“I want to be just like Mommy.”

The first time my daughter said that, it melted my heart and punched me in the gut. I am not the kind of mom who has all of her shit together. To be honest, I’m a single mama fighting back a mix of mental illness and more.

You see, I’m also fighting my body. To describe my body in a way readers might understand, I have to close my eyes; I’m far too used to seeing my body in a negative light. I have yet to give a successful description, however, because inevitably, my own words fall flat. I can see the beauty in other fat bodies, but I still struggle to see — and therefore describe — my own.

And when my readers realize I’m not just describing a fat mom, I’m describing a really fat one, their reactions frequently reinforce the idea that I don’t deserve body positivity because I am, apparently, too fat. And a mom that is “too fat,” they tell me, can’t possibly be healthy or good. It hurts to hear that.

A few months ago, a reader asked a question that’s been haunting me. After reading a story about my war with my body, and, after learning that I have lipedema and PCOS on top of disordered eating, they asked how a fat mom like me can possibly raise a healthy child.

Of course, it wasn’t so much a question as an implication. An accusation, even, that I can’t raise a healthy kid because I am way too fucked up about my body and food to not fuck up my daughter in the exact same way.

Well… fuck. Am I?