Rebirth implies the idea of starting over, of demolishing all that was in favor of a fresh start. This isn’t that. A few months into 2021, a doctor told me if I wanted to lose weight I should starve myself in the desert. “Do you want kids?” He asked me as I cried naked in front of him, thinking about all the love I’ve refused to feel. I wasn’t confident I’d make it out of being 26 years old. I decided I wouldn’t eat, and I wouldn’t speak to my mother. But then something happened. I decided I wouldn’t let this doctor, those comments, the hate I have for men who tell me I’m not fun at parties, the people who made me feel dim, the rice cakes pretending to be as tasty as the bag of coconut shavings, the shapeless and dark shift dresses, steal me from myself. The thing about weight loss is it’s rarely about the weight. It’s about understanding the self in a new way, with physical reminders that perseverance, accountability, and intentionally finding joy can change everything. That said, let’s remember I started this out of spite. I set the goal to lose 30 pounds in a healthy-enough way, partially to keep myself alive for my next birthday. I lost, I gained, I overindulged, I found a rhythm, I pushed, I cried, I gave myself grace, and I realized long-term change is about the small, genuinely healthy habits—10 pounds, 30 pounds, 50 pounds lost. Exercise became my favorite part of the day. As someone who has been deemed overweight since she was young, paying attention to calorie deficits felt like I was joining hands with the diet culture that demolished so many minds. But in this process, I realized that nothing is a binary, even exercise. To be healthy and lose weight is to pay attention, and can be… fun. I installed a disco ball and colored light bulbs. I built playlists and found outfits that made me feel like dancing. I listened to words of encouragement and heard them.
Once I lost 60 pounds, I decided to do something drastic: I sold 90% of my things, put the rest in storage, and went to Europe for as long as the European Union would let me. Paris, French Riviera, Lisbon, Northern Italy, Rome, Amalfi Coast, Marseille, French countryside, and a month-long ping pong between Berlin and Paris for the best company in the entire world. I came back, partially because I legally had to, and partially because I needed to see if I could be as curious, open, and engaged in life without an expiration date. I ran the Prospect Park loop—something that’s now become my routine—and I slowly backed away from a life that could’ve been in Paris—something that still makes my heart hurt. I worked on my Berlin citizenship, and on the day of submission, I found myself calling my friend’s building manager in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, asking if they had any one bedrooms available. They did. “Do you want to see it?” He asked. “You’ve been approved,” they said. “When are you moving in?” My friends asked, smiling. I signed the lease, I moved into an empty space, and now I’m making it my home. I don’t know where I’ll be in five years, but does anyone? In the meantime, I’m going to rip up the tile and change the light fixtures and care about all the little corners like this home is part of me, because I know how to do that now. I’m moving the curtains I installed on my own, in a fun outfit that shows my personality after years of only wearing black, finding the light I’ve been searching for since the beginning, and in a totally different body after losing 70 pounds. Candidly, this was all captured lovingly by a friend I’ve reconnected with after so many years, and all on my birthday. May we all rebirth ourselves, always.
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