To cry is uniquely human, to weep for joy even more so. I cry every day.

I cry for all the years I wanted and needed to cry and didn’t. I cry for the loneliness and pain I”ve felt. I cry for the sheer delight of being alive. I cry for the pleasure that moving my body brings, and for ability to dance and stretch and sweat. I cry in gratitude for the life I have now.

I was a cute little girl. I loved laughing and playing with my friends. Then, When I was eight years old, I experienced the devastating trauma of incest. In order to cope with that physical, mental and emotional nightmare, I made two unconscious decisions: First, I wanted to be as ugly ad possible, second, I didn’t want to think or feel. I knew if I let myself feel anything, it would be too much for me.

So I started eating. When the fear came, I ate when the pain came, I ate. By the time I was 12, I weighed 200 pounds.

I spent most of my time by myself, doing things with my hands or watching TV. Even with my brothers and sisters, I felt alone. I was never asked out to dance or to a movie or on a date. I was socially invisible.

By the time I was 25, I weighed 420 pounds. My doctor gave me six months to live. My body couldn’t support the fat I was carrying. I didn’t leave my house for two years. I literally couldn’t move. I had to lose the weight if I wanted to live. And I decided I would do whatever the doctor told me to do to lose it.

I lost my first 100 pounds and I felt so light I wanted to dance. But I started to gain it back, and I realized I had to go deeper and deal with root of my problem- the unfelt pain. I began therapy, joined a Twelve-step program and accepted the love and support of my family and friends. At 35, I cried for first time since of my weight loss.

Once I turned that corner, it was up to me to continue the work and to be conscious one day at a time. It was a process of growing self-knowledge and self-acceptance. I continued my therapy. I started to study nutrition, and I learned that for me , eating fat is a sedative. I watched my behavior and monitored what brought on my need to eat. When I found myself knee-deep in Haagen-Dazs, I stopped and asked myself how I got there.

Though there were times when I would backslide, it was my acceptance of myself in all my strengths and weaknesses that helped me get back up and keep going. My goal was to be better- not perfect.

When I see childhood obesity now, it breaks my heart. We wouldn’t dream of laughing at a child who has no arm or leg or who uses a wheelchair. But people will tease and ostracize a child who has an eating disorder and is obese. We still don’t understand that the weight such a child carries is the weight of that child’s own pain.

Healing my life wasn’t just about losing weight. I had to learn how to live life as an adult. I had never learned basic social skills- once, at work, a man talked to me at the water cooler and I giggled like a 14 year-old girl. I started the process of learning about relationships and growing up.

Now, at 46, I am an adult, I have become a person I truly love. My weight is the average range, I exercise regularly and I have a career I love as motivational speaker. I recognize that good things that came from my years of childhood pain and isolation: my love for classical music, my ability to sew and to do stained glass-to create beauty with my hands. Even my ability to speak well and engagingly can be traced to many hours I spent watching such great entertainers as Lucille Ball and Milton Berle on TV

I am grateful for blessing in my life now, and I accept the events in my life as gifts of growth that create strength of character and strength of faith. Today I cry in gratitude for the life I have.