Letter from Linley #1: Why I chose to share my Bariatric Journey (And why I almost didn’t)

Dear Lovely You,

I almost didn’t write this.

Not because I’m ashamed. But because this story is tender—and the world isn’t always kind to tender things. Especially when it comes to women’s bodies, and the choices we make to care for them. Please be kind.

You know I’ve spent years trying to love my body. Softly. Fiercely. On the days I felt strong, and on the days I didn’t recognise her at all. I’ve wrapped her in linen, in saltwater, in softness and comfort. I’ve tried to honour her with nourishing food, joyful movement, and deep breaths that say, “You’re enough.”

I’ve walked beside other women doing the same.

I’ve stood in my store, holding space for grief and celebration in equal measure.

And that’s what made this decision - this surgery - so quietly complicated.

Because how do you lead a movement that says, “You are enough exactly as you are”… and also say “I need help to change”?

How do you reconcile body acceptance with bariatric surgery?

How do you hold space for both the body you’ve loved and the body you’re becoming?

When I started considering surgery, I felt like I was betraying that belief.

Would I be sending the message that I didn’t love her after all?

Would I confuse the women I stand beside?

And even deeper still—was I confusing myself?

The truth is, this didn’t start with a recommendation or a consult.

It started months before that - in the small, still conversations I had with myself when no one else was around:

• In the exhaustion after a short walk or a day in the shop.
• In the ache of wanting to play with my energy again - not just get through the day.
• In the whisper of “What if I could feel lighter - not just in weight, but in the way I carry my life?”
• In the slow, brave question: “What if this could be an act of love, too?”

Here’s what I know now:

• I haven’t chosen surgery because I hate my body.
• I have chosen surgery because I am finally stopping punishing her and making her fight our health challenges alone.
• I want more. For her. For me.
• I want to live in this body; not just survive in it.
• I am asking for help.

And, tbh, there’s this small, sparkly part of me that wants to ‘strut her stuff’ a little more. Not for approval, not for attention… but just because she can. Because after years of hiding and cloaking my body in linen, I’m craving the colour, flow, bold prints, and the kind of clothing I lovingly hang on racks for other women. Maybe it’s time I wore the joy I offer so freely.

This Linley to...

Please understand, writing this letter isn’t a decision made in panic or pressure. It has been made in quiet strength and knowing that whilst I can do this alone, I will be stronger and kinder to me with the support of other women.

So, in the spirit of The Barefoot Truth, I will write to you through:

• Authenticity – Sharing the real story, not the highlight reel.
• Vulnerability – Letting myself be seen in the messy middle.
• Groundedness – Doing this for health, not appearance.
• Simplicity – Trusting the small, steady steps.
• Freedom – Releasing shame and reclaiming joy in this body.

I am also sharing this, with you, because if you’re reading this, maybe there’s a part of you holding something similar. A decision. A fear. A desire for change that doesn’t erase your worth - instead honours it.

This is not the end of my body love story. It’s just a new chapter.

And like always, I’ll write it barefoot - with truth, with gentleness, and hopefully with you beside me.

More soon,