Prompt – A moment when you felt small in a good way.
The fat never goes away. I carry it with me like a witness that knows what has been seen cannot be unseen. The fat settles into hidden corners of my body and builds its own archive, not just on a cellular level, but the fat moves into identity, into the story I tell myself about who I am. The mirror changes. The scale changes. Clothes fit differently. People respond differently. But my mind has all the damn receipts. My mind remembers the weight…that one picture…that one shirt that clings. In a real way, fat becomes my lens and an unwanted narrator. I feel it when I choose a seat. I feel it when someone lifts a camera to take a picture. I hear it whisper when I try on clothes, and it is there when I decide who I am allowed to become.
Diet. Exercise. Programs. Pills. Injections. All the glittering promises that sound like salvation never shrink the fat. Through the discipline, the tracking of steps, and portion control, the fat remains. No longer on my body, but in memory sitting quietly ready to apologize for taking up too much space. Over time, as the fat weaves itself into identity, it becomes the voice that reminds me to be careful and not draw attention to myself. The fat wants to be heard and invisible at the same time, and I feel the contradiction living under my skin.
Hollywood gets a fat suit. Put it on. Learn a lesson. Take it off. Credits roll. Real life does not work like that. My body remembers. My skin remembers. My joints remember. My heart remembers. Once fat, always fat is not shame. It is truth. My body carries history, and history does not vanish just because I walk it away.
So the work is not pretending I have lost the fat. The work is staying honest inside the body that carries me. I name the pain. I admit the embarrassment. And I honor the parts of me that survived and have thrived anyway. The parts that keep loving. The parts that laugh. The parts that refuse to disappear, even when disappearing seems easier. The story of fat is not only about size. It is about protection. It is about comfort. It is about armor I once needed. And slowly, I am learning that I am worthy inside a body that shifts and changes. I am worthy when the mirror tells complicated truths. I am worthy without shrinking myself to make other people comfortable…including myself.
This morning, I read this prompt and laughed. I had just finished getting ready. I caught my reflection and almost missed it because my fat lens was still doing its job. But there it was. My clavicle. Beneath everything…bones. Strong bones that have carried this body through more than I ever thought I could hold. It feels like a quiet gift to know I have good bones. And it feels even better to finally see them.
Muddled Soma 