Un-Stuck Yourself

For as long as I can remember, my weight has been an issue. An issue for myself, an issue for others, and an issue based on societal messaging and expectations. And to be honest, it was an issue for my future since I was headed down a dangerous path.  

I was a heavy child, an overweight teenager, and a morbidly obese young adult. Growing up, my mom had her own struggles with her weight, so she took the path of avoidance for herself and my sister and I. Because of this, it wasn’t something we actively discussed. 

However, it wasn’t something I could avoid in public. Kids can be cruel, so I had my own experience with childhood bullies and the occasional nicknames (Typhoon because it was a spelling word and Kevin Stewart turned around and said, “Amy is a big Typhoon.” It’s really stupid. And Kevin was stupid - respectfully.) that are silly to think of now but wrecked me in elementary school. 

Despite the avoidance mixed with the occasional atomic bomb sent to attack my already waning self-confidence, I didn’t really think about my weight a lot. It was like the elephant in the room (this would be a great pun or a good place to put a self aggrandizing joke). I knew and everyone else knew that I needed help, but nothing was done about it.  

It wasn’t until a trip to Six Flags at almost 18 years old when my consistent poor health decisions slapped me in the face. And trust me, the experience stung as much as a firm, open-handed slap to my tender cheek. 

A new ride called, “The Raging Bull,” had just been added to Six Flags’ round up of terrifyingly, exhilarating rollercoasters. I was with a group of friends from my church youth group. 

After an oppressively hot, hour and a half wait in line, we were finally next to get on this ride. I walked toward the front car and sat back in the seat that felt really snug. My expansive hips and thighs refused to meld to the oppressively snug plastic seat. 

My heart rate soared as I waited for the attendant to come lower the front part that would hopefully secure me in the seat. Internally, I was praying to almighty God that my body would magically drop 30 pounds so I could ride without the personal travesty I knew was about to unfold. 

When the attendant finally came to me, he pushed the front lever towards me, but there was no click to indicate it had fastened. In fact, the contraption bounced back towards its initial resting place with such rebellion, I was convinced that this entire ride and every passenger in sight was against me. 

With little concern or compassion, the attendant looked at me in disgust and said, “Sorry. You don’t fit. You will have to get off the ride right now.” His voice
carried, and to me, it sounded like he was announcing it to the whole room. 

Mortified is an understatement. That walk of shame off the ride was what teen angst movies are made of.

It didn’t matter what anyone said to me afterwards or how unbothered my friends tried to appear, I was changed after that moment. It was as if I saw my future if I continued down this path. If I didn’t change, my life was going to be limited and I would have to continue to lie to myself just to make me feel okay with a version of myself that I knew wasn’t okay. 

That epiphany was enough for me. I knew that I didn’t want to live the rest of my life like this. So, a year later, I went to my first Weight Watchers meeting. But life didn’t immediately become better after my decision to change. In fact, that’s when the work actually began.
 
When I stepped on the scale at my first meeting, I saw the digital results right in front of me. . . 333.1 pounds! I was morbidly obese! With no visible reaction, I quickly stepped down and made my way to a folding chair in the other corner of the room. 333.1 pounds! 

All of the motivation I had before walking in the door completely vanished. The scale might as well have said 1,000 pounds. In my mind, the work and responsibility that came with this task was too much to undertake. It was overwhelming. It felt like I had already been through a lifetime of abuse (mostly from myself) and that it would probably be easier not to face this. 

I had two choices in that moment. I could let my current reality and the work I felt was ahead of me scare me away and keep me stagnate, or I could just un-stuck myself by starting right where I was. And I did.

You see, one of the reasons I think we stay distant from our emotions is because it can feel similar to stepping on the scale for the first time. Some of us don’t touch our emotions because we are afraid that everything may fall apart and then we have to face the fact that we aren’t really happy. But that’s the same energy that’s kept you stuck.

Sure, there will be fear and doubt. These are the opening acts for any hero’s journey. You have questions that you can’t answer right now. But the one question that has a clear and simple answer is, Where do I start? “Right where you are. Right now!”