The story I am about to share with you is not one that I enjoy telling.
It covers many years of sadness that I would rather leave in the past. It is hard for me to speak so openly about my struggles with my weight and the many horrible emotions that came with it. Even now, I can’t help but think I am nuts for willingly sharing it online.
But in my heart, I know that my story can help others who are suffering like I did. I know that it might help someone else feel less alone in their struggles with obesity. And I know that it might give them hope for the future. My story shows that I suffered greatly, but with much hard work, I was able to control my weight and achieve the life I wanted for myself.
If I can do it, then you can, too.
* * *
My challenges with my weight all began when I was around 6 years old. Back then, everyone saw me as a cute chubby girl who they loved to spoil. By the time I was 8 years old, I had become the “fat girl” of my entourage.
In my home country of Lebanon, being fat was viewed as shameful for a woman, as it was believed she would not be able to find any man who would marry her. My father started voicing concerns about my weight around this time, asking my mom to take me to doctors to help me lose weight. He lived abroad, and on every phone call and in every letter, the only thing he asked about was: “Have you started your diet? Are you losing weight?”
Every time, my shame-filled reaction was to EAT MORE.
* * *
My teenage years started, and nothing changed. My mom knew every doctor in town, and I visited them all. Some put me on extremely strict, unrealistic diets that I wasn’t able to maintain. Others told me to exercise. I joined several gyms, but I never lasted long. I hated exercising, and I didn’t have the motivation to continue.
Who wanted to be around a fat teenager? No one, it seemed. My peers bullied me and called me names. When I went to the beach, people asked why I wasn’t too ashamed to be there. And the rejection continued from my father, as well as from potential boyfriends. I was too fat.
Oh, the days and nights that I cried. I wanted to lose weight. I wanted to be loved and accepted by others, but I never could.
I once visited a local doctor who told me all the same things the others had. He wrote up a treatment plan and sent me on my way. But as I was leaving his office, he tapped on my shoulder and told me, “You’re a hopeless case.” I ripped up the papers he had given me in front of the receptionist and told her, “I don’t need a follow-up appointment.”
* * *
I did have a small support system in my mom, brothers and close friends. They wanted me to be healthy, but they never rejected me because I was fat. My mom went through the same thing in her youth, and she didn’t want her daughter to suffer like she had. She did everything she could to help. And yet I was unable to lose weight.
One day I went out to have dinner with my friends, and someone at the restaurant said to me as I was walking in, “Lord! Did you look in the mirror before going out?” I stopped and said “Yes, I did, and I saw YOU.” But this didn’t stop them from ruining my night.
I later told my brother about this incident, and his reply was, “Listen Joelle, men will talk no matter how you look. If we see a skinny or beautiful lady, we are going to say something, and if we see a big or ugly lady, we are going to say something. So don’t listen to them. You need to do whatever it takes to feel better for yourself—not for others.”
This was eye-opening for me. How right he was. I knew teenagers were expected to take care of themselves and look better than I did. I saw how all my teenage friends looked good and had boyfriends. Why couldn’t I?
* * *
In actuality, I did have a boyfriend at that time. We had been together for 6 years. But it ended because he met another girl. I wondered: Was she skinnier than me? Prettier? What was it? Why did he leave me for her? Once again, I felt that same old shame I had known all my life.
My father never changed his line, and no other boys wanted to date me, so I decided to go see a new doctor in town. HE had the solution: bariatric surgery. “Oh, wow,” I thought. “Finally I’ll be skinny. I’ll no longer be ‘the fat girl.’ ”
The surgery went well, the pounds started shedding off, and I was looking good. When I went to the beach, I didn’t hear any nasty comments. Boys started showing interest. And my father finally stopped asking me the same old question.
I was feeling better, happier. I traveled to the US to visit my mom and brother, who had previously moved here, and to everyone’s surprise, my mom didn’t recognize me at first. She couldn’t believe her eyes. “Is that really you, Joelle?” What a joy to see that look on her face.
* * *
A few years later, I packed my bags and moved to the US. I lived with my mother, started working, and life was good. But unfortunately, slowly, I started gaining all my weight back, and then some. Why?
I got married, but we divorced after one year. Dating was hard again, and the old memories from childhood and before my surgery hit me badly. I wasn’t in a good place. I lost all energy and motivation to do any activities, and I just wanted to be left alone.
One day, I found myself looking at some pictures from after my surgery. I couldn’t help but notice how happy I looked. I was living my life exactly how I wanted, doing all the things I had always wanted to do as a kid but never could because of my weight—things like going horseback riding and zip-lining.
Looking at those photos, something finally changed inside of me. I thought, “What am I doing to myself?” I no longer wanted to lose weight simply to avoid the shame of being fat. I now wanted to lose weight to be healthy and enjoy my life.
I decided I had had enough. I was ready to change. I went to see a doctor and asked for a new surgery. I went through the program and had my second bariatric surgery in October 2015.
I was excited, happy, and energetic afterward. The pounds shed off even faster than before. I became a “workout-aholic”. Nothing could stop me. I had complete control of what I ate, I had the strength of will that I never had before, and I maintained the weight loss.
How?
Because this time I did it FOR MYSELF.
This time I knew that surgery was a tool and not a solution.
THIS time I wanted to be healthy.
This time it was only about ME, Joelle.
* * *
