Designated Fat Girl (26 page)

I went to my general practitioner and had an open and honest discussion about antidepressants. I told her I was having trouble dealing with stress and anxiety and felt I needed something to help me relieve the symptoms—something that was sanctioned by a doctor and not illegal or destructive. She asked me several questions about what I’d been feeling and what events led to those feelings. At the end of the talk, we agreed on which medication to try at a low dose. More important, she made me promise that I would not stop taking the meds without first talking with her and that I would be honest about how the pills were helping and how, if at all, they seemed to harm me. For the first time, I had a positive talk about using antidepressants, and I felt good about the possibility of taking something that I was now convinced I needed.

It took a couple of months of tweaking, but I definitely see a difference in how I feel each day and how I cope with everyday life. Is it all picnics and roses? No, and it never will be. But it is hopeful, and I haven’t been able to say that in a really, really long time. It feels good.

For years I fought the suggestion of taking antidepressants, and now I feel silly for doing so. Admitting you need help is not admitting failure; it is actually a step toward success. And that’s how I feel about having had gastric bypass surgery. After hearing my story I’m sure anyone would agree, it wasn’t taking the easy way out, not by any stretch of the imagination. But agreeing to the procedure meant I was finally able to say, “You know what? I can’t do this on my own—I need help.” And taking that
step was the bravest thing I could do for myself. I now know that to be true.

Not being under the crushing pressure of addiction is a high all its own. I don’t obsess twenty-four hours a day about what I have eaten or what I will eat. I don’t weigh myself every day; I rarely make it on the scale once a week. I haven’t lost all of the weight I would like to lose, but that’s okay. I know it will happen eventually, and in the meantime, I’m not worried about it. And that is incredibly freeing.

Our society doesn’t take food addiction seriously. People who have never struggled with their weight look at the obese and think, “Why don’t they just stop eating?” If only it were that simple! Trust me, no one chooses to be morbidly obese. I know there are a lot of people out there who sound the battle cry of “Big Is Beautiful.” I’m here to tell them that “Big Is Deadly.” Indeed, I think it is impossible for anyone to be truly happy if he or she is morbidly obese. Just the physical ramifications of carrying around so much weight prevent one from being able to enjoy life fully. Do I think all heavy people are as miserable as I was? Definitely not. Truly, I think so many people handle it way better than I ever did or could have. But if they are trying to fool others into thinking they are happy with being one hundred or more pounds overweight, they are only fooling themselves. And I wish they could live one day in my shoes, to know that it doesn’t have to be that way.

I go to restaurants and don’t worry about being able to fit into the booth. I visit the movie theater and feel comfortable in its seats. I attend preschool functions and am fine sitting in
the tiny chairs. I blend into the crowd, and I feel glorious. And sometimes, every once in a while, I even feel a little pretty.

I’m starting to love exercise again, but it took a long time. After the surgery and complications, I was in no mood to do anything physical. My muscles were so weak, I found simply climbing a flight of stairs exhausting. But slowly that changed. I started with ten minutes on the treadmill every day for a week. Then I increased it to fifteen, then twenty. I’m now up to forty-five minutes daily, and I find that on the days I don’t exercise, I miss it. That feeling is so wonderful, to actually crave working out. One day, I vow to start running, like I’ve always dreamed of doing. This is the first time I’ve really thought it was possible.

Like most gastric bypass patients, excess skin is a problem. I find I have extra folds especially around my bra line, my abdomen, and my thighs. It is unsightly; I’m not going to lie. But am I upset enough to do something about it? The jury is still out on that one. My experiences in the hospital have left deep scars, and I’m not talking about the surgeries. Right now I’m still wary of all things medical; indeed, it took me months to agree to simply go have blood drawn for a physical. I never used to be scared of needles or doctors, but I must say I have some real phobias right now. Hopefully time and a little distance will alleviate those fears, and perhaps one day I’ll look into having reconstructive surgery for my skin. But right now I’m just not there yet. And that’s fine with me.

I don’t remember getting below three hundred pounds; it happened when I was still sick and dealing with complications. I remember being vaguely happy about reaching that milestone, but with everything else that was going on, it was
sort of anticlimactic. But I had months and months to think about getting below two hundred pounds. It was just another number, but I honestly couldn’t wait for it to happen. As it turned out, I had to wait a long, long time. At first I thought I would easily reach it by Christmas of 2008. I fantasized about the family gathering and my showing up in a fabulous outfit, weighing less than two hundred pounds for the first holiday in more than fifteen years. But as December 25 approached, and I hovered around 214, it began to look like it wasn’t going to happen. I had a brief moment of panic … and I started to plan in a frenzy: If I skipped some meals, cut down to low-fat cheese, amped up my exercise, maybe, possibly, I could … wait. I stopped myself cold. The three seconds that I allowed myself to think that way turned me back into a person I never wanted to be again. Unrealistic plans, desperate attempts at fast weight loss. Those days were behind me. They were just numbers on a scale. Whether I was 214 pounds or 198 pounds on Christmas Day, I was going to look fabulous, and feel even better. Nothing else mattered.

I did get below two hundred pounds, in February 2009, and I did mark the occasion … with a little naked dance in my bathroom, alone. And then I went right on my way. They were just numbers, and I didn’t need a scale to tell me how I felt.

My husband and I went out to celebrate our sixteenth wedding anniversary, and for once I had unlimited choices in what to wear. I spent the evening not obsessing over everything on my plate. Instead I enjoyed talking with Michael without the distraction of food or self-loathing. Finally I’m able to appreciate all my many blessings: a wonderful marriage, two great,
healthy kids, and finally, some happiness. I will never, ever take it for granted again.

I look at the many, many people struggling with the same problems I did for years, and I pray for them. I really want to reach out to those folks, to tell them my story and how it doesn’t have to be this way, but alas, that is not allowed. I can’t approach someone I don’t know and have a conversation with him or her about his or her weight; if that had happened to me, I would have died of embarrassment and humiliation on the spot. And I also don’t think that every overweight person out there is a food addict. Indeed for years I struggled with my weight, but I wasn’t addicted to food; it wasn’t until I began using food as a weapon against myself, getting caught in the cycle of binge and regret, that I truly had a problem. Just because someone is heavy doesn’t mean he or she can’t stop being so on his or her own. But I do know that there are many people out there suffering as I did all those years. They try and do the right thing, but they are stuck—unable to break the cycle. My heart aches for them, and I want them to know they are not alone. And they are not worthless. The medical community has to do a better job of helping people with food addiction. And our society needs to recognize that this is a very serious illness, one that can have deadly consequences. It’s only when we truly understand a problem that we can begin to solve it.

I’ve learned to live my life not for the big, earth-shattering events that I have fantasized about all of my life, but instead for the small victories that occur along my daily path. Like the day, seven months after my gastric bypass surgery, I was able to wear my wedding rings again. They hadn’t fit for years, and I’d
longed for the day that I would finally be able to put them back on. Emma, at four-and-a-half-years old, had never seen the rings before; I hadn’t been able to wear the set since way before she was born. “Mommy!” she gasped, grabbing my hand. “You look like a princess!”

I smiled down at her, gazing at my diamonds. And then I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My daughter thought I looked like a princess. And finally, looking at my reflection and actually liking what I saw, I was beginning to feel like one, too.

I would like to thank my husband, Michael, for his unlimited
love and support—of me and, in particular, of this book. Thanks for listening when I asked, pushing when I needed it, and shouldering all the parenting duties when I needed to take the day to write. I’ve thought from the beginning that God Himself planted you in my path, and you’ve proven my theory correct over and over again. I love you.

To Mom: Thanks for being my cheerleader and helping me believe I could do anything I set my mind to. I’ve never met a more selfless person, and I hope I am able to give my children as much love as you have shown me. You are the best.

To my agent, Kathy Green: This book would not have happened without you. Thank you for taking a chance on me and believing that I had something valuable to say. Your support has been a godsend.

To the folks at Globe Pequot Press, especially Kristen Mellitt, and, in particular, Lara Asher: I still don’t know how I got so lucky to have you on this book and in my life. Your contributions have made my story so much better, and your enthusiasm has meant the world to me. I thank you so very much.

To the folks at WRAL-TV and Capitol Broadcasting: Thank you for being such a wonderful work family.

To Deb Happel: Thank you for volunteering your editing services when I first started this book—your input was invaluable.

To Amanda Lamb: Thank you for laying out the blueprint for me, and for all the advice and support that went with it.

To David McCorkle: Thank you for being willing to help me, even when I didn’t know what it was I needed. You helped me find the way.

To Julia Milstead, Melissa Buscher, Mandy Brown, and Jennifer Christiansen: Thanks for being willing to listen when even I was sick of hearing it. Your friendship got me through.

I have the three best sisters-in-law in the world. Thank you to Carol Anne Fry for encouragement and expert photo-taking; Molly Joyner for always being willing to be my sounding board while I try to work things out; and Mandy King, for daring to pose the question that made me take action. It quite simply saved my life.

And to all my family: Thank you for allowing me to share my story and your parts in it. I love you all.

Jennifer Joyner is a journalist with more than sixteen years’
experience covering the news in North and South Carolina. In her career she has worn many hats: television reporter, morning radio show cohost, news director, and featured writer. For the past ten years, home for Jennifer has been WRAL-TV, one of the largest CBS affiliates in the country. For WRAL, she helps gather news for the Raleigh/Durham/Fayetteville markets. She also anchors morning newscasts for two radio stations in Fayetteville, one of which, WZFX-FM, is one of the most dominant urban radio stations in the southeastern United States. Jennifer is also a featured writer for WRAL.com and chronicles her personal journey at jenniferjoyner.com.

Jennifer has been married to her husband, Michael, a news photographer for WRAL-TV, for seventeen years. They have two children—Emma is six, and Eli is five. They make their home in Fayetteville, North Carolina.