Introduction: A Look Back at My Pinterest Board
Lying in bed on a Sunday night after church, I started scrolling through my Pinterest and noticed a new button to organize my pins. Out of curiosity, I began sorting through them—years’ worth of saved thoughts, ideas, and dreams. That’s when I realized that many of them dated back over 13 years. It made me feel a little old, sure, but more than that—it broke my heart.
So many of those pins were about one thing: weight loss. “How to get skinny,” “shed belly fat fast,” “10 ways to lose 10 pounds”—pin after pin, all with the same goal. I wanted to be smaller, thinner, less. I loved to eat, but I hated going up a size in jeans or shirts. Most of those posts came from around the time I had my children. I started out at 110 pounds before becoming a mom, and the weight was hard to lose.
I wouldn’t trade my children for the world—they’re the reason I gained the weight, and I’d do it again a thousand times—but I struggled deeply with how I saw myself afterward. I hated the way my stomach rolled when I sat down or bent over. I avoided anything that wasn’t a long T-shirt or baggy pants. I would stoop a little or suck in my stomach, even when my husband wrapped his arm around me at night.
I saw my reflection in pictures or mirrors and couldn’t stand how round my face looked. I tried every starvation diet on the market. I counted every single calorie—down to the Cheetos. I tried drinking a gallon of water a day. I even searched, more times than I care to admit, how long I could go without eating.
The Struggle Behind the Pins
Each pin was more than just a picture or a diet plan—it was a reflection of how deeply I struggled with my self-worth. Looking at them now, it’s almost embarrassing. I had so many hairstyles and looks pinned too. Some of them are straight out of the early 2000s—broad highlights, “Karen” cuts—but that’s what was trending back then. I just wanted to feel pretty. I wanted to be attractive for my husband, and to be clear—he never said I wasn’t. But still, I carried guilt. Guilt for eating a cookie. Guilt for one too many Doritos.
I would have rather gone three days without eating a bite, or survived on less than 100 calories, just hoping I’d drop the weight. Sometimes I’d scroll through Facebook or MySpace, searching for a treadmill someone might be giving away. But when I finally got one, I had starved myself so badly I didn’t even have the energy to walk on it.
No matter what I tried, the weight didn’t come off. And even worse—I didn’t feel any better.
If only I had stopped focusing so much on losing the weight and started finding my real worth. The truth is, it wasn’t fat I needed to lose—it was the mindset I needed to change.
I wasn’t just chasing a number on the scale; I was chasing approval, confidence, and peace in my own skin. I thought if I could just lose the weight, I’d finally feel beautiful, accepted, and enough.
The truth is, I was already enough.
I just couldn’t see it—because the devil knew my weakness, and he used it against me. He whispered lies that kept me from seeing myself the way God saw me.
The more I chased “skinny,” the emptier I felt.
I starved not only my body, but my spirit. I felt like I was always falling short—like my worth depended on whether my jeans fit or if I could hide the parts of me I hated. I envied women who seemed effortlessly confident. I compared my postpartum body to airbrushed influencers and forgot that my body had done something miraculous—it had carried life.
The scale dictated my mood. Food became a cycle of guilt and shame. And even though I had a loving husband, beautiful children, and a God who never left me—I couldn’t see past my flaws long enough to truly feel loved.
Looking back now, I know: It was never about weight. It was about identity.
I knew I was saved, but I let the devil convince me I still wasn’t enough.
The Turning Point: A Spiritual Awakening
A few years ago, I started getting deeper into my Bible. I prayed more, sought God more, and slowly, I drew closer to Him. One night while reading, I kept coming across verses about strong, virtuous women—passages that emphasized character over appearance. Over and over, God was reminding me that outward beauty wasn’t what mattered most.
Then it happened—one of those moments where your soul feels like it’s been hit with truth. I got chills down my spine. It was like God was whispering, “I see you. I made you. You are enough.”
I remembered something my pastor once said: “We don’t need self-help books. The Bible has all the answers we need.”And that stuck with me. In that moment, I realized something powerful—I was enough for Jesus to die for.
My stretch marks? They weren’t shameful. They were reminders of the miracles I carried—my beautiful children. And in that moment, I decided: I would never intentionally starve myself again.
I don’t always eat perfectly. Working on the ambulance makes it tough to plan healthy meals. But I no longer punish my body. I eat when I’m hungry. I drink water—not obsessively, just enough to care for myself. I watch my sugar, not out of guilt, but because I want to be healthy—not smaller.
And the craziest part? By treating my body with kindness instead of hate, I’ve naturally returned to the size I was before I got pregnant with my son—almost 15 years ago. No starvation. No obsession. Just grace.
I used to weigh myself three times a day—every single day. Now? I hardly ever touch a scale. Because I finally understand: God doesn’t care if we’re a size 0 or a size 20. He cares about our hearts.
So if you’ve ever felt like you weren’t good enough—know this: That lie comes straight from the devil.
God’s love is unconditional, and your worth has never been tied to your waistline.
“Don’t be concerned about the outward beauty of fancy hairstyles, expensive jewelry, or beautiful clothes. You should clothe yourselves instead with the beauty that comes from within, the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit, which is so precious to God.”
1 Peter 3:3-4 NLT
I want you to hear me clearly: You are already enough.
Not because of your size. Not because of your looks. But because God says you are.
I pray that if you’re reading this and feel seen in these words, you’ll start to believe what I finally did:
You are loved. You are chosen. You are enough—just as you are.
Stitches of My Heart 