Being Fat is the Least Interesting Thing About Me

I’m fat. That’s the part of me some people see. Maybe the only thing they see. 

But here’s the thing: It’s the least interesting thing about me.

And I’m not saying that as a defense. I’m saying it as a fact. Because my body is not the plot. It’s the vessel.

And I want you to see that truth in yourself, too.

We’ve been trained to believe our bodies are our story. That the mirror tells the truth. That the number on the scale, the wrinkle, the scar, the softness, the gray hair is the headline of who we are.

It’s a lie. But it’s sticky.

Reducing a whole human to a single word isn’t insightful. It’s the laziest kind of judgment.

Here’s why:

• 91% of women report dissatisfaction with their bodies. That’s not biology. That’s indoctrination.
• The brain’s negativity bias means it spots flaws five times faster than it notices joy.
• Self-criticism floods us with cortisol, trapping us in survival mode.
• But when we celebrate evidence that we are more — when we notice the laugh that cracked open a room, the spark we carried into a meeting, the moment of pure presence that made time dissolve — our brains rewire. Dopamine fires. New neural pathways form. That’s not woo. That’s neuroplasticity.

I learned this in my own body. After becoming chronically ill 8 years ago, I learned to focus less on how my body looked and focus more on being grateful for what it could do.

Translation: your body isn’t the villain. The story you’ve been handed about it is.

The same is true for you. Whatever narrative you’ve been branded with — “too old,” “too young,” “too much,” “not enough” — it’s just a label. A headline that doesn’t capture the whole truth.

Write a better headline. Better yet? Write a whole new book. You carry stories that no one else can tell. You have a light that leaks out when you laugh, when you love, when you fight for something that matters. You are geometry, timing, color, magic.

So here’s my invitation:

• Stop letting your body be the punchline.
• Stop letting the mirror write your headline.
• Stop shrinking your story to fit someone else’s comfort zone.

Instead — start gathering evidence. Daily. Playfully. Relentlessly.

Notice the ways you show up. Remember the moments you forget about your body altogether because you are so alive in what you’re doing.

That’s you. The real you. The whole you.

And the more you collect that evidence, the louder your brain learns to see it. The more you practice it, the more natural it becomes. Until one day, the obvious stops being the story.

So yes, I’m fat. But my fat isn’t a confession. Or an apology. 

If someone only sees me as fat, that says far more about their story than mine.

The real story is what happens through me — and through you.

We are not our size. We are not our mirrors.

And we don’t have to shrink to fit the life we carry inside us.