So, I feel like I've been pretty open about my mental and physical health challenges which has always been hard for me. I mean, I spent two years of my friendship with one of my best friend's labeling them as "[insert other friend's name]'s friend" (aka not my friend) simply because I didn't want to inconvenience her with my existence. Although, now I know that she should be a bit more grateful to have my sheer presence in her life given that I'm clearly such an amazing, incredible, and just all around perfect specimen of a human being.
As selfish as this might sound, I divulge into my feelings on this blog more for my future self to read back and see what I went through as a reminder to keep going. And along the way, I hope that someone going through those same thoughts, feelings, and experiences, can read it with me as well and fight the battles in their lives.
Around a month ago, I gained a lot of weight--like levels I've never reached before. I know I spoke about my weight battles before but just cause I hit publish on the page doesn't mean that those same insecurities and self-criticisms cease to exist. Even though I saw my blood work getting worse and had constant medications changes, it still didn't change the number on the scale or the way I perceived myself.
From the time I was little, I had doctors pinching my fat saying "this has to go" and asking me to get naked and lie down while a group of research students would look on as my doctor conducted full body exams. As a kid, I didn't understand the idea of "medical illness", I just knew I had to swallow these nasty things in the morning and go on with my day. All the doctor visits, the heavy appetites, and the abnormal hair growth never connected in my brain. Witnessing those doctor visits and then growing up in an environment where kids were cruel and their parents were crueler? Not fun. Everyone had a comment on my appearance--"I'm concerned for your child, she eats as much as my husband", "Maybe as a good parent you can limit her food a bit?", "Why did they call you Erica? You should be Eric cause you look like a guy", "What's this fat pig doing at our handball court?", etc.
I truly believed something was wrong about the way I looked, since it was so obvious to everyone around me.
With my closest friend, and ex-roommate, I constantly discussed my weight battles--it was pretty hard to hide the insecurities given that we lived together for over 3 years. She'd go out of her way (and still does) to pay extra attention in pre-med (now med school!) to learn more about my conditions and their causes. She genuinely tried to help me every time I had those mental breakdowns with constant advice on lifestyle changes I could do. I would try for a week, and she would do it with me, but then I'd quit and the cycle would continue.
You might ask "well if you're unhappy and someone is telling you how to fix it, why are you quitting? Just do it". Honestly easier said than done. We all have something that brings us pain and can technically be fixed if we just try, but it's not so black and white cause the thing is...we are all human. We're not cars that need quick tune-ups (even though I do wish to be as loaded as a Bugatti).
Some people can fix the physical issues in their life in hopes to avoid their mental breakdowns. They can get that promotion, go to the gym, and cry in their newly-renovated shower. Some people focus only on the mental to excuse themselves from handling what's hardest physically. And some are on other varying ends of those cycles traveling the spectrum between perfectly healthy and extremely toxic.
We're all just coping and trying to survive.
So yeah, you could say the new weight gain definitely messed with my psyche.
And then I was admitted to the ER for excessive vomiting due to my liver disease.
My "ex-roommate" best friend mentioned the concept of a low-FODMAP diet as well as certain new lifestyle ideas to incorporate, and my "2-year-non-friend" best friend would avidly read my bloodwork results and think about next steps I could take medically.
(I'm not going to say their names right now. Not because I care about their privacy, but because they might enjoy the attention, so I'd like to annoy them by keeping them anonymous).
Shortly after that, I was offered an opportunity to participate in a clinical study for weight management. It sounded almost too good to be true--I'd have a team of doctors and a nutritionist actively working with me for 3 months to create consistent lifestyle changes? Especially right after, I had these conversations with my two best friends? I tried to find every loophole possible:
"Are you sure I qualify given my health conditions?"--"yep"
"Are you absolutely sure? You saw my medication list, right?"--"yep, all good! We'll have someone reach out shortly about the sensor, Fitbit, and bloodwork".
Even on my first day of the study:
"You guys are completely sure I qualify?"--"Yes, just answer some basic demographic questions for us."
They took my weight, my measurements, my diet history, and while I felt the shame I typically do, I consoled myself saying 'it's okay, we're about to do everything differently'.
I met the team, got the bloodwork results, and then it all came down to one basic question:
"Are you currently on any corticosteroids?"--"....yes".
Study over.
Didn't qualify.
Was sent home.
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The car ride back was silent except for my sobbing. I completely broke down. Everything felt numb yet it somehow still all hurt inside. All that excitement and adrenaline and hope that I will be given a medical guide into how to change all of this was gone. Poof. I knew it was too good to be true. It always is. I just wanted to quit, place the stamp on myself and say this is who I am: Eric, the fat pig who gets physically nauseous eating in front of people, because her psyche is messed up.
My friends immediately rushed to help with an idea of creating a new study that they will make themselves, "we have all the same tools right now! The sensor and the Fitbit, it's just going to be us monitoring it this time"... but I just felt too empty inside to deal with that. So, I agreed, smiled, joked in the appropriate places as I allowed myself to drown inside. Getting up in the morning was hard that week honestly. Working was near impossible. The self-hate and self-criticism took over my life, as I contemplated why I was so horrible at following through on anything.
It sounds dramatic even reading it over right now, but the extent to which my weight battle impacts me is immense, and the preparation I did for this study was even greater. I studied meal plans, healthy food-delivery packages, took fool-proof measures for accountability, and even offered to do extra bloodwork since I would be having the medical monitoring/guidance I wanted the most.
Then, it just disappeared.
Luckily, I was able to pull myself out of that episode with the help of my therapist. I started to reflect objectively on why I kept quitting when an idea was offered and why this study felt different. I realized that I quit for two reasons and while I am tempted to say they sound silly, they definitely don't.
Reason 1: I was scared to have hope. If I gave it my all and it didn't work, it would just validate my worst fear--that I'm a lost cause. That I'll have to deal with everything I am dealing with now forever. That there is no potential fix. I'm stuck as a fat sick girl. Or if it does work, I'll forever have that thought in the back of my head that any new people I meet will know the 'new Erica' and would've hated 'the old Erica' because of how fat I looked. So, I'd always have the fear that I could never fall back into the 'old me'.
Reason 2: I love food. I love to cook (obviously) and go out to explore new dishes to try--it really is one of the few passions in my life. It's been a sense of peace and joy for me away from all the thoughts of my physical stress. And it also didn't hurt that it gave me the approval I craved away from my physical appearance--I look like a male? Okay then it better be Massimo Bottura with way I made this homemade fettucine. I am scared of my latest blood work results? Okay, but let's try to make a perfect Chicken and Rice that's 100x better than Halal Guys. Now, knowing that I will have something impede on that peace is messing with me. It's the idea that I'll never again be able to cook something because of how it makes me feel (like, I don't know, a new Korean Fried Chicken recipe or my mom's Chudu--Gorsky empanadas). I'll always be that person who is limited and picky with food.
As for why this study was different? I am now in a place where I have more understanding over my doctor's visits, my medication, and my bloodwork results. I've done the research and can tell you the meaning of checking your TSH, T4, and T3 or the meaning of a high ALT and AST, but I don't know how to apply it in a way that's within my control. I know all this information and now what? Well, lose weight. As someone with a medical condition, I was constantly told conflicting facts. One person would say to eat kale cause it's good for one condition I have, and then another person would say to avoid kale cause it impacts another condition I have. HIIT is great for me but then HIIT is horrible for those with hormone imbalances. I desperately needed a medical guide to help incorporate lifestyle changes given my medical issues and lose the weight in the process.
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Getting out of my funk, I went to visit my "ex-roommate" best friend in Chicago with my "2-year-non-friend" best friend.
We ended up discussing the study more and breaking down my fears and self-judgments (more like one had a bulldozer and the other had an excavator, and I was the tree hugger trying to keep the trauma roots standing). I broke down about all of the things you read above and aired it out for them to see.
Then, I realized something.
The way my friends see me is definitely not the way I thought I was seen as. They don't see the 'ugly fat', they see the pounds of pain and stress on my shoulders from things beyond my control. They see the kind heart, the funny jokes, and the willingness to do anything to be there for them and make their days brighter.
While I made my whole life about weight, I missed the bigger picture--I feel sick every day. I focused on a number and let it define me when...that number doesn't determine everything. Our weight fluctuates constantly, I take meds that make me fluctuate constantly, and the same number on a scale can be achieved by two people who look very physically different from one another. What I learned is that what does determine everything is that I have pain every day and tolerate it like it's just another task marked off my to-do list.
I also learned that I don't have to give up my only passion. I can do something that helps me (possibly) feel better. I can also have that piece of fried chicken as a treat, and I can even have an opportunity to stretch my creative muscles and apply it culinarily.
And honestly...now I'm excited. I'm scared to be, but I am excited.
The idea that two people who know me better than anyone will be creating a personalized plan and guide backed by medical research, clinical experience, psych experience, and Erica research actually gives me confidence to believe that I can possibly do this.
That I could have the H-word that I lost--hope.
My "ex-roommate" best friend even said "we talked about this so many times before, but honestly, I haven't seen you take this as seriously as you do now. Something changed". Well, my back is now against the wall with everything going on, so now I have to rely on the one thing I feared having. Hope. So yeah, hope is what changed. Hope for a new lifestyle rather than a new number on the scale. While the dreaded thought of my weight is looming in the background whispering away, my two best friends are there to remind me of what the focus really is and who I really am.
And then, as my friend would say, I got a little 'boop' from the universe--one of my doctors would like to do full bloodwork in 3 months. Which is the exact length of time we set this study to be for.
It's fate.
So that's why I'm starting this week. We officially had our first meeting to discuss the course of the next 12 weeks. We created a plan, a backup, a support group, and we are ready to start baseline week.
Even though I'll be documenting this as a self-review, I still want to leave a dash of advice for whoever is reading (my future self included): surround yourself with good people who raise you up at your lowest and remember the reasons they love you, the extents they will go for you, and the value they see in you.
It's okay to ask them often to remind you of who you are to them if that is what you need. Because those judgmental thoughts that "seem so obvious" to you aren't the first thing they see. I think they see the fat girl with the pity story, they see the loving and funny friend who isn't happy with herself for some reason.
If these people see you in the way they do--how much more so you should see the same things in yourself.
With their support, take the leap cause while what you're going through might feel safer, it's just familiar. Trust me, I get it, you're literally at your lowest, you can't get any lower, and that other path seems scarier because it might not work out.
But then again, what if it does.
It honestly can't get worse than it is now, right?
So yeah, build a support group that will help hold you accountable, that will remind you that it can work out, and go break through the challenge.
Even though it's hard and you think there's nothing you can do, they will be there to give their hand and pull you out of that water. They will save you from drowning and be there to remind you that you can still have hope.
...
And P.S. if you're struggling right now with that task, I highly recommend reading Standing up to the Bully and reminding yourself of the most important best friend you already have in your corner.
And P.P.S. I'm not crying, I'm just cutting some very angry onions.
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