277 | Before GLP-1
If you scrolled through my camera roll from back then, you'd know everything about my life at 277 pounds. It's full of my kids. My kids at the park, my kids blowing out birthday candles, my kids on every holiday and every random Tuesday that felt worth saving. Hundreds and hundreds of pictures, and I'm in almost none of them.
I wasn't missing, though. I was right there, every single time, holding the phone. That was the job I gave myself, because if I was the one taking the picture, nobody could take one of me.
I was so good at being fine
If you had asked anyone who knew me back then, they would have told you I was doing great. At school, I was that teacher. I volunteered for everything, overplanned everything, and needed everything I touched to be better than everyone else's.
I was a show off, I knew it, and I didn't care, because I needed to be the best at something. If I couldn't stand the way I looked, then I was going to make sure nobody could say a single thing about the way I worked.
Work was the one place I knew how to win, so I tried to win every single day.
And then the weekend would come
Every weekend, I'd put my kids to bed, pour the first glass of wine, and settle onto the couch with the TV on. By the time I went to bed, the bottle was empty. Every weekend, by myself, the same couch and the same bottle.
I told myself it was how I relaxed. It was the one part of my week that belonged only to me, where nobody needed me to be impressive or patient or put together. Looking back, I know exactly what it was. I was depressed, and the couch was where I went to hide from it.
All week I proved myself to everyone else, and every weekend I disappeared.
I loved them from the sidelines
I need you to know that I was a good mom. I loved my kids so much, and I showed up for them.
But showing up isn't the same as being in it. When they wanted to run, I couldn't keep up. When they wanted me to get down and play, I couldn't really do it. So I cheered from the side, I took the pictures, and I told myself that was enough.
It wasn't enough. Not for them, and not fors me.
Two people living in the same house
My marriage was falling apart, and it was falling apart quietly. My husband threw himself into his job the same way I threw myself into mine, and most days we barely said more to each other than what we needed to get through the day. We were two people sharing a house and a family, and that was about it.
I don't blame him for any of it. I couldn't stand myself back then, and it's almost impossible to let someone love you when you can't stand being you. I was in the room, but I wasn't really there. Not for him, not for my kids, and not for myself.
"This is just my body"
At some point, I decided to make peace with it. I told myself there was nothing I could do, that this was the body I had and I needed to learn to be happy in it. So I decided to be happy.
But here's what I know now that I didn't know then. Deciding to be happy and actually being happy are two completely different things. I didn't accept my body. I just got really quiet about hating it.
Why I'm telling you this
I'm starting here because I know some of you are living in your own 277 right now. Maybe your number is different, but the rest sounds familiar. You're amazing at work, you're holding everyone together, you're at every single event, and you're in none of the pictures.
I'm not going to pretend I have some magic fix for that. What I have is my story, and the next part of it starts on a Friday during spring break, when I finally walked into a clinic and said yes.
Chapter 1 drops next Thursday.
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Where are you staying out of the pictures right now? You don't have to tell me why. Just let me know you're here.
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Rooting for you always,
Nyk
Love your honesty. Its so hard living with the shame. Its very brave of you to share your story. Right On Nyk!