The Hardest Thing I Ever Did...

This blog posting has been bursting out lately. I had to write it. But then, I had a hard time publishing it. It’s kinda personal, as I usually am, and it’s kinda scary… I’ve been avoiding it.

Talking about the hardest thing you ever did might just make you finally become who you’ve always been meant to be. If the hardest thing is over can I finally fly?

I remember where I was 10 years ago. It was the end of high school. It was the time we all guessed where we would be “in 10 years”. We made predictions about others. Prom that year brought me and some girl friends sitting at dinner, guessing:

“Tommy will be in politics.” I said it so assuredly. Tommy was one of the only people in high school who challenged me intellectually. It helped drive me to compete with him. If he was in politics in 10 years, maybe I’d be too. I couldn’t admit these things then. Maybe I wanted it for him. Maybe for me too. I think often in terms of differing degrees of challenge.

“Where do you think Jean will be?” we asked each other about various friends.

And there I was. I was quiet inside. I couldn’t really tell them where I’d be. Part of me knew it would be so scary to say it, to tell my story. I thought that if I could just keep the ending to that story hidden that when it did all happen, when I did get there, perhaps there would be a sense of accomplishment.

All I really wanted was to be thin.

You see, I grew up a very obese Lauralie.

Amongst a myriad of other things happening in my life, I was always just very FAT.

The fat started around 9 years old, 3rd grade, and continued to be how I was defined for the majority of my life.

Those days sitting around in high school wondering about my future…it was full of hope that one day I’d be thin.

Perhaps this is the thing that only fat people understand.

Life was always easy for me at a young age, before the fat hit. I almost felt guilty for it. All the attention and adoration, the praise, it came natural. I was “adorable.” I was loved. It seemed like it’d always be that way. I was young and curious, but no challenge could keep me occupied for long enough. Academics were simple. Excelling wasn’t hard. And people seemed to love me. It was easy.

As a curious, interested, young girl I wanted an exciting, adventurous story. It may have grown from a fantasy I created, imagining life as it played out in Barbie land. Perhaps this desire for more grew from a spark inside me and the love of a good nighttime story.

Nightly routines included dad taking me and Jenn outside to look at the stars after our bath and before bed. He pointed out constellations. Then we’d get tucked in. Jenn would get her goodnight wishes first. I’d wait with my room door open.

Dad came to tuck me in.

“Dad, will you read me a story?” I asked

“Read you a story, Lauralie, or Tell you a story?” he poised

“What’s the difference?” I pondered at 5yrs old

My dad explained that his made-up stories of rival sisters “Rochelle and Michelle” were “told”. My books containing Mother Goose tales were stories we read.

I learned about stories that night.

“Oh, well I want you to TELL me the Rochelle and Michelle story!” I said. That was, in fact, what I meant all along.

I liked the story of the sisters. I made him tell me over and over. And while time has erased details, the theme was exciting to me, a story I could adopt…

One of the sisters is seemingly invisible. Unnoticed, background filler, she’s lifeless and dull behind the scenes. but, I always knew she wanted more. She sits in the shadows for sometime. She is juxtaposed against her sister. The sister was beautiful, mean and prominent, a figure who dominated by force.

I remember thinking she couldn’t possibly be that pretty cause mean people are ugly.

Then, one day, the lowly sister is granted one wish. Her wish is that she become beautiful. Simply, meaningful, she wanted beauty. After years of being neglected, she is granted this wish. Her wish becomes so very fulfilled. She becomes captivating. People can’t take their eyes off of her. She spoke and people listened. It was more than beauty, it was leadership. It was influence. It was respect. She gained it all. And she didn’t squander it. She made people happy.

The story ends and the 5yr old falls asleep dreaming of the heroic tale.

Perhaps the years that followed were a reflection of those ideas playing out in my life. I wanted that story and I didn’t have it. People loved me when I was that sweet, adorable little thing. But then I noticed something different. There was resentment towards me. I wanted to understand that. Here I was, a kid, who had something special and because it seemed to be rare there was no respect in it, alone. Like the sister, I had to use it for good. I had to be able to offer something better into the world than an easy, pretty, smart existence. Stories kept reiterating this overcoming of trials. I didn’t have that. In retrospect, what was I worried about, I was 5?

I will find a way to hide this beautiful person, I’ll hide my spark, until I’m ready for it. I would stifle just a little of it for a little while so that I can have my grand entrance one day. Because, if nothing else, then I’d be able to have lived more than simply “easy and pretty and smart.”

The fat would be the way to hide the spark and protect it for a while. Plus, it could lend to a transformation complete with hardships.

Easy, the story was written. And I got fat.

Part of me made an effort in letting myself be fat. It’s sorta easy to let yourself be fat.

The fat was self sabotage. A self fulfilling prophesy about how my story had to include a transformation so dramatic that heads would turn. That people would know that I could overcome things that were “hard”.

And then, something horrible happened.

Year after year, the fat that was supposed to protect my spark from the world began stifling it. The thing that was only supposed to be temporary became permanent. The skin I was in left little trace of who I originally set out to become. The fat took over my life. I no longer knew if it was temporary. I lost sight of what was happening. It took over me in ways that changed my identity completely.

What started as a fantastic heroic plan turned out to be my worst nightmare.

It was as if that little girl who possessed vibrancy and imagination turned into one just waiting for the day she could shed the fat suit. Spark totally out of the equation.

Fat kid turned into fat teenager, turned into fat college graduate.

Senior year of college I found myself naked and crying on the bathroom floor of my apartment hating my body and wishing I could puke it out or cut it off.

Was this what I signed up for? The alienation of being fat, the trying harder to prove through it, to never having a boyfriend, to ridicule, to shopping in the plus size stores, to pain, embarrassment…Did I skip all of it for a revelation that would never happen?

6 months after college graduation I weighed in at 233lbs. I was miserable and lost. No where near the enchanting beauty from the stories of old. In fact, this routine of hiding had changed me so much I didn’t know how I’d ever find who I was supposed to become. How would I ever change it? This is all I know.

My story was playing out just as I had predicted. It was ridiculously hard. Harder than I had imagined. Something so hard to overcome I wondered if I should. I wanted to, but what if I couldn’t? What if this is who I am now?

I read books like “the fat girls guide to life.” I tried to find happiness in it. In the end I was trying to convince myself to stay fat. Getting over it, finding my spark again, might be too hard. I beat myself down with doubts that the spark never really existed.

For the years following college I went on a search to find out how to get my spark back. I knew the fat took it away. Maybe it is time for drastic measures. This hoax has gone on long enough, the world needs to see who you are when you aren’t hiding Lauralie. It is time to shed these layers and fly.

Maybe this won’t have to be so hard, I presumed. I convinced myself I couldn’t do it alone. I figured that this hard thing might beat me and I needed help. I had the lapband surgery. And while this surgery was the initial shock, the jolt to myself, it didn’t fix everything.

Right after the surgery I knew I’d tried to cheat the story. I knew I hadn’t gone through all of this for a cop-out. I felt guilty. I felt like I wasn’t one of those people who “did it herself.” I felt like the very ”hardship” I created would be gone so easy that, well, maybe it wasn’t the way I was supposed to face it.

I knew that this was the story I picked – overcome something really hard, accomplish it, do it, be challenged, feel the other side of happy. It had to play it out, even if I almost cheated.

I started losing weight. And there it was, I started to see something. Only the very tip of the iceberg, but it was there. It was the beginning of changing. And I could feel it. I got chills, I had epiphanies. I was living in NYC searching for myself and I started to find it. I didn’t know how to deal with it, but I recognized it immediately. I finally began to see glimpses of my future self in the mirror. I started to see the vision of who I’d like to be, but it was very vague.

I proved that the spark, that thing I thought I had, it was there. I really could be that person. The person who goes from “tip of the iceberg” into to something spectacular. The person who releases her potential.

I went to conquer NYC to prove that it could be done, because if people think that is hard…and I find it easy…perhaps it will prove to me that finding my spark is attainable…

Illogical reasoning that deterred facing up to my challenges completely. Albiet, NYC made me do it in ways the comfort of home would not have.

I went to NYC with nothing and left feeling like I squeezed the spectacular out of it. I had the high paying job. I had the office, the window, the title, the Manhattan apartment…the dog. I worked out. I lost some weight. I proved to myself and others that it wasn’t as scary as everyone thinks.

No one believed me. Instead, they just started to see more of the spark in me that was peaking through brighter than it had ever before.

“Lauralie, people don’t just do that. They don’t just take off and go to New York, let alone succeed. YOU do that” I was told.

Was this my spark they were talking about? The spark my mom always knew was there…this was it, other people helped point out that it was there, all I had to do was release it.

So I brought some of my fat back to Vegas when I came home to finish this thing.

For a few months I found more unconquerable things to put in my way. More hardships to overcome: poverty, loneliness, depression, abandonment, failure, bad decisions. I figured I needed a good 6-8 months to get them all out of the way because it was likely that I’d never really be able to do it again, especially if it’s time to fly. Once I started to release the spark, I could feel it, I was going to need to have felt this other extreme. The abundance straight ahead would need to feel deserved because it will be unbelievable.

So I crammed all the rebellious moments, bad decisions and hardships into my first few months home. I shook off the losses of the fat and started over getting rid of it and the regret that came with it. I detoxed from it.

This year is my 10 year high school reunion. 10 years since I thought ‘I’ll want to be thin at that time.’ It’s not about my reunion. I loved high school. It was wonderful for me. I learned. I really really learned. My spark was on hold, there was no glamor, just work. I became grounded in the depth of life- stuff that is hard, stuff like building relationships, stuff like reading. High School wasn’t mean spirited for me. I used all of it. I just didn’t use all of me. It wasn’t time.

Now, 10 years later, it’s time.

But its taken a different shape than the plans I had for it. My climax isn’t walking into a reunion. Really, it’s just a time frame. My revel is Crowd Siren, a manifestation of who I wanted to be. Crowd Siren is me, spectacular.

This is the story’s climax, at least, in a thematic sense. Inspired by made up fantasies of Rochelle and Michelle, I want to be The Crowd’s Siren. The one who, inspired by those early tales, could speak and have listeners, could joke and have laughter, who could smile and have awe, who could influences positivity and change, who knew it was possible. So, as the story would have it, I even had a birthright to it. The definition of a Lauralie (Lorelei) is that of a siren.

I am finding out now I was always meant to be a crowd’s siren. Wallflower would never suit me. I couldn’t be heard or seen that way. I couldn’t share, teach, engage, react, feel, or inspire that way. That’s who I am, that’s what I’m passionate about.

I could only do it as I’m now doing it: Following my hearts desires, not stuffing it down with food.

That’s really where “thin” comes from. The fat girl who stuffed her spark down was holding back. Being thin releases the anxiety over food and fear and let’s me calmly face the world in confidence.

I am finally living the life I wanted, in the time I wanted to accomplish it, and this intense spark is here. No holds barred anymore.

You know, it gives me chills even now to think that I did it. That I am here. That life makes sense. Internal struggles have dissipated. My head and my heart have aligned in ways I dreamed up in stories of where I wanted to be. I struggled through the sacrifice of not having my full spark. I put in work to make sure today would be as rewarding as it now is. Stifling the spark was a sacrifice. It was a step back to get work done. And now that the work is done it can all come together in a way that makes me proud of the life I’m leading.

And I fucking made it to the other side. I dragged my fat ass through all the horribly unhealthy thoughts, actions, self-talk to make it back to the side of happy.

I can dance and jump and run. I can cross my legs. I can fit in an airplane seat.

I have a neck.

Fat made me work even harder to succeed. Fat makes everything harder. Every.Thing. Fat makes walking hard. Fat makes sleeping hard. Fat makes credibility harder. Fat is a lesson. If you can make it there, you can make it anywhere. For that, I’m humbled. And, as I release my spark I stay grounded that life hasn’t been easy. I’m grateful.

And I worked it out so I could be free of it.

Finally.

I’m free.

A flood of emotions, of saying goodbye has come over me. I look back at that girl, the one who wanted the story. I tell her she was right. It was worth it. It was the shittiest thing I ever had to deal with. I mustered up blood, sweat and, even at this very moment, tears. I also kinda apologize to her. I bet we could have exempted the fat altogether. We could have been here sooner…and then I stop…because it really always.had.to.be.just.like….this.

I can see the vision now. The person in the mirror finally makes sense to me. I’m more Lauralie than I’ve ever been. I weigh less than I ever have. I lost the weight of a small child, over 75lbs. I learned how to eat, how to work very very HARD for something. The fat was merely a physical manifestation of the barriers I’ve created for myself. The cloak of hiding is over. The pounds are fading quickly.

So when I take new pictures like these below, it’s because I finally recognize me, and for so long I couldn’t find me, not even in a mirror. Naked and crying on the bathroom floor because the person in the mirror was not me.

But now I see me, I see the spark, I recognize it. It lies somewhere in my eyes, in my smile. It was always there, it kept me going. I get glimpses now in other parts of me: my shoulders, my back, my neck, my wrists. Things that disappear behind fat.

This is the part of the story where things get good. My life turned into one wonderfully dramatic and intense fairy tale. It’s what I wanted, what I needed. I wrote the story long ago. I wrote it then so I could tell it now. A life fairly full of overcoming really tough hardships.

I have a deep curiosity into life, I had it as a child, I had to go learn as much as I could. I had to understand difficult on my own terms. I sacrificed to get it, I had to. Mostly for the reward waiting at the end, but also for the rewards on the journey.

It was my chosen drama. And for all those who have had to wait for me, I’m sorry. Mom, sisterpoo- you may have always known I had the spark the whole time, but I had to do it my stubborn way. Thanks for loving me through this all these years and for being my biggest cheerleaders.

I had to do it the hard way, there was no other way I could. I had to know what it was like to feel the extremes of emotions, of situations, of pain. How would I ever grow beside others in this journey of life if I couldn’t? How could I let my spark inspire if I hadn’t sought after inspiration, even in creating it.

Because, let’s be honest, that’s who Lauralie is- spark and all. That’s what I wanted. All the initial, young easy, smart and pretty experiences revealed the spark. I loved the attention. I loved being the focus, the spotlight.

But then what? Once the spotlight is on, I had to be capable of creating in others an inspiration and passion for life. It’s all I had, and I needed to be able to be an authority on the subject. I just knew it would take some time to be credible enough and learn enough to do it. My obesity was one big re-con mission.

The fat was a vehicle to allow me to focus on things that aren’t easy,pretty and smart. I read, I involved my life, even as a fat girl, in sitting back and studying the spotlight, how it was utilized, how to bring depth into it. The last thing I wanted was to be “just another pretty face.” It would never have been enough. Perhaps it was a ploy for when the big revel happened, it would shock people…constantly. “Damn, she’s smart and pretty and is a hard fucking worker. That’s gangsta.”

Last year I wrote the fat a public break-up letter. I told it I was done, and thanks for the memories.

Yet, like some horrible relationships, the fat tried to get back together. The fat came with habits, with horrible thoughts, with horrible food. I considered the fat’s proposition:

“There’s an opportunity here to just slide by, Lauralie” the fat promised “It won’t take as much work, it won’t be as scary, there won’t be as many eyes, as much responsibility. You’re good at being fat. You understand it. It’s who you’ve been.”

It was a second chance to go back. I didn’t. That wasn’t part of the story

There’s a part of this story that is coming to fruition now. The final rejection of the fat, the shedding of the layer, the climax. I recognize the story, the way in which I manifested it. I accept what it was: a story, a reason, a pile of excuses maybe.

And, now, with fierce intention I fly off from its transformational lessons.

This is part where we all get to cheer for the good guy, we say farewell to the past.

I usher in the butterfly. I let things be easy, and when they’re not I use the story to remember the hardest thing I ever did. I accept compliments instead of looking for who is making the joke.

I grew up.

The hardest thing I ever did was lose weight, write this story, choose my own drama, let fear and waiting get in the way of living, essentially create and then banish the fat. The hardest thing I ever did was recognize I had a special spark, hide behind it and then let it the fuck out. The hardest thing I ever did was accept my destiny, let myself deserve to fly, and do it now, before there’s no life left to do it.

The story calls for this moment. And I’m ready, to be quite honest. I’ve spent a massive amount of wasted time being scared and eating it away. I spent time being in a room full of people and being the largest person there.

Then, at the end of the misery, I conquered it.

I was always going to.

The next part of the story is where I embrace this new life, I run, I fly, I accomplish. I put a seal of approval on what I now have to offer. It’s worth its weight in gold.

The Universe works in mysterious ways. I receive an invitation perfectly positioned at this time, in this place, for me.

Saturday, April 23rd, 2011 is a 5k run/walk for the cause “Cease to be Obese”. Saturday, April 23rd is my 28th birthday in the year of my 10th year out of high school, during the year of Crowd Siren.

As a physical seal of approval on this climactic story, I’m running in the race. I had to say yes, the universe conspired for it on my behalf. I started a team so affectionately named “The Crowd’s Siren.” In honor of the blog post and what I’ve been able to turn into. I’m making shirts for anyone who runs alongside me. Talk about a climactic reveal…From obese to 5k…a new birth on my birthday.

Some of you may not understand the journey, but it’s ok, just join me at the finish line, which, as we know, is really the starting line: Jump for Joy: Cease to Be Obese 5k

I bought new running shoes so I can fly to the finish. I’ll be there, with the love of my life, Todd, who sparks me daily.

If you can’t fine me, I’ll be the one “Spark”ling.

“A caterpillar, when it is fully grown, secretes a long stream of liquid from its glands, called the spinneret, located below its mouth. The liquid stiffens forming a silk like thread which is used to attach its hind end to a twig or leaf. The caterpillar spins the silky thread around its body to form a covering. This outside layer hardens to form a shell called a chrysalis.

Inside the cocoon the caterpillar changes into a pupa. In a process called histolysis, the caterpillar digests itself from the inside out, causing its body to die. During this partial death, some of the caterpillar’s old tissues are salvaged to form new. This remnant of cells are called the histoblasts and are used to create a new body. Using its digestive juices, the caterpillar turns his old larval body into food which he uses to rebuild its new body.

Once the pupa has fully grown inside the cocoon, and the butterfly is ready to emerge, the insect releases a fluid which softens the shell. The butterfly pushes on the walls of the shell until it breaks open. The process of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly can take anywhere from 10 days to several months.”

Time to fly.