The devastating loss of my precious son led me to make drastic changes for my physical and emotional health.
Many people will start the year with a commitment to getting healthier. There is growing evidence that the state of our emotional health can have an enormous influence on our physical health. While the pandemic has affected everyone differently, for many of us it has been traumatic. And, for some, that trauma may have led to unhealthy eating, undesired weight gain, and other negative side effects. My story is of a different trauma that led me to realize that I had to make drastic changes in order to become healthier and happier. Regardless of how you get onto that path to a healthier life, it’s important to recognize how our emotional state affects our physical one.
Before sharing my story, I want to clarify that I am not a health professional. Unless otherwise cited, the statements and beliefs discussed here are my own. You should always consult your doctor before making changes to your diet and exercise routine.
“SUCH A PRETTY FACE”
I have always struggled with my weight. I don’t remember a time when I was not overweight. I was always the “big girl with the pretty face.” I was athletic and active and had no weight-related health issues, but I was bigger than my friends.
As I look back at my weight fluctuations, I can see how my stress level, occasional depression, and other emotional trauma affected my weight. In turn, my weight dropped when I was busy and happy. By my late thirties, I had developed a sort of apathetic acceptance of my weight. I had achieved so much: I went to college as a single mom, I was raising two wonderful kids on my own, I had a successful career, and I lived in a beautiful home. I was happy most of the time and had supportive and wonderful friends and family. I had a great life, and, well, if being overweight was the worst thing I had to deal with, I had learned to be okay with that.
JOY AND THEN LOSS
In late 2007, I met and fell in love with the man next door (literally, he lived next door). We planned to be married and decided we wanted a child together. A month after we started trying, I got pregnant.
Our son, Ian, was born on July 9, 2009. He was beautiful and healthy, with gorgeous blue eyes and dark hair. We thought we were home-free after making it through a high-risk pregnancy. But when Ian was just eight weeks old, he woke up in the morning with what seemed to be the flu. He threw up a few times and was out of sorts. I spent the day rocking him gently, nursing him while singing songs to him. But by that evening his eyes weren’t focusing, and when I was rubbing his head to try to soothe him, I realized his soft spot was bulging slightly. We took him to urgent care, where he was taken to the hospital by ambulance. Over the next 24 hours, we learned he had an incurable brain tumor. Thirty-six hours after we had arrived at the hospital, we held our precious boy as he took his last breaths.
UNENDING GRIEF
The two years after we lost Ian are mostly a blur. My husband and I both dealt with our grief in different ways. My husband had fallen into and eventually overcame, an addiction to pain pills. I could only be comforted by sleep and food. We went through the motions of life, taking our kids to their activities, going to work, getting through each day. We tried counseling without a lot of success.
During those two years, I gained about sixty pounds. I had borderline Type II Diabetes, high blood pressure, and sleep apnea. I had to start sleeping with a CPAP machine and taking medication for my blood pressure. I was fighting depression and seeing a counselor. I was also taking a drug for my depression that had weight gain as a side effect and inhibited sexual response. So, not only had I become extremely obese, I couldn’t enjoy sex.
I was only 43 years old. I had to fix my life, and as quickly as possible.
I was also starting to recognize how much I had lost in addition to my son: I lost the future I thought I would have and I lost faith and trust in my husband due to his addiction. There were financial losses due to the 2009 recession. On top of that, my once-close extended family no longer felt like a haven. Things that I could have coped with when I wasn’t grieving the loss of my son hit me so hard I had no idea how to move forward.
DECIDING ON SURGERY
After much soul-searching and research, I decided to explore having gastric bypass surgery. My insurance covered the surgery but required months of education on nutrition, diet after surgery, and counseling.
Over the next ten months, I attended weekly meetings that included counseling, nutrition education, and weekly weigh-ins. We were taught about diet after surgery, possible complications, exercise, and how to deal with well-meaning friends and family who might undermine us. Every aspect of what to expect from this surgery was covered in-depth, ensuring that anyone choosing it went into it with their eyes wide open. In addition to the required classes, I continued to go to my counselor to work through my grief and the physical toll it had all taken on me.
Some friends and family members disagreed with my decision and tried to talk me out of it. I knew it was a risk. But, so was remaining so overweight. Diabetes, high blood pressure, and sleep apnea hadn’t caused any permanent damage yet, but it was only a matter of time. I knew that I could struggle and fight to lose weight on my own for the next five or ten years but, during that time, my developing health conditions could have an effect on my health that was irreversible.
As the surgery date approached, I was afraid of so many things: that I would fail to lose weight or that I could die. I was scared of no longer having food as a comfort. After ten months of classes and counseling, that last-minute doubt was almost crippling. But, I was more afraid to continue living with this weight – literal and figurative – holding me down. On August 12, 2012, I had my surgery.
My surgery was without complications with a recovery that while a bit uncomfortable went smoothly. Getting used to eating 2-3 ounces at a time was challenging, but I could do it.
PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL CHANGES
Within a couple of weeks, I already felt lighter both on the scale and in my soul. I was doing something positive for myself, and it felt good after almost three years of darkness. I didn’t want my son’s short life to be the catalyst that ended mine. I don’t pretend to know what happens to our souls when we die. But, if he was watching me, I wanted to make him proud. I kept working and moving forward. By five months out from surgery, I had lost seventy pounds. By one year after surgery, I had lost 105 pounds, and I felt fantastic.
Weight loss surgery and recovery are among the hardest things I have ever done. Anyone who believes that surgery is the “easy” way to lose weight is woefully uninformed. It is a tool – nothing more than that. You still have to do the work.
As my outside began to get healthy, so did my inside. I started running, which is something I have always hated. I tried roller derby. I started snowboarding and riding my Harley again.
I also continued with counseling. I realized that shedding weight was also helping me shed some of my fear. There is much less to fear when the worst thing imaginable has already happened to you. The trite phrases about never knowing when it’s your time to go had become real to me after losing Ian. I began to embrace life in a way I never had before. I laugh more. I cry more. I love more. I started spending more time in nature, finding that the timelessness of the earth kept me grounded. Whenever I feel like life is becoming too much, I feel this need to be outside.
The night before my weight loss surgery, I took a picture of myself. I used to hate to look at that photo. It was embarrassing, and I was ashamed of myself. But now, rather than disgust at how overweight I became, I see a survivor. I look at that person, and I see so much pain. Instead of shame, I now feel grateful. I owe my body for keeping me sane. After Ian died, my body responded to my heartbreak and grief by holding onto everything, physically and emotionally. Eating and sleeping were the only things that gave me a break from the hurt. So my body gave me a way to survive the most shattering thing that had ever happened to me. It protected my broken soul. And it kept working, and it stayed alive, even though I was dying inside.
When I was finally ready to move forward the only way I felt I could, my body responded beautifully. I never had any complications from surgery. I was healthy again – healthier than ever. And I had a new lease on life. As I slowly lost 105 pounds, I released some of the brokenness I held inside. The grief never goes away. But you learn to live with it. I found I have more compassion and empathy for others. I learned to feel joy again. And I learned how to feel peace again.
IT’S NOT A STRAIGHT LINE
The last couple of years have been very stressful both professionally and personally, I am spent. I’ve taken several steps back emotionally, and my body has responded. I slowly gained back about forty-five pounds from my lowest weight. I’m now trying my best to get back to a healthy place. I’ve lost twenty pounds, and I’m trying to figure out a way to, once again, feel at peace with my life and the new stresses I’ve dealt with.
MY ADVICE TO YOU
If you’re feeling anxious or unhappy and thinking about making some changes, I want to encourage you to find what works best for your life, your health history, and your level of willpower. Research, look at your options, get input from people you trust. Most of all, be aware of just how much our emotional life affects our physical. The work isn’t just in losing weight (if that’s your goal). It’s also in healing your soul.
My simple advice to you as you begin (or restart) a journey towards health is to find something every single day to feel good about. It can be a small victory. “I didn’t eat any chocolate today.” Some days it will be a bigger win, like an hour of exercise or a new fitness milestone. Small successes every day add up.
However health looks to you, I wish you a peaceful, happy year.
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