It’s the stretch marks on my breasts that most catch me off guard.
They were there pre-pandemic, but they’re darker, bluer now than they’ve ever been.
Devoid of their prior muscle tone, my upper arms hang and wobble more when I raise them.
Illustration by Niege Borges
The rolls on the middle of my back are more pronounced.
Then there’s my stomach, which protrudes farther out than it did before.
But I don’t want to hide in my stay-at-home get-up anymore.
There’s no going back to the person I was before that happened, either.
The world is different now.I’mdifferent now and for the better.
I have my pandemic weight gain to thank for that.
In my possession, a bottle of cabernet sauvignon never lasted longer than a night or two.
I could sleep an entire weekend and return to “the office” on Monday still exhausted.
In situations like mine, however, weight gain or loss can, in part, signify something greater.
Maybe I’ll lose that weight one day, and maybe I won’t.
The weight gain my body has gone through most recently is now symbolic of surviving in unprecedented times.
If I ever have children, my growing stomach will represent the power within me to create life.
My quarantine weight gain was never a failure it’s been my protector all along.
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