Why I Hold the Pen

There’s a certain silence that falls when you read your own story and don’t recognize your voice in it. That happened to me recently. A top-tier institution—elite, well-respected, known for its clinical excellence—wrote a feature about my bariatric surgery journey. It was polished. Professional. Well-structured.

And painfully incomplete. Yes, I lost 100 pounds. Yes, my health outcomes improved. But when you reduce a story like mine to numbers, you miss the entire truth. You miss the real miracle. You miss me. And more importantly, you miss God in it, too.

Here’s what I learned: just because someone’s holding the pen doesn’t mean they’re telling the truth. There’s a difference between being the subject of a story and being its author. And if the story doesn’t sound like you—if it doesn’t reflect your transformation, your faith, your fire, your joy—you have every right to speak up and say: this isn’t it.

So I did.

I took the time to write comments throughout the draft. And not just light suggestions—truth-telling ones. Ones that said things like: “Yes, I experienced physical health improvements—but to focus only on those outcomes omits the equally critical mental, emotional, and spiritual transformation that defined this journey.”

And this: “The number—100 pounds—is striking. But what’s more impressive is what it represents: internal transformation, emotional healing, the reclaiming of agency, and alignment with my deepest values. Living holistically well in spirit, mind, and body. The capacity to now live the life I once only dreamed of.”

And this, with holy fire: “My research centers on self-care and reimagining wellness—a model that challenges outdated narratives and reframes the journey of people living with obesity. Focusing narrowly on food, exercise, and disease states reflects a limited lens that does more harm than good.”

I wasn’t angry. I was direct, clear. This wasn’t just about setting the record straight for me—it was about speaking up for every person whose story has been misrepresented, flattened, or filtered through a lens too small, too narrow, and too outdated to hold their truth.

Because here’s the real victory: not that I’ve kept the weight off. The real success is that I got aligned in spirit, in mind, and in body. That I’ve learned to live well—on purpose, with purpose. That I’ve become someone who listens to God’s voice in me more than I listen to outside validation.

Writing my blog has taught me to do that. To say what needs to be said, when and how it needs to be said, regardless of why it needs to be said. Writing has taught me to speak the truth with love, even when my knees are knocking.

For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind.

2 Timothy 1:7

That’s what carried me through the comments to Hopkins. Through the tension. Through the truth-telling. Through the redirecting.

I wasn’t given a spirit of fear, but power!

I didn’t write the comments for approval. I wrote for alignment. If the story wasn’t told in a way that reflects who I am and how I live, then I’d rather it not be shared at all.

Because I knew the power of the story. I know what it can do. The question isn’t whether it can change lives—it’s whether the people telling it are ready to rise to that call.

So if someone ever writes your story wrong? Reclaim the pen. Say what needs to be said. Speak not just for yourself—but for those who haven’t yet found the words. Let grace lead your truth. Let love ground your fire. And never forget: you always hold the pen. You always have.

You read the outcome. My voice was honored. My story was rewritten. And I was given the sweetest gift of all: the deep knowing that my voice has the power to change, to shift, and to revise. My voice is far, far more powerful than I realized.

If you’ve ever felt misrepresented, unheard, or unseen—I want to remind you: you are not alone. And your story is not over. You still hold the pen. Keep writing. Keep living. Keep reimagining what’s possible. Your life, as you envision it, and your heart longs, it can be so.

Because with God, there’s not a single thing in this world you can’t do.

And so it is. Amen.