Past the Magic Line: Reclaiming My Story

My 80-pound transformation and what I’ve learned about worth, change, and standing strong in the arena of life.

As I stood brushing my teeth getting ready for bed, she found the empty glass Pepsi bottle by the kitchen sink. She burst into the bathroom.

“Another soda before bed!?!?! Before you know it, you’ll weigh 150 pounds and there is no coming back from that!”

I quietly finished brushing my teeth and went to bed, too scared to tell her that as a sixth grader, I was already well past 150 pounds.

The magical line between okay and not okay had been set that day. Under 150 pounds, and you were acceptable. Above that, you were not. What did that mean, exactly? I wasn’t sure at that age. I’ve since filled in the blanks and assumed it meant that over 150, I wasn’t beautiful, athletic, disciplined, or healthy. I wasn’t “enough” enough.

Just a few days ago, for the first time in over 30 years, the scale blinked to life and showed 149. I had crossed that magical line in the sand to the other side of 150.

Though years of therapy and healing have led me to a place where I can love, respect, and care for my body, there is still that sixth grader inside me who lit up when she saw that number. You could argue with me that there isn’t a huge cosmic joke or karmic lesson here—but I won’t believe you. This happened on the very day I was to have our once-a-year dinner together.

After we exchanged hellos, she said:
“You got skinny. How could that have happened?”

Some things don’t change. Thankfully, I do.

I simply laughed and engaged others at the table in conversation, letting the past go. Not long ago, that comment would have turned my guts inside out, turned my face bright red with shame and embarrassment, and caused days—if not weeks—of extreme exercise and intermittent fasting to try to ‘fix’ myself.

She isn’t the first to dismiss the 80-pound weight loss and transformation I’ve achieved in the last year. I shared my story with a fellow yogi last week, assuming they would be genuinely interested in my journey.

I explained that I lost the first half on my own, and it was exceptionally difficult. Then my company offered a program for free that provides you with a dietician and doctor visit once a month, along with various classes and access to GLP-1 medications. That’s the help I received to lose the rest of the weight.

I paired that with therapy, journaling, and a lot of inner work to ensure I wasn’t taking a magic pill but rather working hard to change from the inside out—developing a healthy relationship with food, drink, exercise, and my body. I lost three times more weight than the average results on the program.

As soon as the word “GLP-1” escaped my mouth, she said:
“Oh, yeah. Never mind.”

And I was dismissed.

Somehow, my accomplishments meant nothing if medication was involved. Diligently following guidance from a doctor, dietician, and therapist; journaling, walking, weight lifting, meditating, and progressing beautifully in my yoga practice—all counted for nothing if I also accepted the assistance of medication?

I had no idea such bias existed toward those taking the medication. I asked others about their experiences, and they said the same thing: their stories of success are often dismissed as invalid when they share that they are on a GLP-1 medication.

I was surprised by my fellow yogi’s reaction—but not upset by it, just curious. Why this reaction, and why am I not upset right now?

I would have been filled with shame and disappointment a year ago if someone dismissed me like that. Why not now?

I dug deeper into my thoughts and realized the advice of Brené Brown had meaningfully changed the way I filter the opinions of others. Her philosophy, in a nutshell, says that unless the critic is in the arena with you—also covered in blood, sweat, and tears, being vulnerable right there with you—then their opinion simply isn’t one she values. They don’t get to sit on the sidelines from the safety of their bleacher seat and hurl insults. So unless you’ve walked my path and have valuable insights to share and truly know what this journey is like, your opinion won’t hold weight with me.

Your accomplishments mean something. You mean something. You are “enough” enough just as you are, no matter which side of some magic line you exist on.

Find people who will jump out there into the arena with you—fight the good fight, learn, grow, and be vulnerable too. Those are the people whose loving feedback you might choose to listen to.

The others—the ones who sit safely in their seats and judge, with nothing in the game to lose—tune those people out.

Stop for a moment and consider your own magic line in the sand. We all have them—perhaps many of them.

If I just made a certain amount of money, I’d be successful.
If I just got this GPA, I’d be considered smart.
If I just had this job title, everyone would take me seriously.

Where is your line? Who put it there?

Do you really want to accept that line into your belief system?

What if you swept those lines away—and followed your heart to a meaningful life that you define yourself?