“When The Weight Feels Heavy”

There’s something deeply vulnerable about admitting your struggles—especially the ones that feel written all over your body. For me, weight gain has been more than just a number on a scale. It’s felt like a scarlet letter, a visible reminder of stress, sorrow, and the emotional eating I’ve turned to when life felt too heavy to bear.

I didn’t always struggle with food in this way. But over time, when the pressures of life mounted and grief weighed on my heart, food became a comfort I could reach for when prayer felt distant or answers seemed delayed. The extra weight I carry now isn’t just physical—it’s emotional, spiritual, and tangled with shame.

What makes it harder is walking into church—the place that’s supposed to feel safest—and battling the overwhelming urge to hide. I feel the stares, or maybe I only think I do. Either way, I can’t help but feel exposed. Embarrassed. Less-than- because once again, I lost weight and regained it! (I wonder if anyone else in the sanctuary knows what it’s like to want to disappear beneath oversized clothes and polite smiles!)

But in those moments, when the shame creeps in, I fight to remember the truth: Jesus sees me, all of me, and loves me still.
“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” – Matthew 11:28

He doesn’t love me less because I’ve gained weight. He doesn’t measure my worth by my dress size or by how disciplined my diet is. He looks at my heart. And even in its brokenness, He chooses to dwell there.

I’m clinging to His promise that He will never leave me nor forsake me (Hebrews 13:5). Even when I feel like I’ve let myself down. Even when I avoid mirrors and dread social events. He’s still holding on to me, whispering that I am fearfully and wonderfully made—yes, even now.

I don’t have it all figured out. I’m still learning how to bring my pain to Jesus instead of numbing it with food. But what I do know is that He’s patient. He’s kind. And His grace doesn’t run out when I fall short.

So if you’re struggling too, I want you to hear this: You’re not alone. And your body—however it looks today—is not a measure of your value.
Jesus sees you. He loves you. And He’s not letting go! Hallelujah!

Anchored In Christ,
Thea Williams