Containment failed: 04.11.26, 8:21pm
I’m just going to say it. Of all the mental hurdles since I first fell pregnant, the biggest one for me has been the weight.
I gained around 25 kilos with my first, and I hated it. If I’m honest, I still do.
Yes, I know. Best excuse in the world. I grew a person. Love your body, it made a life. I’ve heard all of it, and I’m sorry, but I fucking hated it.
Here’s the bit nobody gets. I have ridiculously sensitive skin. One stray hair off my own head lands on my arm and I feel it instantly, like something with too many legs has just crawled out from under the bed to say hello. It sends me into a frenzy.
So picture that, then add rolls where there had never been rolls, and skin touching skin in places that had never met. All day, every day, with no escape. It felt like Cronenberg was directing my body and nobody had shown me the script. Like being slowly sealed inside something that wasn’t mine. A body snatcher film, except the pod was me.
When I brought it up, people were lovely. Sympathetic nods. But I could see it behind their eyes: you’ve got bigger problems, love.
Maybe. But this was the one I was living in.
Almost four years on, it’s leaving. Slowly. So fucking slowly. The scales have barely moved, but I can see it, and I can feel it in my clothes.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this. My body held onto every ounce until I got my head sorted. Not perfect, just less of a mess. Once the mental stuff started to settle, it started letting me out of the basement. One tiny, grudging inch at a time.
So fuck the scales. And fuck the body positivity script that tells you how you’re supposed to feel about all of it. You can love your kids with your whole rotting heart and still hate what it took to get them here. Both things can be true, and they usually are.
End of breach. Containment status: slowly escaping.
💀🌿
Bec
Leave a Reply