relapse at scale…

it is coming back.

not as nostalgia.

as resurrection.

i can feel it in my bones

the way animals sense storms

before the sky admits what it’s doing.

this is not a trend cycle.

this is a god returning.

a god we already fed bodies to.

plus sizes are being pulled from stores

like a mistake we are trying to erase.

racks shrinking.

the message unspoken but precise…

you were tolerated, not welcome.

weight loss drugs are being pushed like water.

take this.

swallow this.

be grateful.

no one asks what you lose

to become acceptable.

bodies are being policed again…

by doctors,

by schools,

by algorithms,

by chairs and clothing and silent rules

about who deserves comfort.

style has become doctrine.

if you don’t fit the look,

you don’t fit the future.

if you can’t shrink,

you don’t deserve softness,

or beauty,

or care.

and the math is back.

the bmi…

called a tool,

as if tools don’t cause harm.

built from a narrow sample of white men

decades ago

and crowned with authority

to decide who gets treatment,

who waits longer,

who is denied altogether.

bias in a lab coat.

shame with a clipboard.

and the phrases…

god, the phrases.

they’re everywhere again.

“i haven’t had sugar in months.”

said with pride.

said like confession and absolution.

“i’ll have to work this off.”

“i was bad this weekend.”

“i’m being good today.”

and the one that still makes my chest tighten…

nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

do you hear how that praises starvation?

do you hear how hunger is crowned holy?

how it teaches kids that joy is dangerous

and absence is success?

because kids are listening.

kids will do anything to be praised.

anything to be called disciplined.

anything to be loved.

i was one of them.

raised on magazine covers

calling normal bodies disgusting.

raised on people covers

labeling women pigs

for existing in public.

raised on commercials that still loop in my head…

itty bitty teeny weeny,

a nursery rhyme for erasure

that never stopped playing.

and for a moment…

a fragile, hard-won moment…

we started telling a different story.

that bodies could be strong

and capable

and good…

without being tiny.

without being punished.

that health was not starvation.

that worth was not measured in bones.

that bodies could do good,

be good,

carry joy and power and life

at many sizes.

and now even that is being mocked.

body positivity dismissed as indulgent.

as dangerous.

as something to roll back

so thinness can rule again.

not neutrality.

not respect.

erasure.

this didn’t just hurt me the first time.

it trained me.

it taught me to conquer my body.

to negotiate with hunger.

to believe disappearing

was the safest form of survival.

and now i am watching the altar being rebuilt—

sleeker,

cleaner,

with better branding.

“health.”

“discipline.”

“optimization.”

the same violence

in softer fonts.

this is how it starts again.

not with cruelty.

with compliments.

not with force.

with praise.

i am terrified

because i know exactly where this road goes.

i have already walked it.

i am scared for the kids

who will learn their worth in numbers

before they learn to trust their bodies

to be strong,

capable,

and enough.

this is not nostalgia.

this is a warning.

we are resurrecting a god

that demands bodies

and calls it care.

and i am watching the matches being struck…

stores,

styles,

statistics,

phrases…

knowing how fast the fire spreads

once praise starts calling starvation

beautiful

again.