Losing and Finding Myself: My 100-Pound Journey Through Grief

Before Cancer: A Life in Motion

Before cancer entered our lives, I lived actively and intentionally. Carter and I were always moving skiing, hiking, biking, running side-by-side (him on his bike, me running). I stayed healthy so I could adventure with him through his childhood, teen years, and beyond. I dreamed of us skiing mountains together well into adulthood.

The Weight of Survival

When Carter was diagnosed with osteosarcoma, everything stopped except survival. My focus shifted entirely to keeping him alive. The routines that had once kept me grounded like running, healthy meals, and taking some down time suddenly vanished.

Between long drives to Boston, exhausting hospital days, and the emotional intensity of pediatric cancer, I lost interest in caring for myself. Instead, I coped with food.

Au Bon Pain in the lobby of Boston Children’s Hospital became my ritual. Cookies, pastries, pizza slices from Regina’s on the drive home, these were the comforts that got me through. I didn’t drink, I needed to stay alert for emergencies, so food became my vice. I always had an “emergency cookie” in my bag…the emergencies were constant.

I knew I wasn’t caring for myself, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. All my energy went to Carter. I don’t regret that, he was, and always will be, the best thing that happened to me.

My Son’s Death and My Body’s Collapse

By the time Carter died, I had gained nearly 100 pounds. What I didn’t know then was how much it worried him. In his final weeks, he gently encouraged me to take care of myself, to walk a little, move a little. He even left me a voice memo urging, “Just a little each day, Mom.”

That memory still brings tears. I couldn’t hear him then, I was too broken.

Shortly after his passing, my body gave out in a different way. On the day I picked up Carter’s ashes, my wrist flared with pain for the first time, a symptom of psoriatic arthritis that would become a daily challenge. My body waited to collapse until he was gone.

Four Years of Survival Mode and Numbness

For four years, I existed in a fog. I tried, now and then, to hike or bike but everything I used to love felt hard and heavy. It was like I was dragging my grief uphill.

I still wanted to feel better. I talked about it in therapy but desire and readiness are two very different things.

Food became my drug of choice, pizza, ice cream and chocolate. I would eat until I felt something or until I felt nothing. I knew I was slowly killing myself, and I still couldn’t stop. My broken heart wasn’t ready to help my broken body.

The Turning Point: A Psychedelic Awakening

In June 2023, I took a therapeutic dose of psilocybin mushrooms, hoping to ease my depression and grief. My only intention going into the journey was, “How can I be happy now?”.

I didn’t go into this experience thinking about my weight, but something inside me shifted. Afterward, I no longer craved food for comfort. It was like I remembered something I’d forgotten: that I already had everything I needed inside me. I didn’t have to numb the pain. I didn’t have to chase the comfort of food, real healing had begun.

One Step at a Time

In the two years since that experience, I’ve slowly, very slowly, returned to movement. I didn’t force it. There were no big fitness plans. My husband would invite me on short walks or bike rides. At first, I resisted but over time, those walks began to feel not miserable and eventually actually good again.

As I let go of food as a crutch, the weight began to come off, 40 pounds the first year and another 40 the next. Eventually, I reached the same weight I was the day Carter was diagnosed. A full 100 pounds lighter.

Full Circle

Today, I’m back to the size I was when Carter was diagnosed. I never imagined I’d see that day again. While I still live with psoriatic arthritis and grief, I now feel closer to Carter and I’m starting to feel like myself again.

Getting healthy hasn’t just been about my body. It’s been about reclaiming joy, honoring Carter, and learning how to live again. I hear his voice sometimes when I move my body, “Just a little each day, Mom.” and now I say back to him:

I did it, Carter Bear. I really did it. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for loving movement and nature. Thank you for giving me a reason to keep going.

2015 Carter and I two-weeks prior to diagnosis, 2022 surviving and up 100 lbs, 2025 finding life again and back to pre-diagnosis weight