I placed three meatballs on my plate—my husband snapped, declaring I needed to slim down.
Six years of marriage, three children. The eldest, Oliver, is five; my daughter, Daisy, is three; and the youngest, Harry, just six months old. My name is Eleanor, and I’m thirty-six. I always dreamed of a close-knit family and children, and on paper, I have it all—yet lately, I feel like I’m disappearing.
Edward and I met when I was nearly thirty. All my friends had long since worn wedding bands, raised toddlers, and debated school fees and mortgages, while I still hadn’t found my person. Work, home, work. That was my life.
Then he appeared—tall, self-assured, a former athlete turned department manager. I never imagined he’d look twice at me, but he did. He pursued me, asked me out, took interest in my hobbies. When he invited me to meet his mother, I knew it was serious.
His mum was the kindest woman. She welcomed me instantly, called me “love,” and nudged Edward to propose. We married, and I was happy. Nine months later, Oliver arrived, and I left my job. Then Daisy, then Harry. Since then, my entire world has been the children and the house.
Oliver goes to dance and art classes; Daisy learns at home with me. I think I’m a good mother. But there’s one problem—I’ve gained weight. A lot. Nearly twelve stone now, when I used to be seven. Before, I made it to the gym twice a week. Now, with three little ones, finding a moment for myself is nearly impossible.
A few times, I tried exercising at home—but before I could even start, one would need a drink, another the loo, and the third just wanted to be held. Some days, I barely manage to drag myself out of bed, let alone work out.
At first, Edward joked—calling me “curvy” or “his little bear.” It even seemed to charm him. Then it stopped. He’d just stare at me, sigh. Then came the comments.
Last week, we sat down for lunch. I served myself three small meatballs—I was starving, hadn’t eaten all morning. Suddenly, he snatched two off my plate, tossed them back into the pan, and said coldly:
*“You need to lose weight. Have you seen yourself?”*
I froze. Then he added:
*“If I fall for someone else, it’ll be your fault. I need a woman I’m proud to be seen with. And you… well, look at you.”*
His words stung like a slap. I stared at my plate, biting my lip. Thoughts swirled: *He’s right… I’ve let myself go. I’m unattractive. Exhausted. Boring…*
I want things too—a salon visit, a manicure, a massage, even just a coffee out. But there’s no time or money. Everything goes to the kids, their clubs, the rent, the bills, Edward’s suits—he’s a manager, must look the part. We help his mum too—her pension’s meagre. Nothing’s left for me.
Sometimes, I stand in the changing room, trying on clothes, and cry. Nothing fits. Nothing looks right. I feel ugly and unwanted.
Edward earns decently, but it’s never enough. I have no income—I don’t work. Trapped: no time to return to work, no energy to break free.
I’m terrified he’ll leave. I see how he looks at other women—slim, polished, effortless. I try. I really do. But being “perfect” isn’t possible. My days are cooking, cleaning, folding laundry, wiping noses and bottoms.
Sometimes I think if it weren’t for his mum, he’d have packed his bags already. She always says, *“Edward, you’ve got a wonderful wife, a devoted mother. Don’t you dare wreck your family over a few extra pounds.”*
I cling to her words. I hope someone will talk sense into him. That he’ll remember why he loved me. That this is temporary. That I’ll find myself again. But right now… I’m just scared.
Sometimes I dream of waking up as the old Eleanor—slim, lively, confident. Then I’m jolted awake at 3 AM by Harry’s cries. Back to nappies, bottles, porridge…
I’m exhausted. I don’t feel like a woman anymore. Just a function. A mother. A housekeeper. A shadow.
And one thought loops endlessly: *What if he really does leave?*
