80 Pounds and Counting--the Reboot

In my first blog post I wrote that I would slowly spill my real story and maybe this is a good time to do a little of that. I mentioned that when my older brother died, two-and-a-half years ago now, that I had the ultimate scary wake-up call. When my younger brother said good-bye to me after the funeral before he left for the airport, he hugged me in a parking lot and said, "Promise me that we don't die--not for a really long time, I can't take it."

I promised.

Up until that moment and probably for a long while after, too, my younger brother and I had been engaged in a silent (and definitely not-so-silent) argument--he wanted me to live and be healthy (at a somewhat normal weight) and I wanted him to get off my case and stop being so critical. Now here is where relationships get dicey for fat people. Are your loved ones actually harassing you and on your case and ultra-critical or are they worried out of their minds and hoping you won't die--and therefore always attempting to make you “see the light” before it's too late?

Now that I have some perspective, the perspective that comes from 80 pounds of weight loss, I know his attitude was a combination of things: He remembered me thin. He knew me at my healthiest and he couldn't figure out what happened to me. He worried about me. But most of all, he reacted because he loved me. His worry and his fear and his anger made it hard for us to interact. Up until the time I got back on track I wanted him to ignore the thing he couldn't ignore. In order for him to interact with me about anything else he had to ignore it. He couldn't and it caused some serious conflict.

 Unfortunately the fatter and unhealthier I got the harder it was for me to turn it around—and the harder it was for him to deal with me. I think it made it impossible for us to have any kind of a normal relationship and that hurt me more than I can say. And I am sure it hurt him too.

The issues for me surrounding health and fitness didn’t start that day or even a few years before. Even at the time of my mother’s death after a long illness 12 years ago I was already very overweight. When I got pregnant with my now 19-year-old daughter I was overweight. I was a fat child at some points of my life—I remember shopping with my mother in what used to be called the “chubby” section. (That was a self-esteem builder for little girls everywhere!) It was always an issue. Food was connected to happiness and love for me. The emotional ties between me and a loaf of Wonder Breadâ were forged before I hit first grade.

But a story like this, forged pound after pound, doesn’t get written or explained in a day. In my case, 80 pounds of weight loss and a renewed commitment to exercise and fitness definitely isn’t it. It’s a very good start. And that’s why I am here. To make the rest of my journey something I have to show-up for everyday. To not slide backward even when every day--every decision--is complicated and serious and takes my energy. Whatever it takes to keep the power behind my will, I have to do. So my own story, it will take some time. But the fitter I get, the more time I have to tell it.