Chapter 1 The start

When I look back now, it’s almost funny how I used to be. Not in a bad way — just… different. A different mindset, a different energy, and definitely a different body. At the start of our relationship, I was what people would probably call "fit." I spent a lot of time working on myself, not just mentally but physically too. I had a defined shape — lean muscle, flat stomach, toned arms and legs. I hovered around 60 kg, and it felt like a badge of honor. I was proud of how strong I was. I had a bit of that gym-girl vibe: tight leggings, protein shakes, a calendar full of workouts.

When I met my boyfriend, I was in that zone. Confident, athletic, high energy. I remember the early days of our relationship being so full of movement — bike rides, hikes, random park workouts. He was into it too, always supportive and playful about my routines. But even then, I noticed something in the way he looked at me when I let myself indulge a little — when I skipped a workout, when we ordered dessert, when I curled into him after dinner with a full belly and lazy smile. I didn’t think much of it at first.

The real shift happened slowly. We hit our one-year anniversary, and my routine began to loosen. I wasn’t as obsessed with training. A missed gym day turned into a skipped week. I started reaching for comfort instead of discipline. Weekends became about lying in late and brunching hard. My muscles, once sharp and visible, began to smooth out. My arms weren’t as tight, my thighs filled out a bit more, and my belly — once flat and flexed — started to soften.

One of the first signs was my jeans. My go-to size 36 EU started to feel tight. At first, I blamed it on the dryer, but I knew better. Soon I was shopping for 38s — and eventually even 40s. The softness was undeniable. Same with my bras — I’d always been a solid D-cup, but slowly I started spilling out of them. I moved up to DD, and now even an E doesn’t always feel like enough. It was subtle at first, but the growth had a momentum of its own.

I remember the moment I first really noticed the difference. I was trying on that old pair of jeans — the 36s — and they clung tighter than they ever had. I had to suck in to get the button closed, and even then, sitting down wasn’t an option. My reflection caught me off guard. Not because I looked bad — I didn’t. But because I looked different. Softer. Rounder. A little fuller in the chest and hips. I had lost some of that hard-earned definition, and instead, I had curves where before there were cuts.

By the time we hit the 1.5-year mark, I was clearly fuller. I hadn’t stepped on the scale in a while, but I could tell. I felt it in how my body moved — less bouncy, more grounded — and I saw it in the way my clothes hugged me tighter in all the right (and wrong) places. Still, I didn’t mind as much as I thought I would. I was still me, just… a softer version.

Then came the conversation. It was late, one of those slow, warm evenings when you’re full of food and wine and the world feels kind. We were lying on the couch, tangled up, my head on his chest. He looked at me, hand gently resting on the curve of my side, and he said it. Soft, almost shy, but with a glimmer of something more.

“I really like how you’re looking lately,” he said. “You’re just… I don’t know. Softer. You feel amazing.”

I laughed, a little embarrassed. “You mean you don’t miss my abs?”

He smiled and kissed my forehead. “Not really. I mean, you looked great before. But now… there’s something different. Something more you. And I was wondering…”

I looked up at him, already guessing the direction this was going.

“…would you ever want to just let go a little? Like, not worry about staying super fit? Just… lean into it?”

I blinked, processing. It wasn’t a command. Not a fetish-y demand. More of a genuine question. A curiosity. An invitation.

“I guess I could try,” I said slowly, a little uncertain — but also intrigued.

And there it was. The quiet moment that started something bigger. I didn’t fully understand what I was saying yes to that night. But deep down, something in me had already shifted. I was tired of the constant discipline. Tired of holding everything so tightly. There was something seductive about the idea of release — of letting go, of seeing where it could lead if I stopped trying to stay in control all the time.

It was just after our three-year anniversary when I officially started my journey. I weighed in at 70 kg — already 10 kilos up from where I had been in the beginning. And now, just a couple of weeks later, I haven’t stepped on the scale again. But I know I’ve grown. My clothes say it, my body feels it. I see it in the fuller curve of my hips, the way my thighs now press more firmly together, the softness of my belly resting gently over my waistband. And most of all, I see it in his eyes when he looks at me — like he’s watching a beautiful transformation unfold.

I wasn’t just changing physically. I was stepping into something new emotionally — a space where softness wasn’t weakness, where indulgence was intimacy, and where I was allowed to take up more space, quite literally.

That’s when I knew: this wasn’t just a phase. It was a journey.

And I had just taken my first real step.