You know those girls on Instagram who lean against a pastel wall, sipping an iced latte with their hourglass curves and captioning it something like “self-love is the best love 💕✨”? Yeah. I want to punch them. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. Mostly because I want to have their perceived confidence.

So here’s the thing: being curvy is allegedly “in” now. At least that’s what every Kardashian, influencer, and “body positive” post on Instagram would have you believe. But somehow, when I show up with curves, it doesn’t scream “goddess energy.” It screams, “Tina the talking tummy.”

I’m just sat here in my oversized hoody, trying to remember the last time I felt confident in a photo that wasn’t cropped up to my chin. Spoiler: I don’t remember. PCOS doesn’t exactly hand you the “effortless goddess glow” starter pack—it’s more like:

Hair where you don’t want it ✅

Hair falling out where you do want it ✅

Hormones making you crave carbs at 11 pm ✅

Metabolism slower than Windows Vista ✅

And then Instagram has the audacity to tell me: “Just love yourself ” Girl, I’m trying. But it’s kinda hard to radiate self-love when you’re sweating through your high-waisted leggings, plucking chin hairs, and realizing you gained two pounds from smelling bread.

And the thing is—I’ve always been “the fat funny one.” You know, the role society hands you like a participation trophy if you are even slightly chubby. Like, thanks, but where’s my prize for being sexy AF? Instead, I’m destined to be the side character cracking jokes in the group chat while everyone else lives their main character life.

Do I want to love myself? Absolutely. Do I want to strut around like Lizzo used to in sequins, screaming “I’m 100% that bitch”? YES. But most days, I’m more like “I’m 42% that bitch, 36% tired, and 22% wondering if I should just start a fan club for cheese.”

Here’s the unglamorous truth: being curvy in a world obsessed with “snatched waists” and “clean girl aesthetics” feels like trying to bring a balloon animal to a knife fight. And with PCOS, it’s not just about body image—it’s about fighting with your own biology every single day. Some mornings, I wake up and think, “I’m going to eat clean, work out, and really love myself today.” Other mornings, I’m crying into coffee because my body feels like it’s betraying me.

But this is where the plot twist comes in: maybe being the fat funny one isn’t the insult I thought it was. Because you know what? I am funny. I am real. I can make people cry with laughter.  I can survive a body that sometimes feels like it’s against me, and most importantly, I keep trying even when my confidence and motivation is lower than my boobs in a none wired bra.

So yeah, I might never be an Instagram baddie with a pastel latte and perfect angles. But I’m still here. Still laughing. Still thriving in spite of hormones, side-eyes, and the occasional meltdown when trying to dress myself.

And that? That’s the main character energy. Because honestly—anyone can look hot in good lighting. But not everyone can turn self-loathing into a stand-up routine and still root for themselves anyway.

Mic drop.

P.S – Seriously the cheese fan club is starting to seem like a great idea the more I think about it and even thinking of calling it “the brie-lievers” if anyone is interested!