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November 20, 2024, I weighed 290 pounds. My Black woman PCP looked me dead in my face and said, “You made it to 40, whether you make it another 40 years are up to you.” I mean, did she really have to say it like that?!
If you’ve been in my village a while, you know my weight fluctuates — shout out to Fit Klub — but my views about my body have never wavered. I’ve always been the type like, if you’ve never seen a roll before, I’ll gladly be the first to show it to you. I’ve always been intrigued by fashion — adorning the body in a way that tells a story. My story? Sophisticated, sexy, and eccentric — and since moving to NYC, a little more edgy. Please don’t put me in a box. My older cousin used to hand me down clothes two sizes too big, and I’d pull out my momma’s sewing machine and make them fit me. My Momma wore clothes — she flexxed in professional and church wear. That’s where I get my love for brooches from, and honestly, my momma’s church hat collection was supreme.
I knew I wasn’t making any changes during the holiday season. I like to do hard things, but let’s not be crazy here. I’ve had lower back pain since high school when the baby midgets on my chest decided to tap in ancestral DNA magic and set up shop. Yes, I tried the insurance route for a reduction, but honestly I didn’t see it through.
Let’s rewind a bit — things got scary. OU/TX Weekend in Texas, I couldn’t stand for more than two minutes without my leg or foot going numb, sometimes with shooting pain down one leg, sometimes both. I had to navigate that whole trip constantly scouting if “I could make the distance” to wherever we were going. I felt like a loser asking to be dropped off at the door, constantly calculating if my body could make it from the entrance to our seats without me breaking into a pain sweat or walking like Frankenstein to brace against the fire radiating through the lower half of my body. It had never been this constant before. I was in uncharted territory — the pain would not let up. What is IT you ask? Sciatica. Now, that bIcTh…
Wwwweeellllll, there was that one time my back had seized up so bad I laid halfway off my couch in a plank for half the day. I didn’t tell anyone about that one. I was carrying a mix of shame and denial. You see, in Western culture — even in our language — we do a lot of ownership. I have [illness]. In other cultures, their language translates to “[illness] is on me” or “[illness] is here with me.” There’s a separation of self and the ailment.
Fast forward a couple of weeks and Thanksgiving rolled around. Friendsgiving was fine… until the walk to the car. I was already in pain during the event and telling myself I needed to sit down to make it to the car. Sometimes if I gave my sciatic nerve a break, it would afford me more walking time. This night, the ratio I made up in my head didn’t matter. As soon as we exited the apartment, I was in pain. I had to make it to the elevator, through the twin building, to the parking lot. Luckily, my friend was parked close to the door, but when we got outside, I casually said, “I’ll wait right here.” My friend’s like, “Girl, I’m right here, you can make it” — I’m sure she thought I was struggling from my kitten heels, but I was struggling because my body was on fire. I didn’t have the courage to disclose my problem. I suffered in silence.
By NYE, I was already turning down invites — not because I didn’t want to be there, but because I couldn’t guarantee I’d be having a good body day. If the event didn’t have enough seating, I was out. Then came another invite: dinner and a table reservation at our neighborhood “Cheers.” My first time hanging with this group of neighborhood women. I was hyped — and anxious. We had a restaurant RSVP, but they were running behind, so we stood outside. I’m in a gold snakeskin bootie, smiling, laughing, praying my body cooperates. I’m lightly, intuitively reading the whole scene (as I do) when my closest friend there says, “Oh, you’re reading to make sure we get our table.” “Yup!” Whew. She had no idea I was running a 100 mph hamster wheel in my head, bargaining with my body to hold on just a little longer. In NYC, there’s no Cheddar’s-style waiting area — you stand. We finally ate, hopped in a cab to our “Cheers,” and I sat down immediately. Then came the pictures. And honey, I know my angles — stomach in, chin down, tongue to the roof of my mouth, head tilt, shift to one hip, smile. But when I saw those photos? I hated every single one. That was my first “I don’t like how I look” moment.
That New Year’s night just confirmed what I already knew — my PCP had dropped the reality check weeks earlier, and I couldn’t pretend otherwise. I was 290 lbs — the highest I had ever been recorded to date. *Turns to side camera*— I don’t live my life that a number on a scale equates health. Believe the BMI chart? Absolutely not, that sh*t ain’t never been made for people that look like me. I’m sharing this number so we have a concrete marker. *Turns back.*
Y’all know I’m a Healer. I go deep, get to the root. Do it right the first time, no matter how long it takes. This time had to be different. It frustrated me that my therapist didn’t understand the problem wasn’t just “letting go of the weight.” My tension was knowing I’m put here to: 1) create avenues of healing and self-exploration and 2) model what it looks like to live outside the box with joy. I take pride in showing stretch marks, cleavage, a short skirt — because how dare you tell me what’s beautiful and desirable.
But if I was going to seriously embark on this journey, I had to figure out my “why.” “Being healthy” wasn’t enough, to live longer wasn’t enough either. IMO, Earth is a ghetto Super Mario Bros video game and every now and then you get to feel a spark of joy by sliding down the flagpole before going into another level. My why? I don’t want to be a burden — to anyone. I don’t want to ask for help — from anyone. I don’t want to be the friend at the all-inclusive resort who can’t go on excursions because I’m not independently mobile. As shallow as that might be, as hYPeR iNdePEndeNt that might sound, that was my why.
I was knee-deep into researching the weight-loss shot (because this time had to be different) and still on the fence about it, so I added the question to my annual tarot reading. The Two of Wands appeared — which basically means, “Do what you do — both paths work.” That was my green light. I wanted to try the shot. As an entrepreneur with meh insurance, I had hoops to jump through. I’m very self-aware, and this wasn’t my first rodeo. I am an emotional eater — food’s been my friend for a long time. Celebrations? Food. Anxiety? Food. Grief? Food. Running a business and not knowing wtf I’m doing? Go have a drink and food. By the time I finally got to the weight-loss clinic and fighting with my insurance for approval, I was so stressed I broke out in shingles. SHINGLES!
The shot gave me hard data about food noise and the lies I’d built into my relationship with eating. No, I don’t need to snack while watching TV — I’m not hungry, I’m bored. No, I don’t have to eat before I drink if I had a big lunch — my body’s still digesting that meal. No, I don’t need something sweet after every meal — I don’t even like sweets, except during PMS. That voice in my head isn’t always hunger — sometimes it’s boredom, grief, or anxiety. It helped me break through the 100% ownership rhetoric, as well. It’s not my fault I’m a product of a single-parent 80s household — Hamburger Helper, Kool-Aid, latchkey kid — and probably developed food noise before adolescence. But it is my responsibility now to do something about it. I needed extra support. I needed the space and tools to literally change my brain chemistry. I needed to detox off certain foods and undo the automatic Seamless $10 chicken wings and fried rice with a Sunkist soda when a client pissed me off behavior. It allowed me to get some early wins under my belt so I could keep making the necessary cellular changes my Soul Suit needed.
My close village saw me through every step of this journey. My Virgo/Libra Cusp friend spoke life into me and said, “I wish you joy on this journey.” I hung on to that joy when the scale barely moved. I hung on to that joy when I lost 5 pounds the first week on the shot, then less than a pound each week after. I hung on to that joy when I decided to stop the shot because my body wasn’t receiving it well and I developed a bad habit of taking a daily ex-lax just to poop. I held on to joy when Physical Therapy started off amazing, but then it flared my shooting leg pain again. I hung on to that joy when I went for my sciatica injection, and even though I’m independent as hell, I wished I’d had a friend at that doctor’s visit. I hang on to that joy when I share my good news and is met with silence.
I’m grateful for the weight coming off. Yes, I got disappointed seeing others lose faster in this extreme weight-loss culture, but I know I am doing more work than just cutting calories. I love being back in heels with no pain. I love that I jiggle my booty around the house because I feel lighter — not because my stomach is flat, but because I kept my promises to myself. I don’t have a set number in mind and I know some of you are still grossly appalled at 260 (psst, your fatphobia is showing). What I do know is I feel good in my body, and I want that to continue. I can’t balloon back to where I was, and this path is not done. Well, I do have one goal — I want to eventually get to a 24-hour fast. I got up to 19 hours one day. I know, right?!
So cheers to 260 — the number that popped up on the scale Friday. Cheers to my village for knowing this isn’t about being skinny, the mission is much bigger than that. Cheers to me listening to my body and giving it what it needs. Cheers to the leopard biker shorts, backless graphic tee, and 5-inch red patent wedges. Cheers to the woman who looked me up and down and said, “She looooksss gooooddd.”
May joy keep finding me on this journey.
And I can’t wait to look my PCP in her eyes and say, “The next 40 years is looking pretty good. Don’t you think?’
Hollywood!! I’m proud of you!!
Thank you so much Roc! I appreciate you.