I just left my bariatric doctor’s office and y’all… I need a minute.

The first thing she did was turn the monitor toward me. She said she was proud to do this, then dramatically (okay, maybe not dramatically, but it felt dramatic) deleted the words “morbidly obese”… then “obese”… and typed in “NORMAL.”

NORMAL. Whattheeverlovinfk!! NORMAL WEIGHT!!! 

I stared at that screen like it was lying. I almost asked her to refresh it just to be sure. Then she said,

“You are at your goal weight.”

I haven’t heard those words in over a decade. I wasn’t sure they were still in circulation.

People always ask what the secret is. There isn’t one. No magic tea. No unicorn fairy dust. Well, maybe that 🙂

On April 12, 2025 — the day before my mom’s birthday — I made a serious decision to change my eating. I am NOT on a diet. I can eat what I want. I just finally decided to want different things.

I gave up fast food, cake, cookies, candy, chips, bread (RIP to my toxic relationship with bread), popcorn… you get the idea. And yes, I eat rice and noodles — just not like I’m carb-loading for a marathon I’m not running. I eat crackers, but not Cheez-its or Goldfish because I know myself. I don’t negotiate with tiny orange snacks.

Here’s the real part.

I’m a recovering addict. No mood-altering anything since 12.13.14. Food, for me, is a drug. It’s comfort. It’s avoidance. It’s “I don’t want to feel this.” I can’t have just ONE line or ONE shot… and I can’t have ONE Snickers or ONE French Fry. “One is too many and a thousand never enough.” That doesn’t just apply to substances for me — it applies to food too.

When I was rolled in for weight loss surgery on March 25, 2010, my highest weight was 352 lbs. My lowest weight — for about five minutes — was 137 lbs. During 4 heavy years of using and drinking from LA to Spokane, I replaced drugs with food when I got clean.

I slowly crept back up to 278 and fought like hell to go back down. It felt like no matter what I tried, I failed. Weight loss surgery is a tool, not a crutch — and somewhere along the way, I forgot how to use the tool. I was clean but I hated myself for losing control with food, again. I could barely move without pain. 

My mom died in January 2025, and I ate my grief until April 12. 

By this time, I was 248 and done. I put my 14-year-old kitty down in May — and for the first time, I didn’t eat those feelings. I’ve lost other very special people this past year too, and I didn’t eat through those either.

That’s wild for me. More like unheard of.

Do I still have feelings I haven’t dealt with? Absolutely. I’m not “fixed.” I’m a work in progress. But instead of eating my emotions, I’ve been photographing them. My camera is my therapist. Photography is my therapy. It turns out you can process pain without fries on the side.

Today I weighed in at 177 lbs — with clothes on (which absolutely count, thank you very much). My BMI is normal. Normal. I’m proud of myself in a way that feels steady, not loud.

Next up? Meeting with my nutritionist to build menus that help me maintain this healthy weight and actually enjoy my life.

If you’ve read this far, thank you for being part of this new chapter.

Turns out, “normal” feels pretty extraordinary. We are still referring to weight, because if you know me, you know I’m anything but normal!