...and so It begins

 

This isn’t a post for likes, hearts, sympathy, empathy, or prayers.

It’s not meant to be complicated — just the beginning of my journey.

I'm sharing pieces of myself that are deeply personal because I need to. It’s the only way this story will make sense.

My Story: The Honest Beginning

In my adult life, I’ve always struggled with weight. I’m not diving into all the backstory — some of that still hurts too much to share. That part will come when I feel stronger.

But here's what I will say:

I’ve always been active. I was that every day gym-goer. Hungover on a Saturday morning? I was still at the gym sweating out the beer, telling myself I’d never do that again. When I got pregnant with Sarah, I still hit the gym — light exercise until about five months in, then I walked daily. After she was born, I was back in my regular clothes within weeks. My stomach just needed some work.

Then, when Sarah was about 3 or 4, I started experiencing what I thought were blood sugar issues. There wasn’t much information online back then. I saw doctors, had tests done, and they said it wasn’t my blood sugar. One day, I drove (very dangerously) to Bellevue and had my sugar tested — it was in the 50s. The doctor said, “If you feel low, just eat a piece of candy.”

So I did.

A lot.

Because I always felt low.

(If you know anything about blood sugar, you know this was terrible advice.)

Twenty, thirty, forty pounds later — I figured that out. I was still doing some exercise, but with two kids, a full-time job, and always being exhausted, it got harder and harder.

I remember sitting at the ballfield, watching other moms eating McDonald’s or snacking in their cars, and I used to think, “Why don’t they just walk around while they wait?” I swore I’d never be that mom.

Another 10 pounds later…

I understood. Fully.

I’ve been to every weight loss doctor in town. Uppers do not work for me. I know — shocking. One day I had two Monsters and a Red Bull at work and still managed to take a nap at lunch. My brain just doesn’t respond to stimulants like that, and I don’t know why.

Doctors would raise the dosage, raise their eyebrows, and doubt me. I could tell they didn’t believe I was sticking to the plan — that I was eating what I wanted, when I wanted. But that wasn’t true. I gave every diet 6 months. The most I ever lost was 12 pounds. I even gained 12 on Atkins.

No weight loss doctor could ever explain why my body wasn’t responding.

I refused surgery. I refused the shot.

That might work for some — but it’s not for me.

It’s not a road I’m willing to take.

So I gave up.

Over the years, I’d occasionally try again. Eat healthy. Work out. Maybe lose a few pounds. Then stop.

Eventually, I stopped trying at all.

I eat my feelings.

I always have an appetite.

Happy? I eat.

Sad? I eat.

Stressed, bored, angry, overwhelmed? I eat.

I have no self-control.

A Turning Point

Fast forward to March.

I tried to refill my antidepressant/anxiety meds — and the doctor wouldn’t return my calls. I was off the medication for 21 days. And strangely… I didn’t feel any different.

That’s when I decided to taper myself off completely.

I’d originally started the meds when I got divorced. Then came the storm: the little black cloud of life that rained on my emotions, menopause, and then the death of my father. I just stayed on them.

Once off, I felt okay — mostly. I do have clinical depression, but it usually shows up as a short bout of melancholy that passes in a day or two.

Anxiety, though… that came back with a vengeance.

I wasn’t having panic attacks, exactly. I didn’t know how to explain it. I didn’t even know what it was. My nerves were on fire. I couldn’t describe it to anyone. Then I typed my symptoms into AI (yep, here we are), and it said:

“Brain zaps.”

YES. That was it — exactly. Slight jolts in my head. Not dangerous. Not lasting. Just… jarring.

When I told my daughter, she said, “Yeah… I could’ve told you that.”

She explained that my body was going through withdrawal. That it could take months, even longer, for my brain to rewire after 20 years on medication.

She gave me a list of supplements to help. Told me to sleep, drink lemon water in the morning, get sunlight, and stay hydrated.

And you know what? It helped.

A lot.

(I should mention my doctor never gave me that advice — she just said, “Give it time.”)

Moving Again — Inside and Out

At the same time, I was dealing with horrible knee pain — a solid 9 out of 10. I was this close to throwing up from it.

So now we have:

physical pain

emotional stress

anxiety

brain zaps

Fun times, right?

I started researching anti-inflammatory diets. Gluten-free. Whole food. Just better choices. I bought some books. Started meal prepping.

Breakfast and lunch used to be my worst — always grabbing something quick, processed, or sugary. Now?

I prep. I plan.

I make time.

I started setting myself up for success: prepping fruits, veggies, protein balls, even bars I can grab on my way out. I use the Yuka food app at the store to scan everything — even beauty products. Just an hour or two on the weekend, and my week is set.

I’m proud of me.

I skipped the sweets at work and at the store.

I’m down 6 pounds in 2 weeks — maybe more (I can’t remember my exact starting weight).

I’ll take it.

I’ve started doing PT exercises for my knee at home. I’m not ready for the gym yet. Baby steps.

Mental health. Physical health. One step at a time.

It’s actually been easier than I expected.

A fitness instructor once told me, “You feel what you eat.”

And it’s true.

If I eat food that upsets my stomach, spikes my sugar, or gives me indigestion, of course I’ll feel like crap. What we put in our bodies matters.

Just Breathe

I have a tattoo on my forearm that says BREATHE.

Someone once asked if I had asthma. (LOL.)

I said no — I just forget to breathe sometimes.

I’ve been doing breathing exercises on my Fitbit for the last few weeks, and honestly? It’s helped.

Now, when I feel anxious, I stop.

I take deep breaths.

Big ones.

And in a minute, I’m okay again.

What’s Next

I’m going to find a new doctor.

A new path.

There has to be something better.

And here’s the good part:

I’m starting to feel good.

About myself.

About my choices.

About my body.

I’m sleeping better.

The brain zaps are fading.

My knee pain is down to a 2–3.

I have more energy.

I don’t need naps at lunch or after work.

And I’m even tackling my clutter (perge pile, anyone?).

My low blood sugar episodes are fewer.

This is my journey — and I’m going to keep going.

I know I’ll fall.

But I also know I’ll get back up.

Many of you will root for me.

Encourage me.

Lift me up when I fall (because I will).

But I’m not doing this for Jack.

I’m not doing this for Sarah.

I’m doing this for me.

Because I’m worth the effort.

I am worth the effort.

To be continued… next week.

Maybe it’ll be shorter.

Maybe not.

But if you want to stay for the ride — hop on.

xoxo,

Robin