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Half the Man I Used to Be is an article that originally appeared in The Suburban Newspaper.
Half the Man I Used to Be
In April 2020, I weighed 460 pounds, could barely walk and was diagnosed with diabetes. That was the moment I decided to change my life. Five years later, I have lost 230 pounds and kept most of it off. My diabetes is in remission, and I can work a physical job. I am literally half the man I used to be, but do not yet feel whole. This journey has been anything but easy.
In a few weeks, I will undergo surgery to remove 30 pounds of hanging skin from my torso. The surgery is risky and though I am terrified something could go wrong I am going to do it. I want to finish what I started.
People often ask how I stayed motivated for five years. The truth is, I did not. Not always. Recovery from addiction, whether food or anything else, is not a straight line. It is about getting back up more times than you fall. There were stretches where I gained 40 pounds back before losing it again.
To help myself stay focused, I made a list of reasons to lose weight, 173 so far. Some were obvious, like fitting through the metro turnstiles. Others were personal, like being healthy enough to sing at my high school reunion. Every time I reached a goal, I added another.
Motivation also came from my son. When he started French immersion, I promised that if he stuck it out, I would stick with my new physical job no matter how painful it was. Some nights I was in too much pain to sleep. But if I quit, he would too. Today, he is fluent in French, and I am still working.
The emotional side of recovery has been harder than the physical. Losing weight forced me to face the pain that led me to overeat in the first place. Therapy helps, but digging up old trauma can trigger relapse. Recovery means facing those demons, not hiding from them. I hate this part.
I see obesity as a kind of slow death. We die a little more each day with every additional pound trying to bury the pain, instead of dying all at once. To battle this, we must shift our thinking from not just avoiding dying today but deciding to live today.
Weight loss does not end all your problems; it just exchanges them for new ones. I no longer take up two seats on the bus, but I face new issues. This includes being uncomfortable from the unwanted attention that comes with looking healthier. The bad attention I got from being obese was better than the triggering attention I get being thinner. Some days, it feels safer to hide behind roles of fat.
Right now, I am exhausted. I work three jobs to support my family. I walk with a cane after injuring my knee. Pain is constant, and the temptation to numb it with food is always there. I remind myself of the reasons to keep going, to live without the burden of extra skin, and to one day sing the national anthem at a Montreal game.
I still read about mental health, go to therapy when I can, and sing for joy. People call me brave, but I do not see it that way. I am just trying to survive each day and focus on the people that rely on me to take care of them. I do not fully acknowledge how far I have come; I lament on not having lost more by now.
There is no single secret to staying motivated. It is a collection of reasons, and constant restarts. Some days I win. Some days I fail. Some nights I suffer, and I wake up and try again.
Maybe one day, I will love myself enough to live fully, not just to avoid dying, but to truly live.
This surgery will not only remove 30 pounds of painful, restrictive skin. It will let me move without pain, work without constant strain, and finally meet the person I fought so hard to become. It is the final step in reclaiming my health. I will be less than half the man I used to be, and perhaps finally feel whole.
If you would like to help me reach that finish line,
please visit my online journal at
www.franktalks.com/obese-recovery.html
or contribute directly at
GoFundMe.com.
You can also send direct donations to frank@franktalks.com via PayPal or e-transfer.
Every contribution helps cover the cost of anesthesia, the reconstructive plastic surgery, medical care, and living expenses during recovery time. More than that, it helps ensure that after five years of fighting, I can finally be free from the weight that once defined me.
In April 2020, I weighed 460 pounds, could barely walk and was diagnosed with diabetes. That was the moment I decided to change my life. Five years later, I have lost 230 pounds and kept most of it off. My diabetes is in remission, and I can work a physical job. I am literally half the man I used to be, but do not yet feel whole. This journey has been anything but easy.
In a few weeks, I will undergo surgery to remove 30 pounds of hanging skin from my torso. The surgery is risky and though I am terrified something could go wrong I am going to do it. I want to finish what I started.
People often ask how I stayed motivated for five years. The truth is, I did not. Not always. Recovery from addiction, whether food or anything else, is not a straight line. It is about getting back up more times than you fall. There were stretches where I gained 40 pounds back before losing it again.
To help myself stay focused, I made a list of reasons to lose weight, 173 so far. Some were obvious, like fitting through the metro turnstiles. Others were personal, like being healthy enough to sing at my high school reunion. Every time I reached a goal, I added another.
Motivation also came from my son. When he started French immersion, I promised that if he stuck it out, I would stick with my new physical job no matter how painful it was. Some nights I was in too much pain to sleep. But if I quit, he would too. Today, he is fluent in French, and I am still working.
The emotional side of recovery has been harder than the physical. Losing weight forced me to face the pain that led me to overeat in the first place. Therapy helps, but digging up old trauma can trigger relapse. Recovery means facing those demons, not hiding from them. I hate this part.
I see obesity as a kind of slow death. We die a little more each day with every additional pound trying to bury the pain, instead of dying all at once. To battle this, we must shift our thinking from not just avoiding dying today but deciding to live today.
Weight loss does not end all your problems; it just exchanges them for new ones. I no longer take up two seats on the bus, but I face new issues. This includes being uncomfortable from the unwanted attention that comes with looking healthier. The bad attention I got from being obese was better than the triggering attention I get being thinner. Some days, it feels safer to hide behind roles of fat.
Right now, I am exhausted. I work three jobs to support my family. I walk with a cane after injuring my knee. Pain is constant, and the temptation to numb it with food is always there. I remind myself of the reasons to keep going, to live without the burden of extra skin, and to one day sing the national anthem at a Montreal game.
I still read about mental health, go to therapy when I can, and sing for joy. People call me brave, but I do not see it that way. I am just trying to survive each day and focus on the people that rely on me to take care of them. I do not fully acknowledge how far I have come; I lament on not having lost more by now.
There is no single secret to staying motivated. It is a collection of reasons, and constant restarts. Some days I win. Some days I fail. Some nights I suffer, and I wake up and try again.
Maybe one day, I will love myself enough to live fully, not just to avoid dying, but to truly live.
This surgery will not only remove 30 pounds of painful, restrictive skin. It will let me move without pain, work without constant strain, and finally meet the person I fought so hard to become. It is the final step in reclaiming my health. I will be less than half the man I used to be, and perhaps finally feel whole.
If you would like to help me reach that finish line,
please visit my online journal at
www.franktalks.com/obese-recovery.html
or contribute directly at
GoFundMe.com.
You can also send direct donations to frank@franktalks.com via PayPal or e-transfer.
Every contribution helps cover the cost of anesthesia, the reconstructive plastic surgery, medical care, and living expenses during recovery time. More than that, it helps ensure that after five years of fighting, I can finally be free from the weight that once defined me.
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