I remember it like it was yesterday. I was 5 years old and excited to finally start “big girl school”. I am the youngest of 5 girls and, my sisters were in school years before me. Like any little sister, I was so eager to catch up.

I picked out my outfit the day before. The cutest A-line black floral dress with a pink lace trim (Yes! I have been a fashionista since 5). I popped the tag off my fresh Kmart socks and laid it on my new Payless white canvas shoes. I was ready. Before going to bed my mom did my hair in her version of cornrows (my sisters and I called them connect-a-plaits). That night, I could barely sleep. I tossed and turned all night in excitement. How long does school last? Do I have enough pencils? Did mommy pack the right Kleenex and paper towels? Will there be snack time? Is my mom going to pick me up? Or maybe my daddy will come?” Of course looking back over 20 years ago, the 28-year-old Opezzy can confidently tell 5-year-old Ope to CHILL-LAX. Hahaha!

The day finally came. I walked into Ms. Drew-Davies class on the first floor with the biggest smile. I surveyed the desks, found my name on the 3rd row and proudly walked over and sat down. I looked around, and thought to myself “I’m gonna like this”. The classroom filled up quickly and, Ms. Drew-Davies asked us to stand in a single file line to introduce ourselves as we headed out for the welcome assembly.

“Hi my name is Kimberly!” And the class chorused back, “Good morning Kimberly” like a song only we knew to the tune to.

“Hello, I’m Derrick” And the same resulted.

After exactly 6 people recited their names and the class followed suit, it was my turn.

I had already practiced it in my head. I was ready!

“Hi, my name is Opemipo!”

*Crickets*

…………The silence in that moment was deafening

One of the many privileges of having four older sisters is that I learned a lot of things very early. My mom told me I walked at 6 months and started reading at advanced reading levels since Kindergarten. Because of my sisters, I was also very aware of social ques. I understood that Opemipo was not a conventional name and felt the immediate awkwardness descend on what was, before then, an awesome morning.

So, before the next kid behind me introduced himself, I quickly interjected, “But you can call me O-pay!” Creases of concern changed into accepting nods of approval.

The whole class erupted “Hi O-pay!”

Feeling some relief, my smile returned. Moments after completely changing my name I heard a loud voice yell from the back of the line “O-pay is fat!”

Of course, Ms. Drew Davies reprimanded him but, his words cut deep. This wasn’t a surface wound that time would heal. A bandage ‘sorry’ would not suffice for this incision into what felt like the deepest recesses of my soul. This was a wound that would not heal. It bled then and would continue bleeding for a long time. I was silent but my heart was crushed. I looked around to see if my mom was still there but, she wasn’t. I wanted to run back home.

That interaction shaped many parts of me. Although throughout elementary school, middle school, high school and maybe even college I was called the dreaded F word on many occasions, each time I hated it. I hated being called fat. I hated when people call themselves fat. I hated when people used the word. And to be honest, I haven’t used that word in regards to anything in over 20 years. I just don’t like that word.

My weight journey has been vast. I have always been fluffy, plump, soft or as modern science would call it – obese. I have teetered between obese and morbidly obese my whole life. I was over 230lbs in the 5th grade. And despite my family’s attempt to help me get healthy by buying a ‘Family treadmill,’ though we all knew who it was for, or my parents allowing me to do extracurricular activities such as step team and marching band. The weight did not come down. I was always referred to as “Ope, the big girl with the pretty face” or “the big girl who could dress.” The adjectives almost became part of my name.

In 2009, one of my older sisters was getting married. I was in the wedding and like any girl, I wanted to look the bomb.com. I started working out, eating 6 times a day, getting B12/B6 shots and drinking a gallon of water a day. By August 2009, I was 65lbs lighter. I was so proud of myself. I kept going. By February 2010, I had lost 110 lbs. and, I never felt better. I was living in New York, pursuing my dreams and, I was losing weight. Life was good.

After graduating from THEE LIM College (can you tell I am a proud alum?), I moved back home to Prince George’s County, MD. Things quickly spiraled downhill. I got comfortable and stopped working out, I took a mundane “safe” government job and, I went through the worst breakup in my life. The weight slowly crept back on. 40 lbs. turned into 60, 60 turned into 80 lbs. and before I blinked, I had gained EVERY. SINGLE. POUND. BACK.

I remember going to the doctor, getting on the scale and seeing 374 pounds. The tech finished up her labs and left the room. I threw my head into my hands and cried like I had never cried before. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. My doctor walked in and, in shock, she asked me if everything was okay. I told her I had never been this unhealthy physically and emotionally in my life. I am angry I let myself get here and, I don’t know what to do. She did what most doctors do – promote an active lifestyle, increased water intake, and low-calorie foods. I listened but I knew my problem was bigger than caloric intake. I cried the whole way home. I turned off my phone for the rest of the day and cried until I literally had no more tears left.

I have always loved food …good food. I love cooking and I love eating. I knew I had an unhealthy relationship with food dating back to a young age. My maternal grandma and I were very close. She didn’t speak English and I didn’t speak our native language, Yoruba. We communicated through food. We celebrated the good times and mourned the bad times over food. We laughed over food and we cried over food. Needless to say, food for me was not just a means to live – It was a means to enjoy.

I knew I needed to make changes. I knew how to lose weight… I had done it before. But this time seemed different, felt different. My issue was deeper than food.

I overheard my sister talking about New Life Ministries one day. My parents are pastors and marriage counselors so I normally don’t pay attention to those things. But this time, I knew I needed to take hold of my life before I was bed bound by the physical manifestations of depression (weight). I knew something needed to change. I called New Life and asked for counselors in my area. After two failed attempts to find a therapist through New Life. I went to google and found Nicole Wright.

My first session with Nicole was awkward. My second session was better but, I had an attitude the entire session because I went in wanting her to make me feel better and, it wasn’t working …(again, this is session #2. Lol). Months of consistent sessions with Nicole went by and I found myself in more pain than I started. Unpacking years of suppressed pain, anxiety, disappointment, anger and sadness was hard. I gained more weight in this process. There were so many times I cancelled appointments or drove to her office and sat in the parking lot, cried and went back home. The journey wasn’t easy. But, I am so thankful that I listened to Nicole. “Do the work, take the journey, and trust the process.”

At my largest, I was a sneeze away from 400 pounds. Losing weight is totally mental! When I started this journey, three and a half years ago, I didn’t see a way out. So many people ask me the secret to my weight loss and I truly credit a solid 60% of my success to therapy. Every pound I've lost had a story attached to it and, it wasn't until I started unpacking those stories that my mind, body, and heart were free enough to pursue a healthier me. As much as we wish it would, weight – emotional and physical – won't just go away. I am still a client at Gifted Hands Wellness Center and I will likely be one for life. We all have things to work through.

I understand pushing through depression with therapy was not the ONLY way the weight came off. I started working out twice a day (2-hour increments each), drinking a gallon of water a day, adopting a low carb, high protein diet, eating 6 to 8 small – medium sized meals a day, and getting a lot of quality rest (this is still a challenge). Today, I am still over 200 lbs. but, I am the healthiest, emotionally and physically, I have ever ever ever been!

My advice? Go to therapy. Do the work, take the journey and trust the process.

It’s hard work but it’s worth it.

@Ms.Opezzy

therapy while black

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