Over the years, I’ve shared many different things on this blog. Whether it’s parenting mishaps, mental breakdowns or even the occasional scandal, my life is an open book.
As I’ve told some friends, I think my “ministry” has been primarily done through personal humiliation. Plus, tbh, I find it cathartic to laugh at myself and process some of life’s biggest moments through the written word. It’s like a journal, except with open access to the world.
I appreciated Emma painting the post-surgery version of me during family paint night. #beforeandafter
There’s one topic, however, that I’ve never come close to broaching. That is, my weight. It’s an ongoing, deeply personal struggle I’ve rarely discussed, even with those closest to me.
For me, that particular topic comes with a lot of guilt, embarrassment, and shame. If I’m being real with you, and I guess at this point I am, I see it as my most visible and persistent form of failure.
My weight comes with a lot of baggage, literally and emotionally, and it’s not that I haven’t tried to change it.
30+ Year Battle
I remember going to my first Weight Watchers meeting somewhere around the age of 10.
No, I wasn’t a member, but I was hanging with my mom that day, and we stopped by her weekly weigh-in with a lovely support group of ladies who faced the same struggle. Already aware of my chubbiness, I made mental notes of the tips and techniques they shared that would surely fix it all.
In the three-plus decades since then, I’ve read, learned and tried a thousand different things with varying degrees of success. Weight Watchers, Slim Fast, MyFitnessPal, Curves, Sweatin’ to the Oldies (ok, I actually liked that one), etc., I’ve attempted them all. I’ve been in a perpetual state of dieting since age 15.
I don’t recall all the back-and-forth of adolescence, but in my adulthood, I’ve had at least three unusually successful rounds of weight loss—45 pounds, 70 pounds, 30 pounds at a time.
And yet here I am, at my all-time highest BMI in a lifetime of bad BMIs.
Cautiously Optimistic
So why bring it up now?
Well, for the first time in a really long time, I have hope that it’s all about to change. Drastically.
On October 28, I am having gastric bypass surgery, otherwise known as Roux-en-Y gastric bypass (RYGB). If I’m anything like the average case, in the next few months, I’m likely to lose 75-100 pounds—rapidly.
And that’s embarrassing.
Yes, embarrassing.
I’m excited at the possibilities—but I’m not at all enthusiastic about taking that journey in public.
Strangely, my biggest fear is that the surgery will accomplish exactly what it’s supposed to do, and people will notice. And talk about it. And think things about me. And ask questions.
And I hate that.
Candidly, I don’t really want to talk about it AT ALL, which anyone who knows me—or even has casually stumbled across this blog—might find strange.
I don’t want advice. I don’t want judgment. I don’t want pity or flattery. I definitely don’t want questions.
Have you tried……..? (yes)
Have you considered….? (yes)
Are you aware that….? (yes)
Are you ready to…? (yes, as much as anyone can really be ready for it.)
I’ve heard it said that you have to choose your hard, and that’s what I’m doing. I know exactly what I’m getting into, and with my doctor's encouragement, I’m choosing the hard that’s most likely to prolong and enhance my life.
This isn’t the right path for everyone, but I’m certain it’s right for me.
Bumpy Road Ahead
Even so, I’m scared—and I’m a little sad, too!—because I know the path ahead will be bumpy.
Silly as it sounds, I’m mourning the loss of experiences I will likely never have again. Carbs and sweets are one thing to forfeit, but several other pleasures will also need to take a hike: chewing gum, sparkling water, popcorn, caffeine, COFFEE. (My family knows that last one, alone, is enough to cause my own personal hell.)
I’ll need to find new satisfying traditions to replace Thanksgiving binges, Christmas morning cinnamon rolls, birthday cake, camping s’mores, and last-day-of-school-year double-scoop ice cream cones.
I’ll need to find healthier, blood-pumping activities to relieve boredom and boost my mood.
I’ll need to deal with unresolved, shoved-down mental and emotional battles that will never be fixed with a cupcake.
I’ll need to relearn what it means to process joy, celebration, stress, loss, sadness, and grief without food at the center. I’ll need to learn to sit in the emotions and surrender them over to the Giver of true joy and peace.
Single Rider Lane?
“I don’t want to live in the fear of hiding and wondering, “what if they all find out?!” Shame is a miserable place to hide.”
So yeah, I don’t want to talk about it – and yet here I am telling you. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I somehow know it desperately needs to be said.
I don’t want to live in the fear of hiding and wondering, “what if they all find out?!” Shame is a miserable place to hide.
Plus, maybe someone else out there would benefit from hearing about my journey. If I can save someone else from their shame spiral or feeling all alone, all the awkward disclosures will be worth it.
As tempting as it is to jump in the “single rider lane,” I’d rather be on this crazy ride with my friends and those who love me the most.
So yes, I appreciate your prayers, support, and maybe even, at some point, your “way to go’s.”
I don’t want to talk about it, but someday, somehow, I think I’ll be glad I did.
Money and Spirit
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