I have gained weight for eating but never for taking medicine…until now.

Recently, I was placed on a med that is known for possible weight gain despite diet and exercise. Though I knew the possible pounds could come piling on, I decided that my overall health was more important than going up a size or more in my clothing.

When I first started the medicine, I did not think much about the weight. I was more focused on getting better.

It was not until I saw myself naked one morning, belly pooch fully puffed out like a roasted marshmallow, that I realized my body had been changing in an upwards direction.

My initial reaction?

I wish I could say it was a shrug of the shoulders and a quick prayer to God but it wasn’t.

It was fear.

I knew the weight gain was a possibility but I guess I had hoped that it would not actually happen to me…or at least not to the extent it appeared to be.

I was afraid that it would never stop.

Afraid that I had no control over my body regardless of how well I nourished myself.

When I began to practice a more intuitive approach to eating, my body balanced out at the weight it was meant to be at.

This was different. This was a medicine causing my body to gain weight despite what I ate. There was no balance. I literally had zero control.

I saw my body rising to a level it had not been at since my post twin pregnancy days. It was a level where to many, it would not seem all that big but to me, it felt uncomfortable and there was nothing I could do about it except get off the meds and return to possibly feeling worse again.

I’d rather keep gaining weight, I decided.

I thought I had come to a place of peace with my body, with weight, with fat but what I realized very quickly was that I had come to a place of peace with my old weight, not any weight.

God was challenging me here to grow and I knew I had to take the challenge with grace.

Acceptance was my goal.

I worked towards it by facing my truth.

Food was not the enemy. My medicine was not the enemy. There was no enemy. There was only me.

With that truth, I chose to be kind to myself.

I bought new clothes that fit instead of praying for the weight to go away so I could squeeze into my old ones.

I kept a steady exercise plan to keep my mood up while still allowing myself to skip any workout I felt like without guilt.

I undressed in front of the mirror instead of turning my back to it. I wanted to get to know this new body I was in, to embrace the new softness of my waist, the added fluff around my belly, the wideness of my hips.

I ate in a way that supported my body.

I did not use the weight gain as an excuse to binge or a reason to restrict. I let it be what it was.

I prayed for peace and wisdom to handle how this change effected me.

Most importantly, I allowed myself to be human.

I had days where I felt uncomfortable in my body. I had moments where I wished I fit into those favorite pair of skinny jeans I had bought only months before.

I had conversations with friends where I complained about the added weight and pitied my inability to do anything about it. I totally had flashes of dissatisfaction as I applied makeup to my now rounder face or tried to zip my favorite boots up over my wider calves.

I am still just a westernized woman, after all, trying to balance my core idea of beauty with an ever-changing society of standardized, bastardized ideals of how a woman should portray herself.

A step away out of the mayhem of my mind was my base attack plan.

I let myself just experience the experience as it came to me without feeling disregarded, unworthy or shamed by it.

I could have totally gone down the path of feeling bad about taking meds. Feeling worse about getting heavier. I chose not to see it that way. I chose to follow another story. One where I am the hero and not some broken maiden needing rescuing from my current body.

I just let it all be whatever it was going to be and prayed that I could allow God to take care of the rest.


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