I began having problems with weight as a young child and became sensitive to the condition in the fifth grade when I realized that, except for things like scarves and hats,...

I couldn’t share clothes with my friends. Most of my friends considered shopping to be a favorite pastime, but I hated shopping trips and could never find anything that I liked, which was my self-protective way of avoiding the fact that only specialty stores carried sizes that would fit my enormous body.

I loved making people laugh and was always in the role of jokester or class clown. People were attracted to my good humor and sense of fun. They would never make unkind or hurtful comments about my weight issues. My high school experience was especially positive because Heritage High had only recently opened its doors. Ours was a friendly learning community. I was involved in a number of school activities, such as membership in the student Broadcast News Club.

My circle of friends protected me from the bullying and cruelty that overweight people are commonly subjected to. Nevertheless, anyone plagued by obesity is sensitive to comments about weight, even when people are not intending to be unkind. For example, someone made the comment that a red sweatshirt I was wearing that day made me look like the Kool-Aid man. The image was vivid and unflattering.

MY LIFE AS A LARGE PERSON

Being fat was not fun. For example, my weight constrained my ability to participate in Phys Ed classes. I would avoid discussions about dieting or healthy eating; I felt fine with how I looked and couldn’t understand why anybody would suggest a change. I now realize that I was subconsciously ashamed of my body and in denial that I had any problem. When I look back at pictures taken of me during those years, I can recall how deliberately ignorant I remained concerning my huge and unhealthy appearance.

I have no reasonable explanation for my problem with weight. I was the only overweight person in my family, so I couldn’t blame it on my genes. For whatever reason, I never learned to stop eating when I was full and to avoid heavy snacking between mealtimes. My overeating seemed reinforced during times when I felt bored and lonely. Food became a comfort. Macaroni & Cheese was a guilty pleasure. Even though my mom wouldn’t permit chips and sodas in the house, I found ways to gorge myself on those things. By the time I graduated high school, my weight had soared to 266 pounds.

My mother sympathized with my struggles because it turned out that she had also struggled with weight as a child, though as an adult she always looked (and still looks) trim and beautiful. Fortunately, Mom never used nagging, criticizing, or shaming to force me into losing weight. She wouldn’t say anything until the subject of food came up. Then she merely made suggestions about healthy eating, and would give me gentle advice about food choices. In spite of her kindly behaviors and attitudes, I knew that Mom worried about my health, which caused me to feel guilty. However, I was unable to make the life-style changes that would enable me to lose weight.

I would sometimes pray that God would help me lose weight. Finally, in desperation I told Him that I would pay any price to get my weight down to normal. “Be careful what you pray for,” they say; “Because you might not like the answer.” I guess that happened to me because it turned out that “paying the price” turned out to be the most difficult thing I ever did in my life.

The great motivation that led me to change was my health rather than weight. Following graduation, I began getting chest pains. At first, they were neither frequent nor severe, but they steadily grew worse until I became certain that my heart was failing. My distraught condition ended up driving me into the arms of God. My sense of desperation forced me to begin reading the Bible and calling out to God to preserve me from death.

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