My name is Emily. I’m not a medical expert or a professional in weight loss, but I am someone who has lived with obesity and the emotional weight that often comes with it. I’m nearly three months post-op from vertical sleeve gastrectomy (sleeved on 3/12/25), and so far, I’ve lost about 40 pounds since surgery—and 80 pounds total since beginning this journey. I’m sharing my story not to give advice, but to offer perspective. If you’re struggling with your weight, questioning your options, or feeling alone in it all, I hope this helps you feel seen. Asking for help is hard. Admitting there’s a problem is even harder. But I promise—there’s no shame in wanting more for yourself.
I wasn’t always overweight. As a child, I was considered thin. But once I hit high school, the weight started to creep on. I can’t pinpoint a single cause—looking back, it was a combination of factors. I grew up with the mindset that I had to “clean my plate” at every meal. Leaving food felt wrong—wasteful.
When I started working, I wasn’t eating at home regularly anymore. Not that our meals at home were particularly nutritious, but fast food became a convenient fallback. In college, I attempted to lose weight by going vegan and working out six days a week. I was essentially starving myself. Sure, I lost weight—but I crashed, hard. The weight came back, and with it, a sense of failure. Eventually, I gave up trying.
As life moved on, so did the stress, anxiety, and depression—much of it amplified by my weight. I tried diets, over and over again, but nothing worked long-term. I started shrinking myself emotionally and socially. I didn’t want to be noticed. I felt jealous of thinner people—their freedom to wear what they wanted, the confidence they carried. I hated the judgmental stares, real or imagined. Every decision I made—from what I wore to where I sat—was based on how I could be the least visible.
In my 30s, I met my husband. He’s the kindest man I know and has never once made me feel less-than because of my weight. Through him, I also met my mother-in-law. She had struggled with her weight too—but she had undergone VSG (vertical sleeve gastrectomy) and had amazing results. She was glowing—full of energy, riding horses again, shopping for new clothes. I was happy for her, but also deeply envious. At the time, I was buried in personal and family issues and couldn’t imagine taking on something as major as surgery. The thought of it felt like out of reach and insurmountable. I wasn’t ready—mentally or emotionally.
As I approached 40, I had done a lot of internal work. I began feeling mentally stronger and ready to reclaim my life. There was so much I wanted to do. I could go horseback riding, but it wasn’t comfortable. We’d visit theme parks, and I’d skip rides because I knew I wouldn’t fit. Flying filled me with dread—I feared I’d be turned away for being too large. I avoided mirrors. I avoided cameras. I avoided being seen. One of my lowest moments was at Disney World, when I couldn’t fit into a ride. I had to get off, in front of everyone. I was humiliated. I cried, and a cast member tried to comfort me. That moment broke something in me—but also sparked change.
I tried weight loss injections and did see some success. But the results plateaued, and old habits began to return. I didn’t want to backslide. I wanted something lasting. I finally asked my doctor about weight loss surgery. They were supportive and helped me get started on the path.
Today, I’m still on my journey, but I’m moving forward with hope. I haven’t figured everything out yet, and there’s a long road ahead—but for the first time in a long time, I’m excited about what’s possible. I want to ride horses again without discomfort, step onto airplanes without fear, and take photos without shrinking away. This surgery wasn’t a shortcut—it was a commitment to myself. A promise to stop hiding and start living. I chose weight loss surgery not just to lose pounds, but to gain life.
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