The Question I Dreaded

The moment I knew something had shifted was the moment when someone asked me if I was pregnant (spoiler alert: I wasn’t).

Early last year, I decided I was done wasting my life trying to make my body smaller. I gave up the merry-go-round of dieting. I made peace with my body and food. I let my body get bigger. I could feel it sigh with relief.

And amidst it all, I dreaded the question that I knew was coming: “Are you pregnant?” It finally came in July when I ran into a colleague that I hadn’t seen for months.

Colleague (excitedly): “Oh, are you expecting again?”

Me (feeling the shame rise up but determined not to let it swallow me): “No.”

Colleague (with embarrassment): “Oh, I hate when that happens.”

Me (politely but firmly): “Yes, that is why you should never ask that question.”

Here’s the thing, y’all: A part of me wanted to crawl into a hole and die. At the time, this was the kind of question that haunted me in my dreams. But I was doing the work on that too. The shame was something else I was done with. And I knew when I responded to her that something significant had shifted.

My “no” wasn’t followed by an explanation of why I’d gained weight or why my tummy was bigger. I didn’t smooth things over to ease her embarrassment or tell her it was okay (because it wasn’t). I didn’t make it my job to manage her feelings about MY body.

I showed up as myself, in my own truth, without explanation and without apology. In that moment it was (and still is) everything.

You don’t owe anyone an explanation. You aren’t responsible for other people’s feelings about your life choices. You sure as hell aren’t responsible for making anyone feel better because they are uncomfortable with your body or think they have the right to comment on it.

The only person you owe an explanation is you.