To The "Friend" Who Called Me "Fat Cherice" Behind My Back: Thank You.

In my adult life, I’ve usually only found motivation to lose weight when there was an event looming, like a wedding, a vacation, a photoshoot, or a chance encounter with someone I didn’t want to run into while holding a donut. The motivation wasn’t internal. It came from fear of judgment. It was less, “I want to feel strong and free,” and more, “Please, for the love of God, don’t let anyone say I let myself go.”

It’s not that I was ever comfortable being overweight. I just didn’t have the REAL personal drive to change it. Until now.

Maybe it’s emotional maturity. Maybe it’s age. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m tired of peeling myself off the couch like a microwaved cinnamon roll. Or maybe it’s the health condition that reminded me: I’m not dying, but if I don’t change something, I could be shortening my life one snack at a time.

These days, I see people losing weight quickly on things like Ozempic, or doing it for reasons that feel... vain. And while I don’t judge anyone’s journey, I constantly have to remind myself why I’m doing this.

I’m not doing it to get into a size small.

I’m not doing it to prove anyone wrong.

I’m not doing it so you won’t whisper at Superstore, “Wow, she really let herself go.”

I’m doing it because I want peace inside my body.

I want my energy and flexibility back.

I want to walk in step with the pace God is actually calling me to, and not the pace my exhaustion forces me to accept.

It would be SO NICE to do more with my nieces and nephews so their memories of me aren't always me sitting on the couch.

In the past I tried to lose weight for all the wrong people:

The people who called me “fat Cherice” behind my back, and "fat ____ to my face."

The friends who were embarrassed by me.

The relatives who fat-touched me.. yes, that awkward, light-touch move like you’re toxic mold they can’t fully commit to touching.

That stuff stung, but that’s not my reason anymore.

Because losing weight for them? Wrong.

Losing weight to spite them? Also wrong.

The truth is, remembering how I was treated helps me stay grounded in who I am—and who I’m becoming. It reminds me never to be like that.

It fuels me to love others better—especially those who are in the hard middle of their own battle.

Because how we treat people now says everything about who we believe they can become.

And here’s the biggest truth I need to say out loud:

Please don’t patronize me with the "You're beautiful the way you are" talk. I’m not asking for that. I’m not seeking a pageant crown. I don’t think I’m ugly, but I also know I’m not Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality strutting around with lipstick and a gun. I’m average, and that’s fine.

But being overweight isn’t beautiful, it’s a health risk. My body is carrying around 80 extra pounds and I can feel it. My back feels it. My energy feels it. And let’s be real, God didn’t design me to drag a weighted vest around all day like it’s a personality trait.

You don’t have to tell me I’m beautiful. You can tell me, “I’m rooting for you. ”Or “You’ve got this.” Or even just “That’s a cute top.”

Let’s stop sugarcoating serious health struggles with fake compliments. Let’s love each other enough to support growth, not pretend everything is fine when it’s clearly not.

If you're on this journey too—tired of being patronized, tired of being stuck, tired of performing health for approval—welcome. Let’s do it differently this time.

Let’s do it for ourselves. Not for them.

Thank you for joining today's Ted Talk,

Cher

Measuring my niece's dress straps so my mom can sew them shorter.