Mirror, Mirror… Who Even Is That?
Growing up and into my early twenties, weight was never really on my radar. My metabolism and I were still on speaking terms back then. But queue the late 20s and into my 30s—along came the slow, sneaky creep of the pounds. After my mom passed away at 54, my dad at 56, and my grandmother not long after, grief came for me wearing an oversized hoodie and carrying snacks. I ate my emotions like it was a competitive sport. Before I knew it, I was 268 lbs.
I tried so hard to lose the weight. I worked out, I hiked, I did CrossFit (you’re welcome, local ER). I joined every diet cult under the sun—Jenny Craig, Weight Watchers, Atkins, Keto, whatever I saw people on Pinterest doing. I’d do well for a bit, then crash-land in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot eating frosted shame in secret. Dairy Queen saw me so often I’m surprised they didn’t name a Blizzard after me. It was a vicious cycle.
The scale was never my friend. I’d catch my reflection in a store window and wince. I didn’t even know the woman looking back.
Then one day, my cousin’s wife Kara invited me to join her on her third charity trek up Mt. Kilimanjaro (yes, really). I jumped at the chance like it was a free ticket out of my rut. My ride-or-die Shannon suited up in hiking boots, and we trained like it was the damn Olympics. I joined a small CrossFit gym and committed. I lost 25 pounds. And then… I summited Kilimanjaro. Me. I did that.
But even on the mountain, people weren’t always kind. Kara and I were often the target of little digs and unkind jokes. Still, we made it. That mountain taught me I could do hard things—even if those hard things sometimes came with altitude sickness and blisters the size of Texas.
When I came home, I decided I needed more than willpower. I got gastric bypass surgery—and it changed everything. I lost over 100 lbs and felt better than I had in years. My knees were grateful. My feet stopped yelling at me every morning. I had energy.
But fast forward a few years. The weight started to creep back on. (Apparently menopause doesn’t come to play—it comes to stay.) Looking back, I also think part of me subconsciously gained weight as a defense mechanism. My ex-husband made my skin crawl, and being heavier felt like a built-in excuse to avoid intimacy. If I didn’t feel desirable, he’d stop trying—and honestly, that was the goal.
And here’s the thing: whether I was 268 or 133, I’ve caught my reflection and thought… Who is that?
The brain is wild, right? It’s like it’s constantly buffering, trying to catch up to what’s real.
I did manage to drop the weight again for a short time. But then… enter a few too many glasses of wine, some emotional eating on autopilot, and boom: 189 lbs came knocking like an old friend with bad intentions.
That’s when I turned to the GLP-1 shot. And… wow. The weight dropped off like it had a plane to catch. I lost over two pounds a week. I set a goal of 155. Hit it. Then 145. Hit that too. Eventually, I tapered off to one shot every 4 weeks and hit a comfortable 140-ish. I was feeling good.
But just recently, I got scary news. A possible cancer diagnosis. I’m going through testing and will have surgery soon. My mom lost weight before finding out she had colon cancer, and she was already so thin that treatment hit her like a freight train. That memory haunts me.
I don’t regret the GLP-1. It helped me reset. It helped my joints, my energy, my self-confidence. I walk differently now. I stand a little taller. But I do wish I had listened to my gut when things felt off and not just blamed it on shot bloating or midlife chaos.
So now, I don’t want to lose any more weight—but I can’t seem to stop. I haven’t taken a shot in six weeks and the pounds are still falling off. I’m down to 133 lbs—the smallest I’ve been since, what, age 19?
And here’s the thing: whether I was 268 or 133, I’ve caught my reflection and thought… Who is that?
The brain is wild, right? It’s like it’s constantly buffering, trying to catch up to what’s real.
So this is me now—smaller, stronger, a little scared, but paying close attention. No matter what the test results say, no matter what the scale says, I’m still trying to find the version of myself in the mirror that feels like me. And when I finally meet her, I hope she smiles back.
