April: "I don't know how she dresses"
At our kick-off call, Magda set her goals. For the one she called her "empower" goal, she wanted to "dress to rock" and like herself. Then she told me what was underneath it: "I like to dress like the real Magda, but I don't know how she dresses."
She didn't know. That's what years of hiding does.
A few weeks later she joined our call in a colourful jumper. "One of the few pieces that I think it's really Magda." And then the part I keep thinking about: "Once I wear it, I forget that people see me."
For a few hours, she forgot to worry about being seen.
That same month she did my identity work and wrote down who she wanted to be. Not a size. A woman "other young women could look up to, respected, strong." Free of fighting with her body. Free of people pleasing.
May: nobody cares
Magda gave her inner critic a name, and started telling it to shut up. She stood at the mirror and said, "I look cute, I like my hair." Small words, and huge for someone who'd spent years doing the opposite.
She wore a belly free top at home, and was ready to wear it out that evening. Her biggest fear had been that people would think she was stupid and vain. "Nobody cares. Nobody's telling me that I'm vain." The kids loved it.
She changed what she scrolled, too. "My Instagram is just about which games can you do with your kids. And every size is beautiful."
July: "Wow, you're strong"
Her daughter stopped on her bike near nursery and wouldn't move. So Magda picked up the bike and her daughter and carried them both. Another parent said, "Wow, you're strong."
She told me, "I felt like, yes! I am strong!"
The woman who used to cover her belly was carrying her daughter and a bike. And she felt strong.
Her daughter started painting her nails, two at a time, wonky. "I'm learning that I don't care." She wore the glitter to work.
On holiday, she did something she'd never done. "I'm less obsessed this summer to get brown and beautiful. I'm just playing with the sand or the water." In her words: "That's completely new for me." She used to chase the tan so she'd look thinner. This time she played in the sand with her daughter.
She bought a bracelet because she liked it. She'd always needed a reason to wear one, because it felt "too feminine." Now: "I just have a bracelet because I like it. And that's a big step for me." She tried lipstick for the first time.
One day everyone else had an ice cream and she didn't. Her husband said she was doing really well. "It's not that I'm forcing myself not to eat it. I'm just listening."
The moments that used to be lost
At a wedding she wrote, "I could focus on the fun of the moment, instead of on my belly." And then: "My yellow details were really Magda."
On a family holiday: "I focused on my hair and my dress, and I liked myself."
Then came the week she bought shoes that were "really Magda," put on "strange" make-up twice, and wrote three words.
"I felt beautiful."
Six months earlier, she'd told me she felt ugly.
I remember holding that joy with her at where she was now!