​My Body Wasn't Lazy; It Was Fighting a Different Battle

​I have always wanted to lose weight and have the perfect body. It wasn’t always an obsession, though. In my childhood and teenage years, I was a chubby girl, but that never truly bothered me. Back then, acne was my biggest enemy. Having rough skin in high school felt far more painful than carrying extra weight. There were also a lot of chubby girls in my high school, so my weight wasn't a big issue. There is comfort in numbers, after all.

​When my acne finally cleared, something shifted. I no longer woke up thinking about my face every morning, so my attention moved elsewhere—to my body, and especially my stomach and thighs. I can’t remember the exact moment it became a problem, but I do remember how certain clothes made me feel. Dresses that should have made me feel beautiful instead made me look pregnant.

​The most painful memory involves a saleslady at a clothing store. As I was holding up a few dresses, she asked me with total sincerity when I was due to give birth. The air left my lungs for a moment. I coolly told her that I wasn't "with child," trying to maintain some shred of dignity. "Of course, you're just plus-sized," she replied, a practiced smile plastered on her face as if that made the insult any better. That was the moment my frustration turned into a cold, hard determination. I promised myself I would get rid of the belly fat and thick thighs that refused to disappear, no matter the cost.

I did what so many of us do: I searched for answers online. Sit-ups were the first suggestion. I didn’t want to join a gym; it felt like too much pressure to be seen by others while I was so uncomfortable in my own skin. I decided to exercise by myself. I started doing sit-ups daily, convinced that sheer discipline would be enough to flatten my stomach. When physical exertion yielded no change, I turned to food. Cutting out sugar and fried foods was a daily battle—I loved fries, doughnuts, cakes, and sausages—but I endured a full month of extreme restriction, believing it would finally pay off. It didn’t. After 31 long, hungry days, my stomach looked exactly the same, and the disappointment was crushing. I felt like a failure; I was convinced I must have been doing something fundamentally wrong.

​It was in that moment of deep disappointment that I came across an article that changed how I saw my body. I had been diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) at 19 because of irregular periods, but I had never fully understood what that diagnosis actually meant for my daily life. PCOS is a complex hormonal disorder that affects women of reproductive age. It often involves elevated levels of androgens—male hormones—that can cause stubborn weight gain and irregular menstruation. Suddenly, my lifelong struggle finally had a name.

As I read on, I learned that women with PCOS often carry weight specifically around their midsection and find it biologically difficult to lose. For the first time, I felt both relieved and saddened. I was relieved because I finally understood why my frantic efforts hadn’t worked, but I was saddened because I realized how unnecessarily cruel I had been to myself over a biological condition I couldn’t fully control.

​I learned that many women with PCOS suffer from insulin resistance. This means the body struggles to turn glucose into energy, choosing instead to store it as fat. My body wasn’t failing me or being lazy; it was simply fighting a different metabolic battle than the "average" body.

​This journey taught me something vital: not all bodies respond to the same stimuli. Two people can eat the same meal, follow the same workout routine, and still end up with very different results. Understanding your unique biology is just as important as the effort you put into changing it. This is a valuable lesson I wish I had learned much earlier in my journey.

​Years later, I am still on my journey toward achieving what I consider the perfect body. But now, that journey is gentler. It is no longer fueled by frustration or shame, but by patience, knowledge, and self-compassion.