The Patty project

For a long time, I believed my body had failed me.
That it was something to fix, control, apologise for.

Now I know better.

My body wasn’t failing me — it was protecting me.
It was responding exactly as it needed to.

I was carrying grief.
Fear.
Unresolved trauma.
Losses that never had space to land.
Responsibilities that felt too heavy to put down.

My body held what my nervous system couldn’t process at the time.
It buffered the impact of an unmanageable load.

The weight wasn’t a lack of willpower.
It wasn’t laziness or weakness.
It was survival.

Back then, my body did the best it could with what it was given.
It kept me here.
It kept me functioning.
It kept me alive.

So when I look at photos of myself from that time, I don’t feel shame anymore.
I feel respect.
Compassion.
Gratitude.

That body carried me through what my mind and heart were not yet ready to face.

Healing, for me, didn’t start with weight loss.
It started with understanding.
With safety.
With learning that my body was never the enemy.

It was always on my side.