My grandmother's house burned down, and she moved in with us. At 23, I had to share a bed with my mom.
Since we didn't have an extra room, I slept with my mom so my grandmother could take my room.
I learned it's important to make sacrifices for the ones you love.
When it comes to sleeping, I'm rather picky.
There needs to be complete darkness with no noise. Even the dim light of the television and the quiet laughter from the iconic television series "Friends" will turn the wheels in my brain, keeping me awake for hours.
I was that kid at sleepovers who would call my mom in the middle of the night with a fake stomach ache, but not because I wasn't having fun or actually felt ill; I just wanted to sleep in my own bed.
At 23 years old, living in my childhood home, I found comfort coming home to my room after a long day. Little did I know, after sleeping in the same room almost every night of my life, besides college and the few sleepovers I actually made it through, that I would be sleeping next to my mom for four months because of a tragic fire.
The heavy rainfall sparked a flame under the electricity panel and shot up three stories through my grandmother's home of 61 years. Luckily, my 85-year-old grandmother — who we call Mammy — goes to bed later than her teenage grandchildren and had just finished watching the last episode of "Family Feud" at 2 AM. As she closed her eyes, she smelled smoke and called for help.
While I sped across town to get my dad from work, my mom and sister watched a policeman evacuate her from the house in her nightgown and slippers.
Tears and rain soaked our clothes as we watched a billowing fire rip through a house that had been in the family for generations. When the rain finally stopped, the house was unrecognizable.
You could see the charred bed frame in the bedroom my grandparents shared years ago, with only rubble surrounding it. What wasn't ablaze was ruined by water damage seeping through the ceilings. Luckily, a few possessions remained intact, covered in black ash.
A house filled with memories of blowing out birthday candles, passing the carved turkey, and making homemade banana pancakes on Sunday mornings was gone. My Mammy no longer had a home.
Without hesitation or a timeline, my family took my Mammy in.
Our house is comfortable for four people, but five is quite tight. We have three bedrooms and one and a half bathrooms. My father set up a twin bed in our unfinished basement, saying it was his new apartment. My sister's bed was too high for my Mammy to climb into, but my full-sized bed was the perfect height.
So, I took up living quarters with my mom and let my Mammy sleep in my room — Harry Styles posters lining the wall and all.
If you had told me that I'd be sleeping next to my mother at the age of 23, I would have laughed.
She likes the television on; I do not. She keeps the door open a crack, exposing the slightest hint of light; I do not. It was often a battle for the remote, the covers, or the right side of the bed.
I felt like a kid having a nightmare, going into their mom's room to sleep with her. And at the time, I did think this new reality was a nightmare. Now, it has become my biggest lesson.
Every day, my parents remained as calm as one can be in such a situation. They navigated how to break the news to my confused Mammy that her house and many beloved possessions were gone. My parents served as an example of the daughter I strive to be as they get older.
The pieces of our new life fell into place like the puzzles my family and I completed daily with my Mammy. We searched for words in crossword puzzles and watched hopeful contestants say "Deal or No Deal." My sister blew my Mammy's mind when she showed her that a burger and fries from McDonald's could arrive on our doorstep within minutes. Tucking her into my bed with a goodnight kiss is one of many moments I'll carry with me when the house fire fades as a distant flicker in my memory.
Mammy now lives in an apartment across town, waiting for her house to be rebuilt. This has its own challenges, as she can't walk down the basement stairs to do laundry, and she didn't know how to use the new microwave for a while. However, despite the small bumps, we ensure her new environment feels just as her home once did.
Over the four months, we laughed, joked, fought, and cried. When everything in the life of someone you love crumbles to ash, sharing a bed with your mom suddenly doesn't matter.
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He said his patients sometimes had unrealistic expectations about how quickly and dramatically they will drop extra pounds. He explained that for someone who is overweight, shedding even a small amount of weight can improve heart and kidney function, adding: 'The bar has been set too high for weight loss.' 'What's dangerous,' Badessa said, 'is the dominant societal narrative that these are 'magic shots' for weight loss.' Veritas agreed: 'Expectations are sky-high. People see all the before/after photos and expect an easy ride.' 'It feels similar to any other time the diet industry has thrown marketing momentum behind one particular 'fix',' Virginia Sole-Smith, author of Fat Talk, told me about the current hype. 'There's excitement that we've found a 'silver bullet', then it silences any other narratives and experiences about it.' Related: What is metabolic syndrome – and do we really need to worry about it? I had definitely been looking for an elixir to rid me of body mass. Then I discovered that diabetes itself might be the reason I wasn't losing weight. Andrew Koutnik, a metabolic research scientist, said that GLP-1s typically lead to significant weight loss for people with obesity (15-25% of their body weight). However, people with diabetes generally lost less weight, proportionally: for type 2, an average of 8-11%; for type 1, about 8-12%. 'While we don't know why this is occurring, prior data suggests the drug's metabolic effects may be tied to how well the body manages glucose,' Koutnik said. GLP-1s are designed to coax the body into making and using insulin more efficiently, he explained. But for someone with type 1 diabetes, meaning their pancreas cannot make insulin, that's like installing a turbocharger on a car with no engine – there's nothing to boost. That said, he clarified, these drugs aren't entirely useless for people with type 1. GLP-1s slow digestion and suppress appetite, which can lead to fewer snacks and less carb-heavy meals. That might nudge blood sugar in the right direction, but it's more of a side-effect. 'The actual impact on blood sugar control is minimal: less than a 1% drop in A1C,' Koutnik explained. *** The psychological fallout of being a non-responder can be devastating. It was more fodder for my destructive inner dialogue: Why won't my body just comply? Alyson Curtis, a therapist based in New York, works with patients who feel isolated as they see others losing weight and don't have the same result. I told her how unfair it felt and she agreed the loss of agency can be a lot to process. 'I hear the 'thin fantasy' constantly from patients – it's a dream to fit into societal norms,' Curtis added, 'but what they're really saying is they want to be accepted, cherished, adored.' She helps patients reframe success to focus on healthy outcomes beyond weight loss – like how the Health at Every Size (HAES) movement centers on overall wellbeing. 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Forging self-acceptance from deep frustration, I am realizing there is nothing inherently 'wrong' with my body – I am simply among those for whom the current medications produce a partial benefit. Learning that I'm not alone has helped curb my body shame. I am grateful that GLP-1s have helped me with blood sugar control, minimizing my risk of complications from diabetes. 'When we focus on the miracle weight loss narrative, we ignore their real value in helping people with diabetes, adding to the discourse of body shaming, which is never health-promoting,' said Sole-Smith. I've been trying to shift my focus from weight loss to improving my relationship with food. For me, that's learning to eat with more intention and maybe even a little joy. Hopefully, I can come to appreciate my right to the occasional indulgence without self-recrimination. And on my next birthday, I want to celebrate with the most delicious symbol of self-acceptance: a guilt-free piece of cake.
