Tag: Weight Loss Journey

The Easy Way Out? Au Contraire…

Since making my decision to have bariatric surgery, I’ve joined a lot of groups centered around information and support to gather ideas and set myself up for success. Some have been absolute hits and others total misses. WLS specific groups tend to be the “sweet spot” in terms of what I’m looking for, but I also made sure to peruse other, more “traditional” groups. I was hoping to expand my horizons and see what knowledge I could gain from people taking the non-WLS route. It has been… interesting.

First and foremost, let me address the elephant in the room. The United States of America in 2025 is a weird, angry, place. In the spirit of honesty, it has never been as great as our propagandists would like the world to believe. Cruelty, morality policing, and snap judgement have been the status quo for my entire 46 years on the planet, but the past 20 years have been a study in social decline, at least in my opinion. I often say the birth of social media was the death knell of social grace (ironic, I know, considering this blog is social media in, and of, itself) and I stand by that statement. Keyboard warriors walk among us on a daily basis, comfortable behind their aliases and more than willing to step in and tell us how wrong we are with a well-placed meme or a statement beginning with, “Actually…” In my experience, however, one of the worst places to exist in these United States is in a body that is not “the ideal” in the eyes of the Patriarchal Media Machine (what I shall now dub, the PMM).

I have lived in the PMM since 1981, when my height and weight as a three-year old started to exceed the limits of normality as prescribed by that lovely invention of the 1830s, the Body Mass Index. From that moment forward, it was all diets, all monitoring, and all unhealthy relationships with food, all the time. Everyone from my pediatrician to my grandmother to Weight Watchers had advice on how to make my undesirable, just-out-of-toddlerhood body acceptable, even though that body functioned normally. I played, I slept, I ate, I talked, I ran, I jumped, I laughed like any other kid, but *gasp,* I was chubby. The worst thing a human woman could be. Synonymous with ugly. Entirely intolerable. And why? Because somewhere along the way, after society ceased to be matriarchal and threw on the harnesses of the patriarchy, Christianity, and lawfulness, it was decided that the ideal female shape wasn’t healthy, it was slender, yet curvaceous, not too tall, but not too short, long-haired, ample-breasted, and you know… white. And voila, the Myth of Desirable Womanhood was born. Since that time, mainstream media has been pedaling diets, shapewear, exercise routines, skin care and make up routines, and advice on how to be appealing to a romantic partner on magazine racks, on television, and internet ads at a staggering rate. So much so, the average American woman starts worrying about perceptions of her body at the tender age of eleven.

Which leads me to the actual point of this blog.

In my quest to be a well-rounded, well-informed candidate for bariatric surgery, I did a lot of research and prep, which I indicated above. One startling discovery I made, which ultimately led to me becoming very discerning about groups I joined, is the overwhelming need to shame those seeking a surgical or medication-based solution to their health issues. Body shaming and policing are very real things that happen in our world, especially when it comes to women. I cannot tell you how many times I have been subjected to criticism of my body from both people I knew in every day life and perfect strangers. I’ll never forget the little, old lady I helped in a Home Depot parking lot with a forty-pound bag of mulch who thanked me by saying “That was very kind, and you’re welcome for me helping you get some exercise, looks like you need it.” That aside, the traditional weight loss groups you can find online take the proverbial cake when it comes to shaming and policing often hidden under the guises of helpfulness or concern.

A little over a year ago, I joined an online group I won’t name here because, quite honestly, I don’t think criticism of their practices would do anything other than fuel their robust hate fire. It was led by a group of moderators who claimed their mission was to create a safe space for people whose goal was the improvement of health through commitment to weight loss and fitness. Sounds great, right? The sharing of ideas, recipes, and work out routines to work towards a common objective with people who can empathize is a blessing. Sadly, that’s not what this was. It became apparent less than a week into my membership in the group that those seeking surgical remediation or GLP 1 use for their weight problems were targets and the proselytizing in comments, posts, and private messages was  immediate. Weight loss surgery was taboo. The easy way out. Cheating. Not a long-term solution. Those of us seeking that solution were weak and needed to be educated about our folly. Which sounded a lot like this:

“Hard-work in the gym is the only way!”

“You just have to cut all the carbs out of your diet and you’ll see how fast you lose weight!”

“Calorie counting and pescatarianism is key.”

“Drink two gallons of water a day and you won’t even miss food!”

“Walk. Just walk for at least two hours a day and you’ll lose a dress size in a month!”

“You shouldn’t be taking GLP 1s! You’re stealing medicine from people who really need it.”

When these suggestions didn’t work, we moved on to this:

“Go ahead, have gastric bypass. All your hair will fall out and you’ll need dentures by sixty.”

“Sure,  you’ll lose a lot of weight fast, but you’ll look like a melted candle. Slow and steady– the right way–, is the best way!”

“You’re just going to gain everything back as soon as you get tired of following the rules.”

“I personally know three people who died from complications of bariatric surgery.”

“That’s a terrible decision. You’ll never keep the weight off if you cheat and surgically alter your guts.”

“Lets hope you don’t need a whole string of surgeries afterwards. That happens, you know.”

Safe space, my ass.

But sadly, this isn’t the only place where bariatric surgery/weight loss/GLP 1 use discrimination takes place. It also exists in places where you’d think it would be least likely to lurk. And that’s in the realm of body positivity and acceptance groups. Now, I know there are some folks out there saying… “Hang on a second…doesn’t that, you know, defeat the purpose?” Not so many moons ago, I’d have said you were correct. BUT. And this is a very large but. Times have changed. For myself, I am an advocate that all bodies are acceptable, normal, worthy, and beautiful with no exceptions. From the very thin to the super fat and everything in between and beyond, I subscribe to the principle that people fundamentally deserve happiness and human rights, however, there are those who would argue that generalized way of thinking weakens support of specific groups. Furthermore, introducing the idea of a “radical” solution like bariatric surgery demeans fat people and underlines the stigma that fatness = unhealthiness. Which is precisely what I ran into on more than one body pos centered forum.

Don’t get me wrong, I can appreciate where these folks come from on a foundational level. And they make many excellent points about the way fat people are treated in America. I’ve spent many a sentence on my experiences as fat kid, teenager, and young adult. I understand the very real feelings of despair that come from being stereotyped based on your physical attributes. But fat-hate and fat-shame are not my reasons for making the decision to have weight loss surgery. Even if they were, and again, they were not, that’s absolutely no one’s business but mine. Yet–I found myself in conversations where I was being scolded or called a fatphobe for my decision to put my overall health and happiness, first. Sadly, these aren’t the kind of people who respond well when you say things like “I don’t hate my fatness, I’m miserable because I can no longer do the things I want to do.” Or “believe it or not, I’ve actually learned to love the way I look, but I can’t walk from the parking lot into Camden Yards anymore because I’m too heavy.” Or even, “my elderly mother needs care, and I can barely make it up her front steps without being in terrible pain, let alone give her a shower and carry her laundry up two steep flights of stairs.” Somehow, in their estimations, my desire to eliminate body weight in order to live my life the way I’d like is somehow ill-intentioned, phobic, and, well, unkind. For a second, it felt like a lose/lose scenario. Until a pretty profound reminder came my way in the form if an Instagram post, of all things.

It was a video of the tide rolling in on a beach somewhere. Crystal clear water. Crispy foam. Calming. Beautiful. You could smell the salt and sun tan lotion. And above it were eleven words, in a bold white script.

“The only opinion that should matter to you is your own.”

There it was.

I’ve said it to myself a hundred thousand times. Through hard moments, both personal and professional. I’m the person living in this body. Not FitMomofFour1977 or FatPhobiaWarrior123 (made-up names, by the way.) Just me. And I WANT to be able to walk into the baseball game from the parking lot. I want to board an airplane without knowing the people around me are praying I’m not next to them on our transatlantic flight. I want to fit on rides at an amusement park. I want to be able to swim in the ocean without fear that a wave would knock me down and I couldn’t get back up! I want to do my mother’s laundry and carry it up two flights of stairs without feeling like I’m about to pass from this mortal realm. And for the love of God, I’d be really excited to sit on patio furniture without having to do the physics involved in calculating my likelihood of breaking it. Do I agree that it would be a much friendlier and generally more awesome world if I could do the physical size related things I just mentioned in my current body? YES! YES I DO. I WANT that for people. And I think we should really work on that. No buts. The world should work on it.

Until we do find a solution, which I am committed to regardless of the size of my body, I’m going to do my very best to live in a way that creates joy for myself and the people I choose to walk with in this life. And you cannot CHEAT in the pursuit of that because the basis of joy is truth. Read that again.

There’s no easy way out, friends. We’re all in this together and treating people’s journeys with a little more compassion and a LOT more “mind ya business” is a very good start.

Love you.

A New Hope

Well, howdy, pals!

Just a short disclaimer… I’ll be talking about some surgical stuff and my bariatric journey. If that’s not for you, no harm, no foul, but this post may not be for you!

It has been a hot second, I know. Lots has happened since my last entry and I’ve held back on writing about it simply because it has taken some time to process, check I’m still whole (physically AND mentally), and get over the post-surgical tiredness hump. But I made it! I did it! It has been twenty-two days since I’ve eaten solid food, and while most people’s initial reaction to that information is something like “ugh,” “oof,” “omg,” or even, “wow,” I assure you, it’s not as bad as it seems. My Roux-en-Y gastric bypass happened on Tuesday, April 1st and went off without a single hitch. In fact, it was kind of amazing, but that’s merely what occurs when your surgical team is top notch!*

*A shout-out to Dr. You, the OR team, and the PACU nursing staff who took care of me on that day. When I tell you my experience was a rockstar treatment, that’s no exaggeration! I was cared for, considered, checked on, and encouraged from the moment I walked into the surgical pavilion until the moment I got wheeled out on Wednesday morning. I knew I was in the right place when I danced my ass into the OR and was immediately told by the team they were a pirate crew on Tuesdays. I fit right in with the vibe, was asleep before I knew it, woke up with moderate pain around 9:30pm, got a nice narc nap, and then was up and walking laps of the PACU by 2am. I cannot say enough good stuff about that group of people and will continue to sing their praises. Healthcare workers have a tough job, and to see it done with joy is a pretty heart-filling experience.

I’ve taken the days since my surgery one at a time. It is literally a full-time job to function as a human after your organs have been surgically altered so they work the way they should. My new stomach is roughly the size of a chicken’s egg and my food now bypasses the part of my intestines that seemingly never operated normally. I can take in about four ounces of food at a time. And yes, I do realize that seems outrageously tiny, but it needs to be in order to put my body into the state of deficit it requires to shed my excess weight and give my comorbid health conditions the old heave-ho. This also means I am sipping water and eating small meals the whole day- although never at the same time, because there’s just not enough room for all of that. I also take six different supplements each day that I will need to take for the rest of my life to ensure I’m getting the vitamins and minerals required. It’s a lot, but I’m finding it easier as the days become weeks.

In a very good chat with my bariatric psychologist, she likened what I’ve gone through to a patient who has had to learn to do something from scratch, much in the way physical or speech therapy helps people regain those skills. My body has been out of touch with itself for decades and I’ve given myself the opportunity to begin again, which is hopeful, but also daunting. In the past year, and most especially the last month , I can finally say I have learned to tell the difference between real, honest hunger and head hunger/food noise. The first four days of the liquid diet were hell. I actually cried real tears over the following things: Cap’n Crunch, Oriole Park at Camden Yards hot dogs, Twizzlers, Sunkist Orange soda, land a Crunchwrap Supreme. There was a point where I actually considered ordering Door Dash, chewing the food, and spitting it out. And that, folks? That’s food noise. My very own form of addiction at its foundation. I have come to realize that those foods aren’t some evil villains. And plenty of people can eat them normally and in moderation. But for me? Food was an obsession. A singular thing I looked forward to, used to self-soothe, to reward, to celebrate. It was my first priority, my main relationship. I don’t want that to be true ever again.

As a young person growing up in the ‘80s and ‘90s, life was HARD. In the era where plus-sized representation was Minnie Driver in Circle of Friends (dress size – 14) and Renee Zellweger in Bridget Jones’ Diary (dress size – 10/12) I was off the charts of what was considered “acceptably chubby”. And the shame and sorrow I felt were carried into my young adulthood where I found myself lying about my eating habits, about my feelings, my desirability to romantic partners, and, in turn, making myself as small and undetectable as I possibly could within reason. All that did was make me miserable, which led to binging and starving, hiding food, hiding feelings, hiding who I really was because of the fear of being told, again and again, that I was too fat, too tall, too wide, too much. My once robust self-esteem got whittled into a shadow of its former self and subsequently, so did my joy. By the time I hurt my back in the mid-2000s,  it was a downward spiral that would lead to over one hundred pounds of weight gain, a compressed lumbar spine, a destroyed sciatic nerve, and the loss of countless things I enjoyed – acting, sports, travelling, walking on surfaces like sand and grass, etc. Before I knew it, I was forty-five, walking with a cane, and didn’t know who I was when I looked in the mirror – which honestly had much less to do with vanity than one might think. Bear with me, here…

I have always been FAT. Since early childhood, when kids in my class would grow an inch and gain three pounds, I’d grow two inches and gain eight pounds. I was always the slowest runner, winded before other kids, not as flexible. Here’s another confession for you – I have never, not once, in my entire life, between able to cross my legs at the knee. By the time it was a thing I even thought about, my thighs were too big. But I refused to let it stop me because, candidly, no one really understood why it was happening. I ate the same way other kids did. I played soccer and softball and danced and ran track and played a mean drum set and walked up and down the same staircases of the same schools as everyone else my age. The weight just stuck. And for a long time – and I mean a VERY long time – I believed it was something shameful. A short coming that was my own fault. A punishment for something I must’ve done. That I would always be fat, plain, ugly Erin Riley, and I deserved it. I deserved that no one would ever want to be my boyfriend or that I’d never play a romantic lead in a play because, well, just LOOK at me.

Today. In 2025. I look back at that young woman and I want to hug her. I want to sit her down and tell her she’s more beautiful than she realizes. That one day, she’ll find clothes that fit her and learn to wear make-up on her own terms. That she WILL play romantic leads. That she is worthy and deserved to feel so much more confident than she was allowed in the oppressive, small-minded world where she grew into an adult. Somewhere around my 33rd birthday – believe it or not – I figured it out. It was the first time someone told me I was beautiful and I not only trusted them to tell me the truth, I trusted myself to accept it. Something clicked. Something integral and powerful changed in me and I began to own myself regardless of what the world thought of my outer shell. I made decisions based on what I wanted, rather than what I thought would make other people tolerate my existence best. And while that was more than ten years ago, it’s what has forged the path to this moment. You see, the decision to have surgery has absolutely nothing to do with my desire to be perceived as traditionally beautiful or socially acceptable. It has everything to do with realizing I want to live the second half of my life on my own terms.

I have spent way too much time shoved into a box painstakingly crafted by the patriarchy, societal pressures, outdated ideals, and my own inability to push the feelings of self-loathing away. Forty-six years of my life have been filled with anxiety, sadness, pain, fear, and a burning blanket of self-doubt I wrapped around myself until it almost ended me.

I chose to have surgery so I can give myself a chance to live a happier, more present, more intentional life. One free of shame and full of feral, unchecked happiness.

That is the one and only goal.