The First Step Out the Door

It was autumn. I had been trying to lose weight for a couple of months. From my original 350 pounds, I had already dropped a bit, simply by cutting sugar and flour, eating normal portions, and not snacking (unless absolutely needed, and even then, it had to be something healthy).

Since I started trying to lose weight, my son had formed a nightly ritual with me. An annoying ritual. After dinner and maybe an hour passing, he would come and knock on my door, day after day, week after week, and tell me to go for a walk with him. Every night.

And every night, I gave him the same answer. No.

At around 330-ish pounds, I still couldn’t walk across a room without panting, sweating and feeling like everyone in the world would see fat me waddling my way through the world while wondering how I ever got that way.

Yes, I judged them. Imagining them judging me was, I realized too late, me judging them.

I was so embarrassed by how I had completely let myself go. And the thought of walking… with the short breath, and the sweating… oh, the damn sweating – the dripping, face-wet, shirt-stained kind of sweating that made your blushing cheeks feel like they needed to blush a lot more. It was the icing on the cake I could no longer eat.

No cherry on top either.

So I refused.

Every night.

And since he’s my son, he kept asking.

Every night.

And since I’m his mother, I kept refusing.

Until one night.

I was tired already and more exasperated with myself than anything. Honestly, refusing him when I knew he meant well left me embarrassed that I snapped “NO” at him every night, making excuses that were so abundant they could be their own robust set of micro-excuse poems.

In so many ways, I was just ashamed of myself, my behaviour toward his good wishes and my stubborn refusal to even consider going with him. It was so rude.

So on that particular autumn night – October 14, 2022, when he asked again, much to his surprise and mine, I blurted out, “Fine!”

The other thing was that I knew that he was like me. He would not stop. He didn’t just ask: he persisted. And then he brought it up to the level of stubborn on steroids. Persisted. Ha!

I agreed with caveats: It had to be a short walk. If I felt tired, we turned back. If my chest started hurting, he was not to call 911. I was NOT going to be brought into an ambulance for a short walk.

I figured that this was the only way to get him to finally leave me alone and STOP asking me day after day after day to go for a freaking walk.

He agreed.

I unburied my runners, which I had ignored for way too long, and tried to find something to wear that didn’t scream, “Look, I’m overweight and trying to lose weight!” (As if anyone notices that silliness. Why was I so afraid of what anyone would think anyway?)

By the time I got down the stairs, I was already out of breath. Seriously.

And then came the moment.

And that’s the thing. At the moment, it was like a strobe light I could not ignore. I just knew that I knew that I knew that this moment… was a moment.

I just knew.

I stepped through my front door, took that single step, and everything from that moment pivoted for good.

I have always thought of doors and paths as significant, so stepping through that door that day was meaningful in a double way. It was definitely whispering that it was life-changing. Even though I didn’t want to go, even though I didn’t want to move – I did it anyway.

My outlook on myself was changed forever. I knew I would no longer be able to say – “oh I can’t walk; I don’t have the courage, I have not walked in years.”

Stepping through that door erased my ability to lie to myself about excuses. Forever.

I walked with jagged, short breaths and wobbly, clumsy, balance-challenged steps, in full sweat, my head down watching the ground as if it might give way beneath me. But I thought of it as kind of like relearning to walk, as I had not done so in so, so long. I mean, I could walk. I did walk. But only when absolutely necessary.

To the kitchen.

I started that walk the simplest way possible: I took one little step out the door and then another, and another.

True – I was sooooo embarrassed. True, I was not happy. True, I was doing it to appease him, but… I took those first steps, anyway.

As I thought miserable thoughts and was angry with myself and the world, I noticed my son was smiling ear-to-ear, and he had not stopped talking! He was encouraging me, telling me he was proud of me, telling me he knew I could do it. He practically glowed with delight just seeing me try. His joyful face and belief in me – when I had lost all belief in myself – was just the oxygen I needed that day. It kept me going.

While negative-me could only think of how breathless, sweaty, and embarrassed I was, the truth was that I was doing it anyhow.

But I tired very quickly. After only two blocks, I really needed to rest. Thank God there was a bus stop there with a little bench. I sat, panting until my breath and my heart rate calmed, then we walked home.

He was practically skipping beside me. Hmph. Well, at least I made him happy, and to be honest, it showed him something too – that his persistence had paid off.

And despite being exhausted, grumpy with myself, sweaty (maybe smelly too), I smiled at his smile.

It was a quiet smile because I did not want to embarrass him. He would feel awkward if I mentioned his delight or pride in doing something so tenaciously and so very significant. But that smile… I felt it from the soles of my feet up to the top of my head. I love him so much.

I had done it. Two blocks there, ten (or maybe fifteen) minutes sitting at the bus stop, then two blocks back.

I literally had to drag my huge body up the stairs. I sat huffing and puffing on the end of the bed.

And I thought – oh my goodness Easter!!!! You did it!!! You walked two blocks and back again!!!! You did it!

And my smile was so huge that my cheeks hurt! That very moment, I promised myself that this was only my beginning.

And I kept that promise.

Day after day I walked, slowly increasing my distance.

The magic is that it slowly developed into way more than “a walk”. It became more than an exercise routine. I noticed that once I had reached a solid half-hour or so, my thoughts settled in the coolest way. It was not a forced “let’s figure life out” kind of thinking, but rather just a quiet sorting in the back of my head.

Things going on in my life had a way of untangling themselves as I walked. It was like I gave myself a clean slate to allow thoughts to present themselves if they wanted to. It was, and still is, the coolest thing.

I made myself a killer playlist. It is huge now as I still use it. Super high energy, impossible-not-to-boogie-to songs. I kind of think if anyone heard what I listen to, they would raise their brow and think – do you even realize how old you are???? (And yes, I dance-walk. Always.)

I have a hard-set routine of it now. I usually start with a little prayer, then I journal, journal, journal by dictation. Then –  the music. And the world around me disappears as my body walks and boogies, my journal fills with way too many words, and my mind is clear to pop out whatever cool little things come to the surface.

I typically walk about 10 km per day, or sometimes more. What was once an impossible thought is now simply a lesson: whatever I decide I can do, if I put true effort into it and allow myself to have a tiny seed of belief, the way my son believed in me, one small step toward something terrifying can begin a forward momentum that always leads to change. Sometimes huge change, sometimes small. But always forward.

So now, when challenges come, I remember:

Just one step, and the journey begins.

And I smile.

Easter Ellen

~ writing what won’t leave me alone until it is expressed