What does it take to change?

Cancer is a powerful motivator for change. Sometimes it takes the realization that death is closer than we think to finally wake up and live. There are parts of my life that I chose to ignore. When I look back, I see myself walking around like a zombie, eyes dull and my body moving without much direction. Sometimes I would wake up and realize I wasn't living my life to its fullest. I'd make a meager attempt at change but soon lapsed back into sleepwalking through my days.

Why are our addictions stronger than our will to live? Why did I choose what I knew was unhealthy for me? I "treated" myself to high- quality, but nonetheless sugary rewards. After a long day at work, I often chose to curl up on the couch to watch TV and have some kind of snack. I'd look outside my window and know I should be outside walking, riding my bike, gardening ... anything that got me outside and moving. But I didn't have the gumption to get up and do it.

Often dinner was a last-minute decision based on fatigue and how famished I was that day. The same happened at lunchtime. I would get caught up in my day and by 2 p.m. was desperately hungry. I knew if I didn't eat immediately I'd get a migraine or get dizzy and feel like I might pass out. Even worse my plummeting blood sugar could turn me into a volatile woman with a flashpoint unknown until it erupted. That funny term, "hangry" (hungry+angry) described me perfectly. So I began the never-ending battle of making sure I didn't get to that point. I was a slave to my blood sugar.

I lived like that for years, with periodic rushes to the surface for a breath of fresh air. Coming to the surface meant I'd try a new diet, South Beach, Adkins, meal replacement ... you name it I've done it. At first, it would work and I'd begin to lose weight. But soon, I'd begin to have debilitating migraines, skin rashes and - in some cases - serious medical ramifications for my change in diet. I'd go off the diet in disgust and frustration and give up out of self-preservation. I didn't understand what was happening to me physically, let alone what was going on in my head that got me into this mess in the first place.

Why did I become a compulsive eater? Oh, boy, that's a touchy one! Working on my journaling and writing a memoir has begun to shed some light on that. I grew up in a very strict household where I was seldom allowed to voice an opinion. I did what I was told ... period! Food was one of my sneaky ways to get back at the adults who ruled my life. If I wasn't supposed to eat sugary cereals, I'd steal some from my cousin's house. I can't for the life of me remember why, but I can see myself hoisting myself up on the counter in our kitchen grabbing the Kraft parmesan cheese and pouring it into my mouth. It was my little way to get even.

Later, when I could drive myself around, I went to fast-food places like Wendy's and Jack-in-the-Box. I'd pull in and order something that I knew was against our eating rules and feel victorious. I wasn't overweight in high school, but I was setting up the dynamics for health problems in the future. Then I added beer into the mix. College was tough for me. It was hard academically, but also provided all kinds of learning opportunities through a friend's suicide, my own depression, a serious accident where I could have died, and eventually academic probation. I rallied and got my degree, but college opened the floodgates for weight problems that I'd struggle with for the rest of my life.

I've had years to truly understand what it's like to be fat. Children have asked innocent but hurtful questions about why I'm fat. I have seen the disgust in people's eyes as they look me up and down. I know the embarrassment of not being able to keep up with my friends. I've felt the shame of worrying if I'd fit in a chair or seat at the movies. But that wasn't motivating enough for me.

I needed cancer to truly get well. Either that or it was my time to check out. I don't want to leave yet. I want to meet my future grandchildren and watch our daughter's life unfold. I want to see more of the world and do it without extra pounds slowing me down.

There's no time like now to live. It's all I've got, it's all any of us have. It's never easy to look inside and face what shapes us as adults. For me, opening that door has brought light into the dark corners and a chance to heal what has been hidden. It's scary, exciting and freeing. I recommend it highly.