The Worthless Rescuer is Dead

The year 2011 was an especially prestigious one for me: on the heels of a monumental weight loss (170 pounds) I’d suddenly become the toast of the blogosphere, was lauded by both local and national media, and enjoyed star pupil-status by the fitness guru who helped me achieve this state of grace.

It was a life I never thought I’d be living after weighing in excess of 300 pounds for so long. After years of near-immobility, I suddenly was able to do things like skip across parking lots in dainty capri pants and fashionable mules; hop into a high-top seat at a restaurant; and walk seven miles as easily if it were 7 yards. The sense of physical freedom was euphoric.

But most gratifying of all was the feeling that came from helping others. And there was no shortage of opportunities: Long lost classmates materialized out of thin air with simultaneous shouts of congratulations coupled with requests to share my ‘secrets’ with them. Strangers contacted me for tips though my website, and friends who wanted weight loss advice filled my roster of free time with either coffee dates or phone sessions.

It filled me with purpose and, I suppose, a ballasted sense of worthiness. Oh heck, who am I kidding, it INFUSED me with a Sally Fields variety of “You like me…you really like me,” relief. The validation ship I’d been longing for was at last anchored in the harbor. My sense of esteem seemed like it was cementing. But the truth was, it was conditional and hinged on a considerable investment of time, plus the expectation of a rescue. Gladly, I answered each request - and why not? I needed boatloads of encouragement when I began my journey and was happy to return the cosmic favor.

But a sudden tragedy in 2014 (from which I’ve never fully recovered) brought my full-steam-ahead engines of vigor and glory to a smacking halt. One of my closest friends and confidents dropped dead in front of me, just as we were about to have dinner one cozy November evening. Even though Bill called 911 immediately, nothing could be done. I knew my friend was gone when the EMS crew silently carried his lifeless body out the front door after 15 fruitless minutes of administering defibrillation shocks to his heart.

In the aftermath, I descended into a haze of shocked sadness for months, and not just because I was mourning his death.

Unlike the legions of people I’d ministered to during the previous four years, this friend, I’d realized, was left behind in the dust of my success. I kind of sped along ahead and forgot about him for a while. When he was felled by a massive heart attack, I was back at his side unconditionally but couldn’t deny I’d been neglectful. He suffered alone all those years I was ‘gone,’ and it’s something I can neither fix or fully forgive myself for.

My mind gradually came back to what passed for functional, but not my body. Energy was slowly being siphoned away, and in its place came aches and pains. Diagnoses of rheumatoid and autoimmune conditions provided answers, but years later, relief remains as elusive as the circle of admirers who once rushed my door. Not entirely illogical, since I’m no longer a weight loss inspiration, but for the ones who purported to be friends, the sting of withdrawal smarts. Call me old-fashioned, but I believe someone’s physical dimensions should carry no weight where the value of a friendship is concerned.

A lifelong friend who could accurately be described as her own worst enemy was my shadow during the ‘lean years.’ And the worthless rescuer was always on standby with encouragement, strategies, and an accommodating shoulder for her laments – all of it done out of genuine empathy for her. But in the spirit of transparency, I was also keen on shedding the reptilian skin of worthlessness I’d been saddled with since childhood. As my weight came back, her distance grew in proportion. I was hoping that I might just be imagining it, but her avoidance gradually morphed into unreturned phone calls. Yowch.

Sometimes I ponder the existential lessons to be gleaned from this reversal of fortune. Maybe I had it coming in karmic payback for the years I wasn’t there for my friend - I accept that. And I acknowledge my willing participation in a co-dependent tango in exchange for the payoff of validation and the belief that I was accepted. I also own my promiscuity in the way I over gave my time and energy: to my former fitness guru (who was fond of reminding me how I ‘owed’ him), to strangers piling into my in box, and to those with whom I had personal relationships.

Emotionally, this passage has gifted me with the newfound ability of discernment – a power I didn’t realize was always an option. I don’t contort myself for the needy and for the voracious takers anymore. Reciprocity - whether it’s a concrete offering or that non-negotiable intangible of respect - is required. And for those who regard me with disdain or have dropped me altogether because of weight gain, well…I thank them for the reminder that we’re all flawed gems in need of a polishing cloth.

Physically, my task is to dig myself out of this hole to a new (markedly lower) version of higher ground. I imagine Vegas would lay odds that I’ll never replicate my peak physical condition of 2011, when life was packed with two-hour lifting routines at the gym, power yoga, power-dating, and capping it all off with three-mile evening walks. It was a part-time job, and one I’m probably no longer qualified for. But 12 years later, I’m returning to life because I can’t tolerate treading water anymore. The traumatizing memories from 2014 will always be a part of my psyche but I can’t let them run me, and it’s time to disconnect from the belief that haunting guilt is my forever lot.

The load I carry is also lighter thanks to the fair-weather evacuees. But the empty space leaves room to enjoy a discovery that I was utterly blind to: that I matter. All along, it was Stacey-at-any-size who mattered every bit as much as those to whom I ministered. No matter what my stats, and however others choose to assess me, I MATTER.

And I no longer require the hollow victory of outside validation to know that.