Acceptance, In My Skin

A body, a dress, and the truth between us.

I have to tell the truth about this photo. Not the romantic truth — the real, messy, human one.

Because when I first saw it, my reaction wasn’t poetic or sacred.

It wasn’t kind.

It hit me so hard I felt my eyes sting and my throat tighten.

It was the familiar punch of old conditioning I thought I’d buried years ago:

“My body looks bigger.”

“I’ve gained weight.”

“I wish I looked like I did years ago.”

The truth is, I’ve felt heavier, denser, thicker since early summer.

And in the months leading up to the vow renewal, I even bought a couple of “programs,” indulging that old belief that maybe I could fix something quickly.

One of them required mixing a peptide powder with plain water — and everyone who knows me knows I hate plain water despite all its supposed health benefits. So that experiment ended fast.

Deep down, I knew none of it was the real answer anyway.

That entire industry thrives on convincing women we’re broken and need to be fixed.

And then came the dresses.

Five of them.

One custom-made in China that looked completely different in person — sleeves wrong, shoulders slipping off, waist needing tailoring, and somehow both too big and not flattering at all.

So then I ordered four more from Amazon, studied the descriptions like I was prepping for an exam, and prayed the right shapewear would “smooth me out”… but honestly, those mf’ers can only do so much.

Ultimately, I wore the one Tones loved — a mermaid cut.

Not the dress that hid my middle.

Not the one that made me feel the most camouflaged.

But the one that reminded me that he loves me in every version.

And still… a week before the ceremony, when I tried on my winter vest and jacket, they were tighter than last year. I could zip them, but they were snug. My groin, hip, and womb space have been aching for months. My gait is off. My body feels different — heavier, tighter, older, tired.

So when close friends reached out asking how I was feeling leading up to the big day, I told the truth:

“I’m dreading it.”

“I’m in a bad place about my body.”

“I’m tired, sore, heavier than I want to be, and terrified about money.”

“I think this year took more of a toll than I’m willing to admit.”

I went to bed crying.

Woke Tony at midnight with my sobbing.

Cried on the couch the next morning trying to figure out how to shift myself out of the pit.

And that’s when my friend Sara said something that unlocked everything:

“You can’t process trauma when you’re still inside it.

You survive first.

You soften after.”

Of course I gained weight this year.

Of course I padded, braced, and protected.

Of course I feel heavier — my body has been holding YEARS of crisis, not just months.

This body carried me through divorce battles.

Courtrooms.

False accusations.

DCYF investigations.

A stroke.

Fear after fear after fear.

Holding eight children.

Holding Tony.

Holding myself.

This body didn’t betray me.

She protected me.

This isn’t “fat.”

This isn’t “failure.”

This isn’t “letting myself go.”

This is armor dissolving.

This is a year’s worth of bracing releasing.

This is my body exhaling after walking through fire.

Because here’s the truth we were never taught:

The body doesn’t change because it’s broken.

It changes because it’s loyal.

It absorbs.

It protects.

It holds what we can’t feel yet.

And once the storm has passed, the body finally asks:

“Can we rest now?”

So this vow renewal wasn’t just between Tony and me.

It was between me and her — the body that stood in the lantern light, aching and tired and still glowing with devotion.

I’m not ashamed of her.

I’m grateful for her.

I love her.

And I’m proud of her.

I’m done needing her to be anything other than the sacred vessel she already is.