‘I Feel Uncomfortable About My Pandemic Weight Gain – And I Hate Admitting That’

I was rushing down the street to meet a friend for dinner one sunny July evening when I realised I felt really uncomfortable. Not the usual my-jeans-are-a-bit-tight-after-my-Sunday-roast uncomfortable; it was much more than that. My body felt cumbersome, my limbs swollen, my skin rubbing against itself, my clothes cutting into me.

Worse than the discomfort, though, was the accompanying sense that I didn’t really want to socialise. I was tired and craving the sugar that saw me through the pandemic, and wished I could be back on my sofa, watching something forgettable, eating my way through the evening.

Even worse than feeling uncomfortable and wanting to retreat to my home: I judged myself for having those thoughts in the first place. I had, after all, just lived through a pandemic, had a roof overhead, a cherished group of family and friends, and a job I loved. I was luckier than many in a world that I’m well aware is filled with injustice and hardship, so why on earth was I hung up on something as petty as gaining weight?

Only it wasn’t petty. Not to me. Prior to the pandemic, I’d put time and energy into fostering a good relationship with my body by nourishing it, moving it and enjoying it. It was a source of pride to me that I loved it and what it could do for me. I now felt a stranger in a form that was bigger, not because I’d been enjoying food, but through a combination of comfort eating, boredom and lifestyle changes. All appropriate for an extremely stressful time? Yes. But I was ignoring my body’s needs entirely, suffocating them with food to meet my emotional needs, and here was the result.

I wasn’t alone in feeling this way. In a survey on behalf of Public Health England earlier this summer, 41% of those asked had put on weight since the first lockdown in March 2020. I’m sure that many of them know, as I do, that weight gain can of course be completely healthy, is often a natural response to a crisis and, whatever the reason for it, should never be met with shame – and that’s precisely why I felt so frustrated that it had even registered, given the year I’d had.

I didn’t turn back to go home that night, but I didn’t enjoy myself very much, given that my thoughts were primarily otherwise occupied, which left little room for enjoying my friend’s company and, when I got home, I realised I needed to do something about the situation – whether that was finding a way to be content in my new form or deciding to healthily shed some fat.

The next day, I sat down with a piece of paper and started to jot down feelings and thoughts surrounding gaining weight in an attempt to unpick some of the themes surrounding it. Two things became apparent very quickly. First, I couldn’t eat lots of sugar with impunity, as some can.

I suffer from polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS), which is associated with hormonal imbalances, which, in turn, means heightened insulin levels, making most sufferers resistant to its effects. As a result, more insulin – along with other hormones – is produced. This situation is exacerbated when PCOS sufferers gain weight, so the more sugary food I ate, the more fat I gained, and the more insulin I produced, hence feeling lethargic and mentally fuzzy by the afternoon. Additionally, my PCOS symptoms, such as acne and period pain, tend to be more pronounced when I carry more fat, and diminish when I’m slimmer.

The second realisation: I wanted to lose the weight. Not because I thought I’d be more valuable or more successful or any of the other toxic things diet culture tries to suggest. I didn’t hate my body for putting on weight when I fed it more food – if anything, I was impressed by how well it coped with a huge challenge. But nonetheless, I like the feeling of inhabiting a lighter body, and of being more energised throughout the day. Also, one of my not insignificant joys in life has always been the theatre of dressing up, and I have invested hugely in pieces of clothing I love. Being unable to fit in them made me sad; made me feel less vibrant; made me feel less me.

That said, there was no mystery in my weight gain, no confusion over how I’d managed to assiduously put on fat over 15 or so months, so presumably losing it would just require a return to my old habits? I’ve discovered that isn’t the case. It’s not as simple as just deciding to lose weight by returning to my old self. She doesn’t exist any more. She’s been permanently changed by a year that has upended almost all of our lives, and I can’t mould my new self around my old ways.

If I do lose the weight I gained, it won’t be because I have laboriously counted calories or restricted my life in any way, but rather because I have made sustainable tweaks that fit the Madeleine I’ve become, and because my lifestyle will evolve to become less sedentary. It will involve more variety, putting activity and diversion into my daily routine.

But if there’s one thing the pandemic has taught me, it’s that life is unpredictable and precious – and that it is mine to live as I see fit which, for me, includes hopefully losing some fat without compromising my balanced mindset about my body.