Travel With Confidence (Even When the World Thinks You Should Shrink)

My name is Veronica.

I’ve lived in a fat body my whole life, and I’m not saying that as a fun little “quirky fact.” I’m saying it because it shaped everything: how people spoke to me, how they looked through me, what they assumed about me, what they decided I deserved, and what I quietly decided I didn’t.

I also live with binge eating disorder. Mine has roots in a few places, including childhood abuse I don’t owe the internet details about, and a lot of alone-time that started way earlier than it should have.

When my little sister went into kindergarten, my mom went back to work, and I became the tiny household manager. Up early. Getting us on and off the bus. Homework. Chores. Dinner started. I was a kid doing adult tasks because somebody had to. And when you’re a kid with too much responsibility and too much time by yourself, you find comfort where you can.

For me, comfort came in the form of food. Boredom snacking turned into bingeing and summers were the worst. This was pre-iPad, pre-“scroll for eight hours,” pre-anything that would’ve helped me feel less alone in a quiet house. I played video games. I wandered. I ate. Then I ate again. The weight stacked on like time passing.

I tried sports. I played softball for a while. My team dissolved, and I didn’t get put back into anything. By high school I tried again, but I was over 400 pounds and that version of softball came with conditioning and sprint drills and the kind of physical intensity that shows no mercy for bodies like mine. I couldn’t keep up. I already knew what it felt like to be the biggest thing in the room. Now I was the slowest thing too.

And the friends part? About that…

I didn’t have any. My mom literally had to bribe the parents of my sister’s friends to let me come along because I didn’t have anyone of my own. People love to blame fatness for social rejection, and sure, being fat made me an easy target. I was also loud, desperate for attention, and trying too hard. I can admit that without turning it into self-hate. When you don’t get chosen, you start auditioning.

The Moments You Don’t Forget

I still remember being in Girl Scouts and the whole troop getting invited to a birthday party where we stayed in a hotel. I was so excited to be included and thought I finally had an opportunity to develop real friendships with these girls. That hope was short lived and what should have been a night of games and giggling turned into classic school yard bullying and mean girl energy. While I was no stranger to being left out, I wasn’t prepared to be excluded from sleeping near them because they feared I might “roll over and crush them.”

So I slept in the bathroom. On the floor. At a birthday party.

Out of boredom, I was opening and closing a cabinet with my foot, and one of the girls asked if I was “looking for Twinkies.” I cried myself to sleep quietly that night. 

I awoke the next day ready to “forgive and forget” because we were going bowling and I was ready to give the girls another chance to see that I’m just like them, worthy of friendship and acceptance, regardless of the body I was in. When lunchtime came and the pizza hit the table, my hand was quickly slapped away as I reached for a slice because they said I’d eat it all. The mom didn’t shut it down. She ordered me chicken tenders like the problem was my hunger and not their cruelty. 

That’s the kind of moment that wires itself into your body. It doesn’t disappear when you get older. It stays as a constant reminder that your worth is measured by your body size and there’s no sense in trying to convince people any different.

College: New Place, Same Friend

In high school I eventually made some friends. I lost them when I went to university, and I landed in the same loneliness with a different ZIP code.

Freshman year, I ate my feelings with a meal plan. Dining halls are dangerous when you’re isolated and nobody notices if you sit alone with four plates. I’d take what I wanted, go back to my dorm, binge-watch Netflix, and binge-eat until my brain went numb enough to let me sleep.

Somehow I got a boyfriend at the end of my first year and of course, he cheated. A lot. Not that men need a reason why, but he felt it necessary to tell me it wasn’t because he didn’t love me, but because his friends wouldn’t stop giving him shit for dating “a fat chick.” That’s what I got to be in that story: a punchline he was brave enough to date privately and weak enough to disrespect publicly.

Theme Parks: The Dream and the Door Slam

My first real travel memory is a family road trip to Florida when I was eight. I remember being big enough to fit into my mom’s clothes. It’s not like she was terribly skinny either, she was a size 12. We went to Universal, and even though I could ride the rides, I knew I wasn’t “supposed” to be that big. I didn’t have the language for it yet, but I had the feeling.

Growing up in St. Louis, Six Flags was the best form of entertainment a kid or teen could have. When I went to Six Flags on a school trip at the age of twelve, I barely fit on a lot of rides. That was the day I quietly decided theme parks weren’t for me anymore.

Not because I didn’t want them, but because my body apparently had an opinion.

So I carried this dream like contraband: Disney World. I wanted it so badly. I spent every year hoping for a surprise ticket under the tree like it was a tradition in other families and my parents just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Then I stopped hoping and assumed I was too fat for Disney rides. I assumed I didn’t belong in that world.

And the saddest part is how many fat people make that same assumption without ever checking the facts. We just accept the door is closed because someone laughed near it once.

The Big Drop: 500 to 260

After college, I moved back home. The binge eating didn’t magically disappear because adulthood arrived. I got bigger than I’d ever been.

Then my sister asked me to be her maid of honor.

And I knew I was going to be in a rose-gold sequin dress. The kind of dress that doesn’t whisper. The kind of dress that announces itself from across the room like, “Hello, yes, I reflect light and I have opinions.”

I decided I wanted to lose weight, partially because I didn’t want to feel like a human disco ball in the wedding photos. (If you’ve never made a life decision out of spite and vanity, I don’t know what to tell you. It works sometimes.)

I did keto and I dropped from over 500 pounds to 260 between September 2017 and May 2018.

I also need to be honest about something: my life was not a clean “before and after” montage. I didn’t only change my food. Like a lot of addicts, I redirected the urge. During that time, I leaned on stimulants and alcohol in ways that weren’t safe, weren’t sustainable, and weren’t the kind of “discipline” people want to romanticize. I’m not proud of it. I’m also not going to pretend it didn’t happen just because the weight loss was dramatic.

Still, my mindset shifted in that season. I felt lighter in my body. I felt capable. I felt like the world might let me through certain doors if I took up less space. That’s a brutal sentence to write, but it’s true.

I took my first-ever plane ride to California to visit my college roommate and lifelong friend. I sat on a plane and thought, Oh. So this is what freedom feels like.

Even at 5’10” and 260 pounds, I was still considered “morbidly obese” by the charts, but I had never felt better. I wanted to live. I wanted to collect experiences instead of excuses.

The Slow Return

That lifestyle didn’t last. The weight came back over time.

I got into a long relationship with someone emotionally unavailable. A shell. A person who was physically present and emotionally gone. If you’ve ever been lonely next to the person you share a bed with every night, you know that kind of loneliness hits different. It’s sharper.

And when you don’t have connection, your nervous system goes looking for comfort. Food has always been loyal. Food doesn’t ignore you. Food doesn’t need you to “communicate better.” Food listens to you, connects with you, cheers for you, and makes you feel less alone in a house that allegedly shelters another person.

So yeah, the weight crept back in. I found myself at 375 pounds, carrying a familiar story in my body again.

Disney: The Plot Twist

Then my dad decided to take our family to Disney World.

I was ecstatic because I was finally in a body that could handle the walking and fit on all the rides. I was excited because I’d wanted Disney my whole life and I didn’t want to be punished for wanting it.

When I got there, something cracked open in me.

Disney was plus-friendly. Not perfect, because nothing is, but the layout, the rides and experiences, the accessibility tools, the vibe of the parks—my body wasn’t treated like an inconvenience. It was also at that time I learned Southwest had a Customer of Size policy. I’d spent years believing travel was off-limits when it wasn’t. 

I felt grief for the version of me at 500 pounds who stayed home because she assumed she’d be humiliated.

I felt rage at the culture that made that assumption feel logical.

I felt relief because I wasn’t alone.

Why Veronications Exists

That’s where Veronications was born.

Because there are so many people living in fat bodies who want to travel and don’t. People who want Disney and don’t. People who want to get on a plane and don’t. People who want to take up space joyfully and have been trained to apologize for existing.

I built Veronications for the version of me who didn’t go because she was scared.

I built it for the version of me who lost weight and thought she finally earned a passport to joy.

I built it for the version of me who gained weight again and needed proof that confidence wasn’t conditional.

I help fat travelers navigate the real logistics: airlines, seats, hotel rooms, theme park rides, mobility options, rest strategies, what to pack, what to ask for, how to advocate for yourself without feeling like you’re begging for basic dignity.

And I help with the emotional part too, because that part is real. The fear of being stared at. The anxiety. The “what if I don’t fit.” The “what if I ruin the trip for everyone.” The old memories that pop up the moment you start planning something you actually want.

I’m here for every person who has been told they’re too fat.

I’m here for the people whose longest relationship has been with food.

I’m here for the loud girls. The sensitive girls. The girls who learned to be funny to survive. The girls who got called “confident” like it was an accusation.

And yes, I’m here to break the stereotype of the quiet, sweet fat girl.

I’m allowed to be outspoken.

I’m allowed to be sexy.

I’m allowed to set boundaries.

I’m allowed to be a lot.

Being fat isn’t a moral failure. It isn’t a personality flaw. It isn’t a punishment. It also isn’t a reason to postpone your life until you become smaller.

What Happens Next

If you’re reading this and you see yourself in it, I want you to know something simple: you deserve a life that includes joy and trips and photos and experiences. You deserve a vacation that doesn’t feel like a test.

If you want to travel, I can help you plan it in a way that feels safe and actually enjoyable. I’ll tell you what I know, I’ll help you advocate for what you need, and I’ll be the person in your corner who doesn’t treat your body like a problem to solve.

If you’re not ready to book yet, stay close anyway. I’m going to be writing more about all of it—theme parks, flying while fat, confidence, ride fit, plus-size logistics, and the stuff nobody says out loud because they don’t want to sound “difficult.”

I’m Veronica. This is Veronications.

If you want to start planning a trip with me, visit my “contact me” page and answer a couple questions so we can get to know each other better. This isn’t just a sales pitch, this is an application to be your new friend. I’m glad you’re here.