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May 28, 2025 - Written by Linda Thompson

Plus Size Grandma Fails to Keep Up With Grandkids - Destroys Relationship, But Saves It With This...

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"My body gave out. I couldn't even walk to my mailbox, let alone keep up with my little Emma. I was helpless, invisible, disappearing from her life - until this..." 

"You’re boring. I never want to play with you again."

These verbal daggers from my 5-year-old granddaughter stabbed my heart into a million pieces.

 

If you're a plus-size woman over 65 who's noticed you can't keep up like you used to...

 

If you've started making excuses to avoid activities with your grandkids...

 

If you're watching precious moments pass by from a bench or the sidelines...

 

Then what happened to me could be the wake-up call that saves you from missing out on your grandchildren's lives forever.

 

My name is Linda Thompson.

 

I'm 66, 348 pounds, and am a proud resident of Columbus, Ohio with my husband David.

 

What I'm about to share isn't about losing weight or becoming an athlete.

 

It's about the day I realized I was disappearing from my grandchildren's lives.

 

And the shocking discovery that brought me back.

The Zoo Trip That Caged Me Like a Helpless Animal

Last May, I was watching my three grandkids for the weekend.

 

Emma (5), Jackson (7), and little Sophia (3).

 

They begged to go to the Columbus Zoo.

 

"Please Grandma! The baby elephants are here!"

 

How could I say no to those faces?

 

But I knew. Deep down, I knew what was coming.

 

We hadn't even made it past the entrance when it started.

 

My breathing got heavy.

 

My back started aching.

 

My knees felt like they were on fire.

 

By the monkey exhibit—maybe 300 yards in—I was done.

 

I might as well have been an animal in my own exhibit: the bench.

 

"Grandma needs to sit for a minute."

 

I found a bench while David took the kids ahead.

 

"Just for a minute" turned into twenty.

 

Then thirty.

 

Then I heard Emma's voice getting closer:

 

"Where's Grandma?"

 

"She's resting, sweetheart," David said.

 

"She's always resting. She’s no fun. I’m glad thought because you are our favorite anyway"

 

Those words hit harder than any physical pain ever could.

 

She was right.

 

I was always resting.

 

Always watching from a bench.

 

Always the grandma who couldn't.

 

It’s no wonder they love David way more.

 

It’s no wonder I never get asked to come play.

 

It’s no wonder I’m completely invisible to my own family.

The Birthday Party That Shattered My World

Two weeks later was Emma’s 5th birthday party.

 

My daughter Sarah had rented a bounce house.

 

All the kids were playing. Parents were mingling.

 

And where was I?

 

In a lawn chair. Where I always was.

 

Emma ran over, face red with excitement.

 

"Grandma! Come bounce with us!"

 

"Oh honey, that's for kids."

 

"Other grandmas are doing it! 

Pleeaaase?"

 

I looked over. Sure enough, two other grandmothers were in there.

 

Laughing. Playing. Making memories.

 

"Grandma's too tired, baby. Maybe later."

 

But we both knew there wouldn't be a later.

 

Her face fell. "Fine." 

 

She marched off - clearly upset.

 

It’s hard to describe the shame of 

disappointing your own granddaughter.

 

My face gets red hot with embarrassment.

 

My palms start to sweat knowing I’m about to shatter his heart again for the 

billionth time.

 

My heart starts to sink into my throat, making it hard to get the words out - or even breathe…

 

As if that wasn’t bad enough already?

She stops in his tracks, as if preparing to unload the final punch in the gut on me in return.

 

"Grandma?"

 

"Yes, sweetheart?"

 

"You’re boring. I never want to play with you again."

 

She didn't wait for an answer, storming off.

 

I sat there, frozen, watching him disappear 

into the bounce house.

 

I wanted to puke.

 

She said “never again.”

 

Did I really just sever my relationship with my own granddaughter?

 

How many moments had I already missed?

 

How many memories will I never be apart of going forward?

 

How long before they all stopped asking altogether?

The Conversation That Opened My Eyes to This:

That night, Sarah stayed to help clean up.

 

I couldn't hold it in anymore.

 

"Emma said she never wants to play with me again..."

 

Sarah stopped loading the dishwasher.

 

"Mom..."

 

"She thinks I don't care. She thinks I’m a disappointment. They all probably do."

 

Sarah sat down across from me.

 

"Mom, they're starting to notice. Jackson asked me last week why you're always so tired."

 

"What did you tell him?"

 

"That Grandma loves them but sometimes grown-ups need rest."

 

"I hate this. I hate what I've become."

 

"You haven't 'become' anything, Mom. 

You're just... struggling."

 

"When did it get this bad? When did it become so hard to just move?"

 

Sarah leaned forward.

 

"It's been gradual. But honestly? It's gotten way worse. You used to at least walk around the block with them. And now, you just sit in the same spot all day long…"

 

She was right.

 

I used to walk them to the park.

 

Push them on swings.

 

Chase them around the yard.

 

Now I couldn't even make it through a zoo entrance.

 

"I don't know how to fix this," I admitted.

 

"The gym terrifies me. Physical therapy is too expensive. And my knees can't take 

regular exercise."

 

"Mom, remember my friend Jennifer? The nurse?"

 

I nodded.

 

"Her mom had the same problem. 

Couldn't keep up with grandkids. Could 

barely walk across her own house."

 

"What did she do?"

 

“Well, first she had to figure out where it had all gone wrong.”

 

Even if my life depended on it, I couldn’t tell you when it started.

 

And that’s when it had hit me.

 

I had let it get so bad, for so long, I just accepted my decay as fate.

 

Assigned to a sedentary life by my own body.

 

Bound to becoming a liability and a burden to my own family.

 

Forced to pick between preserving my own well-being or destroying the hearts of my grandkids.

 

Along with any bit of our relationship I had left…

 

“I— I don’t know, Sarah…”

 

“What do you mean you don’t kno—”

 

“I said I don’t know when, alright?” I protested angrily.

 

“When? I wasn’t even talking about a when, why are you so upset?” she asked, confused.

I didn’t even recognize it.

 

I was upset. Visibly, emotionally, mentally upset.

 

The deep frustration I felt for becoming such a burden to my family that even my own grandchildren hate me had matured into an even deeper insecurity.

 

An insecurity that was growing silently, painfully taking over me.

 

“I’m sorry, honey… I don’t know what’s wrong with me anymore,” I said, holding back tears.

 

“Mom… that’s kinda the whole thing I’m trying to tell you about…”

 

“Wha- What… thing?”

 

“Well, the thing is that I don’t think there’s actually anything wrong with you.”

 

I was speechless. Confused.

 

I was 348 pounds and my body, joints, muscles couldn’t handle it anymore.

 

My own body was a danger to myself.

 

My grandkids were were never happy with me.

 

What more could be wrong with me?

 

“How? I’m becoming a burden for crying out loud… my own grandkids don’t even want anything to do with me…”

 

“That’s what Jennifer thought about her Mom too, but when she took a step back and thought about it from a nurse’s perspective rather than a loving daughter, it all became so clear to her.”

 

“So there’s really nothing wrong with me?”

 

“Nope. What's happening to you isn't about being heavier. It's something deeper, something specific."

 

"What do you mean?"

 

Sarah leaned forward. She said that plus-size women face this thing called 'compound decline' after 65. 

 

“They lose muscle mass like everyone else, but since you’re carrying a little bit of extra weight, you need way MORE muscle to function."

 

That actually made sense. "So my body is getting weaker faster than normal, AND not building enough back for basic mobility?"

 

"Exactly. And here's the part that made me mad—the medical system basically ignores this. They just tell women like you to 'lose weight' without giving you any way to truly build the strength you need."

 

My face became red hot.

 

Was it anger? Embarrassment? Why me?

My own body was betraying me.

"So what's the solution?"

 

“Jennifer told me about this concept called 'supported rehabilitation.' Like 

what patients get after surgery — but for people who need to rebuild basic foundational strength."

 

"Insurance doesn't cover that unless you've actually had surgery."

 

"Right. But she mentioned that her patients have found success with this specific type of equipment that lets them do supported rehab at home."

 

My eyes rolled. "Sarah, I've tried exercise 

equipment before—"

 

"No, Mom, this is different. It's not really exercise equipment. It's more like... 

physical therapy equipment you can use at home."

Learning To Hope Again

"Well then what is it?"

 

"It's called a walking pad, but not like those cheap things on Amazon. This one was actually designed for rehabilitation. 

It has real handrails you can trust with 

your full weight, and it's built to handle—" she paused "—women like you."

 

The way she said "women like you" without shame or judgment meant everything.

 

"The key is that it gives you complete peace of mind while you rebuild yourself - at your own pace.”

 

"And that actually works?"

 

“Definitely. Since your body has already lost it’s foundational strength, we need a way that matches where you’re currently at. Not forcing yourself to take on day to day tasks, when you’re not ready for it yet.”

 

“Huh… I never thought of it like that.”

 

"Exactly. This is how her patients go from 

utterly failing at daily tasks to living completely independently again.” 

 

“It’s called the Stryde, and it's specifically engineered for what you're going through."

 

"Jennifer said it completely changed her mom's life. She went from barely walking to taking her grandkids to the farmers market every Saturday” 

 

For the first time in months, I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time.

 

Hope.

 

"Would you help me look into it, honey?"

 

"Of course, Ma. Already texted her. She's sending me the information tonight."

The Discovery That Rebuilt My World

Jennifer's response came within an hour.

 

Sarah read it to me:

 

"My mom was exactly where your mom is. 340 pounds, couldn't play with grandkids, terrified of falling. The Stryde Walking Pad saved her. It's the only one actually engineered for plus-size people. Real handrails that support full body weight. Starts super slow. She began with 2 minutes a day. Six months later, she's walking 45 minutes daily and just took the grandkids to Cedar Point."

 

Cedar Point. An amusement park.

This woman went from couch-bound to walking an amusement park.

 

"Mom, look at this," Sarah showed me her phone.

 

She'd found the Stryde website.

 

"Look at these reviews from real women our size."

 

I started reading, and my eyes filled with tears.

 

Woman after woman sharing my exact story.

 

Couldn't keep up with grandkids.

 

Felt like they were disappearing from their lives.

 

Found this walking pad.

 

Got their lives back.

 

"This one's from a woman in Detroit," 

Sarah pointed out.

 

"She's 62 and 335 pounds. Says she went from sitting at every family event to teaching her granddaughter to ride a bike."

 

"How is that possible?"

 

Sarah scrolled to another section.

 

"Mom, this is what Jennifer was talking about. It's not like those Amazon ones that max out at 220 pounds and wobble like crazy."

 

"So what makes it different?"

 

"First, it actually holds up to 400 pounds. 

Like, actually. Not some made-up number."

 

"They always say stuff like that."

 

"But Mom, look at this certification. It's tested to something called military load standards. That's why it costs more—it's built like a tank."

 

I was still skeptical.

 

"What about the balance issue? I'm terrified of falling."

 

"That's the brilliant part. See these handrails? They're not some afterthought. They're part of the core design. Full-length, both sides, rated for your complete body weight."

 

"But I can barely walk for two minutes without getting winded."

 

"Mom, it starts at 0.5 miles per hour. You can hold the rails and go at your own pace."

 

I looked at the pictures again.

 

Real women. My size. My age.

 

Smiling. Walking. Living.

 

"What if it doesn't work?"

 

"They have a 60-day ‘Walk with 

Confidence’ guarantee. If you can't walk better, full refund."

 

"Sarah, these things are usually scams—"

 

"Mom, don’t you trust Jennifer?"

 

"Of course."

 

"She watched her mom transform. She's a nurse. She wouldn't recommend garbage."

 

I sat there, thinking about Emma’s face.

 

About Jackson saying "she's always resting."

 

About all the moments I was missing.

 

I was skeptical still, but even more so?

 

I was desperate.

 

"Order it."

The First Steps Back to Being Myself Again

The Stryde arrived a few days later.

 

David set it up in our spare bedroom.

 

"Linda, this thing is built like a battleship," he said, impressed.

 

"These handrails could honestly hold both of us."

 

I stood there, staring at it.

 

"What if I can't even do two minutes?"

 

"Then you do one minute. Or thirty seconds. Who cares? Just try."

 

My first session: 90 seconds at 0.5 mph.

 

Ninety seconds.

 

That's all I could manage.

 

Gripping those rails like my life depended on it.

 

Heart pounding. Legs shaking.

 

But also... I was doing it.

 

For the first time in months, I was walking without fear.

 

Without pain in my knees.

 

Without gasping for air.

 

Just slow, steady, supported movement.

Day By Day, Week By Week

Week 1: Two minutes in the morning, two at night. Slow. Steady. Safe.

 

Week 2: Five minutes at a time. David noticed I wasn't breathing as heavy.

 

Week 3: Ten minutes straight. Started watching TV while walking.

 

Week 4: Fifteen minutes at 1 mph. My back stopped hurting completely.

 

Week 6: Twenty minutes at 1.2 mph. Only holding rails for balance, not support.

 

Week 8: Twenty-five minutes at 1.5 mph. Sometimes letting go entirely.

 

But the numbers don't tell the real story.

 

That was what happened Week 9...

The Moment My World Became Whole Again

Emma was over for the day.

 

David was at Home Depot.

 

She was coloring at the kitchen table while I made lunch.

 

"Grandma, I know the answer’s no, but since Grandpa is away… can you take me to the park?"

 

The old panic started to rise.

 

Then I stopped.

 

Realized something.

 

I'd been walking 25 minutes every morning.

 

The park was five minutes away.

 

"Yes, baby. We can go to the park."

 

She looked up, shocked.

 

"Really?! You'll come too?"

 

"I'll come too."

 

We walked to the park. Together.

 

Not David taking her while I stayed home.

 

Not me driving her there just to sit on a bench.

 

We walked. Together.

 

When we got there, she ran to the swings.

 

"Push me, Grandma!"

 

And I did.

 

For twenty minutes, I pushed my granddaughter on the swings.

 

Ran around the park.

 

Had a princess tea party on the playground.

 

Standing. Moving. Playing.

 

When we walked home, Emma slipped her little hand in mine.

 

"Grandma?"

 

"Yes, sweetheart?"

 

"I'm glad you're not tired anymore. 

Grandpa isn’t good at “princess.” Playing with you makes me so happy."

 

I had to fight back tears.

 

"Me too, baby. Me too."

The Disney Trip Where I Proved Everyone Wrong

Three months of progress on the Stryde, Sarah called with a proposition.

 

"Mom, we're taking the kids to Disney World for spring break."

 

My heart sank. Disney meant tons of walking. Standing in lines. All-day activity.

 

"That sounds wonderful for you—"

 

"We want you and Dad to come."

 

"Sarah, I can't do Disney. You know that."

 

"Mom, you just walked Emma to school and back yesterday. That's a whole two miles."

 

She was right. I had.

 

Without even thinking about it.

 

"Disney's different. It's all day—"

 

"So we'll rest when you need to. But Mom, the kids want you there. Jackson specifically asked if Grandma was coming."

 

"He did?"

 

"He said, 'Grandma's not tired anymore, so she can come, right?'"

 

My jaw just about dropped to the floor.

 

He believed in me again.

 

That decided it.

 

"Book the tickets."

 

Six weeks later, I did something I never thought possible.

 

I walked Disney World.

 

Not in a scooter. Not sitting on benches while everyone else had fun.

 

I walked 6.5 miles in one day.

 

We saw every princess. Rode Small World three times. Watched the parade.

And when Emma got tired, guess who carried her back to the hotel?

 

Grandma did.

 

Sarah took a picture of me carrying Emma, both of us wearing Mickey ears.

 

It's my favorite photo in the world.

 

Because it's proof.

 

Proof that I got my life back.

 

Proof that I'm not missing the moments anymore.

To All the Grandmas Who Feel Invisible:

Here's what breaks my heart:

 

Millions of grandmothers are vanishing from their grandchildren's lives.

 

Not because they don't love them.

 

But because their bodies are giving up on them.

 

They're sitting on sidelines. Watching from 

benches. Missing everything.

 

And the grandkids?

 

They think Grandma doesn't want to play.

 

They think Grandma doesn't care.

 

They stop asking.

 

They stop expecting.

 

And before you know it, Grandma becomes a piece of furniture at family events.

 

Someone to visit. Not someone to play with.

 

I was almost that grandma.

 

The one who disappeared.

The Consequences When Life Moves on Without You

Think about what you’re missing now:

 

Birthday parties where you're sitting instead of celebrating.

 

School plays where you can't climb the auditorium stairs.

 

Park trips that happen without you.

 

Bedtime stories you're too exhausted to read.

 

Dance parties you watch from the couch.

 

These aren't just activities.

 

They're the moments your grandkids will remember forever.

 

And right now, you're not in those memories.

 

They say you only get 18 with your grandkids until they’re no longer your grandkids…

 

18 summers, 18 Christmases, 18 chances - only 18.

 

Are you making them count?

 

I found the Stryde when Emma was 5.

 

If I'd waited another year?

 

She'd remember me as the grandma who couldn't.

 

Not the grandma who took her to the park.

 

Who pushed her on swings.

 

Who walked her to ice cream.

 

Don't wait until they stop asking.

 

Don't wait until you become invisible.

 

Don't wait until the memories are made without you.

I Made My Choice and Never Looked Back

The Stryde Walking Pad Pro isn't cheap.

 

But you know what costs more?

 

Missing your grandchild's childhood.

 

Becoming someone they visit out of obligation.

 

Watching life happen around you instead of living it.

 

Right now, Stryde is offering a special discount for grandmothers ready to reclaim their place in their families' lives.

 

But honestly? Even at full price, it would be worth every penny.

 

Because you can't put a price on being there.

 

On being the grandma who shows up.

 

Who plays.

 

Who makes memories instead of excuses.

 

The Stryde gave me back something I thought was gone forever:

 

My place in my grandchildren's lives.

 

Don't wait another day.

 

Your grandkids are only young once.

 

Linda Thompson
Columbus, Ohio

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P.S. Last week, Jackson asked me to be his show-and-tell.

 

"I want to show everyone my grandma who can do anything."

 

Six months ago, he thought I didn't want to play with him.

 

Now I'm his hero.

 

That transformation? That's what the Stryde gave me.

Carol, 63, 342 lbs, Arizona: "I missed two years of Halloween trick-or-treating. Too exhausted to walk the neighborhood. This year, after five months with the Stryde, I walked for two hours in a witch costume. My grandkids said it was 'the best Halloween ever' because Grandma came too."

Martha, 61, 315 lbs, Michigan: "I hadn't been to my granddaughter's soccer games in two years. Too far from parking to the field. After four months with the Stryde, I'm not just attending—I'm helping coach. My granddaughter introduces me as 'my grandma who teaches us drills.'"

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Dorothy, 58, 290 lbs, Tennessee: "My grandson stopped inviting me to his school events because 'Grandma can't walk that much.' The Stryde changed everything. Started with three minutes. Last month, I chaperoned his field trip to the science museum. Walked all day. He held my hand the entire time."

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