“The Eyes That Weigh You”
Talia Monroe could always feel the weight of the world’s judgment.
It didn’t matter where she went—whether it was the sanctuary, the supermarket, or her own office—people acted like her size gave them permission to measure her worth.
The worst place for it, though?
Church.
Every Sunday, Greater Hope Baptist became her silent battlefield. Her heels clicked against the tiled floor, echoing louder than the worship choir. Her dresses were never too tight—but somehow, always too much.
“Jesus accepts everybody,” she whispered to herself in the mirror that morning, smoothing her burgundy wrap dress over her hips. “Even when Sister Helen doesn’t.”
The drive was calm, but as she stepped inside, eyes met her like gunfire.
Old Sister May clutched her pearls when Talia walked past with her shoulders back. Two teens giggled behind bulletproof lashes. And the pastor’s wife gave her the same thin-lipped smile she’d been serving since the potluck incident of ‘23—when Talia wore that polka-dot midi dress with no Spanx and still got asked out three times.
Talia sat down three pews from the front, alone but centered. Her Bible rested on her lap like a silent protest. She refused to shrink—not for church folks, not for Jesus, not for anybody.
Halfway through the sermon, a note tapped her shoulder.
It was from Deacon Isaiah.
“Looking stunning as always. Want to grab coffee after service?”
Talia blinked. He was married. His wife sat three pews behind him.
“Of course,” she muttered to herself. “They want the curves but can’t handle the confidence.”
Scene Break
After service, Sister Helen cornered her near the fellowship table.
“You know baby, a woman of your… shape… should wear darker colors. It’s more slimming. Just trying to help you attract the right kind of man.”
Talia smiled sweetly, leaned in, and whispered:
“Sister Helen, the kind of man I attract wouldn’t need to be told what to appreciate. But thanks for your concern.”
Then she grabbed two slices of lemon cake and sashayed her hips right out the room.
Affirmation:
I am not too much. They’re just not enough. I carry my body like a crown—and anyone intimidated by that was never meant to lead beside me.
“The Promotion and the Petty Ones”
Monday mornings hit different when you’ve just been promoted.
Talia Monroe walked into Kingston & Associates like she owned the carpet—heels clicking, hips commanding. Her hair was brushed into a sleek bun, her coffee was strong, and her power was undeniable.
But the stares weren’t congratulations. They were questions.
“How’d she get promoted over Dana?” someone whispered by the copier.
“Maybe it’s a diversity thing,” another murmured near the breakroom fridge.
Talia ignored them. They always needed a reason. Her size, her color, her audacity to exist in her body like it belonged in that leather chair at the head of the meeting table—it triggered people. But she didn’t climb the corporate ladder with apologies. She climbed with results.
Her best friend at work, Kelsey, spun her chair around as Talia entered their shared office.
“You made the elevator nervous today, sis. You look like an HR complaint in heels,” Kelsey grinned.
Talia laughed. “Let them choke. I’ve got budgets to approve and whispers to ignore.”
The Meeting Room Murmurs
An hour later, Talia stood in front of the boardroom giving a pitch on client expansion strategies. Her voice? Sharp. Her delivery? Polished. Her body? Standing confidently in a tailored emerald dress with curves that curved like poetry.
Midway through her slide deck, Dana raised her hand.
“Don’t you think this projection is a little ambitious? Especially from someone… new to leadership?”
New to leadership, Dana? Girl, please.
Talia didn’t flinch. “If you’d like, I can explain it in smaller terms,” she replied with a smile. “Or would you prefer I send a follow-up in large font for easier reading?”
The room cracked up. Dana folded.
After the meeting, their boss, Mr. Carter, pulled Talia aside.
“You know, you’ve got a strong presence. But some people think it’s intimidating.”
Talia tilted her head. “It’s funny how confidence on a size 18 body is seen as intimidating—while the same thing on a size 4 is called ‘leadership material.’”
He blinked.
She smiled. “But thank you. I’ll take it as a compliment.”
Affirmation:
I don’t owe them humility for the space I’ve earned. I’m not lucky to be here—I’m qualified. My body doesn’t discredit my brilliance. It enhances it.
“Sweat, Stares & Good for You”
The gym was built to push bodies—not judge them.
But every time Talia walked into Flex & Fit, it felt like a runway with strobe lights made of side-eyes.
She scanned her key card, air-pods already in, playlist queued up: heavy on Megan, Beyoncé, and a little Gospel because she might lift heavy, but she still loved the Lord.
Today, she wore a fire-orange sports bra and high-waisted black leggings. Her belly peeked out. Her thighs clapped with every stride. And still—she walked in like she belonged.
Because she did.
“Look at her,” someone whispered near the Smith machine.
Talia caught it. She always did.
She ignored them and stepped onto the treadmill. Set it to incline.
First mile in, she was in her zone—head high, sweat shining, thighs working overtime. Then a trainer approached her mid-set.
“Hey,” he said, all patronizing smile. “You need help with form?”
She pulled out one airpod. “Nope. I’m good.”
He stayed.
“I just want to say... good for you. You’re doing great. Don’t quit!”
Talia blinked.
“Good for me? Sir, I lift more than you do on leg day. I’m not here for inspiration points.”
He looked stunned.
“I don’t need a cheerleader. I need space.”
She popped her airpod back in and turned up the incline.
Ten minutes later, he was the one sweating just watching her.
Affirmation:
I don’t move to impress. I move because this body was built to carry me through every damn room like royalty.
“Cart Checkers”
The grocery store was her peaceful place.
Usually.
Talia liked to browse slowly—smelling candles in aisle twelve, reading ingredient labels, putting things in her cart that brought her joy. Today, it was fruit, almond milk, vanilla yogurt, trail mix... and a bag of honey BBQ chips.
As she reached for them, a woman with a slim build and a tight ponytail walked by and glanced into her cart.
Talia caught her eyes doing a double take.
“Chips?” the woman said with a polite smile. “I used to love those too... until I committed to clean eating.”
Talia turned toward her, resting her hand on her hip. “Wow. Brave of you to assume my cart was open for commentary.”
“Oh no,” the woman backpedaled, “I didn’t mean it like that! I just meant—well, it’s hard, right?”
“You know what’s hard?” Talia smiled. “Mindin’ your own groceries.”
The woman laughed awkwardly and pushed her cart faster than her shame.
Talia tossed a second bag of chips in.
One for her.
One for the nerve she just had to deal with.
Affirmation:
My joy doesn’t need your permission. My food, my body, and my energy aren’t up for debate.
“The Man Who Looked Twice”
It was supposed to be just a coffee run.
Talia stood in line at her favorite café wearing a long cardigan, leggings, no makeup—just lip balm and the kind of glow that came from peace, not products.
She felt someone behind her.
“Excuse me,” a voice said, deep, warm, and steady. “Is this seat taken?”
She turned.
He was tall. Dreadlocks pulled into a low bun. Warm brown eyes. And a clean fade that smelled like cocoa butter and decisions made right.
“It’s not,” she said. “But you’ve gotta promise not to make small talk about weather or traffic.”
He laughed. “Deal. My name’s Malik.”
“Talia.”
They talked. One cup of coffee became two.
Topics: books, travel, family, heartbreak.
Chemistry? Immediate.
“You have a confidence about you,” he said. “Like, the kind that makes people stare but also get scared.”
Talia raised a brow. “Why scared?”
“Because they know you won’t settle. You’ve done too much work on yourself to shrink for someone else.”
She smiled slowly. “You’re not wrong.”
They exchanged numbers. But before she left, she said what she had to.
“Just so you know—this body doesn’t need fixing. This isn’t a ‘before’ story. And I won’t ever be someone’s secret.”
Malik nodded, dead serious. “Good. Because I don’t do secrets. I do women—whole, loud, full women who know what they bring.”
Affirmation:
I’m not someone’s ‘type’—I’m someone’s everything. I don’t fit a mold. I break the ones that never included me in the first place.
“Queen Energy Everywhere”
She didn’t need a title. Or a stage.
Talia was the moment everywhere she went.
From the church pew to the yoga mat, from conference rooms to club nights—she had learned that being Too Much Woman was never the problem.
The real problem?
A world that tried to make her feel like she needed to be less.
She had enough.
Enough presence to silence a room.
Enough heart to rebuild one.
Enough soul to love herself fully, even in a world that called her “too big,” “too bold,” “too loud,” or “too seen.”
Now?
She walks into the world like it belongs to her.
Because it does.
Final Affirmation:
I am not a fraction. I am full. I am not “working on it.” I am it. And they will learn to rise to meet me—not the other way around.