Building A Home

Dear Reader,

How have you been? It’s taken me 7 months to sit down and put these words together. I’ve missed writing to you. Does anyone relate to how sitting down to write can feel overwhelming? How it can feel scary, daunting, joyful, unexpected— I can only compare it to making a phone call when I don’t want to or when I haven’t spoken to someone in a while. When I write it’s my attempt to form a connection with myself and anyone who might read along. The patience it takes to intentionally craft sentences— the importance of word choice— all of it has the ability to ground me in anything from a single moment to the entirety of my life. It’s a lot. But I believe that we all have a story— something to offer one another, and we can all find a way to express ourselves. My hope is that through sharing part of the last 7 months (really almost the last 25 years of my home life) you might also give yourself the gift of being vulnerable by finding space to think, write or, maybe, re-write some part of your own story. To pick up the phone or a journal because sharing heals.

An ongoing theme in my life has been a search for home. I left Brooklyn, Connecticut, lived on a farm, found my way to Queens, traveled, lived in Mexico and gave up my “home” almost 2 years ago. Where ever I went, I was always met with myself and my stories. When I think of the word home it’s hard to not associate it with a physical place— but I don’t, not anymore. I walk with and in my home every single day. She allows me to write, move, think, feel, create, tell bad jokes and cook delicious food— to eat, hug, love and laugh. She allows me to sit here, now, and write to you. But if our home feels like it no longer belongs to us— it becomes impossible to really connect, to let people in, to love ourselves or see the light in our lives.

What do you think of when you hear the word home? I don’t think I realized how much running I was doing. I accepted and avoided things, people and more, all in an effort to feel at home. The digging has been deep, but creating a new foundation has been well worth the work. Stripping down my material life, childhood, career, outward identity, friendships, habits around love, and my body— only to realize I have choices. Do you want to find a way home? 

Over 24 years ago I lost over 150 pounds on my own— long before social media existed. Before high speed internet and well before I had my own computer— let alone a cellphone to document the process. But this is a journey, however, that I’ve been open about sharing. In the last 24 years I cooked my heart out, exercised, and changed my mental and emotional health. Over time, I settled into my body and extra skin or, rather, it settled on me. And while I held on to past wounds, the words I was told about my weight and worthiness, I did come to admire the loose skin for its symbolism — the effort it took to get here. And while that’s the truth, the other side of the truth is that looking at the skin, every single day, has also felt like staring into my darkest parts— carrying them and allowing them to live not only on my body but, eternally giving them residence in my mind.

I always wondered what it would feel like to be free of that. I realized that I didn’t have to keep the skin as a badge or simply accept it. Surgery would not negate the hard work— in fact — it might even have the power to close a chapter of my life that I left wide open.

The walk home started following my breast explant in September 2025. I met a surgeon, whom I trusted implicitly, not by virtue of his before and after photos, but something I felt in my heart. He was kind, compassionate and I just knew I did not want to live the rest of my days on this tiny earth wearing my past on my body. It finally felt like my time. So, the morning after Christmas I had an abdominoplasty to remove the excess skin from my stomach, a brachioplasty to remove the excess skin from my arms, and liposuction to reshape my thighs. My thighs lost their natural contour due to the extreme weight loss— to which no diet or amount of walking, yoga, or strength training could alter. The laxity of my skin and the way it cascaded down the entirety of my body— bulges of misshapen fat— I struggled with loving it and hating it. I recognized how tired I was of being uncomfortable. I was cluttered— body, mind and heart.

After surgery, I shed 6.6 pounds of my past, similar to the weight of the journals I shred one month before. As the winter months passed, my heart and mind felt a sense of peace. Lighter than ever. Once the skin left was removed from body, wounds closed— they healed. I was able to end old relationships, some family ties and parts of my life that I was attached to yet brought me nothing but pain. The skin symbolized so much more than I had ever named or admitted aloud. On December 26th I cut off the parts of myself that gave my heart to others in seeking approval— I eliminated accepting behavior that was intolerable. I forgave myself for what I did not know or understand. No more. Not in this house.

With its long incisions and carefully crafted scars, I looked at my new body and was reminded of cracked pottery— the Japanese art of Kintsugi; where cracks are repaired with gold. My breaking has been beautiful, and while there was pain, it has also been a process of restoration— inside and out.  

What followed on March 18th 2026 was the final surgery— a thigh lift. Quite possibly the scariest of all for me, since the story of my thighs was long and labored. Oh, they were heavy— weighted with words and sores. Thunder thighs, a haunting playground chant. They were large, proportionate to my body, round and carried all 320 pounds of me at my highest weight. When I was heavy they made my knees buckle, but I still  walked when and where I had to. Summer days were often spent covering them with men’s shorts, while evenings were spent crying because they chafed so badly I would get boils that became infected.

As I lost the weight, and while I maintained the 150 pound weight loss, my legs took on new meaning. They helped me get healthy and became my mode of transportation. I loved my legs because of what they stood for. Responsible for the larger part of my physical transformation, I would be remiss to say they weren’t responsible for the larger part of my mental and emotional transformation too. We walked together; miles upon miles, hiked, biked, did yoga and floated in the air with what felt like grace. My legs freed me in many ways; and though I appreciated them for their function, symbolism and strength— I longed to know what life would be like without the weight of their story.

As a little girl, and young woman, I was a collector of stories. Some of them were bright and hopeful, but the painful ones stuck to my heart— strings that tugged at my emotions for most of my lifetime. I hid through food for the greater part of my life until I found quiet from all of the noise and hurtful words that could not be unheard. And even after the weight loss, a promising career path, dating and travel— the words remained. I endlessly searched for love and acceptance.

But there has not been a day where I have not fought for myself with discipline, care and moments of deep self-love. All to say, this was not exclusive of shame, pain, self-hate and fear. I don’t think anyone ever grows up thinking “I’m going to eat away how I feel and how I’ve been treated and work my whole life to reverse it” —but I did.

also don’t think that when you’re 4 or 16 and you’ve grown up lower income, compared to others and avoiding mirrors— you say “I always thought I’d lose 150 pounds and have plastic surgery,” but here I am just shy of 25 years post weight loss, with a long distance walking and yoga practice, a fond love of cooking and still learning how we nourish ourselves beyond food.

After 4 surgeries that included 10 different procedures, it’s done. At almost 46, I sit in my new house. Not one built by traditional standards, but one I can be proud of nonetheless. One built not on my own, but with the love and strength of God, family, friends, a pursuit of mental health, and an extraordinary team of artists. We never heal alone.

None of this would be possible without the tremendous caretaking efforts of my aunt and uncle who have housed me, fed me, gotten me to doctors appointments— and the list goes on. I wouldn’t be here without generous friends and a network of people who have shown me that love exists well beyond romantic partnerships and chasing what probably never belonged to me in the first place. I now know one thing for certain, this house does belong to me and so do all of the stories that allowed me to arrive here today. 

On the other side of our self-loathing, fear, self-imposed limitations and norms there is more. We are more. There is choice. This takes on an entirely different meaning for each of us based on our unique and personal stories— but at the end of the day we all know what it’s like to want something different, something new, for ourselves. It’s hard to be honest with our heart, but in that quiet— well— the answers are there.

This road has been paved with uncertainty and doubt but, as one of my students always reminded me when was living in Mexico and speaking bad Spanish— “Tu puedes, Tina.” Tu puedes, insert your own name.”

All of that said, I have not clue what comes next…

In May I will be moving what is minimally left of my belongings and life in NY. I am going to live with my parents and older brother in South Carolina. It’s a call from my heart (aka God) to be closer to them as they age— with changes to their health, mind, physical abilities and more. I built my lifelong home, removed the clutter, the old stories— now it’s time to rest in a room near to people I love. It’s time for another change.  For me, this isn’t going backwards, this is growth— it’s love— and a chance to rebuild a relationship with my family. 

I also made a deal with God that I would surrender what I wanted in exchange for Him gently walking me down a new path. And when I made that deal with Him, in 2022, in a hotel room in Mexico, He took the lead ever since. He’s shown me that I am my own home where ever I am. The right people and experiences will will find me and, I hope if this speaks to you, you will also listen to your heart and consider what needs to be done so you feel at home with yourself.

To more writing, cooking and what comes next. 

With love,
Tina