Every time I choose to show up, exactly as I am, I’m pushing back against all the noise that says I should be smaller, quieter, less visible. There’s a whole world out there trying to convince us that our worth is measured by how closely we fit into some narrow version of “acceptable”—especially when it comes to our bodies.
But I wasn’t born to be at war with myself. None of us were. This body—soft, strong, scarred, stretch-marked, heavier than it used to be—isn’t a mistake. It holds my memories, my joy, my heartbreak, my resilience. And living in it without apology? That’s radical.
Because shame thrives on silence. It grows when we hide, when we feel like we have to earn our place through dieting, shrinking, or pretending we’re fine when we’re not. So when I walk into a room and take up space without shrinking, when I feed myself when I’m hungry, when I laugh out loud, when I move with comfort instead of punishment—that’s me saying: I’m here. I deserve to be.
Living fully in this body isn’t always easy. But it’s powerful. It’s a quiet rebellion. And it’s the kind of truth I want to pass on—not just to myself, but to anyone who’s been made to feel less.