Learning to love myself

I got my official surgery date today—March 19! It’s really happening. I also start my pre-op class on March 4, and from there, things get real. The next step? A strict 14-day pre-op diet to shrink my liver. That means: Protein shakes twice a day – 28 shakes total, which means I need to stock up on two cases since they only come in packs of 12. One Healthy Choice meal for dinner – paired with ½ cup of vegetables . Three different vitamins for after surgery – a multivitamin, calcium citrate, and B-complex to keep me on track. I keep reminding myself: I’m doing this for my health. The sacrifices, the discipline, the cost—it’ll all be worth it in the end.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about my childhood. Losing my sister has brought back so many memories—some good, some bad, all unforgettable. We were some crazy-ass kids, always up to something. We loved picking on people and then taking off running like we were untouchable. And let me tell you, we got creative. We used to take a crib mattress and slide down the stairs on it like it was the best ride ever. When I was a kid, I used to rush home from school just to watch Jem and the Holograms . If you know, you know. One time, Chenelle went into the bathroom and set a fire in the trash can. But guess who got in trouble? Me. My grandmother hit me with the “You’re the oldest, you should have been looking out” speech. The irony still makes me laugh because come on—we were only 11 months apart! How responsible could I have really been? We discovered boys together too. I’ll never forget crying to her when my first crush got a girlfriend. And then there was that summer when we ended up ...

Dear Younger Me, I see you. I see the little girl who had to grow up too fast, who carried burdens far too heavy for her small shoulders. I see the way you tried to hold everything together when it was never your job to. I know you felt invisible, unheard, and unprotected. I wish I could sit beside you and tell you that none of it was your fault. I wish you knew that you were never meant to be the fixer . Your mother’s addiction was not yours to heal, and her choices were never a reflection of your worth. You were just a child who deserved safety, love, and care. I’m sorry you didn’t get that in the way you should have. But hear me when I say—you were always enough. You didn’t need to prove anything to be loved. I wish you knew that forgiveness isn’t about excusing the pain—it’s about setting yourself free . The past will try to keep its grip on you, whispering that you are broken, that you are stuck in the story written for you. But you are not. You have the power to write your ow...

   I’ve been talking about my journey—my struggles with weight, grief, and trying to find my way forward. But what I haven’t shared is how I’ve chosen to move forward. I’ve decided to get gastric bypass surgery. It wasn’t an easy decision. In fact, it was one of the hardest choices I’ve ever made. Surgery isn’t a quick fix. It’s expensive, it’s scary, and it forces you to face yourself in ways you never imagined. But after months of trying to push through on my own, I realized that this is the right step for me. I’ve been in this process for six months now, going through all the evaluations, tests, and requirements. Every step has made it more real. And as much as I try to stay strong, I won’t lie— I’m scared. Am I allowed to say that? Because I am. I’m scared of the surgery itself, of how my body will change, and of the unknown that comes after. I have an amazing supporter in my aunt, and I am so grateful for her. But beyond that, I feel like I’m doing this alone. Chen...

Losing Someone You Love Losing someone you love is a pain that words can never fully capture. The condolences, the people asking if they can do anything for you—but the one thing you need most is the one thing they can’t give you: your loved one back. When Chenelle passed away, it felt like a bad dream. She was only 42 and full of life—she had been that way since we were kids. We always joked about how I was the accident-prone one, always ending up in the hospital, while she seemed kissed by angels. How could we both jump off a swing, but only I break my arm? Or when we were little girls jumping on the bed, I was the one who fell off and cut my head. If that wasn’t luck, I don’t know what was. We had wild imaginations back then. How could she be gone now? I ask myself—why not me? I’m the unhealthy one. As I work through the confusion and pain, I struggle not to turn to food, which has always been my comfort. But you know what? I’m going to get through this. I have to. I will live for h...