A few months ago, I sat down on the bus in Sydney, Australia, and watched every passenger choose a different seat rather than sit next to me.

I'll be honest with you, it hurt my feelings more than I thought it would.

It wasn't because I smelled or was being anti-social, but because there wasn't enough space for them to sit comfortably next to me.

Today, I am a size 18 (UK), bordering on a size 20. This is up from a size 16 five years ago.

In this new size, I'd begun to have many moments of discomfort like this that I couldn't name.

But that moment on the bus crystallised something clearly: I have become a body that inconveniences people (including myself), and I have to keep living in it anyway.

It was a truth I wasn't ready for, but it forced me to shift a perspective I had struggled with for years.

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When weight loss medication ends a friendship | Mamamia Out Loud

I've always been someone who lives in a larger body.

During my entire twenties, I'd fluctuate between a size 12 and a size 18.

I did what most women my age did: I focused on my weight as the problem and sought to fix it. It was tiring work that only sometimes worked.

When I'd reach an elusive size 12, my mental health would wind up in the toilet.

In my 20s, my weight would constantly fluctuate. Image: Supplied.

And consequently, my weight rose again.

In some ways, 16 became a size and space I was most familiar with.

I knew where to shop, what clothes would complement me, and most certainly, I knew I fit on the plane, on a rollercoaster, and certainly on a bus.

Then the pandemic hit, and I put on 10kg more. This was fuelled by starting antidepressant medication. It was a hard reality to live in, knowing I needed the medication so much, but in return, it caused the kgs to pile on.

My body is now the biggest it's ever been.

Listen: From BMIs to hormones, let's have an important conversation about weight. Post continues below.

Having never experienced this size before, the subtle differences of this had slowly revealed themselves. The moments had snuck by quietly, until that day on the bus, where I realised, 'oh, this is now a thing'."

It felt awful in many ways to take up so much space, like I was greedy and others would look at me badly.

The reality of this new body isn't just external awkwardness.

It was the moment I stopped wearing my favourite top. When I had to buy jeans in a size up. It was when my underwear started to leave marks from being just that bit too tight and causing spots.

In the daily moments, where I realised my wardrobe options had drastically decreased. I was reluctant to buy new clothes, because in the back of my head I kept thinking I would fit into things again. So, I just made do, only buying what I absolutely had to.

I'll admit this caused mild panic attacks on occasion. There were moments where nothing fit me, and I had to rip all my ill-fitting clothes off, leaving me crying half-naked on my bedroom floor.

There were daily moments when I realised my wardrobe options were dwindling. Image: Supplied.

There are physical struggles, too. It's become much harder to look down at anything below my stomach.

Never in a million years would I have guessed the awfulness of struggling to place my Mooncup or the feeling of washing under layers of back fat.

On top of that, I started to look in the mirror and ask myself, 'Who is that person? Is that really me?'

I didn't recognise myself.

It messed with my sense of self in a way that's hard to describe, but I started to feel disconnected from my body. It wasn't the one I was familiar with.

What the bus moment taught me.

Back on the bus, it was distressing to be rejected so many times.

It's not because I want to necessarily sit next to someone, but I've always had a friendly personality. So, to have person after person walk past and not choose the seat next to me made me feel rejected.

A rejection from my community, from life.

An ordinary bus ride taught me something about myself. Image: Supplied.

I know not everyone avoids the seat next to me because of my size, but when I'm always the last one chosen, I notice it. And it hurts.

However, there is also the balance of what the world is potentially saying through its actions, and how you feel about yourself.

Putting on weight in this way triggers a lot of people into self-reflection in a non-positive way.

Myself included.

Over the years, my weight has always been my problem, but what if it's not? What if the world isn't designed in a way that works for me? What if it's that causing others to make me the last choice?

With this in mind, I've found myself focusing on accepting that I simply take up more space at this size, and it's not a bad thing. I think of it more as a need that I have to take care of, rather than a fault I've caused.

This is the best way to approach it, as radical diets or staying away are not acceptable choices for me now.

Every day is a work in progress, but I'm trying to own the space, knowing I'm allowed to be comfortable.

Emily is a writer. You can follow more of her work on Substack. Sign up here .

Feature Image: Supplied.