*Elizabeth, 31, never imagined she’d get married. Growing up plus-sized and overlooked, she believed romantic love was reserved for slim, conventionally attractive women. But then she met her husband, a tall, muscled man who still makes her question why he chose her. Three years in, she’s learning to unlearn what the world told her about desirability, partnership and love.
This is a look into her marriage diary.
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I didn’t think marriage was for people like me
Marriage never felt like something that was meant for me. I didn’t daydream about weddings or life with a partner. I didn’t even think I’d get that far. Not because I didn’t believe in love, but because I didn’t think it was something I could have. From childhood, I’d been plus-sized, and it was clear very early that I didn’t fit the image of a girl boys wanted. During school plays, no boy wanted to be paired with me. I wasn’t part of the girls’ group or seen as dainty or pretty. I internalised that, and over time, I quietly accepted that romantic love might not be mine.
Books and cartoons didn’t help either. All the princesses were slim, light-skinned and delicate, while their love interests were tall, broad-shouldered, classically handsome men. I never saw anyone who looked like me in those stories. Even in my own family, my mum is extremely beautiful and has always been admired. I saw how obsessed my dad was with her slim figure. He’d say things like, “Sweet mama looking 16,” and I sometimes wondered how she looked the way she did and I looked like me.
It became easy to believe that my parents’ beautiful marriage worked because of how desirable she was. All of it—books, movies, even my parents—reinforced this belief that people like me weren’t chosen. So I didn’t think much about relationships, let alone marriage.
I always wondered if my husband picked me out of pity
It still surprises me that I ended up with someone as good-looking as my husband. I’m not just saying that, he’s the kind of person people assume would be with someone who looks just as attractive. And I see the subtle reactions when we step out together. Some people don’t even hide the surprise on their faces. My husband says he doesn’t notice, but I do. I notice the slightly raised eyebrows, the smirk if it’s at social functions with “baddies” in attendance, and the piercing gaze from people who wouldn’t stop looking.
What surprises me more is how unshaken he is by it all. He’s convinced I’m beautiful, and his love shows up in how seriously he takes my confidence. If anyone makes a side comment or gives me that look, he finds a way to shut it down without ever making me feel pitied or “lucky” to be chosen. I know how ridiculous it sounds, but even now, three years in, I still sometimes ask myself how this is my reality.
A few months after he proposed, I came across an online conversation that shook me. It was a thread about how attractive men sometimes marry ‘less attractive’ women because it gives them control. According to the thread, these women are so “grateful” to be chosen that they’ll stay submissive and easy to manage. I tried to brush it off as social media noise, but it stayed with me. It seeped into my thoughts and kept me up at night.
I started pulling back, questioning everything—his motives, affection, whether I was a placeholder or someone he pitied. I even began projecting those doubts onto my family and friends. I had a conversation with my mum about it, and while she liked my husband, she also made it clear I shouldn’t stay in something that made me feel like I was receiving a favour.
One week later, I took my engagement ring, went to see him, and told him I didn’t think I could go ahead with the marriage. I told him everything: what I’d read, how I felt, the doubts I was battling. He listened quietly and then asked just one thing: “Are you saying you want to end this? Because if you do, I’ll respect your choice. I know what I committed to when I proposed to you, but I won’t force you.”
That moment brought everything into focus. I realised I was about to let strangers on the internet convince me to throw away something real. I broke down in tears. I wasn’t reacting to anything he’d done; I was reacting to my own fears. He wiped my tears, held me, and that was the moment I knew I couldn’t walk away.
Nothing prepared me for how much sex we’d be having
I barely dated anyone before my husband, so by implication, I didn’t have much sexual experience before marriage. Most of the men who approached me in the past wanted to explore some secret plus-sized fantasy. So I checked out of dating pretty early.
That’s why the frequency of sex in marriage came as a shock. My husband wanted it often, and I found myself saying yes even when I wasn’t in the mood — not because I felt pressured, but because I still couldn’t believe someone like him was this into me. The sex was good, too, so saying no didn’t come naturally.
Over time, we found a balance. When I’m not in the mood, I offer alternatives—massage, hand job, oral sex, foreplay. He never complains. But if I give nothing at all, that’s when things get tense. And when that happens, I spiral. I start to wonder if something has changed, if maybe he’s finally seeing what other people see. What if the scales fall from his eyes and he finds someone who looks more like what people expect? Someone slimmer, prettier, with the hourglass shape.
I remember confiding in my mum once, and her response was, “Have you forgotten your husband is a hot cake? Even if he doesn’t want other women, they’ll still chase him.” I didn’t like hearing it, but she wasn’t wrong. I just wanted to stop feeling like I had to earn his affection every single day.
Sometimes I wish he’d love me a little more quietly
Last year, we went on a beach getaway with two of his friends and their wives. I didn’t want to go, especially after seeing the wives’ Instagram pages. They were stunning “hot mums” with flat stomachs and flawless skin. Still, my husband insisted I come along. To avoid feeling self-conscious, I ordered plus-sized swimsuits and a kimono set. I wasn’t going to bare it all.
From the moment we arrived, the comments started. The other wives kept asking me to take off my kimono. They said it playfully, but I knew what it was. My husband joined them, insisting I didn’t need to hide, that I had the most beautiful body there. I eventually took it off, and he was his usual affectionate self. But I felt so exposed. Every stretch mark, every dark spot felt like it was on display.
When we got home, I told him how I felt. I reminded him that while I knew he loved me deeply, the world didn’t always see me the way he did. I told him I needed him to be more aware of my comfort, why I might hesitate to take pictures from certain angles or avoid outfits that show too much skin.
He felt bad, and I hated that. This is a man who loves me loudly and without shame. I realised I was asking him to tone down his love to match my insecurities, which wasn’t fair. What I really needed was to do the work to accept that this love is real and that I deserve it. Since then, I’ve tried to be more intentional when discussing these things. I want him to love me in public, and I’m learning to let him.
Being loved like this changed how I see myself
I used to avoid social events, weddings, and even the gym. I lived in books and movies where the girl who looked like me never got chosen. But being loved consistently without conditions has changed me.
Now, I walk into spaces with my head high. Even when people stare, I don’t shrink under their gazes. I wear what I want. I’ve bought clothes I once thought would never suit me. I owe so much of that confidence to my husband. He changed how I see myself, down to how I dress and show up.
People say love isn’t enough to sustain a marriage, and they’re right in many ways. But I also think that when someone chooses you in a pure and unwavering way, that love can sustain anything. My husband has never made me feel like I need to earn his affection. He’s never said I owe him submission or perfection.
And maybe that’s why I still ask, “What does he really see in me?” I don’t have an answer. If I could speak to my younger self, I’d say: don’t disqualify yourself from love because the stories you’ve consumed say it’s not for people like you. You deserve good things, too. You always have. I still don’t fully understand why he chose me, but maybe that’s OK.
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