When I was a kid, Shamu was the infamous captive Orca (killer whale) made famous at SeaWorld. When I was in the sixth grade, (decades after the real Shamu died) a boy sent me a note asking me to be his girlfriend. I checked the “yes” box and was awkwardly embarrassed to receive a pencil drawing of a heart with an arrow through it that displayed his name plus mine “forever.”

That escalated quickly! 

It was the only time in my life that I ever used the “boyfriend” title. My closest friends will attest to this. (Come to think of it, we never officially broke up, so Happy 28th Anniversary Aaron. Love you, boo.)

What’s that got to do with Shamu? Well, there was a girl in our class who hated the idea of he and I. Our multiethnic love was not approved of, so she set out to make my life miserable. She began to pick on me and call me names and mock me in front of everyone even eliciting the unity of her closest friends in our class so that I could feel the burden of shame for being overweight and liked by the boy she liked. In all her taunts and belittlements, she would see me pass by and she and all her minions would chant in unison, “Shamu! Shamu! Shamu!” (I am certain that I was only 40lbs overweight at the time, but to a developing girl, those 40 lbs. may as well have been hundreds.) She taunted us both until three days later, when she finally bullied Aaron into being her boyfriend. He reluctantly did it (psht forget you, Aaron!) and “forever” turned out to be, only three days long.

It’s funny how trauma works. It can feel like you have healed from every part of your traumatic experience. Yet much like antibiotics can build a biofilm in the human body, dealing with trauma can build the illusion of recovery and wholeness. The fragments of hurt that may have been camouflaged in the fault lines of development, often rear their ugly faces in the weirdest of times. In all honesty, I’ve found that there are spaces in our minds despite our protest, in which the remnants of traumatic pain have mounted an insurrection despite our own attempts at dealing.  A mental biofilm if you will. These remnants occasionally flood our minds when least expected. I was reminded of being called Shamu, because of an incident that occurred at the gym some time ago.

I saw you. You can’t deny it. I caught you red handed, sir. It’s a crazy world we live in when people seem to think everything is worth documenting, even at the cost of human dignity. I’m an obese person. That’s the reality of it. I’ve been overweight my entire life. I have had to bear the weight (pun intended) of being overweight my entire life. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I was mocked, bullied, hit, spit on and slandered for the way my body looked. Despite all my angst-ridden efforts to get healthy, the odds remained against me.

Let me paint the picture of that day. I have been working hard. Despite the dreaded universal weight gain of lockdown in 2020, with the help and grace of God, I managed to get healthier and keep it off and have since adopted the healthy habit of going to the gym. My sweet oasis and place of peace.

Now, I am a caregiver. And for reasons you need not know, I haven’t had my “own room” for eighteen years. In my world, not your world, my world, I am limited to very few places, spaces and environments that are inviting and accepting of my size. The spaces I am limited to are my car, “Dolly Parton” (her name, yes because, Dolly Parton!) and the gym. 

I have enjoyed finding peace and freedom in the gym. Nothing makes me happier than sweating it out and walking on a treadmill, lifting weights, and enjoying my very favorite machine, the back extensor. With my recent increase of agility and lightness, I can jog and as a fat person I can tell you that nothing makes me happier or feel freer than running. It’s the Forrest Gump in me. (My absolute fave movie, btw). 

Well, as I was using the leg press, I saw a man using a machine directly in front of mine. He looked suspicious and I could tell that he wasn’t working out. My gut (no pun intended) knew that he was watching me. I told myself to ignore him and to keep minding my own business and working out. I focused on my form and my legs and then it happened. I saw him. He pulled his phone out. I sat up and focused on him with laser focus. My eyes directly on his. He noticed that I was looking at him and he began to pretend to listen to music on his phone, unconvincingly, might I add. But I could tell his intention was to film me. And there I was. All at once! 11 yrs old. Again. 

Shamu. 

On display. 

For the whole world to see.

Needless to say, I was embarrassed. I was hurt. I was, even, oddly, scared? As the weight has been coming off, the attention has been increasing. The unwanted side effect of weight loss. This really is a drawback to getting healthy, I know someone out there understands this deeply. To you, that person, I see you. I know you and I feel you, my friend. This is the sort of drawback that is a double edge sword that keeps you unhealthy yet in a brokenly controlled safety that isn’t helping you in any way. Y’all trucking with me?  

So, I found myself in a situation where a boy in a grown man’s body was doing to me what so many do to women at the gym, I was completely overwhelmed with disbelief and again, yes, anger. He attempted it a second time and I continued to keep my eyes on him. I stood up and walked away. 

I planned to go sit and stretch but as I walked away, I could feel the emotions rising. I didn’t finish my workout, and I had to get into my car immediately as the loss of safety was almost too much to bear. I don’t know what his motives were, and I can’t presume to know what intentions he had with filming. I know he didn’t because I watched him the entire time. But I just could not believe that I was dealing with it. It wasn’t until I got in my car and the tears began to fall that my anger really began to rise. 

Who the heck does he think he is!? Why do guys do this!? I don’t have a space in the world and that felt insanely violating. How am I supposed to go back!? What do I do with all this angst!? What do I do with all this anger!?! What do I do with the invisibility conundrum!? (More on that later). Lord! Why?! 

I cried. From the depths of my soul, I cried. Lord knows, how much and how hard, I cried. And it wasn’t at this stupid injustice. It was at the whole thing. The fact that someone could have the audacity to think it’s okay to strip people of their God-given dignity. My body has been a prison my whole life. And you just see what you feel obligated to mock, or give unsolicited pointers to the gym, my food and basic life advice to. We live in the most fat-friendly times, where people and body positivity are all, everyone talks about. But, living it and speaking on it are two very different things. I was exposed. Humiliated. Hurt.   

The Creeper reminded me of the hurt and cruel things we do to each other. The Shamu flashbacks, the bullying, the circus effect of obesity. This world is so broken and ugly. I wanted to run and hide. I wanted to bury my feelings in sugar. I wanted to cry and turn inwardly to my toxic coping mechanisms. But I didn’t. I turned to Jesus. He knew every tear I cried and every reason for every tear. He heard me. He saw me. Every moment and emotion I experienced over this stupid incident was an opportunity for me to turn to the King of Kings who wore this human skin and felt the ultimate depth of evil that we humans do to one another. He knows. He knows.

*

“Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.”
Hebrews 12:1-3
*

O my Lord. He endured shame. He endured it for the sake of love. He did so with JOY (v.2) because He knew the purpose and outcome.

I don’t know the outcome of the creeper’s actions in my life. But I do know that in my obedience to the Lord to get healthy, I must endure. I must go on. I must not lose heart.

If this speaks to you, and you are at the verge of losing heart, my friend, don’t. Endure. The Lord is good, and He calls us to hard things, so He can help us through them. Keep fighting the fight. It will be worth it. We all have our Shamu stories. It’s not in vain. Share them. Lift others in the wake of this very hard life. Set your eyes on Jesus, friend.

Endure.

Endure.

I’d love to tell you that I returned to the gym the following day, unafraid, and determined. But I didn’t. In fact, I didn’t go back for almost four months. It was hard to do.

But…

I

went

back.

More on that later…