Sarala Life — Life in Chapters: Careers, Canines, Cabernet & Courage

Learning to love the body that’s been carrying me all along.

At 40, with a thyroid that needs daily care and a body that doesn’t always cooperate, I’m learning that self-image is not a straight path. This post isn’t about diets or confidence hacks — it’s about the uncomfortable work of looking in the mirror, unpacking old words, and finding peace in the reflection that looks back.

Lately, I’ve been struggling — again — with my “hormone tummy.” That stubborn bloat that makes me feel less than.

As a newly minted 40-year-old with an underactive thyroid (hello, daily meds) and a picky-eater vegetarian diet, I know my body is dealing with more than just food choices. But still — it’s hard.

So I decided to do the brave, uncomfortable thing: take it to therapy.

Now, I consider myself articulate. I can talk about grief, burnout, even trauma — but this? Saying the words, “I want to talk about feeling unattractive or down about how I look,” felt raw. Almost shameful.

The “Ascribed List”

In that session, we unpacked conditioning — who told me (or didn’t tell me) that I was pretty, who compared me, who praised or ignored. We spoke about this invisible “ascribed list” — the list of what I think I should be to feel attractive.

And honestly, I couldn’t pinpoint a time when someone told me I wasn’t pretty. But I also couldn’t recall much positive reinforcement either. That silence leaves its own kind of echo.

Then came my “aha” moment: my picky eating. My therapist shared that, in some cases, children develop picky eating habits as a way to control something when everything else feels uncontrollable.

That clicked for me. My childhood pickiness wasn’t “bad behavior.” It was my way of having agency when life felt uncertain. The relief I felt in that realization was enormous — to know there was a reason, not just “something wrong with me.”

Now the real work is asking: why do I still live this way as an adult, when no one is taking away my autonomy anymore?

The Weight We Carry

This isn’t the same as imposter syndrome — though they both live in the same emotional neighborhood. For many women, our relationship with ourselves is layered: hormones, diet, stress, self-perception. Our bodies speak the stories our minds don’t always say out loud.

Take my little dog, Isabella. She’s been unwell lately — pancreatitis. The vet gently said that stress could be a trigger. And it struck me: she gets sick after long boarding stays, when she’s been unsettled. Stress lingers. It manifests.

We’re not that different. We are living, breathing ecosystems — carrying emotions in our bodies, processing change in our skin, our stomachs, our sleep.

The Words That Linger

Years ago, in a toxic relationship, an ex told me he wasn’t attracted to me anymore because I “looked like a pumpkin.”

Those words stuck — like cobwebs in the far corner of the ceiling that you only notice when the light hits just right. They live there quietly, until a bad body-image day turns the light on again.

We carry so much weight that isn’t ours — trying to control what we can so we “achieve” what we think we should. We hide our shame and call it discipline. We silence our pain and call it strength.

But all that pretending — it’s exhausting. And isolating.

What Really Matters

When I hit a career pivot, I felt completely lost. For so long, my identity was tied to my job — and when that changed, I questioned my worth. Some “friends” faded. Others judged quietly.

And yet, as I built this softer, more intentional life — focusing on health, healing, and balance — I thought this would be my glow-up era. So what does it say about me if my tummy is puffy?

Maybe it says I’m human. That my body — this body — has carried me through everything.

The stress. The grief. The laughter. The love.

Maybe that’s what the glow-up actually is: the grace to love ourselves in the in-between.

The Mirror and the Light

Life is short. Precious. Unpredictable.

We will feel “less than.” We will struggle. We will stare in the mirror and wonder where our confidence went. And that’s okay.

We can hold space for both gratitude and grief, confidence and doubt. Healing and humanity can coexist.

So today, I’m reminding myself — and you — that the light we shine doesn’t come after the dark. It comes through it.

And maybe, just maybe, that little hormone tummy isn’t my enemy. It’s my reminder that I’m still here. Living. Learning. Becoming.

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