Fat Math: A Life Measured in Calculations

For years, I weighed 130 kilos. But if I’m being honest, the number barely captures the experience of living in that body. What does, though, is this thing I’ve come to call “fat math.”

Fat math is mental calculus. Constant. Unforgiving. Exhausting. It’s what I did before I even left the house. How far will I have to walk today? Will there be a place to sit and catch my breath without looking like I’m dying? Does that café have chairs with arms? Because if they do, I’m out. Do I risk that turnstile? Or is it safer to find another entrance? The math was relentless. And invisible. And I was very, very good at it.

I’m different now. The weight’s different. The math, weirdly, isn’t always. My body changed—but my instincts stayed. That background process, those calculations, they still flicker on sometimes. I’m proud of how far I’ve come, but I’m also angry—because why did I have to live like that in the first place? Why do so many still have to?

This piece is for anyone who knows what fat math feels like. It’s for the people doing it right now, quietly, because they have no choice. It’s for those who love someone in a larger body and don’t quite know how to help. And it’s especially for those on a weight-loss journey—because if you’re not careful, you might start turning the same cruelty inward or project it outward, dressed up as “discipline.”

This is what fat math is. This is what it costs. And this is what I wish more people understood.

Living by “Fat Math”: Navigating a World Not Built for Us

“Fat math” is the term I use for the constant mental planning and double-checking I did (and still do) every day to navigate a world not built for big bodies. When you’re fat, especially at my heaviest size, you don’t get the luxury of moving through life mindlessly. Every step – literal or figurative – involves an assessment of risk, comfort, and even dignity.

Take going for a simple walk. I used to judge the distance to see if I’d get sweaty or out of breath – I’d calculate if I had time to cool down before interacting with people so I wouldn’t look “gross.” If I had to take the bus, I’d do math on whether I should stand (and endure the sore feet and balance struggles) or try to wedge into a seat and face the possibility of someone sighing or glaring at me for taking up space. Entering a clothing store, I’d scan the racks from the doorway, mentally gauging if they likely carried anything in my size, because the humiliation of asking and hearing “Sorry, nothing for you here” burns. Dining out with friends, I became an expert in chair geometry: I’d subtly evaluate whether a restaurant’s chairs had arms that might pinched my hips, or if the booths had a fixed table that my stomach might press against. I learned to laugh it off with a joke and suggest another place, or I’d say I preferred a standing table when in reality I was terrified of literally not fitting in.

Even shopping for groceries had its equations: Will my body fit through the narrow aisles if it’s crowded? How long can I stand in line before my back pain kicks in? The world assumes a standard size, and if you don’t meet it, you’re constantly adjusting and planning. It’s like living in a maze with walls that might close in on you at any moment – you stay hyper-alert. It wasn’t just about physical space, either. I’d also calculate people’s reactions in advance: If I eat this ice cream in public, will I get judging stares? If I move quickly to grab a seat, will people think “look at the fat lady rushing to sit”? This is the invisible burden of fat math: not only measuring objects and distances, but measuring judgments and stares.

Over time, I got so good at fat math that I did it automatically. On the outside, it might have looked like I was just timid or extremely prepared. On the inside, I was constantly negotiating with my environment for the right to be comfortable and safe. And let me tell you, that takes a mental toll. Everyone deserves to walk into a room or down a street without doing an obstacle course in their head first. But for fat people, that’s rarely the reality. Each decision – whether it’s taking the elevator instead of the stairs, or choosing dark, baggy clothes to “blend in,” or sitting out an activity because it might literally not accommodate you – comes with a painful trade-off. Do I prioritize my physical comfort or do I try to preserve my dignity and avoid ridicule? Do I go, or do I skip it? Fat math often meant saying “no” to things I actually wanted to do, simply because the embarrassment tax was too high to risk.

If you’ve never had to live like this, it might surprise you how much thought a fat person puts into seemingly trivial parts of the day. But this is our reality. And if you have lived like this, I want you to know: I see you. There is nothing wrong with you for calculating and adapting — the problem is that you have to do it at all.

The Emotional Toll of Constant Calculation (Shame, Fear, and Anger)

Living under the burden of fat math took a serious emotional toll on me. Every calculation I made was a reminder that I was “other.” I felt shame that I had to think about things that seemed to never cross my thinner friends’ minds. I’d watch friends casually sit anywhere, wear anything, go anywhere — and not have to scope it out first. Why couldn’t I just be like that? Why did I have to strategize my life like a military operation just to exist in public without incident? Over years, that wears you down. It plants this gnawing idea in your head that “maybe I don’t belong here.” I often felt like the world was subtly (and sometimes loudly) telling me: “This space isn’t for you. You need to shrink to fit in — or stay out.”

That constant vigilance breeds fear and anxiety. I was always waiting for the next humiliation. The next stranger who would snicker as I squeezed into a seat. The next well-meaning friend who’d say, “Oh, maybe we shouldn’t hike, it might be too hard for you,” making me feel like a burden. The next shopping trip where I’d leave empty-handed and near tears because nothing above a size 16 was on the rack. Living like that, I became hyper-aware of my body at all times. It’s like carrying an internal spotlight that never turns off — you imagine others are always watching and judging, because often they are. And to protect yourself, you try to stay five steps ahead (hello again, fat math). But the irony is, no matter how good I became at calculating and avoiding, I couldn’t escape the fundamental pain: the feeling that just taking up space was an offense.

At my heaviest, I’ll admit, I internalized a lot of that shame. I thought, “If only I were thinner, I wouldn’t have to live like this.” I viewed my body as the problem. But now that I’ve lost weight and experience the world in a smaller body, I feel something new alongside lingering anxiety: righteous anger. Because guess what? I’m the same person that I was at 130kg. I deserve the same respect, the same ease of movement, the same basic human dignity at any weight. And it infuriates me that society only extended those courtesies to me when I started to shrink. Suddenly people comment on how “healthy” or “energetic” I look; strangers smile at me more often on the street; I can shop in more stores and not get those dismissive looks. People listen more, interrupt less. It’s subtle, but it’s there – a bias that colored every interaction when I was larger. And realizing that has been a bitter pill: it confirmed that the world really was treating 130kg-me unfairly, and it wasn’t “all in my head.” I wasn’t the problem; the fatphobia was.

So if you feel anger about how fat people are treated, you’re not wrong. We have every right to be angry. Being fat isn’t the crime the world makes it out to be, yet we’re often punished for it in a million small ways. In fact, research shows that this kind of chronic stress from stigma can directly harm our health – studies have found that weight discrimination can trigger increased cortisol (stress hormones) and other negative coping behaviors, contributing to real health issues. One study even found that the stress of being stigmatized corresponded to a 60% increased risk of death for fat people, even when BMI was accounted for. Just think about that: it’s not only the weight itself, but the constant stress of judgment that can shave years off someone’s life. We’re literally fighting for our lives in more ways than one.

Realizing these facts transformed a lot of my shame into resolve. Instead of thinking “I need to change to fit the world,” I started thinking, “the world needs to change to accommodate me (and everyone like me).” My anger isn’t negative; I see it now as fuel. It’s what powers me to speak up, to insist on better treatment, and to remind other fat folks that we deserve better. We should not have to accept daily humiliation as a price for existing. We have the right to demand accessible spaces, to demand respect, and to demand that our bodies not be treated as social problems.

There’s a quote I love from author and activist Aubrey Gordon that captures this feeling: “My fat is political. My fat is a declaration of my right to take up space in a society that tells me I shouldn’t.” That line gives me chills because it’s so true. Our very existence as fat people, living our lives unapologetically, is a statement that we belong here. We don’t have to ask permission to occupy seats, to walk down the street, or to wear clothes we like. The problem was never our bodies; it was the attitudes and structures that failed to include our bodies.

Empathy and understanding (from ourselves and others) can lighten this emotional load. In the next sections, I want to share some hard-earned advice for different folks: for my fellow fat people still doing fat math every day, for the friends and allies who want to support us, and for those who, like me, have lost weight and need to ensure we don’t become part of the problem. These are the lessons I’ve learned and the concrete steps that can make day-to-day life a little kinder and more livable.

For My Fellow Fat People: Navigating Daily Challenges with Self-Kindness

First, to my fellow fat people who are still living every day with these challenges: I see you, I am you, and I know how heavy this mental load can be. You are not alone, and you shouldn’t have to carry shame for making the adaptations you need to get through the day. None of this is your fault. That said, I also know that no amount of “society should change” rhetoric magically makes tomorrow easier when you wake up and have to do it all over again. So here are some things that helped me, and I hope they help you too:

• Plan for comfort, not for apology. There’s nothing wrong with planning ahead to make sure you’ll be comfortable. Scout out venues online – many restaurants and theaters post photos or have seating info. Call ahead if you’re unsure about things like chair sizes or if a venue has accommodations. It might feel awkward, but you have every right to ask. For example, I’ve called a café to ask if they had sturdy armless chairs because I once literally broke a chair in a restaurant and never want to experience that again. It’s not your job to ensure chairs hold you – it’s the chair’s job – but a little recon can save you hurt and hassle. Planning for your needs is a way of taking care of yourself, not something you need to apologize for.

• Speak up for what you need. This one is hard, but important. If you need a seat belt extender on an airplane, ask the flight attendant quietly (they deal with this all the time). If a friend’s car is small and the seatbelt won’t click, say, “Hey, let’s take a different car, this one’s a bit snug for me.” If you’re too warm because many plus-size people run hot (we’re literally insulated!), politely ask to crack a window or sit near a fan. I used to silently suffer out of embarrassment, but I’ve learned that voicing my needs often solves the problem and — here’s the kicker — most people don’t actually mind or make a big deal of it. And if someone does give you attitude for it? That’s a reflection of them, not you. You deserve to be accommodated just like anyone else.

• Choose your allies and let them help. Find those friends or family members who get it — the ones who don’t judge you, who are willing to listen to your experiences, maybe even the ones who also live in a larger body. Lean on them. Let them know what you’re going through. It can be as simple as saying, “Hey, sometimes I worry about fitting places when we go out. Can you help me scope things out or have my back if I need to switch seats?” A good friend will absolutely do this. For instance, I have a friend who will always walk into a new bar or restaurant before me, do a quick scan, and subtly shake her head at booths that look too tight and steer us to a table instead. She does it like it’s second nature. Having even one person like that in your life — someone who actively considers your needs — is a godsend. And you deserve that support. You don’t have to brave every situation solo.

• Practice self-compassion (seriously, give yourself a break). That voice in your head that might berate you for being “too fat” to do something is not your real voice — it’s all the garbage society has dumped on you. Try, as much as possible, to replace that with a kinder voice. What would you say to a friend in your shoes? You’d say, “You’re doing your best, it’s okay.” When you catch yourself feeling guilty for taking the elevator or not fitting into an outfit, pause and remind yourself: My worth is not determined by my weight or what I can/can’t do. One exercise that helped me was actually looking in the mirror, meeting my own eyes, and saying out loud something like, “I deserve love and respect as I am right now.” I know, it sounds cheesy. I felt ridiculous the first time. But over time, speaking to myself kindly started to drown out the shame. Remember, as Sonya Renee Taylor, a brilliant fat activist, said: “Fat bodies are not problems to be solved; they are beautiful, valuable, and deserving of love. That includes your body.

• Find fat-positive communities and voices. This world will try to convince you that you’re the problem, but trust me, you are not. It helped me immensely to read blogs, books, and social media by fat activists and people who just unabashedly love themselves. They taught me things like it’s okay to buy clothes that fit your body instead of trying to squeeze into a smaller size (imagine that! Wearing comfortable clothes that actually fit well can drastically improve your day-to-day confidence). They taught me that it’s okay to rest when I need rest, and move when I enjoy moving – that exercise isn’t a punishment for being fat, it can be a joyful activity if done on my own terms. Surround yourself (online and offline) with people who celebrate bodies of all sizes. It’s easier to be kind to yourself when you see others doing the same.

• Embrace the space you occupy. You have every right to take up space — physically and figuratively. Don’t squish yourself into discomfort on a plane seat to avoid touching the person next to you; you paid for your seat, and you’re entitled to exist in it. Don’t feel obligated to diet in front of others or order the salad when you really want the pasta; you’re allowed to enjoy food. It took me a long time to do this without guilt, but little by little, try doing the things you want to do now, not “when I lose X kilos.” Wear the bright colors, get in the pool with your kids (yes, in a swimsuit, your body is fine!), dance at the party without thinking “everyone’s watching.” The more you allow yourself to just live, the more you prove that internalized voice wrong. You start seeing that you didn’t actually cause the world to end by existing boldly as a fat person – if someone else has a problem with it, that’s their problem.

Above all, please remember: you are worthy of kindness, especially from yourself. The world might not always be kind (and that’s an understatement), but don’t join the world in beating yourself up. What helped me lighten the load of fat math was not only losing some weight (because honestly, the mental habits lingered even after the kilos dropped) – it was learning to say, “Okay, this is me, and I’m going to take care of me.” You are doing the best you can in a society that doesn’t always make it easy. Give yourself credit for that. You deserve happiness and peace now, not just if or when you become a smaller size.

For Friends and Allies: How to Truly Support the Fat People in Your Life

Maybe you’re reading this as someone who isn’t fat, but you have a friend, family member, or partner who is. First, thank you for caring enough to want to be supportive — that already means more than you know. Allies have a huge impact on our day-to-day experiences. When you’re fat, a single outing can either be a nightmare or a joy depending on who’s with you and how they behave. If you want to be the kind of friend who makes it a joy, here are some concrete ways you can help:

• Believe us and listen. If a fat person trusts you enough to share their worries or an embarrassing experience, please take it seriously. Don’t dismiss it with “Oh, I’m sure no one noticed” or “It can’t be that bad.” Trust me, it often is that bad, and we notice even if you don’t. Listening with empathy and saying “That sucks, I’m sorry you deal with that” goes a long way. It validates what we’re going through. Sometimes, we don’t need a solution in that moment, just an acknowledgment that our struggle is real.

• Check venues and plans for accessibility. When you’re making plans with a fat friend (or any friend with specific needs), be the one who suggests the fat-friendly option. Choose a restaurant you know has roomy chairs or booths, or ask if they’d prefer a certain seating. If you’re inviting someone to an event like a concert or theme park, consider factors like walking distance, seating, or if the rides have size restrictions. It might feel strange at first to think about these things if you never had to, but it can save your friend from feeling excluded or having to speak up. For example, when planning a brunch, you might say, “Hey, I was thinking of this place, but I’m not sure how comfortable the seating is. Would you rather go to that cafe we love with the patio chairs?” This signals to your friend that you get it and you care.

• Offer help discreetly, without making it a big deal. If you’re close enough, you probably know some of your friend’s pain points. Maybe booths are tough, or long walks tire them, or they’re self-conscious about something. You can subtly assist. Park a little closer to the store so the walk is shorter (without saying it’s for them, just do it). When entering a lecture hall or theater, you can gravitate to a row with a couple of empty seats together so they have a bit more room. Little things like that, done matter-of-factly, make a difference. What you don’t want to do is make a scene like, “Oh let’s sit here because you need the space.” (Ugh!) Instead, just lead the way calmly. We notice those gestures, trust me, and we appreciate them endlessly.

• Speak up against fatphobia. One of the most supportive things a friend ever did for me was shut down another friend who made a cruel joke about my weight. I didn’t even have to respond; she simply said, “That’s not cool. Don’t talk about her like that.” It was a relief to have someone defend me. If you hear fatphobic comments, whether it’s directed at your friend or just in general, challenge them. You don’t have to start a huge fight, but saying, “Hey, that’s not funny,” or “I don’t think their weight is relevant,” or just looking disapproving can send a clear message. This not only helps your friend feel supported, but also slowly changes the culture. Fat jokes and insults are sadly common, and when friends step up and say “not okay,” it chips away at what’s socially acceptable. Be that person. Be the one who has our backs. We notice, and it builds trust.

• Avoid food and body policing. Please, please resist any urge to “help” your fat friend by suggesting diets, commenting on their plate, or hinting that they should exercise more. Even if you mean well, it’s likely not your place (unless they have explicitly asked for your support in that way, like as a workout buddy or accountability partner). Unsolicited advice like “Are you sure you want to eat that?” or “You know, cutting carbs worked for my cousin” is hurtful. It implies you see us as a project to fix. Same goes for backhanded compliments like “You have such a pretty face, if only you lost a bit of weight…” Trust me, we have definitely thought about our weight; there’s probably nothing you could suggest that we haven’t heard or tried. The best way to support our health is to encourage and join us in healthy activities without focusing on weight. Like, invite us for a walk because it’s a nice day, not because you think we need exercise. Share a recipe because it’s delicious, not because it’s “diet food.” We can tell the difference.

• Treat your fat friend like a whole person (because we are!). This might sound obvious, but you’d be surprised how many people reduce a fat person’s identity to just “the fat one.” Don’t make every conversation about weight or fat issues either — this post is about those things, sure, but in everyday life we have other interests and traits! Maybe we love Marvel movies or woodworking or have a great career or a quirky hobby. See us for the full human beings we are. Include us in active plans, in shopping trips, in photo outings, in everything — but also understand if we sometimes hesitate (because of the aforementioned calculations) and be gracious about it. Essentially, be the kind of friend to us that you’d be to anyone else you love, with just a bit more awareness of the extra hurdles we face. And when in doubt about something, just ask kindly: “Hey, would that work for you? What would make it easier/fun for you?” Open communication can prevent a lot of hurt.

Remember, as an ally, your goal isn’t to save your fat friend or constantly shield them like they’re helpless (we’re not), but to stand with them. The world gives fat people so much grief; having friends who make us feel accepted and normal is incredibly healing. I can’t overstate how wonderful it is to have friends who I know I can trust — who I don’t have to put on a fake front with, who won’t secretly judge what I eat or how I look, who will happily say “heck yeah” to being my plus-one at the pool when I’m working up the courage to wear a swimsuit. Be that person, and you’ll be making a bigger difference than you probably realize.

If You’re Losing Weight: Stay Compassionate and Don’t Become Fatphobic

This part is personal, because it’s something I’ve had to navigate in myself. If you’re in the process of losing weight (whether intentionally through diet/exercise or due to other circumstances), you might notice your mindset towards weight and fatness starting to shift. There’s a real danger here of becoming what we once dreaded — someone who views fat, including our own past selves or others, with judgment or disgust. It’s like an ugly little voice whispering, “You’re not like them anymore…you’re better.” Let’s shut that voice down right now. Here’s my advice on staying grounded and compassionate during and after weight loss:

• Remember where you came from (literally look back at old photos with kindness). It can be tempting after losing weight to look at old pictures and say, “Wow, I was so huge/gross/unhealthy.” But catch yourself when you do that. That “before” version of you was you. They weren’t gross; they were a human being who deserved love and respect (and probably didn’t get enough of it). When I see photos of myself at 130kg now, I intentionally practice compassion: I see a woman who had a bright smile, great hair days, fabulous style, and who was doing her best. I try to focus on the good in those images and send love to that version of me. I’ll sometimes even say, “Thank you, Past Me, for carrying me through and getting me here.” She went through a lot; she was strong. Don’t dishonor your past self by insulting them just because you’re smaller now.

• Don’t turn weight loss into a moral victory. It’s okay to feel proud of your hard work, but remind yourself: losing weight doesn’t make you a more moral or superior person. It just makes you a person with less weight. You’re not automatically healthier or happier or more disciplined than anyone who’s larger — weight can come off for all sorts of reasons, and not everyone who’s fat is doing something “wrong.” Keep that humility. I often tell myself, “If I had gone through different life circumstances, I might not have lost this weight. Does that mean I’d be less worthy? Of course not.” This keeps me from putting myself on a pedestal. The minute you catch yourself thinking, “If I can do it, anyone can,” or judging a stranger “if they only tried…”, stop. You do not know their story, and you’re not better than them.

• Banish fat jokes and negative body talk, especially about yourself. After losing some weight, I found people (even family) suddenly felt comfortable making fatphobic comments around me, assuming I’d agree since I was trying to “leave that group.” They’d say something nasty about an overweight celebrity or even be like “Aren’t you glad you’re not fat like X anymore?” This is where you must remember your values. I now actively reject those conversations. I’ll say something like, “Actually, I don’t find that funny,” or “I still identify with being fat – those comments aren’t cool.” It might feel awkward, but it’s important. Also, be mindful of how you talk about your own body during/after weight loss. If you keep saying “Ugh, I was so disgusting before” or “I never want to be that fat again,” you are reinforcing the idea that fat equals disgusting — and guess what, that hurts both you (if you gain any weight back, imagine how you’ll feel) and others who are currently fat. Try to reframe it: instead of “I was disgusting,” maybe “I wasn’t feeling my best physically back then” (if true) or better yet, focus on now: “I feel stronger now” without insulting your old body.

• Stay connected to the fat community or at least to the issue. This might sound odd — “Why would I, if I’m losing weight?” Because it keeps you empathetic and informed. Read stories from fat activists, keep following that body-positive influencer who helped you when you were bigger, continue to call out fatphobia when you see it. Basically, don’t leave the fight now that it’s less personally pressing. If anything, use your unique perspective to be a bridge. You know what it’s like on both sides. For example, if you have another friend who’s still fat, be very aware of not changing how you treat them. Consciously make sure you’re not becoming the kind of person you used to resent. Stay close to those friends; ask them if they feel any different vibe from you (and be open to hearing it if they do). This will keep you accountable.

• Prepare for mixed feelings and even identity confusion. This is something people don’t talk about enough: losing weight, especially a lot, can mess with your head. You might feel on top of the world one day, then strangely guilty or sad the next. I had moments where I almost missed aspects of my larger self – or I felt like I was betraying “the cause” by celebrating weight loss (because I am a believer in body acceptance). It’s okay to feel all that. Just navigate it with honesty. If you find yourself becoming anxious or extremely fixated on not regaining weight (to the point of developing disordered habits), please seek support – from a therapist or a support group. Likewise, if you feel you’re starting to hate or fear fatness in general, do a reality check: why? Often it’s our own fear of going back, manifesting as judgment of others. Recognize that and work through it (therapy can help here too).

• Use your experience to empathize, not to lecture. People might ask you for weight loss tips or your “secret.” It’s fine to share what worked for you, but always with the caveat that everyone is different. And if you find yourself in a conversation with a fat person about weight, tread carefully. I usually wait to be asked before giving any advice (and even then, I focus on health habits, not numbers). More importantly, I try to remember that losing weight didn’t solve everything. I still have many of the same insecurities; I still deal with some stigma (albeit less); and I could one day gain weight back — it happens. So I’m not “above” anyone. I like to think of it this way: My journey can maybe inspire someone, but it shouldn’t invalidate someone. If a friend says “I’m struggling with my size,” I don’t jump in with “Well, you should do what I did.” I say, “I understand, I’ve been there. It’s really hard, emotionally and physically. I support you no matter what.” If they want what I did, they’ll ask. Being a compassionate ear is more valuable than being a cheerleader for weight loss.

In short, losing weight may change your body, but don’t let it harden your heart. You have a chance now to be an ally in a different way. You might notice doors open (literally and figuratively) that used to be closed – use that perspective to advocate for those who are still shut out. And very importantly, keep loving yourself at every stage. If you keep tying your self-worth to the scale, you’ll live in fear of that scale. Trust me, I know. Instead, focus on what’s beyond the scale: your energy, your confidence, your kindness, your passions. Those things aren’t measured in kilos. And if you do slip up and catch yourself thinking something fatphobic (about yourself or others), don’t panic – but do correct it. It’s a continuous process, but one that keeps you human and kind.

Toward a Future Without “Fat Math”

Writing this, I realize how far I’ve come – not just in kilograms shed, but in mindset. “Fat math” still creeps into my brain, but I now have the tools to answer back. I don’t want to live my life ruled by fear and anticipation of judgment, and I don’t want you to live that way either. If you’re fat and reading this, I hope you feel seen. Every anxious calculation, every subtle humiliation I described – you’re not the only one. You’re not “crazy” for feeling the world is unkind to you; it often has been. But hear this: you deserve good things. You deserve to go places and do things without a voice in your head warning you of potential embarrassment. Until the world catches up and eliminates those barriers, please don’t blame yourself. Remember that righteous anger we talked about – use it to advocate for yourself when you can, and use it to silence the internal critic that says you’re “less than.” You are worthy at any size, full stop.

If you’re an ally, thank you for caring enough to read all of this. Your support can make the difference between your friend merely surviving and truly living. Keep learning, keep empathizing, and stand with us. One by one, with your help, we can make more spaces welcoming. We can challenge a cruel joke, accommodate a friend without fuss, and slowly turn the tide.

And if you’re on a weight-loss journey, I hope my perspective helps you stay compassionate. Never forget what it felt like to be on the other side of those stares. Be proud of your progress, yes, but also be gentle — with yourself (past and present) and with others. We’re all just trying to find happiness and acceptance, and losing weight doesn’t give anyone a license to forget their humanity.

Ultimately, my dream is a future where “fat math” becomes obsolete — where no one of any size has to strategize just to exist in society. I want a future where seats are built for all bodies, where clothing stores don’t segregate or exclude larger sizes, where seeing a fat person going about their day is utterly unremarkable (as it should be), and where health is approached with compassion and facts, not stigma. I know we’re not there yet, but we can inch toward it by sharing our stories and insisting on change.

To conclude, I want to leave you with one more thought. For so long, I thought the goal was to have less of me (less weight, less presence, occupy less space). Now I see that my goal is to have more of me — more confidence, more joy, more freedom. I want more life, not less. And I want that for all of us. So to everyone reading, fat or not: let’s aim for a world where we all feel free to exist without calculating our worth. Let’s support each other in being healthy and happy in the ways that are right for each of us. Let’s make kindness the default, toward ourselves and others.

I dream of a world where fat math is obsolete. Where no one has to calculate whether they’ll fit into a seat or a conversation. Where fat people aren’t “inspiring” for doing mundane things like existing with confidence. Where clothes are made for bodies, not just sizes. Where health is approached with nuance, not shame.

But until that world exists, we can build it in pockets. Through kindness. Through advocacy. Through letting fat people be the protagonists of their own lives, not side characters in someone else’s glow-up story.

So here’s my final equation:

More space ≠ less dignity.
More weight ≠ less worth.
More you ≠ a problem to be solved.

You are not a math problem. You are a person. You are worthy. You are loved. And you do not need to shrink to deserve ease.

You are worthy. You are loved. And your story (and body) deserves to be seen and heard without apology.

Thank you for reading this. Take care of yourself. And if you can’t yet believe all these things about yourself, let me believe them for you for now. I’ll hold that belief until you’re ready to take it back.