In a world where unrealistic beauty standards often dominate the media, plus-sized model and influencer Abby Bible is taking a stand for self-love and body positivity. With her size 22 figure and six-foot-one-inch frame, she is breaking traditional stereotypes and proving that beauty comes in all shapes and sizes.
Her journey, however, hasn’t been easy. Like many plus-sized individuals, Abby has faced judgment, criticism, and societal pressure to conform to narrow beauty ideals. Yet, instead of letting negativity define her, she has turned her experiences into a movement of self-acceptance and empowerment.
Abby Bible’s inspiring journey, her struggles, and her message of confidence are resonating with thousands around the world.
The Struggle with Body Image and Society’s Expectations
For years, society has dictated what is considered beautiful—thin, toned, and fitting into an idealized mold. Anyone who doesn’t meet these standards is often subjected to judgment, mockery, or pressure to change.
Abby Bible is no stranger to this. From a young age, she struggled with her weight and constantly felt the pressure to shrink herself to fit in. Like many plus-sized individuals, she believed that losing weight would bring happiness and acceptance.
At one point, Abby lost 100 pounds in an effort to achieve the validation she thought she needed. But did it make her happy? Not quite.
She soon realized that happiness isn’t tied to a number on a scale. True confidence and self-worth come from embracing who you are, not conforming to society’s expectations.
Turning Pain into Power: Abby’s Rise as a Body Positivity Icon
Instead of letting negative comments and societal expectations dictate her self-worth, Abby took a different path. She decided to use her voice, presence, and confidence to challenge outdated beauty norms.
Video : The Abby Bible FAQ BIOGRAPHY American Big Model Plus Size Model Fashion Lover Unapologetic Fat Girl
- She embraced her curves, her height, and her size—and became a beacon of self-love.
- She started sharing her journey, struggles, and victories on social media, reaching thousands who relate to her story.
- She redefined beauty by proving that confidence and self-worth are not limited to one body type.
Her powerful message of self-love is especially important in today’s world, where so many individuals struggle with body image issues and self-esteem problems due to toxic beauty standards.
Facing Criticism: The Battle Against Internet Trolls
With influence comes both admiration and criticism. While many people have praised Abby for her bold confidence and inspiring message, she has also faced online hate and body shaming.
One viral moment was when a troll told her that ‘fat people shouldn’t wear string bikinis.’
Instead of responding with anger or defensiveness, Abby did something powerful and unapologetic—she posted a TikTok video of herself rocking a string bikini, proudly labeling it:
“Look away if you don’t like it.”
This was more than just a clapback—it was a statement. Abby refused to let someone else’s opinion dictate what she could or couldn’t wear.
Her response was met with overwhelming support from her followers, proving that confidence is contagious and that people admire those who embrace their true selves.
The Health Debate: Can You Be Plus-Sized and Healthy?
One of the biggest arguments against the body positivity movement is the claim that it promotes unhealthy lifestyles. Many critics believe that embracing one’s body at a larger size ignores potential health risks associated with obesity.
So where does Abby stand on this?
- She prioritizes self-love, but she also values her health.
- She understands that being happy doesn’t mean ignoring self-care.
- She believes that people of all sizes deserve respect, love, and confidence.
It’s important to note that health looks different for everyone. Not all thin people are healthy, and not all plus-sized people are unhealthy. Judging someone’s well-being solely based on their weight is unfair and misleading.
Abby’s focus isn’t on debating health statistics—it’s on creating a world where people of all sizes feel worthy and valued.
Why Abby’s Message Matters More Than Ever
In a time when social media constantly bombards us with unrealistic beauty ideals, Abby’s message is a breath of fresh air. She reminds us that:
- Happiness isn’t found in weight loss—it’s found in self-acceptance.
- Your worth isn’t defined by your size.
- Confidence is the most attractive trait a person can have.
For many people struggling with body image issues, low self-esteem, or societal pressure, Abby’s journey is proof that you don’t need to change to be loved—you just need to love yourself first.
Breaking Beauty Norms: The Future of Body Positivity
The beauty industry is slowly evolving, and plus-sized models, influencers, and advocates like Abby Bible are playing a significant role in this shift.
- Brands are embracing body diversity more than ever.
- Fashion is becoming more inclusive, with larger sizes and better representation.
- Social media is amplifying the voices of plus-sized individuals who once felt invisible.
However, there’s still work to be done. Fatphobia and body shaming still exist, and many people struggle to embrace themselves fully.
That’s why Abby’s mission remains so important. She’s not just a model—she’s a movement.
Video : American Curvy, Plus-size model, “Abby Bible” Wiki Biography, Age, Weight, Relations Net worth
Final Thoughts: The Power of Self-Love and Confidence
Abby Bible’s journey is a testament to the power of self-love, resilience, and confidence. Despite facing criticism, judgment, and societal pressure, she has proven that:
- Happiness comes from accepting yourself, not shrinking yourself.
- Everyone deserves to feel beautiful, regardless of size.
- Confidence is magnetic—and it starts with self-acceptance.
Her story serves as a reminder that we are all worthy, we are all beautiful, and we all deserve to take up space without apology.
So, what’s the takeaway? Love yourself, embrace your body, and never let anyone tell you that you don’t deserve to feel amazing.
What do you think about Abby Bible’s message? Share your thoughts in the comments!
My Mother Abandoned 10-Year-Old Me to Raise Her ‘Perfect Son’ — but My Grandma Made Her Pay for It
I was ten when my mother decided I was a burden. She had a new family and I didn’t fit the picture. So she got rid of me and gave me away like I was nothing to raise her “perfect son.” My grandma took me in and loved me. Years later, the woman who abandoned me showed up at my door… begging.
There’s a moment when you realize some wounds never heal. For me, that moment came at 32 as I stood at my grandmother’s grave. The only person who had ever truly loved me was gone, and the woman who gave birth to me and abandoned me stood across the cemetery, not even looking in my direction.
I hadn’t seen my mother in years. Not since she decided my brother was worth raising… but I wasn’t.
A grieving woman in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
The rain fell in sheets that day, soaking through my black dress as I watched them lower Grandma Brooke’s casket into the ground. My mother, Pamela, stood under an umbrella with her perfect family — her husband Charlie and their son Jason… my replacement and the “golden” child worthy of her love.
She didn’t cry. Not really. She just dabbed at her eyes occasionally for show.
When it was over, she turned and walked away without a word to me, just like she had 22 years ago when I was ten. I remained rooted to the spot, alone with the fresh mound of dirt that covered the only parent I’d ever really had.
“I don’t know how to do this without you, Grandma,” I whispered to the grave.
A heartbroken woman | Source: Midjourney
I was born from a brief affair and I was an inconvenience my mother never wanted. When I was ten, she married my stepfather Charlie and gave birth to their “perfect son” Jason. Suddenly, I became nothing more than a reminder of her past mistake.
I still remember the day she told me I wouldn’t be living with them anymore.
“Rebecca, come here,” she called from the kitchen table where she sat with Grandma Brooke.
I walked in, hope blooming in my chest.
A frustrated woman | Source: Midjourney
“Yes, Mom?” I asked. She rarely spoke directly to me anymore.
Her eyes were cold and distant. “You’re going to live with Grandma now.”
The words didn’t make sense at first. “Like… for the weekend?”
“No,” she said, not meeting my eyes. “Permanently. Grandma’s going to take care of you from now on.”
I looked at Grandma, whose face was tight with anger and grief.
“But why? Did I do something wrong?”
A sad little girl looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be,” my mother snapped. “I have a real family now. You’re just… in the way.”
Grandma’s hand slammed the table. “Enough, Pamela! She’s a child, for God’s sake. Your child.”
My mother shrugged. “A mistake I’ve paid for long enough. Either you take her, or I’ll find someone who will.”
I stood there, tears streaming down my face, invisible to the woman who gave birth to me.
“Pack your things, sweetheart,” Grandma said gently, wrapping her arms around me. “We’ll make this work, I promise.”
An annoyed older woman | Source: Midjourney
Grandma’s house became my sanctuary. A place where I was wanted and where someone’s eyes lit up when I walked into the room. She hung my artwork on the fridge, helped with my homework, and tucked me in every night.
Still, the wound of my mother’s rejection festered.
“Why doesn’t she want me?” I asked one night as Grandma brushed my hair before bed.
Her hands paused. “Oh, Becca. Some people aren’t capable of the love they should give. It’s not your fault, honey. Never think it’s your fault.”
An upset girl | Source: Midjourney
“But she loves Jason.”
Grandma resumed brushing, each stroke gentle and soothing. “Your mother is broken in ways I couldn’t fix. I tried, God knows I tried. But she’s always run from her mistakes instead of facing them.”
“So I’m a mistake?”
“No, honey. You are a gift. The best thing that ever happened to me. Your mother just can’t see past her own selfishness to recognize what she’s throwing away.”
An older woman with a kind smile | Source: Midjourney
I leaned into her embrace, breathing in the scent of lavender that clung to her clothes.
“Will you ever leave me too, Grandma?” I whispered.
“Never,” she said fiercely. “As long as there’s breath in my body, you will always have a home with me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
A disheartened girl looking up at someone with hope | Source: Midjourney
When I was 11, Grandma insisted we visit for a “family dinner.” She thought it was important to maintain some connection, however tenuous. Deep down, I hoped my mother realized what she’d thrown away and welcome me back with open arms.
Walking in, I saw her doting over my brother, laughing and proud… like she had never abandoned me. One-year-old Jason sat in a high chair, mashed potatoes smeared across his chubby face. My mother wiped it away with such tenderness it made my chest ache.
She barely glanced at me.
“Hey, Mom,” I said, forcing a smile.
She frowned. “Oh! You’re here.”
A woman frowning | Source: Midjourney
My chest tightened, but I swallowed the hurt and reached into my pocket. I pulled out a small, slightly crumpled handmade card. I had spent hours on it, carefully folding the paper, writing “I Love You, Mom” in my neatest handwriting on the front.
Inside, I had drawn a picture of our family — me, my mother, my stepfather, my baby brother, and my grandmother. I had colored it with the few markers I had, making sure to give everyone a smile. Because that’s how I wanted us to be… a real, happy family.
With hopeful eyes, I extended it toward her. “I made this for you.”
A desperate little girl holding a sheet of paper | Source: Midjourney
She barely glanced at it before passing it to my brother. “Here, honey. Something for you.”
I froze. That gift wasn’t for him. It was from me to my mother.
“I-I got that for you.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, what would I need it for? I have everything I want.”
Everything. Except me.
A shattered girl | Source: Midjourney
Years of neglect hung between us. My grandmother shot me a sympathetic glance, but I forced a smile. I wouldn’t let them see me break.
“Dinner’s ready,” Charlie called from the dining room, oblivious to the moment or choosing to ignore it.
“Come on,” my mother said, lifting Jason from his high chair. “The roast will get cold.”
That was the last time I ever wanted to see my mother. After that night, I stopped trying. And she didn’t seem to care. Not long after, she moved to another city and only called my grandmother occasionally. But she never called me.
Shot of an airplane passing above high-rise buildings | Source: Unsplash
Years passed. I grew up, became a successful woman, and built a life of my own. I went to college on scholarships, got a job in marketing, and bought a small house near Grandma’s cottage. I dated, sometimes seriously, but relationships were hard. Trust didn’t come easily when my own mother couldn’t love me.
Grandma was my rock through everything. She never missed a graduation, a birthday, or a milestone. She hung my college diploma next to her achievements. She made sure I knew I belonged.
But time is relentless. My grandmother, my true parent, grew older too. Her hands became gnarled with arthritis, her steps slower, and her memory was sometimes foggy.
An older woman walking in a park | Source: Pexels
“Remember when you tried to teach me to bake cookies and we set off the smoke alarm?” I asked one afternoon as we walked in her beloved garden.
She laughed, the sound still musical despite her 78 years. “The neighbors thought the house was on fire. That fireman was so handsome, though… I almost didn’t mind the embarrassment.”
“You flirted with him shamelessly,” I teased.
“Life’s too short not to flirt with handsome firemen, Rebecca.” She patted my hand. “Promise me something?”
“Anything.”
“When I’m gone, don’t waste time on bitterness. Your mother made her choice, and it was the wrong one. But don’t let that choice define your life.”
Close-up shot of a young woman with her grandmother | Source: Freepik
I felt a chill despite the summer heat. “You’re not going anywhere.”
She smiled sadly. “We all go somewhere eventually, honey. Just promise me you’ll live fully. That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”
“I promise,” I whispered, resting my head on her shoulder like I had countless times before.
Three months later, she was gone. A stroke in her sleep. “Peaceful and a blessing, really,” the doctor said.
But it didn’t feel like a blessing to me.
A woman shaken to her core | Source: Midjourney
I was 32 when I buried her. My mother arrived with her family, but I never really saw any remorse in her eyes. She didn’t even look at me during the service.
The house felt empty without Grandma. I wandered from room to room, touching her things — the crocheted blanket on the couch, the collection of ceramic birds on the mantel, and the worn cookbook in the kitchen with her handwritten notes in the margins.
God, I missed her so much.
Just a few days after the funeral, there was a knock on my door. When I opened it, I froze.
It was my mother.
A desperate senior woman at the doorway | Source: Midjourney
She looked older, gray threading through her dark hair, and lines around her eyes and mouth that hadn’t been there before. But her eyes were the same — distant and calculating.
“Please,” she whispered, gripping her purse with white-knuckled hands. “I just need to talk to you.”
Every instinct in me screamed to shut the door and walk away. But something in her tone, something almost… defeated, made me pause.
I crossed my arms. “Talk.”
An annoyed woman with her arms crossed | Source: Midjourney
She exhaled, looking down before meeting my gaze. “Your brother knows about you.”
My breath hitched. “What do you mean?”
“Before she passed, your grandmother sent him a message. And told him everything.”
I swallowed hard.
“He was too young to remember you, Rebecca. And I… I didn’t let your grandmother talk about you to him. I told her if she did, she’d never see him again.”
My stomach churned. It was worse than I imagined. My mother not only abandoned me… she ERASED me.
A happy little boy walking on the road | Source: Pexels
She must have seen the horror on my face because she rushed to explain. “I thought I was doing the right thing! You had your grandmother, and I had my family —”
“You had a family,” I cut in. “You decided I wasn’t part of it.”
Her lip trembled. “He won’t speak to me, not since he read the message last night. His phone fell in the water and had been switched off for days… and he’s just gotten the message from Grandma after turning it on last night. He’s mad at me for hiding you from him. I need you to talk to him. Tell him I’m not a monster.”
I let out a hollow laugh. “Not a monster? You abandoned your daughter at ten, pretended she didn’t exist, and threatened your own mother just to keep your secret. What would make you a monster, then?”
A guilty woman | Source: Midjourney
Tears welled in her eyes, but they didn’t move me. I had shed enough tears for her years ago.
Still, despite everything, I hesitated. Not for her, but for my brother.
I spent my life believing he had forgotten me. But he never had the chance to know me at all. He was just a child, manipulated by a woman who only saw me as an obstacle.
“I’ll take his number,” I said flatly.
My mother exhaled in relief, but her face fell when she realized what I meant. I wasn’t calling for her. I was calling for him.
A furious yet composed woman | Source: Midjourney
“You can give him my number,” I clarified. “If he wants to talk to me, that’s his choice. And if he doesn’t want to talk to you…” I shrugged. “That’s his choice too.”
“Rebecca, please —”
“Goodbye, Mom,” I said, and slowly closed the door.
I met Jason a week later at a quiet café across town, my heart pounding as I saw him walk in. He was tall, with dark hair like our mother’s, but his eyes were kind.
An upset man in a coffee shop | Source: Midjourney
He looked nervous but when he spotted me, something in his expression softened.
“I’m so sorry,” were the first words out of his mouth.
I stared at him. “You don’t have to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“But I…” he swallowed hard. “I didn’t know. She never told me. I only found out because of Grandma’s message. I can’t believe she did that to you.”
I studied his face, searching for any sign of dishonesty. But there was none. He was just a kid when it happened. He hadn’t chosen this.
A smiling woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
“You’re nothing like her, Jason.”
His shoulders sagged in relief. “I’ve been so angry since I found out. It’s like… everything I thought I knew about Mom was a lie.”
“How did you find out exactly?”
Jason ran a hand through his hair. “I got this email from Grandma. It had pictures of you, stories about you… things Mom never told me. And a letter explaining everything.”
“She was always clever,” I said, a sad smile tugging at my lips. “Even from beyond the grave, she was looking out for us.”
A man lost in deep thought | Source: Midjourney
“She wrote that she promised not to tell me while she was alive because she was afraid Mom would cut me off from her completely.” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine being forced to make that choice. It’s so cruel.”
“That’s who Mom is,” I said. “She makes everything a transaction.”
He nodded, then pulled out his phone. “I have the pictures Grandma sent, if you want to see them?”
We spent the next hour looking at photos of a life intersected but separate. Grandma had documented everything for him, creating a bridge across the chasm our mother had dug between us.
A smiling man looking at his phone | Source: Midjourney
“I always wanted a sibling,” Jason said quietly. “I used to beg for a brother or sister. Mom always said she couldn’t have more children after me. Another lie.”
“You know,” I said, pushing my empty coffee cup aside, “we can’t change the past. But we can decide what happens next.”
He nodded, a tentative smile crossing his face. “I’d like to know my sister, if that’s okay with you.”
For the first time in over two decades, I let myself feel something I never thought I’d have again — a connection to family that wasn’t built on obligation or pity.
“I’d like that,” I said. “I’d like that very much.”
A cheerful woman | Source: Midjourney
Over the next few weeks, we talked more. I told him about my life, about how Grandma raised me, and how I spent years wondering if he ever thought of me.
And he told me about our mother. About how she had always been controlling, suffocating, and never allowed him to make his own choices.
We met at a park on a crisp autumn day, walking along paths covered in fallen leaves.
“Mom’s been calling me nonstop,” he said. “Showing up at my apartment. She even contacted my work.”
“That sounds like her. When she wants something, she doesn’t stop.”
People walking in a park | Source: Pexels
“She always acted like the perfect mom, Rebecca. I thought she was just overprotective, but now I realize… she’s just selfish. Everything has always been about her image, her comfort, and her needs.”
“Has she always been like that with you?”
He kicked at a pile of leaves. “Yeah, I guess so. I just didn’t see it clearly until now. Nothing I did was ever quite good enough unless it made her look good too.”
We both knew, at that moment, that neither of us owed her anything.
Portrait of a smiling man | Source: Midjourney
Weeks passed. I built a relationship with my brother, the one thing Mom had tried to keep from me. And she kept calling, sent messages, and even showed up at my door again.
But this time, when she knocked, I didn’t answer. She had made her choice 22 years ago. And now, I had made mine.
On what would have been Grandma’s birthday, Jason and I met at her grave. We placed her favorite yellow daisies and stood in silence.
“I wish I’d known her better,” Jason said. “Really known her.”
“She would have loved you,” I told him. “Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re you.”
A bouquet of yellow daisies on a gravestone | Source: Midjourney
As we walked back to our cars, something caught my eye across the cemetery. A familiar figure stood watching us.
Our mother.
Jason saw her too and tensed beside me.
“We don’t have to talk to her,” I said.
He shook his head. “No, we don’t.”
We got into our cars and drove away, leaving her standing alone among the gravestones.
A sad woman in a cemetery | Source: Midjourney
In the end, family isn’t always who gives birth to you. Sometimes it’s who sees you and chooses to stay. Grandma chose me. And in her final act of love, she gave me back the brother I never knew.
Some wounds never heal completely. But around the scars, new life can still grow.
People holding hands | Source: Pexels
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