 now. Of course, I want to live a healthy lifestyle. I want to take care of myself. But what hurts most is that after everything, I still haven’t changed the way I feel about my body. I still hate it. And I hate that I’m doing all this, the dieting, the exercise, the struggle, just to please people. I hate that I can’t talk to anyone about this because I know I’ll be judged. I hate that I feel this much. I hate that I let people make me feel this way. Yes, I want to lose weight. But it breaks me to know I’m doing it for validation, even from my own family.

All I can do now is pray and hope.

Hope that God gives me the courage to go through this journey.

Hope that I’ll find the strength to love myself one day.

Hope that I’ll reach my goals not for others, but finally, for me.

But maybe, just maybe, I don’t need to keep hating myself to change.

Maybe I don’t need to wait until I’m skinny to start living or to feel worthy. I’m still trying, every day. I still cry. I still struggle.

But I’m learning that my worth isn’t measured by numbers or by how much my body matches someone else’s idea of beauty. And here’s the truth I’m slowly learning: I don’t need to shrink myself to deserve space. I don’t need to be perfect to be loved. I don’t need to punish myself to grow. I just want peace. I want to feel good in my own skin, not for anyone else, but for me.

Even if no one claps for me. Even if I’m still the “fat girl” in the room. Even if people never understand how heavy this feels. I’ll keep showing up. I’ll keep trying. I’ll keep choosing myself, even on the days it hurts. Because I deserve to take up space too. And one day, I hope I’ll look back and realize that this version of me, the one who cried, the one who tried, the one who kept going, was already enough.

I want to celebrate my journey, the small victories, and the lessons learned along the way. I want to embrace the imperfections that make me who I am and share my story with others who may feel the same way. Because if I can inspire just one person to love themselves a little more, then all of this struggle will have been worth it. I will continue to fight against the narratives that try to define me, and I will hold onto the hope that one day, I will look in the mirror and see not just a body, but a person worthy of love, respect, and happiness.

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