I had my fourth baby three years, three months, and sixteen days ago (February 6). Since then, my weight and pant size have fluctuated in ways I never expected. At first, I had the postpartum body, but then I lost it all. I was nearly back to my pre-pregnancy size, feeling strong and confident, working out, doing all the right things. And then something happened.
I tried intermittent fasting. Then full-on fasting. I lasted three days without eating. And then I got an IUD.
And then… my body changed.
It felt like I gained 20 pounds in 20 days. I have no idea how it happened, but it did. The jeans I was so close to fitting into don’t even go past my knees anymore. The mom pooch that was shrinking? It’s back, worse than before, with an overhang of skin I never had. I constantly feel bloated. I constantly feel full. I’m never hungry. And I don’t know what happened.
I’ve spent months trying to understand this unexplained weight gain. I mention the fasting and the IUD because they’re the only two things I can pinpoint as being different. Two things — two possible reasons why my body changed so suddenly.
In the year and a half that I gained these 20 pounds, I’ve been working out consistently. I go to the gym or do some form of exercise three to four times a week, weight training regularly. In January, I made it to the gym five times a week without fail. That’s not even counting the Zumba classes, the walks with my dog, or the endless running around with my kids. To say I’m active is an understatement.
I eat with intention, trying to fuel my body. But sometimes, I look at my food and hate it. I hate that I need it. I hate that food makes me gain weight. I think back to when I fasted for three days — how light I felt, how skinny I felt, how beautiful I felt. That first meal after fasting? I both loved it and hated it. Because I was afraid. Afraid that eating would erase that feeling. Afraid that I wouldn’t be skinny anymore.
And yes, I know it could be hormones. It could be that maybe I’m not eating as well as I say I am. But I’m tired of the maybe or the possibilities. I just want my body to behave!
And now, I find myself wanting to fast again. Not for health, not for discipline, but because I want to feel beautiful. But I’m afraid of what it will do to my mental health.
Because right now, I have never felt lower. I have never felt as ugly as I do now.
I feel obsessed with how I look, like Lindsay Lohan’s character in Mean Girls when she transforms into the very thing she once despised. I cry to my husband, complaining about how big my butt has gotten from working out. My broad shoulders. I don’t want to look like a man, I tell him. I constantly compare myself to other women. Do I look like her? Is my butt bigger or smaller? What about my stomach? My thighs?
And what’s worse? At first, I never judged other women. I used to see all women as beautiful. I would stare at them in awe and wonder. But now? My own self-hate has poisoned my perspective. I look at other women’s bodies—no matter their size—and feel disgust.
I hate admitting that.
But I need to. Because that’s how deep this loathing runs.
I’m not writing this for comfort or reassurance. I don’t need to hear that I’m beautiful or strong or that my body has done incredible things. I know that. I really do.
I’m writing this because I know I’m not the only one struggling with unexplained weight gain and the emotional toll it takes. And sometimes, when we share our vulnerabilities, we make it through together.
So if you’re feeling this way — if your mind has become your worst enemy — just know that you’re not alone.
Somewhere deep inside me, in a part untouched by insecurity, there’s still a voice that loves me. And it loves you too.
And I know this too shall pass. But until it does, I want you to know: You are not alone.
With love,
A very vulnerable and insecure woman who is trying to find love for herself again.
