The day before my wedding, as I tried on my tux for final alterations at the Men’s Warehouse, I glanced at the mirror and winced.

“Look how fat I am,” I weakly and disappointedly moaned.

I wasn’t looking for support or comfort but all the same I turned to the sales associate after my self-assessment as if I was.

I should have known better.

He was Latino—-a people whose only filter is the one in their coffee machines.

The minute I moaned that moan, I immediately knew I fucked up.

He just looked at my girth and with pursed lips, nodded his head with eyes still fixed on my midsection. He then spat out an even weaker, “Well,” mixed within a sigh of pathetic agreement. Then, as if that weren’t enough and more was needed, he offered, “Walking helps.”

I just stood there, on that goofy 5 inch tall stage, (I guess, I don’t know how tall that fucking thing was) in front of the tri-fold mirror, glaring at my fellow Puerto Rican with my very own lips scrunched up as if I just smelled something offensive. Wanting so badly to call ICE, but again, he was Puerto Rican. And besides, I had that coming. Had he been white he would have said something dismissive like I was “bloated with love” on the eve of my wedding. But he was Puerto Rican thus, the truth was said.

And fuck it, I am fat. I’ll own it without pretends. I’m on stage 3 of my obesity actually. It all started with my mom’s death four years ago. That was stage 1. The grief, darkness, and pain was so so so intense that I literally tried to bury it under whatever I could chew or drown it under anything I could swallow. Unfortunately I swallowed a lot of wine and vodka which led to even more chewing and before I knew it…the girth was birthed.

Then I went through stage 2. That one came along last year when I started to wake up from my massive depression. I suddenly noticed family. The one I built. And I began to manage my pain better. This is what they call, “learning to live with your pain and loss”. I started to do just that. And I started to enjoy myself again. I even started to enjoy my then fiancé again, instead of randomly snapping at him what seemed like every three minutes. Then the dinners, not the binges, returned. And the partying resumed, not the wallowing. I even started to exercise again but not as much as I indulge and hence, lost the battle of the bulge.

Now I’m on stage 3. The “There’s grief weight, then happy weight, then WAIT, we gotta get this straight weight!” stage.

And I feel pregnant.

I see myself in my mirror and see the years of neglect but also the undeniable desire to make myself better again. To return to that space where hope was my friend and egged me on to be stronger and taller every day. I see the sadness and joy behind my eyes and even the storm that’s brewing in my fighting heart. I feel this girth filled with experience, love, loss, wisdom, dreams, fight, comedy, ideas, anger, guidance, patience, words, understanding, humility, thankfulness, God, truth, light…ready for any moment now to be birth.

But first! The reconstruction…

The picture on my homepage of my arm surrounded by scaffolding and shoring is much more than just creative or editorial. It’s an artistic statement from within me to myself. It is me expressing that I am under construction to build my strength again and be able to stand as strong and mighty as I once stood before life’s inevitable blows finally simply found me. It is a symbol of me working on myself, my body, soul, voice, humor and MOST IMPORTANTLY, a beacon of what’s to come. It’s me simply egging myself on.

And the ring, bearing my mother’s picture, serves as a reminder that though she’s no longer here, it doesn’t mean she’s not watching and guiding me.

And I’m drawing from how powerful it is to let go, and not so much start over, but pick up from when circumstances made me drop to my knees. And so, I have deleted all my past posts, and with them, all that’s negative or could be perceived as negative to make room for hope and light. And if by any chance this results easier said that done, I pray to God, whom I believe deeply in, to help me let go. Help me rise. Help me stand again for more than ever I feel truly ready and deserving to do so once more.

Sweet Jesus!!

Something wicked this way comes and I can see it. It’s acceptance! A new life! New shoes to walk in! Shoes I never thought I would have and would often see on others and wonder how those type of shoes feel. Well, I don’t have to wonder any longer.

I am married. I’ve cemented a family. I have made new friends, embraced new relationships, repaired fractured ones, and this has emboldened me. It has excited me. This one I owe to myself. I’m so much happier on this other side. I can see now that I have so much to live for when I once thought all would be better off with me gone. But I feel strong enough this time to do it. I feel the kind of strength I can only thank my mother and God for.

And I see I have so much to deliver.

I can’t wait to give birth.