I gained 15 pounds during Covid. I was working full time from home while being a full-time single mom of three. It was exhausting. It was lonely. And I found myself knee-deep in my favorite coping skill: eating.
Everything. All the time.
I had already gained 25 pounds of “life weight” over the past three years. Life had thrown a lot at me—a separation, a pregnancy, selling a home, moving in with my mom, enduring domestic violence, and eventually finding my own apartment. It was a lot. And, yes… I ate my feelings through most of it.
I have accomplished a lot in my life.
My ex left me when I was four months pregnant with our third child. I navigated pregnancy alone while raising a toddler and an autistic child. I earned two master’s degrees and built a career. I have been published on sites all over the world. I’ve done the hard work, quietly, every single day.
Yet… no one ever said how proud they were of me. No one ever noticed the resilience it took. Not one person. Ever.
There’s a point to this. I promise.
Over the past few months, I’ve lost approximately 40 pounds. I needed to shed that weight to be healthier—for me, for my kids, for my life.
When I shared my progress, my friends (sorry, still love you all) started reaching out.
“You must be so happy. You look so good.”
“Wow, you can tell you put in the hard work!”
“What? Why would how I look have anything to do with how happy I am?” I asked myself.
I raise three kids alone while working multiple jobs. That is hard work. Not dieting. Not losing weight. That. That is the real work.
“This summer has been the hardest summer of my life,” I told them. “I would rather be happy and heavier. If happiness and weight were tied together, I would choose happy every time—without a second thought.”
Here’s the uncomfortable truth I’ve shared with friends, and now I want to share with the world:
I can’t control anything in life right now. Not Covid. Not work. Not my kids. Not the comings and goings of people in my life. Literally nothing. The only thing I can control is what I put in my mouth. And that can become dangerous.
But what’s equally dangerous is society’s judgment based solely on appearance. No one was proud of me for walking through hell—they only noticed when I “looked pretty.”
I am not magically happy because I weigh less. There is no causation or correlation between the two. Overweight people aren’t miserable. Thin people aren’t automatically joyful. That mindset is ridiculous—and dangerous.
I believe in health. I also believe in happiness. And I believe in recognizing the whole person—beyond the shell of their body. Support your friends where they are, not where you think they should be. Celebrate the struggles they’ve survived, not just the shape they inhabit.
Often, the outward appearance is the easiest part. The real work—the resilience, the courage, the everyday survival—deserves to be seen, too.
