Gratitude

When I hit "publish" on my last blog post, I took a big gulp. It was scary to tell the truth like that, especially in such a public way. I knew, though, that I was in a unique position to describe the obesity struggle, and that it was important for me to tell the truth. More critical though, at least in the short term, was that I needed to get that anger and sadness out. In the equation that weighs the fear I have of exposure versus the fear I have of keeping all of this in and not getting the help and support that I need, the latter won out.

And support is what I have gotten, in ways I could not even imagine. Your prayers, blog comments, emails, instant messages, texts, facebook notes, phone calls, and even a lunch date today have overwhelmed me. I have been brought to tears, I have laughed, and I have felt connected to innate human goodness in a way that I have not in a long time.

Some friends shared how hard their own struggle with obesity has been, and how my experience was not unique---they, too, have turned to the medical establishment, hat in hand, asking for help, and have not gotten the answers they were seeking. Others let me know about similar struggles---with eating disorders, chronic illnesses, and addictions. I was humbled as I read about their struggles, knowing that even though my own personal disease is easy to spot, I cannot forget that all around me, people have their own battles. Others let me know that it is this sort of struggle to end suffering---the kind of suffering that all of us must bear in some form or another but that manifests in different ways for each individual---that is what makes us uniquely human, and uniquely able to empathize and love each other. Friends that know of and share my faith reminded me that God is with me in my suffering, and that there is a plan and purpose for my life.

There were also those who told me what it feels like to be a family member or friend of someone struggling with obesity. While I know that I can't conquer this disease for anyone else but myself, knowing what the effects of an obese parent or an obese spouse or an obese friend can be only convicts me to stay in the fight longer, and to do whatever it takes to get my hope back. I was so grateful for their candor.

Then there were the strokes. I certainly hope that my post did not read as a solicitation for compliments, but I am not going to lie---it felt great to know that others recognize good character and talents in me. You are right, friends---I'm pretty hard on myself to begin with, and when my "encroaching fat thoughts" kick in, it can be even harder to see the good. No, I wasn't asking for those kind words, but I will save them and wrap myself up in them and write them out in my journal when I need a lift.

Finally, there was tactical help offered. Names of doctors. Ideas for residential treatment possibilities. Articles and books shared. Offers of phone and email support. This list goes on and on.

In my research on behavior change, one crucial factor for success comes up again and again---group support. This is the genius behind a program like Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), where addicts are able to provide each other with wisdom, guidance, accountability, and emotional support. Relapse, a part of any addictive disease, is more likely to be nipped in the bud with people around to catch the fall. As I said in my last post, I usually feel lonely in my disease, lonely with food addiction. That wasn't true today, though. I felt that support coming in ways I never imagined, and it is giving me the courage to look for more.

As my friend, Carrie, so eloquently stated in her comment to my post, "why is it when I've sent [a loved one] off to the doctor to talk about his weight problem, he gets the, 'well, eat less, exercise more' and a shrug? If he was a heroin addict, the doctor wouldn't have dismissed him with a 'well, take less drugs' shrug." I have thought about that a lot, and talked it over with a friend today at our lunch date. If I were a drug addict, and I turned a doctor and said, "I think I have a life-threatening drug addiction, and I am powerless to it," if he or she was worth the physician's fee, I would get a "you've made the first of twelve steps" message, and could leave the office with a variety of resources available to me (inpatient, outpatient, and clinical) to begin my journey to recovery. For goodness sake, loved ones stage interventions every day to help addicted individuals face this first step, and get to the professional help they need to be well.

Yesterday, I got angry and sad because, by all accounts, I had this conversation with my doctor, and the response I got was not what I needed. In fact, what I got was a piling on---a sense that, not only was I powerless to this disease, but that the medical establishment is, too.

What I didn't know then, but do know now, is that the response from the doctor would be far outweighed in importance to the incredibly kind and supportive response I received from loved ones, friends, and even casual readers of this blog. I say, with profound gratitude, that the gift I received from this experience far outweighs my frustration, and has helped me regroup and start looking for bariatric specialists (not surgeons, but specialists), holistic medicine programs, and any other resource I can get my hands on to pull myself out of this place. Better yet, I was reminded that I have a group of people surrounding me that know I need to climb out, and are willing to help me hold the rope ladder.

I have often joked, when asked what my ideal job would be, that I would make a great professional cocktail party guest, should that career open up. I like to meet and mingle, to bring groups of people together, and to tell funny stories that (hopefully) put people at ease. My humor is generally self-depricating, something that I think may be common among heavy people, and coupled with my bubbly personality (first described as such on elementary-school report cards), I think that I can make people feel good about themselves.

I'm proud of being that person, but it comes at a cost, too. If I am the entertainment---the smiling support, the funny friend, the lady that makes you feel great about yourself---what happens when I don't feel happy? When I tell the truth, and let people know how really terrible it feels inside this body, especially when I can't stop feeling hungry and can't do the things I know I need to do to heal myself?

What a relief to know that I can tell the truth. I'll still be a great cocktail guest, I promise---I like that lady, a lot---but don't be surprised if more updates on my fledgling recovery make their way to this blog. Telling the truth, even the terrible truth, feels much more satisfying than telling a good story.

Many thanks.