Holidays have a way of surfacing thoughts we rarely have time or space for during the year. When we slow down and step out of the daily routine, some pretty interesting memories come to the forefront.
One late December morning (exactly 20 years ago), I think I grew up a little—but not in the way you’d hope. At 16, I stepped on the scale and faced for the first time that eating has consequences. I felt I needed to make a change. Back then, I had no idea that despite my not-so-significant childhood weight, I wasn’t just starting a simple diet phase—I was beginning a decades-long, sometimes painful, sometimes freeing journey with my body.
The Teenage Realization That Set Everything in Motion
In my early teens, I thought my weight was just a number and that since I was still growing, it was natural for the scale to climb. I was always active, strong, and muscular, never feeling out of place (because I wasn’t). Then came the post-holiday weigh-in, and suddenly I became aware that my choices about my body had consequences. From then on, the thought “it would be nice if that number was lower” quietly lingered in my mind. This became the silent background noise throughout my late teenage years and early twenties. I tried dieting from time to time, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, and even when it did, it never lasted long. Still, the desire for constant slimness stubbornly stuck with me.

When My Body Became the Only Thing I Could Control
In my early twenties, a serious emotional break hit my daily life so hard that I felt powerless, like I had no control—I was just a spectator in my own life. The only thing I could hold onto was my body. At first, this wasn’t a conscious choice; only much later did I realize that losing weight became my anchor, a way to regain control. It gave me the stability I craved when everything else felt unpredictable.
When things started to settle and I felt better emotionally, I had lost so much weight that instead of praise, my friends looked at me with worried eyes.
No matter that I hit the numbers I wanted—the mirror didn’t reflect the satisfaction I had imagined with my “dream weight.”

Pregnancy That Rewrote the Rules
After that, I had a few really good years. With a little weight gain, I reached the ideal weight for my height and was able to maintain it healthily, without diets or extra effort. But during pregnancy, my body switched to a rhythm I couldn’t control, changing so fast I could barely keep up. After gaining 30 kg (about 65 lbs), I was thinner two months after giving birth than before pregnancy. The rapid weight gain and even faster loss completely disrupted my inner balance. Even though it happened nearly 10 years ago, I still feel the effects. Looking back, I see I didn’t give myself time to rest, recover, or settle into the new life motherhood brought. Still, my body heroically held up and, externally, bears just one tiny, one-centimeter stretch mark—a memory I now look at with gratitude because it reminds me of what I went through.
My Body Is Not the Enemy, But a Compass
Over the years, I’ve learned that any stress, trauma, or emotional strain causes my body to respond with weight changes. It’s my body’s way of signaling that something is “too much.” After 20 years, I’ve learned to listen—not just to the numbers, but to what they hide and tell me. This year, with all its ups and downs, taught me that the number on the scale isn’t what matters most. What counts is how present I can be in my own life, how well I can cooperate with myself, and how much kindness I can offer the body that’s endured so many waves with me. Thinking ahead to what’s still to come…
That Christmas 20 years ago truly sparked something inside me, but my holidays have long since stopped being about diet resolutions. They’re about pausing, looking back, and recognizing that my body has carried me through everything life has thrown my way for decades. If there’s one thing I’d tell myself now, after all these years, it’s that in 2026 I want to approach my body with more patience, gratitude, and understanding.











