When I look back, I used to move all the time. I loved exercising — it was never a chore. I started when I was six and never stopped through my teens and twenties. I was extremely fit. Proud of my body and confident in how I felt. Being active was simply a part of me.

Then came marriage. Kids. Work. And slowly, I slipped out of that rhythm. Without even noticing it, I started putting myself last. Somewhere along the way, it felt wrong to focus on me. My role shifted — the right thing to do, I believed, was to take care of everyone else. Family came first. Work, too. I wanted to remain active professionally, and that meant keeping the pace I had before having children. There was no room left for sport. Or for myself.

And over the years, I gained weight. Slowly but surely. I watched it happen. Felt it. But I also avoided it. I could not face the truth: that my only moment of comfort was also the one hurting me the most. So I made excuses: it was the pregnancies, the holidays, the stress, the busy life.... Anything but the mirror.

Deep down, I started to dislike myself. I no longer recognized the woman I had become. And I hated myself for letting it get this far.

The turning point for me came when my father passed away from weight-related heart issues. That grief hit me like a storm and forced me to stop. And to ask myself: do I want to end up there too?

In those quiet, heavy days, something inside me shifted. I needed that electro-choc to finally face the truth that I was way too fat, and that I had to do something about it. His legacy was that I would not face the health issues he did in the last part of his life.

I started to reconnect with myself. I had cut any connection with my body since years. For instance, when I wanted to eat I would not ask myself whether I was hungry, I would just eat because the idea was there. My brain was leading what my body would absorb, without my body having a say. I also would not take care of myself as my body was shouting in pain - for instance my knees were hurting from the additional pressure my extra kilos were adding to it.
So gently, I decided to ask my body each time I would do something that would involve it - as little as moving, taking care of my skin, whether my stomach felt like more food. Some of it was easy, but most wasn't. I really had to stick to this discipline of addressing my body, because not only had I stopped any communication with it, but I also did not like what it had become. It felt like taking care of "something" you really do not like, hoping it turns into something you start to accept.... It was baby steps.
For months I solely focused on my body, listening to it, asking it how it is and taking good care of it. I will always remember when I gifted myself a massage. It had been an eternity since I last went, and I felt really ashamed to have someone touch my body as it was. But as my head had been so strong willed driving me to eat more and more, I thought I could use the same skill and stick to the idea of treating myself.
Going there, putting the bedrove on - I can still feel the pain of doing it after all these years.
But what I also remember and will cherry forever, are the physical sensations this massage gave me. I could feel some tensions in my body being released. I could feel the contempt of my body, and how contagious that was. How more relaxed and happy I felt.
Plus the proud of having done it. Of facing my resistance and overcoming it - all to discover that there was nothing to fear.

Once I was more at peace with my body, I decided to look at my eating habits.
As much as possible, I tried to be fully present when I would eat. I was enjoying and being aware of what I was eating - and interestingly already this helped me eat a little less. I could not in full consciousness eat a whole jar of cookies again, also as my body would tell me it was too much - and this time I could hear it.
I started slowly, still eating the same food but less.

And I worked on toning down my thoughts wrapped in judgment or guilt, and praise the part of me that still cared — who missed feeling light, strong, alive. I realized I had been talking to myself in ways I would never talk to anyone else. I was aggressive, dismissive and very harsh. And that did not help me feel good!

I remembered something I once read: that we are not just one self, but many. I am a mother, an executive, an exhausted woman at times. I had to make room for all of them. That was the beginning of seeing that **myself is multiple** — and that I did not need to silence one version to validate the others. I could begin with being honest to myself in the moment, rather than punish or blame myself.
It was OK to be tired. It was OK to be busy and move less. I had done my best to cope and it had brought me this far: now was time to find another path to cope. One that would suit me and make me feel better.

So I practiced staying present. Just asking myself: what is real right now? Not what I regret. Not what I fear. Just what is happening around me this moment.
I saw that the pressure I felt was often entirely inside my head: the room was quiet, my kids were safe, my job was fine. The storm was mine as all this judgment that I was not good enough were in my head. I realized that it was OK to take as good care of myself as I would of my family. I had the right to be equal: there was no one who had to come first. It is not a podium, it is a family and I am part of it as anybody else.

It came to my mind that putting my family first was once there to protect me. It had made that unconscious decision at the time, because I thought I had to make room for them in a life that was already full. So something had to give - and that was me. And my way of coping that I still existed and was worth it, my way of reminding myself - turned into taking more and more physical space. The paradox was that the more I forgot about myself, the bigger I became. The more transparent in my head, the more physically important I became.
So I made this commitment to myself, which brought tears in my eyes: I would not forget myself anymore. I would listen to myself as I would listen to my kids. I would treat me the same way I would treat the people I love.
And I would find a way to give myself love without going through food. It is not about pressure or controlling myself each second of the day. I know there is still a long way to go. But I feel ready to embark on this journey. And I know that my mind will help me. There will be hick ups, times where I will fail and doubt - and that is OK. What matters is that the direction is set, and I am heading towards being healthier and kinder to myself.

I am still at the beginning.
I do not have a plan that solves it all.
But I have something better: a shift. I am not waiting anymore to feel proud of myself again. I am doing small things that build that pride. I am learning to stand by my side, not against it. I am no longer just reacting to life — I am engaging with it. Fully.
This is not the life I want to escape. This is the life I am learning to reclaim.