Imagine struggling with your weight and image for your whole life. Imagine counting calories, skipping meals, throwing up after almost every meal for years, working out until you almost pass out. Living off liquor, cigarettes and a lot of air. 
Then imagine getting pregnant with the baby you never thought you would be able to have. You stop starving yourself and counting calories. No more skipping meals and the throwing up is only because of morning (all day) sickness. You’re healthy, actually healthy for the first time in a really long time. 
Then you have that sweet, perfect amazing baby and you don’t get a lot of sleep and eating is one of the last things you think of. You stop focusing on yourself and what you’re eating and spend every second of every day thinking about your baby and their needs.
You start gaining weight, quickly. You figure it will slowly fall off because of nursing and constantly being on the move. But then it doesn’t. You just keep gaining weight. A shit ton. Then you stop going out as much because the thought of running into someone you used to know makes you sick. You’re unrecognizable. You hate meeting new people because you’re mortified about how you look. You avoid everyone, except your best friends and some family because they kind of get it and love you despite the fact that you’re now the size of a baby beluga. You’ve become really good at making excuses why you’re always busy. 
You know everyone is talking about how huge you are. You see the disgust on their faces. You hear the things they say when they don’t think you’re listening. 
You put off seeing your doctor because #onlyparentlife and something always comes up. 
When you finally go you find out how much weight you’ve gained. Even though you knew it would be bad, you didn’t know how bad. They take your blood-so much blood. Run ALL the tests and you find out your body has been sabotaging you this whole time. It’s been at war with itself for a few years. If you’d only gone to the doctor sooner. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. So now you take a pill. Every single day. For the rest of your life. You pray it helps. So far it hasn’t. You find out it is going to be incredibly hard to lose the weight, eating right and getting exercise won’t necessarily help and even if you do both it is going to be an ongoing struggle. 
You cry a lot. Every single day. You hate your body. You hate every fat inch of it. You want to crawl into bed and never leave. You avoid mirrors and pictures, unless you take them because you know your “good angles”. When you do go out, you wear clothes that are too big and shapeless because ew. You wear pounds of makeup because you’d rather people see your clowny-makeup caked face then your 10 million chins and non existent cheek bones. 

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