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Everyone has a story filled with joyous moments; nail biting cliff-hangers and heart crushing tragedies. It’s the life experiences that bond people and inspire change. Recently, I was asked to tell my story and describe how weight has played a major role in my life. Many emotions well up inside me. Am I ready to reveal my life? Does my story really matter? Will it make a difference? What a scary place it is to be completely bare.

A voice screams within the chambers of my heart – This is your chance to stop being a victim of circumstances and become one who overcomes. Will the real Erica Charisse Jackson please rise and be counted?

On December 10th of 1975, I was born in Los Angeles, California to Willie and Pamela Jackson. My parents had two daughters seven years apart. As the youngest my childhood experiences were quite different from my sister’s.

Through the eyes of this child – I remember my first years were full of joy, love and security. As a child I was quick on my feet and running to experience everything around me. My Mom’s baby brother – Uncle Rodney was so taken by my moves that he nicknamed me “Tinkerbell.” When I think about that I can’t help but smile as I cherish my Uncle’s effort to give me identity. Even though I was born during a turbulent time of my parent’s marriage, I felt loved.

It wasn’t until the age of 5 that I noticed a difference in how I was treated by my Mom versus my Dad. Hugs, kisses, playtimes and I love U’s from my Mom. I draw a blank memory of any special time as a child with my Dad. What I do remember is seeing my sister talk and hangout with our Dad. Not getting much attention from my Dad changed my views of myself. Why won’t Dad spend time with me? Am I not good enough? I took my Dad’s behavior as personally my fault – I must be doing something wrong and therefore I don’t deserve his time. I went from confidently believing the world was mine for the taking to being insecure and consumed with what others thought of me. Why this leap – well not knowing how I made my Dad feel left me up to my own imagination which is always dangerous.

Later that year things continued to drastically change. My Mom decided to divorce my Dad after 13 years of marriage. She moved the family from our own house to live with her parents. The move was difficult for me. No more Dad; home or neighborhood playmates. I felt divorced from my Dad and the only life I knew. It was a major change – new neighborhood – new school – new living arrangements. Not being able to connect with my Dad as a child created a defining experience that I carried all through life. The belief that I am not worthy or important enough or matter became the underlining reason for my behavior.

My Mom chose to work the night shift at the Post Office so she could be more present in our lives and not absent. Being in my Grandparents home offered her more support in raising my sister and me. My Grandpa worked full-time while my retired Grandma became a stay-at-home wife. Grandma would get both me and my sister ready for school by preparing our meals and outfits.

My Grandparents raised 4 children – 1 girl and 3 boys. So when we moved in with them it turned their world upside down. Grandma who thought she was done preparing meals and cleaning after kids found herself back to mothering. Meals were full of fried foods layered in seasoning and always ended with a desert usually drenched in sugar. Any nutrients found in fresh vegetables were killed by salt or by being burnt. For those days when Grandma didn’t want to cook there was fast food to the rescue. Don’t get me wrong I love my Grandma dearly, but it was clearly evident cooking was not something she wanted to continue doing.

One day at my new elementary school a boy teased me and I started crying. When I got home, I tried to get some understanding from my Grandma as I expressed my hurt feelings. What I heard in so many words from my Grandma was “Suck it up – your feelings don’t matter.” That experience crushed my spirit and reinforced my feelings of rejection and abandonment. Grandma was not the nurturing type, but in times of physical need would be there for you. I knew that I could not discuss my feelings with Grandma. Mom wasn’t as available anymore since she had to work to pay the bills and care for us. My sister was doing her own thing and having her own challenges. The truth is I didn’t feel like I had past good experiences in acknowledging my feelings. So a belief was sown in my mind & heart - addressed emotions / feelings only bring heartache.

From age 6 I began to look at food as a friend and comforter instead of just for nourishment. The pain I felt from people would never be an issue with food. After all it’s a constant friend that won’t judge or discourage me, so I thought. By the 6th grade I was wearing women’s size 10-12. I became more introverted and obsessed with what people said and thought. Distracting my mind with food and television became my favorite pass time to avoid dealing with my feelings.

As the years progressed my weight drastically increased to women’s size 14-16 in junior high school. Going to school was a daily torture experience as students and even so called friends dehumanized me with name calling, stares and gossip. I tried to get good grades and be nice to students in hopes that friendships would develop. I even went as far as to try and buy kids affection thru gifts or just allowing them to take advantage of my kindness by never disagreeing or standing up for myself. All of this only brought temporary / shallow friendships and constant heartache which further proved my lack of worth. I would come home and cry in my room on a daily basis. My hatred for school only made me become more of a loner.

It didn’t help that I was being ridiculed further by some of my family. My Grandmother would send me to the store to buy an excessive amount of candy bars (like 10) and many other kinds of sweets, all with the stipulation that I would get 1 for my efforts. It was so humiliating to get in line and have the cashier or customer behind me give looks of disgust. Some were even bold enough to tell me I shouldn’t be buying all those sweets because I am already extremely overweight. I would try to explain these sweets are not for me, but they all had a look of disbelief. I am still stigmatized to this day.

Family gatherings weren’t a favorite of mine, since I was always the largest. When it came to holidays like 4th of July, Thanksgiving and Christmas, family meals were the grand event. A sample holiday meal consisted of

* Turkey * Ham * Roast Beef * Dressing

* Yams * Potato Salad * Green Beans * Fruit Salad

* Macaroni &Cheese * Gravy / Sauces * Soda * Ice Cream

* Cakes (Min. of 5) * Pies (Min. of 6) * Nuts * Candy

I gained most of my weight at that time from breads, rice, potatoes, fast food, candy, cookies, pies and ice cream. It became very difficult for my Mom to find clothes to fit me. This of course did not motivate me to change. I felt like I deserved the treats since I had to endure constant teasing at school.

The once in a while calls from my Dad only fueled the fire of hatred, rejection and abandonment I felt. What I haven’t mentioned yet about my Dad is that he had muscular dystrophy. Muscular dystrophy is a group of disorders that involve progressive muscle weakness and loss of muscle tissue. He progressed from walking with a limp to assistance from a cane and finally being paralyzed in a wheelchair. I always knew my Dad to be in a wheelchair. He was a fraternal twin and the first of 7 other siblings.

My Dad remarried and basically started a new life without my sister and me. When I was 12 years old, I remember my Dad taking us to the circus. My thoughts were “And this is supposed to make up for all the time you chose to not be in our lives.” After that point I no longer called him Dad but rather a “sperm donor.”

Overeating to self medicate my feelings of rejection remained a constant cycle all thru high school. I just remember the kids becoming more vicious in their attacks. All the while I tried to appear strong to my Mom not wanting to be a burden for fear that she would live me too. By high school I had grew from wearing women’s size 18-20 to 22-24.

It was at this time another change of events occurred. Mom’s youngest brother Uncle Rodney who was truly her joy and the life of the party was killed. Uncle Rodney was killed by a hit and run big rig truck on the freeway in front of his girlfriend. His car stalled on the freeway and he stepped out to push the car to the emergency lane and was hit head on. I saw my Grandparents hearts crushed before me. This was a devastating blow to my family. The light in my family’s eyes was turned to darkness.

From this point on my family endured many more tragedies that turned my heart harder. The oldest son Uncle Freddy died from complications of AIDS. Other family members died from being murdered; cancer, stroke and heart attacks. My family did not believe in preventive healthcare. Even the extreme health conditions of pass family members didn’t motivate me or scare me into caring about my life.

By the time I was entering college my Grandmother on my Father’s side revealed to my sister and I some shocking news. Her neighborhood friend raped her in her younger days. As a result she got pregnant and decided to keep the twins. One of which was my Father. When I heard the news a sense of compassion came over me. My Grandmother never kept it a secret from her children. WOW my Dad was not born out of love. I also learned that my Dad had difficulty loving everyone and not just me. I was not alone after all. My Dad didn’t have the lessons from his Father. He didn’t know how to be a Father. I began to mentally make compassionate excuses for my Dad’s behavior. This propelled me to decide to forgive him for his past treatment toward me.

Deciding to forgive involves no longer being emotionally tugged in the same way by a person’s behavior or words. This proved to still be a challenge for me and later would continue to be tested in my life. In college I felt free from the constant bashing by other students. It was starting to be a very enjoyable time for me. However, by this time I trained myself very well to stuff my feelings whether good or bad with food. My size shot up to a 26-28 in my sophomore year of college.

Friends of mine would try and try to get to know the real me, but I would run from emotionally connecting or being vulnerable with others. In order to avoid the constant push from friends to emotionally connect and lose the weight; I ran to attend the University of San Francisco (USF) in my junior year. By making the excuse I need a change and I want to see what I’m made of. This was truly a scary situation, but I was determined to go - thinking new people would give me new experiences and not bring up old issues that weren’t resolved. It was really hard not being with my family and having to start new.

In time I adjusted myself to being there. School was going well and I was making new friends. These new friends began to challenge me on the same issues - my weight – Why do I eat? How did it get so bad? What do you feel? I remember telling one friend “I don’t know how I feel” which was the common statement I would make when asked about my emotions. She looked me dead in my eyes and said, “You know exactly how you feel and I’m not accepting that answer.” I was shocked and didn’t know how to respond. She said “Let’s break it down –

The feelings you have right now, who do they involve?
When did the situation happen?
What was said that made you respond the way you did?
Why did you think the way you do?
How did the action or words make you feel?
Wow, my first counseling sessions - that scared me to death and yet liberated me by validating my feelings. I was now motivated to begin dealing with my weight by starting to exercise and eat healthier. My efforts resulted in a weight loss from size 26-28 to 22-24. However, just focusing on the physical actions of losing weight and not letting go of my emotional baggage began to backfire. Because I just didn’t want to be honest with myself and those around me that I believe I’m not worthy of success. Friends continued to try and emotionally connect with me, but I continued to run for fear that if they knew the real Erica they wouldn’t want to stay.

After my first semester I started to devise a plan to run back to Los Angeles - my comfort zone. My sister called me and told me that our Father was really sick with pneumonia. And that he wanted to see us both. Many emotions emerged from my heart and consumed my thoughts – fear, anger, sadness and hurt. My sister told me we may not have much time left with him and if I decided to come back I would need to put myself on the back burner and serve him. I decided to go back to Los Angeles and transfer to Loyola Marymount University (LMU). The truth of my move back was mostly to just get home and partly to reunite with my Father. My friends knew I was running away, but also understood my need to see my Father. The ride home was very difficult for me and I made a vow to myself then – To never again move somewhere to avoid emotional or physical challenges. Because those issues always follow you even in a new place and with new people.

Transferring into LMU was hard because I knew I was running from dealing with my past. Now I had to begin dealing with my emotions concerning my Dad while being in school. My first visit with my Dad was life-changing. He started right off by apologizing for not loving me they way I deserved to be and being absent in my life. Within the next weeks he had apologized to his Mother; Brothers; my Sister and Mom. My Sister and I would visit our Dad every weekend for the next 3-4 months. It was an emotionally bonding time for us all and I began to really enjoy having a real Dad in my life. His condition got worse and we received a final call that our Dad had passed. I was crushed again – I just got my Dad back and he’s gone forever – It’s not fare.

The subsequent months would be extremely difficult for me and my family. Every two months we had a death on both sides of my family which ended up totaling 7 in 1997. This was hard to fathom and gave us no time to mourn. All of my family members just kept busy to make it thru. I focused on my studies and work, never taking time to grieve. As I write these words I am reminded of how much death has plagued my family and how little grieving we’ve done.

The first to graduate college in my family was bitter sweet especially with all that had taken place. Now single and working full-time. I’m on my own with less accountability from friends. But something is still missing – LOVE. My life up until this point involved unsuccessful friendships with guys and no dating relationships to speak of. “I’ll never date because of my weight,” so I thought. Many have I loved or been infatuated with, but none reciprocated. Until now, this guy really likes me and I’m feeling the same. When I started dating him I was so shocked that he chose me and grateful to experience being wanted. Time passed and we both got comfortable in the relationship until about 1 ¾ years into it. By the time 1 ½ years came we agreed to end the relationship. I was struggling with unmet expectations. The truth is I didn’t love myself so I could not recognize anyone else loving me. There were areas I did wrong in the relationship and vice versa, but ultimately it was the best for me. Sometimes I struggle with believing I made the right decision today, since he’s now married and I’m still single. Then I’m reminded God has a bigger and better plan for me. I believe it involves resolving some of my emotional baggage as a single; then being open to loving and being loved by someone else.

This relationship stirred my heart like no other. Now I was openly expressing my hurt, anger and tears in hopes of not becoming bitter. But in my heart of hearts I became resolved in believing that I could never obtain a successful relationship with men. I became bitter and once again ran to my familiar friend - food. By this time all I did was work, eat and escape with television. My size escalated from 26-28 to 30-32 and still I was not shocked or motivated to change.

Throughout my various stages of weight, I remained a very active person. Going to movies, theatre, plays, concerts and vacations around the world. Anyone who knows me realizes traveling is my passion and it always brings a smile to my face. My recent weight gain made my travel experience painful and discouraging. Up until this point my vacations always involved traveling with family and friends. So I didn’t have to worry about spilling over the next seat because they were next to me – accepting of me. Well I made my first trip by myself to Atlanta, Georgia. The plane rides were difficult and so embarrassing for me that I decided not to travel that way again. The next few trips were even more challenging because I no longer could feet in the seat properly. In order make it comfortably I would need the seat arm up and most of the flights you could not move the arms. So I vowed to myself to not fly again until I lose at least 50-60 pounds.

Life continued and became more physically challenging for me. It became very difficult to find clothes that fit me. I had to constantly think whether I could attend a restaurant, theatre or concert by finding out if I could fit the seats. This of course made me feel more insecure and wanting to isolate myself from the world. The once active woman could barely fit in her car and struggled to move now. Am I ready to change now?

The various health issues in my family should have motivated me to turn my life around. But sadly my heart was still hardened to the idea. My Mother worked 30 years before having to retire early due to a disability. Overtime the physical demands from being married to my disabled Dad and working the graveyard shift took a toll on my Mother’s body. Having no more cartilage between her knees and arthritis in her joints forced the need for knee replacement surgery. Seeing my Mother have to go thru three surgeries, five rehabilitation center changes and learning to get her mobility back was another heart-breaking experience. My Mother’s health deteriorating made me rethink my own.

While caring for my Mother’s recovery, my Grandma’s health suddenly became a major issue. Already being a diabetic my Grandma had a fall at home that later on resulted in a bruised leg. She was taken to the hospital and it was determined that she had blood clots in her leg forcing her to need amputation of that leg. Blood thinner was never given as an option to my Grandma. So her leg was amputated and after the surgery it was discovered that there were several blood clots located near her heart. She never recovered from the surgery. This was a major blow to my family because it was so unexpected. It was especially difficult for my Grandfather to lose his life partner of 59 years. The death of my Grandmother is hard to accept because certain preventive measures were not taken by the hospital.

What will it take for me to care about my health? Well the final straw that broke the camels back for me was two situations. The first was, having to buy a new car and be forced to choose only an SUV big enough to fit me. I had to buy a seatbelt extension. The second was, having trouble walking. It was too the point that my first steps were always painful. I went to the doctor and was told I have heel spurs - soft, bendable deposits of calcium that are the result of tension and inflammation in the plantar fascia attachment to the heel. My weight has become a major pressure point for my heels. This was first time I experienced physical discomfort and difficulty being mobile. I was finally scared enough about my life to change.

There has to be more to life than this – I made the decision to be radical about losing weight. It also meant that I had to admit that I don’t know what I am doing and I need help from others. So I decided to audience for the Biggest Loser show in hopes for the opportunity to change my life. Now that I am 32 years old I realize that I have spent 26 years being imprisoned by an addiction to food. Not feeling worthy or important enough resonated in my decisions to hate myself by not caring for my healthy – my body. It crushed my spirit a bit to not get chosen, but I decided to continue pursuing a healthy lifestyle change anyway. At my job, we had a Biggest Loser contest. When I weighed-in for the first time I was truly the largest I’ve ever been 436 lbs. That really scared me into action – exercising 4 times a week and doing a vegetarian diet. Two months later at our final weigh-in I was surprised to see I had lost 12.8 lbs and therefore became the Biggest Loser.

The real Erica has spent her whole like hiding in corners; not believing she has the potential for greatness and always being apologetic for her existence. Allowing tragedies and changes thrown her way to paralyze her from admitting her true feelings. I’m realizing my life does matter and that I am so worth the fight. The hiring of my personal trainer has inspired me to fight harder than I ever have in life for my health. What an amazing and freeing experience it is let it out. I no longer want to allow circumstances to shut me down emotionally and miss the opportunity for healing. Looking forward to my life being transformed as I become transparent before the world. My 436 lbs of the past represents all the unresolved emotional baggage I’ve been stuffing inside me for 26 years. It is now my mission to fight harder than ever for that emotionally stunted little 6 year girl that didn’t get a chance to grow-up healthy.

Thanks for lending your ear to hear my story.

Sincerely

Finally A Girl Heard!!

Erica