My name is Carly, and I’ve lived 32 years in a body the world constantly comments on.

I’m obese—not the kind where people call you “curvy” or toss around cute euphemisms. The kind where strangers think it’s okay to comment on what’s in your grocery cart. The kind where people sigh loudly if you sit near them in a waiting room. The kind where existing in public becomes an invitation for unsolicited judgment.

That’s why, when I fly, I buy two airplane seats.

Not for luxury. Not to “indulge.” For peace.

The Flight

On a recent work trip, I paid an extra $176 out of pocket for a second seat so I wouldn’t spend three hours apologizing for taking up space. I boarded early, settled into the window and middle seats, and took a deep breath—relieved, just for once, not to feel like a burden.

Then they showed up.

A couple — him smug, her sparkling — strutted up the aisle and plopped down right into the seat I paid for.

“Sorry,” I said, as politely as I could, “I bought both seats.”

They laughed.

“Seriously? You bought two… just for you?”

“Yes,” I replied.

The man rolled his eyes and sat anyway. “Well, it’s empty, so…”

His girlfriend chimed in, all fake sweetness and venom:

“It’s not a big deal. You’re being a fat jerk.”

I wanted to disappear. I wanted to scream. Instead, I smiled and said:

“Fine. Keep the seat.”

The Shift

As the plane took off, I did something I’m not usually encouraged to do: I took. Up. Space.

I pulled out a giant bag of chips. I leaned into the full width of the two seats I paid for. I bumped his elbow. I jostled my shoulders. I lived loudly.

Eventually, he snapped and flagged down a flight attendant. She checked the records and confirmed: I had, indeed, bought both seats.

She asked him to move. “You’re in seat 22C,” she said firmly.

He stomped down the aisle like a sulking child.

As he left, his girlfriend spat: “You really needed two seats just for being fat? Pathetic.”

This time, I didn’t ignore it. I calmly reported her comment to the flight crew.

To their credit, they took it seriously. A harassment report was filed.

The Aftermath

A few days later, I received an email from the airline:

The couple had been flagged in their system.

I was credited 10,000 bonus miles for the mistreatment I endured.

But more importantly, I remembered something that I forget all too often:

I deserve space.

I’m tired of apologizing for my body. Tired of trying to shrink to make others comfortable. Tired of pretending like I don’t notice the stares, the sighs, the cruel little comments.

On that flight, I took up the room I paid for. The room I deserve. And next time someone tries to shame me out of it?

I’ll be ready.