Have you ever noticed the maximum weight on almost every doctor's scale? In case you didn't know, it's 350 pounds. And I remember a time, in my 20s, when I tipped that scale. I remember it because it was one of the most humiliating experiences I've ever had. But that didn't wake me up when it should have. Instead, it made me crawl back into the overeating hole I was used to. Food for comfort, making me more uncomfortable than ever.
March 2018 was my first appointment towards bariatric surgery. That was my initial 318 pound weigh-in. I had lost and gained and lost and gained many times before. But admitting I needed help was my biggest struggle. After two back surgeries in the past 5 years, my lowest adult weight of 239 crept right back to 318. What I had worked so hard to lose seemed to come back so easily. Isn't that always the way?
The bariatric surgery community always talked about something called "Onederland." It's when you finally see a "1" as the first number on the scale. I can't explain how intangible and out of reach that felt to me at 318 pounds. When was the last time I saw a 1 as the first number on the scale? I have racked my brain and truly can't remember.
As a kid, one of the most terrifying sentences I heard every year from my mom was this one:
"It's time for your yearly physical."
Back to school meant getting a physical. Getting a physical meant getting weighed. Getting weighed meant humiliation and shame for me as a middle school girl. As a kid, doctors don't really know how to address your weight. Parents don't know either. My mom and dad did the best they could do, but unless I wanted to change, there was no changing. And so it went for me for years. College was no better, and as an adult, I found other ways to compensate socially. I was always outgoing, always funny, always the life of the party.
"Onederland" is not just about a number on a scale. It's a victory that I have never thought was meant for me. It's a dream. It's a myth. It's a magical place with leprechauns riding unicorns and jumping over rainbows. But it was never made for me.
Through my surgery preparation between March and July, I went to a lot of support groups and therapy appointments and listened. A lot. And I realized that sometimes, we believe a lie for so long that we start to live up to it. I never thought I would get to Onederland, because I believed the lie that I didn't deserve it.
So here I am, at 204 pounds. Onederland is coming. And when it does, it will be the biggest victory yet. The victory I thought I couldn't grab, the goal I thought I would never reach, the life I thought I could never live. I don't know when it will happen, but that doesn't really matter, because I know it is coming.
What is your Onederland? Whatever it is, you deserve it. We all do.
tears... love you!
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