The Fear Ends Here

When grief and control weigh you down in more ways than one

I don’t recognise myself anymore.

I used to be fit, healthy, the kind of person who loved being out and about. Now I look in the mirror and feel disgusting. I avoid meeting people sometimes because I can’t bear the thought of them seeing me like this. The person staring back at me isn’t who I remember being.

The truth is, this weight didn’t just appear from nowhere. It started in grief. When my daughter died, I was broken — but instead of having a partner to lean on, I had another burden to carry. He took to his bed, shut himself away from our lives, and left me to deal with everything. I was grieving for her and carrying him at the same time. It was too much.

And since then, the weight has stayed. Layer after layer of stress, of cortisol, of guilt, of exhaustion. They say stress changes your body, and I believe it. Years of walking on eggshells, of managing his moods, of carrying silence and insults and punishments, it shows up on me. On my body.

It’s not just about how I feel — it’s about how other people see me. I’ve even been asked before if I was expecting. The shame and humiliation of moments like that make me want to hide away, to cancel plans, to stop showing up.

And he doesn’t let me forget it either. When he calls me “Ms Piggy,” it cuts into the very part of me I already hate. It makes me want to shrink into myself even more.

This is what abuse does. It’s not just the words, not just the fear, not just the silence. It’s the way it creeps under your skin until you carry it in your body. Until you don’t feel at home in yourself anymore.

I know deep down this weight isn’t just mine. It’s the grief, the silence, the constant fight-or-flight. And maybe one day, when I’m free, my body will feel lighter because my mind finally is.