Let My Body Be

A friend once told me that I get triggered whenever people point out my weight changes. And they were right. I had to sit with myself and ask why. Why does it feel so intrusive? Why does it feel so personal? Why does it land heavier than it should? Does it actually matter, or is it what the comment represents that stings?

I am the kind of woman who lives well in her curves. I dress my body with intention. I am not unaware of its changes because, well, I live in it. And being a woman already asks too much of us. We track our lives by cycles, carry families, careers, friendships, trauma, healing, beauty, and survival in a world that was never designed with us in mind. And now, on top of all of that, we must also measure ourselves by the calorie? The phrase letting yourself go alone feels like a weapon — one designed to discipline women through shame. Since when did gaining weight become a moral failure? Who decided that a body moving through seasons was something to control, critique, or correct?

Let me be clear: this is not a rejection of health or fitness. Those conversations matter, but they are not universal, and they are not uniform. Health does not wear one body type. We carry weight differently, beautifully, intentionally. What needs to stop is the culture that feels entitled to dissect a woman’s body simply because it no longer matches an expectation someone else created. If we are so eager to comment on physical changes, I hope we approach emotional, mental, and spiritual well-being with the same curiosity and care.

Because when you point out my weight gain or loss, I find myself wondering what it’s being measured against. A memory? A societal standard you absorbed without questioning? An idea of who I should remain? Perhaps a kinder approach is to let bodies be stories only their owners get to tell. The next time you notice a woman’s body has changed, consider speaking to her spirit instead. Ask about her joy, her story, her heart. There are so many more meaningful places to meet a woman than her body.


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The Love That Confuses Me