I didn’t think I’d struggle this much with the weight gain.
I mean, I knew it was part of pregnancy. I’ve been through this before. I’ve read the books, heard the “you’re growing a human!” pep talks. But still—watching my body grow in ways I can’t control feels like a slow unraveling of who I used to be.

Every week, my clothes fit a little tighter. My thighs rub. My arms feel softer. My face is rounder. I don’t recognize myself in photos right now, and honestly, I don’t always like what I see in the mirror.

And then I open Instagram… and there she is. That influencer who’s 32 weeks pregnant and somehow still has abs. She’s glowing, toned, in matching workout sets, talking about her third Pilates class of the week, and eating chia seed pudding like it’s actually enjoyable.

I’ve finally realized: I don’t need that energy in my life.

So I’ve started unfollowing. Not because those women are doing anything wrong—but because I need to protect my peace. I need to stop comparing my normal, bloated, hungry, stretch-marked body to someone else’s filtered highlight reel. I need to follow moms who talk about cellulite and postpartum underwear and surviving on frozen waffles. Moms who cry in their car sometimes. Moms who laugh about it afterward.

Because the truth is, my body is changing. And it’s not going to bounce back to who it was before. I’m not who I was before either. And maybe that’s okay. Maybe this body is softer because it’s stronger. Maybe it’s wider because it’s making space—for life, for love, for everything that comes next.

I’m still working on accepting all of this. Some days I mourn the “old me.” But other days, I look at my growing belly, and I remember what it’s all for. And on those days, I let the leggings stay on, I silence the critics (especially the one in my head), and I follow moms who remind me that real is beautiful, too.