When the Body Changes: A Love Letter to Sovereignty

It started with a question.

Not a dramatic shift or a crisis—but a quiet discomfort I couldn’t ignore.

My body had changed. Despite moving more, despite eating with care and awareness, I was gaining weight. My clothes fit differently. My face had softened. And while I wasn’t angry with my body, I was… unsettled. Something felt out of my hands. And I didn’t like it.

So I asked: Why does this bother me so much?

That one question cracked something open. What followed was not just a reflection on my changing shape, but a homecoming to a deeper layer of body love—and a reckoning with the beliefs I didn’t even know I still carried.

The Fear of Caring

I cried when I first spoke about it out loud.

Not because of the weight itself—but because I cared, and I didn’t want to care. Because I’ve spent years building a world for my daughters where weight isn’t spoken about as something that determines worth. They are young, bold, full of confidence, and I’ve worked so hard to protect that.

And yet here I was, inwardly judging myself for a softening belly, a fuller face. Feeling guilty for missing the way my pants used to fit. Feeling shame about the pride I once had in being skinny.

I realized: I had finally fallen in love with my body over the last five years. After a lifetime of judging myself as the “chubby” one, something had shifted. I started to move in ways that felt like worship. I began to look at myself in the mirror and smile. The more I loved myself, the more beautiful I felt. The more beautiful I became—because I was radiant with that love.

So when my body changed again, it didn’t feel like failure—it felt like something I had actually built slipping through my fingers. Something sacred.

And that exposed something I didn’t want to see.

The Belief I Didn't Want to Name

I didn’t want to admit that somewhere inside me, I still carried this old, cruel idea:Fat equals lazy. Fat equals out of control. Fat equals stupid.

Writing those words makes me wince.But they’re not mine—they were planted in me, like so many of us, by a culture obsessed with thinness, productivity, and perfection.

So this wasn’t about vanity.It was about sovereignty.

Because I felt my sense of sovereignty slipping. Not from how I looked—but from how I felt.I wanted to feel powerful. Capable. In charge of my life. But when my body changed without my consent, it shook that foundation.

Two Practices That Help Me Come Home to My Body

What’s helped me return to myself is not discipline or control. It’s not “fixing” anything. It’s pleasure. Presence. Play. And the fierce tenderness of ritual.

Let me share two of my most intimate and empowering body-love practices:

1. Making Love to Myself in the Mirror

I stand or sit in front of the mirror. Naked.I put on soft, sensual music—the kind that moves through my hips like honey.

I let my eyes land on all of me. I breathe with what I see. I notice the parts I want to hide—and I stay with them.Then I begin to touch myself. Slowly. Tenderly. With full attention.

Not to reach orgasm. Not to perform.But to offer devotion to the body that carries me through life.

This is where I reclaim the beauty of every curve, every fold, every breath.This is where I remember: I am mine.

2. Tying My Legs Like a Christmas Ham

This one makes me laugh and moan at the same time.

I use my ropes to tightly bind my thighs together, so the flesh spills out between the wraps—just like a Christmas ham.

There’s something delicious about the pressure. The resistance. The way the rope carves into my softness and creates shape.

I look. I feel. I touch with pride the hills and valleys I’ve created.

And I whisper to myself:This is not something to be hidden. This is worthy of love.

Pictures mainly from my Online course Consios rope self tying.

Journaling: Rewriting Body Beliefs

When your body changes, it’s not just the surface that shifts. Often, it’s the old beliefs that rise—the ones we’ve carried for years without even realizing. If you want to meet those stories with presence and rewrite them on your own terms, these prompts are here to guide you:

What beliefs do I carry about weight, softness, and beauty?
How can I begin to rewrite them—to make them mine instead of inherited?
What have I made weight mean in my life? Where did that meaning come from?
What do I fear this change in my body might mean?
What does my body want me to know right now?
What would it feel like to be in a body that changes, but still feel sovereign?
Have I ever felt sovereign in my body? What supported that feeling?

You don’t need to love every inch.

You only need to stay with yourself. That is enough.

That is sovereignty, too. If something in this touched you—if you're walking through change, if you're meeting old beliefs with new tenderness—I’d love to hear from you.

You're welcome to write to me, whether it’s with a question, a shared story, or simply the desire to be witnessed. I read every message. And I’ll meet you with care.

With softness,

Karen