This is me around the highest weight of my life. I can't be sure, because it's very hard to find pictures of me from that timeframe, but this is close:
I know "before" pictures don't usually look like this, but I chose this picture deliberately instead of one where I look miserable, because I wanted anyone who reads this to know that I was happy with my life in general at that time. I've been overweight as long as I can remember. My first distinct memory of realizing that I was bigger than other girls my age is from walking home in second grade, looking down at my thighs and being embarrassed. I even remember the horrible flower-print leggings I was wearing that day.
Over time, I learned to make other aspects of who I was the priority, and what people noticed about me. That worked through elementary school, even middle school (since I was homeschooled, heaven knows it wouldn't have worked had I been daily subjected to the mentalities and behavior of 12-year-old girls). It didn't work in high school, but I convinced myself that the cruelty was entirely a deficiency on the part of the cruel, and I bore no responsibility for it. In this manner I continued, and when I met Kyle, who has always been able to look past my weight and love me despite it, I was content to be exactly who I was (physically) for the rest of my life.
Then I had Damien. The funny thing is, I lost weight in my first trimester, only gained 36 pounds total in the next two, lost 20 in childbirth and took off the other 16 nursing in the first month of his life. Once I recovered from my C-section, though, my weight went on a steady incline, and 10 months after D was born, I wore a size 24 gown to Kyle's Air Force ball. It wasn't the dress size or the number on the scale that started to bother me though- it was my little boy, starting to crawl and then to walk, and the constant pain and fatigue that held me back from interacting with him as he deserved. And then it was the cravings and the complete lack of willpower; the absolute inability (I thought) to stop eating those Oreos, or to have only one serving at meals.
I had to stop lying to myself. What good would a caring personality do, if I couldn't sustain my energy through the day to care for my infant? What good are thrift and economy, if my willpower over spending in most areas is overcome on the candy aisle? What good is my optimism for my husband's career, if I am likely to suffer and quite possibly die from weight-related illness quite early in life, and leave him alone? The qualities I have worked so hard to develop in myself are fine and good, but my failure to maintain my body, the Temple I have been gifted, was holding me back from some of the most important things in life, in very material ways.
We bought an elliptical. We got rid of the junk food. We took walks together. We carefully monitored meal portions. With all the love and support in the world my amazing husband tried to help me in every way he could, and nothing helped. My weight continued to climb. Finally, I made the decision that has been hardest for me to follow through on of any I've ever made: I was going to see a doctor and talk to him about my weight. It was something I had masked for so long. It was a problem I had pretended didn't exist, and I was going to walk into a doctor's office and say "I'm fat. Help me." Saying the words would make it real. I couldn't pretend it wasn't a fact anymore. The biggest blow to my confidence that I have ever taken was to admit to my husband and my doctor (both of whom already knew quite well) that I was fat.
I have had family members who struggled with weight and its related health issues who have undergone gastric bypass surgery, and I decided to ask my doctor to refer me to a surgeon for more information. He told me I was too young, but did not refuse me the referral. The following month, I attended the surgeon's preliminary seminar and decided that this was the right road for me. It was still such a daunting task to tell yet a third person face-to-face that I was fat that it took me three months to make the appointment after the seminar. My insurance took another 7 months to approve it, and on 4 August, 2009, I had a laparoscopic gastric bypass.
This is me today.
14 dress sizes ago, I thought I was happy. The fact is, I truly was. But I had no idea how much my weight was holding me back. I still want people to notice my personality first- that is the beauty I seek. But now I can wear Damien out, instead of the other way around. Now I can make it through 12 hours of chasing my Terrible Two around and still be smiling when Kyle comes home from a long day at work, in need of some cheer. Now I can say no to cookies, and food is no longer the focus of my day. I am so blessed to have had the opportunity to have this surgery. It has changed my life, in some ways that I anticipated and others that were completely unexpected. I still have work to do, and it will never be finished: I have had to alter my entire lifestyle to reach these results, and will have to keep up these changes to achieve and maintain the end goal, but I finally have the willpower and the drive to do so.
I'm grateful for a wonderful family who has supported me through this. My husband is the light of my life, and my strength when I would falter. My mother has been there for me in every step, willing to drop everything if I needed her. Damien has obliviously given me the motivation to keep it up just by being D (he helps me get my exercise too!).
Next step: Photography lessons! I definitely didn't take the before, and the afters are lacking intensely in quality. :D
