MissKay

Looking at my journey over the past decade-plus, I can see the fallout from my terrible mentality of weight loss at any cost. But, really, at what cost? At the cost of my sanity? At the cost of my self-esteem? At the cost of my health?

People say you have nothing if you don’t have your health, and as I get older, that truth can no longer be ignored.


When I had my roux-n-y gastric bypass surgery in 2005, my goal was to lose weight. Specifically, I wanted to lose 225 pounds.

At just over five feet tall and 343 pounds, I was super morbidly obese. Those are the facts, but what is also true is that my weight has been the bane of my existence for my entire life. Or, at least, since I was about three years old, when I first realized that my weight fell on the less socially “acceptable” end of the spectrum.

So, yes, weight loss was the goal I set for myself, but what I see now is that all I really wanted was to slip into the spectrum of acceptability enjoyed by women who wear single digit jeans. It was about fitting in. It was about not standing out. It was about being “normal.”

At no point was it ever really about being healthy.

In the two years after my surgery, I dedicated my days to working out and eating as little as possible. Ultimately, I lost 201 pounds. It wasn’t the hoped for 225, but I was a size eight - victory, right?

Not exactly. Even at a size eight, I struggled with body acceptance. I still felt like a fish out of water and worse, I couldn’t seem to sync up with the woman in the mirror. I had a new body, but I didn’t feel like “me” anymore.

And worse still, I didn’t feel healthy. Sure, I’d lost 200 pounds. By all the usual measures (and certainly by societal expectations), I was “cured,” but I felt sick. My energy was low, my sleep was all over the place, and I was incredibly frustrated by a diet that seemed barely sustainable for any length of time.

That diet piece was my fault, of course. So determined to lose the weight, I worked hard to hit my daily protein goal, even if that meant I consumed hard boiled eggs three times a day and literally nothing else. For much of the past 11 years since my surgery, I’ve been riding a roller coaster. I’ve lost and gained weight over and over, the pendulum swinging back and forth and my emotions following. I have suffered serious vitamin deficiencies and still struggle to disconnect guilt from the simple act of eating. In this state of mind, it’s been easy for me to sacrifice overall well being for short-term gain, or in my case, loss.

Despite the fact that I didn’t really feel that great, it still took a while to realize why. When weight loss was the goal, I needed only to focus on the aspects of my new life that supported it: protein, calorie counting, and obsessive exercise.

Health has been the missing piece all along.

Focusing on my health has required a total turnabout. It means that I’ve had to reevaluate my goals. I’d lived so much of my life with oversimplified ideals: thin equals good, fat equals bad. The reality is more complex, as it so often is.

Looking at my journey over the past decade-plus, I can see the fallout from my terrible mentality of weight loss at any cost. But, at what cost really? At the cost of my sanity? At the cost of my self-esteem? At the cost of my health?

People say you have nothing if you don’t have your health, and as I get older, that truth can no longer be ignored.

Today, I am 89 pounds heavier than my lowest post-op weight. Typing those words makes the old me cringe… I feel waves of embarrassment, shame, anger, frustration, and the ever useless guilt.

The new part of me, the one I am working to healthfully feed mind, body, and soul, feels hope. I feel hope because I remember the young woman that weighed 138 pounds, and I know that I was less healthy standing on that scale back then than I am today in my double digit jeans. This new woman I see in the mirror still wants to lose weight, but as a byproduct of a healthy life.

Health has become my personal mission. I wasted a lot of time hating myself to obesity and then hating myself thin. My plan now is to love myself healthy. To do all that I do in the pursuit of weight loss and health with kindness to the woman in the mirror, no matter how she looks.

If any of what I’ve written resonates, I hope you too can break free. My wish for you is that as you walk your own path, you keep your eyes trained on your health goals and not simply on the scale.

Your responses confirm how important it is for everyone to have access to the care they need to build a family when they are ready. The good news is that for many people, fertility can be restored with even moderate weight loss. Work with your doc to find the best time for you.

When I was a teenager I was in a relationship with a boyfriend, we were together nearly two years, and I hate to admit idiocy, but we were not as careful with birth control as we should've been. But because of this, it piqued my attention and realization that even though I had a regular cycle back then, that something was off. I never got pregnant, even though there were times where I should have gotten pregnant due to our negligence. I worried even back then that something was causing infertility, and I spoke about it with my mom and sister and they told me not to worry, it'd happen when it was meant to (obviously not as a teenager).
It wasn't until age 19 that I started gaining the weight. I was always between 130 and 150lbs in high school, and for my height was normal, and I felt good. Then when I was 19, the pounds kept coming and wouldn't stop. I had a pretty physical job, so it wasn't like I was lazy. We didn't eat healthy 24/7, but we didn't eat horribly all the time. I never understood it. And then my periods would be few and far between. It worried me and stressed me, and just added to everything. So finally at the age of 21 when it only got worse and I decided to goolge symptoms, I learned about PCOS. I ticked nearly every single box, and was absolutely terrified. Sure enough, I got diagnosed.
It explained the weight gain, and the infertility. At this point I'd been with my current boyfriend for 4 years. While we weren't trying to conceive, we weren't stopping it from happening either. Yet I never got pregnant, and this all explained it. I was told that to see any relief from the symptoms that I'd need to lose the weight, but then on the flip side, to lose weight having balanced hormones is important. I felt stuck and it wasn't fun. I even tried phentermine. I lost about 40lbs on my own, but then got severely sick and wound up gaining it all back once I was taken off the phentermine. Many other diets, regular exercise, etc. And I just couldn't seem to do it.
Fast forward to now. I'm 26 years old, almost 2 weeks post-op, and I can already feel changes in my body. Ones that I'm hoping continue and will help me see positive results with regaining my menstruation, and ovulation, which can hopefully lead to pregnancy down the road. At this point I'd be entirely grateful just for one child. Reading along with this, I just kept nodding, because it all fits together and makes sense. It sucks, but I'm willing to work my butt off (literally) if it means regaining my period and someday having a child of my own.

I'm aware. I have 0 plans on doing so until at least 18 months or 2 years down the line. Right now is about me and my health, I don't want to have to focus on a newborn while still trying to get myself healthy.

I'm aware. I have 0 plans on doing so until at least 18 months or 2 years down the line. Right now is about me and my health, I don't want to have to focus on a newborn while still trying to get myself healthy.

This is one of the main reasons for me getting the VSG surgery. My first pregnancy wasn't easy, and my doc said it was most likely because I was obese. My husband and I would like to have one more child, but I don't want to put an innocent child through another stressful beginning, so I am hoping to get pregnant about 2 years after surgery. Healthy Weight, Healthy Pregnancy, Healthy Baby.
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