Finding God in the Wildflowers 🌼

trigger warning: this essay discusses body image issues, disordered eating, and weight-related experiences. please take care while reading. i’ve restricted the comments to paid subscribers to keep it a safe space. i’ll be jumping in and responding! excited to have a chat about this topic.

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i removed my sweatshirt from my waist and tossed it onto the conveyor belt. moments later, i looked up to find a TSA agent staring at me with wide, bright eyes. for a second, i thought, “‘great, an undercover casting agent! should i give her my best line?’" but her gaze shifted downward to my stomach, and before i could piece together the situation, she squealed: “congratulations!”

it took me a moment to process that i was being congratulated for a pregnancy that, spoiler alert, didn’t exist. i’m not pregnant. so, naturally, i did what any sane, 31-year-old woman would do: i smiled and said, “aww, thank you! we’re SO excited.” what followed was a two-minute conversation with a complete stranger about baby names, the exhaustion (which, tbh, after a month in New York, was very real), and whether we’d find out the gender or wait.

TSA AGENT: do you know the gender?

ME: there’s so few surprises left in today’s world! i think we’ll wait!

she even instructed her colleague, Derek, to skip the scanner for me. small wins <3

as i passed through the security line, i felt like i was crossing an invisible threshold. before her comment, i had been on autopilot, just another day at the airport. but after, well... there’s no unhearing a TSA agent congratulating you for a non-existent baby bump. it was like my body had been called out in a way i wasn’t ready for, and the emotional reaction that followed was immediate. at first, i laughed. but after the laughter, standing alone in the airport bathroom, i felt that familiar tug of shame, the reminder of how embarrassing it would’ve been to admit that, no, i’m not pregnant—I’m just in my 30s, holding weight in places that are, well, new to me.

i’ve always found humor to be my saving grace in situations like this, knowing if i let that comment sink too deep, the consequences would be far heavier. i sent texts to friends, turning it into a joke, complete with exaggerated reactions and maybe a picture or two for effect.

growing up, i was always taller and curvier than many of my friends—my body seemed to take up more space, both literally and figuratively. by the time i hit my sorority days, it was clear: 'big' wasn’t seen as beautiful. suddenly, no matter what i did, my body felt like too much.