'No!': A Daughter Reacts to Mom's Decision to Have WLS

I hit 300 pounds by the age of 18. Dating back to early childhood, all my efforts to diet had failed, and always left me heavier than I’d been when I started.

In my 20s, I decided to accept my body - fat and all. No more diets. No more wasting time feeling bad about my size. From now on, I was gonna work on loving the body I had. If I remember correctly, about 10 minutes later, my mother broke the news:

“Sweetheart, I’m having weight loss surgery.”

A chorus of ‘No!’ started singing in my head. Every reason why surgery was a bad idea tried to elbow its way to the stage.

“It’s dangerous!”

“It’s expensive!”

“It’s a cop out!”

“It’s society that needs to change, not you!”

“You’re beautiful just as you are!”

“It’s their problem, not yours!”

“NO!”

My mom had gone through periods of consistently eating nourishing foods in nourishing ways, exercising every day, and sleeping well. And as a result, she knew what it felt like to be more comfortable in her own skin, and to move through the world without the burden of 150+-pounds of excess fat.

I, on the other hand, was young, and had always been overweight and out of shape, but I wasn’t gonna let that stop me from believing I knew what was best for my mother. I was an idealistic feminist college student who’d just stumbled upon the solution to suffering: loving myself just exactly as I was.

To my mind, by choosing to have surgery, my mom was being a narrow-minded, self-hating fool.

“Mom, you need to love yourself! Don’t let society tell you how your body should look!”

“I do love myself," she said. "That’s why I’m doing this. I want to be comfortable. I want to be able to do things I’m not comfortable doing at this weight. And I want to be alive and healthy for when you have babies.”

I could hardly believe the depth of her ignorance.

“There’s a support group for post-ops that’s open to the public. Please come with me,” she said.

Fine, I thought. There was bound to be some post-op there who’d almost died, or someone that couldn’t swallow...All I needed was one flesh and blood person to base my argument on, and then my mother would have no choice but to come to her senses.

“I’ll come on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“I want you to listen to everything that gets said in that meeting. I’m not going if you’re gonna ignore the truth.”

“It’s a deal.”

My mom drove us to the meeting in Englewood, NJ. There was a facilitator, and just under 50 people in the room, mostly women in their 40s and 50s. Some had had surgery already, some were scheduled to have it, and some were just thinking about it.

I sat against the wall in silent protest. While waiting for the meeting to start, I invented a life and a personality for the facilitator, compared her to me, and decided I was superior. She started with some house-keepy details and then launched right in.

“Welcome, everyone,” she said. “First we’ll hear check-ins from the post-ops, and then, if there’s still time, we’ll take some questions.”

The post-ops shared personal stories ranging from the straightforward: ‘I had surgery, I lost a lot of weight, I feel better, and here I am,’ to the gripping: ‘I had surgery, had a bunch of post-surgical complications, and here’s what life has looked like since.’

Everyone’s story was a little different, but one thing was universal: these people hadn’t gone under the knife to get hot; they’d undergone surgery because they wanted to live as fully as they could in the time that remained, and for them, that meant being a healthier weight. Dieting had failed them, like it fails most of us, but surgery felt like it might be the answer.

The facilitator called a break. I watched as my mother got up and introduced herself to a post-op who’d shared that losing weight meant getting her blood pressure, cholesterol, and type 2 diabetes under control. The woman was older, she was not meeting any popular standards of beauty, and appeared positively vibrant. I hadn’t realized how down my mom looked until she started to brighten up talking to this woman.

The moderator called us back. People were smiling and whispering, quietly exchanging cards and phone numbers. She thanked everyone for their shares, and opened up the floor, as promised.

“Does anyone have any questions for the post-ops?”

Now was my chance. I raised my hand.

“How many of you wish you hadn’t had surgery?”

Not a single hand went up. Maybe they’re embarrassed, I thought. Surely the ones who’d had complications felt foolish for having had surgery, but maybe peer pressure was keeping them quiet.

I needed to ask a better question, get them to talk about the danger.

“Uh...can I ask one more?” the facilitator nodded.

“What’s the biggest, scariest risk to having surgery?”

There was a tiny pause. My brain fired off all kinds of answers: Vitamin deficiencies! Pain! Death!

“Judgement.”

What?

“Being criticized.”

Wait, what?

“When people think surgery’s the easy way out, or a sign of weakness, or just a stupid idea, and they never stop letting you know." Huh.

According to a roomful of WLS post-ops, having to deal with my criticism might be the biggest, scariest risk my mom would face if she had surgery. Compared to daily, holier-than-thou judgement, even post-surgical complications might seem trite and manageable.

My mom do go ahead with her surgery. In under a year, I watched her regain much of the health and livelihood she’d lost. A little over a year later, I went to the same surgeon.

Ever since I opted to have gastric bypass surgery myself in 2003, I can tell you that the folks at that meeting were right.

I’ve worked my tail off to get well, to get an honest handle on my relationship to food, and to create a body I love. I became a personal trainer, coach, and educator to help others do the same. As a wellness professional, I’ve been judged for having had surgery in much the same way I was judged for being the fattest kid on the playground, except now, it’s often by other fitness “professionals.”

I’ve since apologized to my mother for the grief I tried to give her when she first started exploring surgery as an option. And I’ve thanked her for sparking the greatest lesson I’ve ever learned - the lesson that I’ve dedicated my career to teaching to others:

Self-acceptance and the desire to change are not mutually exclusive propositions - they can co-exist. In my experience, and that of countless clients and students, the only way to make lasting, sustainable, positive change is to begin from a place of love.