What would you do if your best friend kicked you out of her wedding just because your pregnant body didn’t “fit” her vision?
Let’s be real: pregnancy is supposed to be a time of celebration, not shame. But if you’ve seen the viral story making the rounds this week—the one about the maid of honor who was dropped mid-planning because her body had changed—you know not everyone gets the memo. (If you missed it, check out the full story on Bored Panda: Pregnant Woman Fat-Shamed, Refuses to Attend Wedding. Trust me, you’ll have feelings.)
I’ll be honest: reading it, I felt rage. And then heartbreak. Because it’s 2025, and somehow exclusion and fat-shaming STILL sneak into our most tender life moments—a baby on the way, a friendship supposedly rock-solid, and yet, poof, all it takes is one person’s bias and a pile of wedding aesthetics for everything to fall apart.
But here’s what keeps nagging at me: What does this say about how we treat people who are pregnant? The answer isn’t pretty, but if we don’t talk about it, how does it ever get better?
When Your Body Becomes Everyone’s Business (And Sometimes, Their Problem)
Maybe you’ve been there yourself. Maybe you’ve tried for months—or years—to get that positive test. Maybe you finally did, and then your closest circle, instead of lifting you up, starts making sly comments about your weight, your “glow” (or lack of it), or your place in the spotlight. It’s subtle. Sometimes it’s even “well-meaning.”
But for millions—especially those of us with sensitivities, fertility struggles, or histories of body image issues—the emotional fallout is anything but subtle.
Just imagine: you’re the bride’s ride-or-die. You buy the dress, the shoes, the plane tickets, the gifts, the bachelorette props (yeah, those props). Then, suddenly, you get an email—cold as a wedding cake in February—saying you’re out. Because your bump and your “extra pounds” might ruin the photos.
It’s not just the money lost (though, let’s be real, it hurts a LOT during a cost-of-living crisis). It’s the sense that your changing body makes you disposable.
Who wins there? Nobody.
The Silent Struggle: When Pregnancy Joy Becomes Isolation
Here’s the real talk: body shaming during pregnancy isn’t just about bruised feelings. It affects mental health, too. Studies show that people who experience social exclusion or body-based discrimination during fertility journeys are at heightened risk for anxiety, depression, and even postpartum struggles.
But it’s not just about mental health. Exclusion like this can make the process of trying to conceive, carrying a pregnancy, or even navigating unsuccessful attempts feel like a solo mission. That’s tough enough already, but for those of us with sensitivities—whether it’s physical (like vaginismus or allergies) or emotional (like past trauma)—it can be so much worse.
And for everyone on the outside reading these stories, it begs the question: Are we doing enough to support our pregnant friends, or are we just making it harder?
Where Do We Go From Here? (And Why Community Matters More Than Ever)
So what can we actually DO about this? It’s easy to doom-scroll angry tweets or send a “she’s better off without that friend!” text. But structural change starts with conversation—and sometimes, with reevaluating the spaces and products we rely on.
One quietly game-changing shift? Choosing fertility tools, communities, and support systems that actually prioritize sensitivity and inclusion.
That’s a big reason why I’m such a fan of resources that don’t just talk about support, but build it into everything they do. For example, MakeAMom’s gentle, sensitivity-focused insemination kits are designed specifically for people who need a softer approach—whether you’re battling vaginismus, allergies, or just need privacy and dignity during what can be a stressful chapter. They aren’t just selling a product; they’re offering a pathway that respects your body, your needs, and the uniqueness of your journey.
And the value of that? It’s bigger than any wedding photo.
A Call to (Sensitive) Arms
If you’ve ever felt left out, shamed, or “too much” because your body didn’t meet someone else’s expectations—pregnant or not—you are not alone. And if you’re supporting someone on their fertility journey, remember: a little empathy goes further than you think.
Let’s use stories like this to reframe the conversation. Instead of asking, “Should she get her money back?” maybe we should ask, “How can we make sure no one feels this way again?”
So—have you ever faced judgment or exclusion on your path to parenthood? How did you handle it? Drop your stories and tips in the comments. Let’s build the community we wish we’d had.
Because pregnancy should be about creation, not cruelty.
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What do you wish people understood about sensitivity, fertility, and support? Let’s talk about it and change the narrative together.