The Only Time I Felt Allowed To Be Overweight Was When I Was Pregnant

I'd never gone 24 hours without thinking about my weight. Never a day where I didn’t feel guilty for overeating and what the scale would look like the next morning. Forever overweight and forever ashamed.

Then I got pregnant. I arrived at my new high-risk OB-GYN, the one I had to search for because my BMI alone made me automatically high risk. No preexisting medical conditions, no concerning family history… just FAT. And before I could even wrap my head around the fact that I was growing an actual human being, my new doctor told me that because of my BMI, I should only gain 11 pounds over the next nine months.

Eleven. Pounds.

I was supposed to grow a whole ass baby, and only gain 11 pounds? Historically, I could gain 11 pounds overnight if I put my mind to it! I thought pregnancy was the one time I could finally embrace getting bigger. I actually envisioned stepping on the scale at the doctor's office without fear, maybe even getting a little golf clap from my doctor for gaining a few pounds. Like the prize pig at the county fair.

I understood there were medical reasons behind the recommendation, but I couldn't help feeling defeated. Here I was, finally experiencing something I had dreamed about, and somehow, the conversation had already come back to my weight. Even when my body was literally supposed to get bigger, there was a limit.

I felt ashamed. And that shame quickly turned into anxiety. I'd spent my entire life fearing weight gain for myself, but now I was terrified it could hurt someone else: my baby. Instead of embracing my growing body, I spent my first trimester afraid of what would happen if it grew too much.

By week 12, stress and morning sickness had caused me to lose 10 pounds. I stepped on the scale at my next ultrasound, secretly excited and doing some quick math. Did that mean I could gain 21 pounds now? Did the math carry over? I was already calculating how to earn more weight gain. But when I spoke with my doctor, he didn't mention the weight loss at all. He wasn't proud, he wasn't mad. Not a peep.

And somehow, this felt like a green light to me. Like actually, maybe he isn’t THAT focused on the scale and more focused on the baby (duh). After that appointment, I felt my jaw unclench, and something in my brain shifted. I had made it through the first trimester, the baby was healthy and I had lost weight. For thatI was not punished nor rewarded. It was finally, just a number.

So I announced my pregnancy to family and friends and a sudden weight was lifted (and soon gained). Eventually, even the morning sickness let up and I reverted back to the old me. And just like that, I was back in my safe space, scrolling DoorDash.

I started eating whatever I wanted and felt no shame. I ate mozzarella sticks for a snack at 10am. Bagels before bed. I would end every meal with a “treat” of Phish Food ice cream or a couple peanut butter cups for good measure. It’s called palate cleansing.

It felt like FREEDOM. I didn't have to suck in my stomach or hide my rolls. No worrying about posing for a picture to make myself look smaller or hide my sins. I didn't have to wonder if someone was looking at what was on my plate, because honestly I DARE YOU. I didn't have to promise myself I'd “be good tomorrow.” My belly was supposed to get bigger. My clothes were supposed to stop fitting. I was supposed to gain weight. It was like a fun topic of conversation with my girlfriends and people who were already moms… “eating myself through house and home, you know how it goes!”

Well, spoiler alert, I saw their 11 pounds and ended up raising them 50. And honestly? I wasn't that scared. I'd been that weight before. I knew what it was like to live in that body. The number I was supposed to fear reaching was a number I'd already seen on my own scale. But more than that, for the first time in my life, my growing body came with an explanation.

The craziest part? My doctor didn’t bring up my weight again until after I had the baby. Sure, it still made the occasional cameo, like when I needed an anesthesia consultation before birth because of my BMI. But it made my weight felt more like a supporting character instead of the entire plot. It felt like a huge relief.

Pregnancy didn't make me comfortable gaining weight. It made my weight explainable. Because the reality is, I didn't suddenly stop being plus-size. For once in my life I felt normal…like maybe this is how regular people go about their day. Like I was in a new tier of women, one where people were going to celebrate my growing belly. My dad would make us dinner on Sundays and say “Mary gets extra, she’s eating for two!” This is what dreams were made of.

Before I knew it, nine months had flown by and I'd given birth to my baby boy. Less than 12 hours postpartum, a visiting doctor looked at my legs and asked, “Do your legs typically look like this, or are you really swollen?”

And just like that, we were back, baby!

Nope, that's just what my legs look like. I'd barely had a minute to process giving birth before I was back to feeling self-conscious about my body. Nine months of freedom, gone in one sentence.

And that was just the beginning. Soon, doctor's appointments included questions like, “So, what's your plan for weight loss?” and suggestions about GLP-1 medications. My health was otherwise good, but once again, my weight was the conversation.

I remember thinking, how am I supposed to diet on no sleep? I'm just trying to keep a newborn alive, recover from childbirth, and make it through the day. Could my body just exist for a minute without needing to be fixed?

But still, I felt the pressure to lose weight, like my body was a project that was never finished. I even caught myself feeling relieved on days when I was so busy caring for my baby that I barely had time to eat.

I've spent my entire life trying to make my body smaller, and for most of my pregnancy, I finally got to celebrate getting bigger. I wish I could say that experience changed the way I see myself forever, but the truth is, I still think about my weight every day. I still feel the guilt, still do the mental math, still wonder what the scale will say tomorrow. My brain is programmed this way. But pregnancy gave me a taste of freedom I never knew was missing. For once, I got to exist in my body without feeling like I owed anyone an explanation.

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever feel that free again. After giving birth to two beautiful boys, I don’t long for another pregnancy, though I have to admit, nine more months of not obsessing over the scale sounds pretty damn appealing.

I don’t want another excuse to love my body, I just want to stop feeling like I need one.

Mary Burnham is a plus-size boy mom of two who manages software by day and chaos by night. She’s highly susceptible to a viral product and even more susceptible to self-diagnosing the latest health scare. Virality at all costs. Follow her at @maryuburnham.