The fear of gaining weight followed me all my life, but getting into my first relationship taught me to let it go.

It started like this: I grew up despising my body for the usual reasons: familial pressure, misguidance on what constitutes “healthy” and constant comparisons to those I deemed thin.

Mainly, it was society’s iron grip on women’s self-esteem. 

Emotional propaganda surrounds teenage girls and insists their bodies are always on trial, subject to judgment whether they like it or not.

From tabloid magazines shaming celebrity weight gain to TV shows recycling the gag of the fat friend — the message of self-hatred for the sake of health is loud and clear. 

Before you can even comprehend what it means to live a satisfactory life, you’re forced to choose between loving yourself or making everyone love you.

I was 13, guilty of being “fat” and prayed I wouldn’t receive a life sentence in my mental prison.

I was none of these, but when you’re this young and impressionable, all it takes is one mean comment to doom your relationship with your body.

Entering my first relationship in high school meant after-school Sonic snacks, late-night McDonald’s meals, lavish anniversary dinners and surprise ice cream dates.

It meant I had a safe space to express my insecurities and someone to help me grow past them.

It also meant that in the span of three years, I packed on about fifty pounds. 

At first, it was a genuine mental exercise to stifle a meltdown when a shirt hugged my body harder than I remembered.

It was even more challenging to choke down my panic when I realized I’d taken my body for granted.

However, after months of juggling my self-esteem, that was when the euphoria set in. 

The body I had once considered “too big” got bigger, yet I was the happiest ever. 

I was in a long-term relationship with a girl who understood the societal obstacles I had been working against my whole life.

I once remarked that a dress made me insecure because it revealed too much of my arms.

My girlfriend responded, “Well, it makes me feel secure.”

For the first time, I didn’t care what other people thought of my body because at least one person cherished it. 

Finally, it occurred to me that I hadn’t actually taken my body for granted. 

I was blind to its worth or how much emotional damage I was doing by living only to be skinny. 

I viewed the number on the scale as some sort of moral failing, not a measurement that tells only half a story.

I wept over my stretch marks, thinking they were the consequences of my foolish eating, not a reminder that bodies don’t stop transforming after puberty. 

My body was always beautiful, and it took gaining the weight I had been long afraid of to understand that.

Relationships don’t guarantee body acceptance, and gaining weight won’t instantly cure years of resentment. 

However, if you’re under the impression you’re less worthy of love because of your size or what size you think you’ll become if you let loose, know that a serious partner soothes these anxieties. 

They hold your hand during your journey of self-acceptance. 

They remind you that if you were fifty pounds lighter or heavier, your soul is still the same, and that’s what matters more than an ever-changing list of beauty standards.

Gaining weight in a relationship showed me that while you may not be the first to love your body unconditionally, at least be the last.