Today’s post is on the lighter side, just gonna cover how I’ve cultivated a public image, the effects of generational trauma, and how we lie to ourselves. NBD. Come for the voyeurism, stay for the truth.

Part 1: Building a Myth

I didn’t grow up believing fitness was a value. Sure, I was active in high school. And of course I spent a few weeks on the elliptical in college, heartbroken after a breakup. I think that’s a requirement to be a sorority girl, right? Petty detour: I once elliptical-ed next to a girl wearing long sleeves because she “didn’t want anyone to see her sweat”. She was a sorority girl too.

Moving to Austin got me into running. It’s hard to live in one of the fittest cities in the country without it inspiring you. I joined Gilbert’s Gazelles and got a few half marathons under my belt. James and I joined a kickboxing gym and did the Whole 30 diet. We spent our honeymoon hiking through the Andes. After Maya was born, I became a Couch to 5k evangelist and did two more half marathons. I completed a 5k halfway into my pregnancy with Ki Jae, then he informed me that he would camp out directly on my bladder for the remaining 20 weeks.

My neighbors know I’m regularly in the garage, working out and noise polluting the neighborhood with the Reputation album. My friends think of me as a healthy eater. Between obnoxiously sharing my Garmin stats on social media when running, discussing recipes for clean eating, and talking to moms about my pelvic floor healing (shout out to SLAM), I have influenced people to think of me as a healthy person.

That’s so nice, isn’t it? I never ran Boston, but people think I make good lifestyle choices. Approval is just as intoxicating as a medal for some of us. By selectively sharing online, and highlighting certain lifestyle choices in conversations, I’ve painted a great picture. Its accuracy is akin to the way that Van Gogh’s sunflowers really represent sunflowers.

The insidious thing about painting a picture of yourself is that you begin to believe it too. A few weeks ago, I sailed into my annual exam confidently. Annual is a stretch here, since I hadn’t been since 2021. If you’re reading this, schedule your annual exam.

Anyway, I strode in with legs fresh from a workout. Smugly checked “no” to using substances or drinking anything but water. Felt good about my amount of sleep and dietary habits. And listened, stunned, as the doctor shared that I am pre-diabetic and have high cholesterol and by the way, also need a mammogram.

Me?! I can carry both kids at the same time. 175 squats is a normal workout. There are at least 2 green vegetables in my produce drawer! I was inwardly indignant and outwardly silent, as the doctor said she’d like to see me in 6 months instead of waiting a year. Ugh, accountability and care. Who wants a doctor like that?! I slunk out humbled.

Part 2: The Origin Story

For most of my life, I’ve been an Okie. I grew up with eating habits typical of our part of the country: a fridge full of sodas and juices, packaged foods, a lot of sweets. Beef. Too much alcohol consumption in my 20s. A healthy meal meant we included frozen veggies in our chicken pot pie.

I’m more than an Okie, though. I’m a Korean. I was born in the 80s. If my mother was around 25 at my birth, she was born in the early 60s. Her mother would be born around 1935. When a female embryo forms, that embryo contains all her eggs too.

Meaning that my grandmother, when pregnant with my mother, also had me inside her too. My grandmother was alive during Japanese occupation. This was a brutal time in Korean history, and the United States made it much worse before it got better. Forced sexual slavery, starvation, and brutal killings of innocent civilians were commonplace, from both occupiers.1 The Korean War officially began in 1950 and officially ended in 1953, but its effects spread far on either side of that date.

My mother was likely born after the Korean War. Death by famine was common. My grandmother, living through Japanese occupation, World War II, American occupation, and the Korean War, probably wasn’t exactly well-fed or safe. My mother probably had food scarcity. She certainly had family trauma. Then she had me, and I jetted off to Oklahoma to spend my life consuming Pop Tarts for breakfast. So, how does that all relate back to my potential diabetes? I’m only gonna quote a few sentences of a medical paper, so hang in there with me.

“…the thrifty phenotype hypothesis postulates…that adaptations in response to fetal undernutrition lead to metabolic and structural changes (e.g., decreased β-cell mass and function and increased insulin resistance) that are beneficial for early survival, but may increase the risk of chronic diseases, such as type 2 diabetes, in adulthood (50,51). The risks of adverse long-term consequences are likely to be exacerbated in a nutritionally rich environment in later life. Indirect support for this hypothesis comes from studies showing consistent associations between low birth weight (LBW) and increased risk of type 2 diabetes.” - Frank Hu, MD2

If you didn’t follow all that, here’s the summary: Underweight and undernourished fetuses are more likely to have diabetes, especially if they eat a lot of junk food later in life. In other words, it’s like they made a medical study specifically for my life.

Different, different, different. As a kid, I had to answer “where are you REALLY from?” regularly. “Oklahoma” is not a sufficient answer because Asians cannot possibly be from Oklahoma. Yer a foreigner, we can tell. As an adult, I have to explain - nearly every day of my life - that I am not a drinker, that some Asians are allergic to alcohol. Now, I have to explain why I’m bringing my own sad quinoa salad to pizza night and potlucks. Sorry, I’m pre-diabetic because my grandparents endured some serious shit in order to have my parents, and then me, and I was not built for this life of Cheez-Its and Chips Ahoy.

Gah, Emily, can you ever just be a normal American? No. I’m hyphenated into other-dom forever, and I passed that on to my kids too. For those of you who don’t know, being “hyphenated” means you don’t get to be “American”. You’re Korean-hyphen-American, or Asian-hyphen-American, but you are very rarely just “American”. Yer a foreigner, remember?!

This foreigner is proud of my Korean roots. Four adults had to live through wars and famines to bring my parents to life. My parents survived long enough to bring me to life. My legacy is strength and endurance. My legacy is outsmarting starvation. My legacy is a deep drive to fight for survival. My legacy is…the inability to drown my sorrows in alcohol or ice cream.

Part 3: The Quest

I’ve always been an overachiever, so my pre-diabetic diagnosis sent me into a frenzy of quinoa and lentils. Even as I told James and my friends that I was going to make small changes, I overhauled everything. Restraint is such a lovely value. I’m not sure I’ll ever learn it. It seems like my quest is to become healthier, a cleaner eater, someone with bloodwork results that come back in normal range.

That’s not the quest at all.

The fulcrum of turning 40 has spurred much change in my life. I’ll never stop referencing that I’m in the portal, because it’s the single best piece of writing on midlife that I’ve seen. My portal quest thus far has been to decrease fear and anxiety and increase peace and joy. But how much peace and joy can you have when you’re lying to yourself?

We tell ourselves soothing little stories all day. Mine are something like: Since I’m so strong, I must be working out a lot. I eat healthier than almost everyone we know. Since I don’t drink, I can have more chocolate. I summited a mountain, so of course I can finish that creme brulee.

A few weeks ago, I did indeed summit a mountain, after two hours of steady climbing, using ropes at the end because the slope was so steep. I did indeed finish the creme brulee at the nice restaurant that night, even though I was already too full. And I did indeed throw up that evening, sick from too much rich food. Unlearning gluttony is awful.

It’s awful, but not shameful. Like, tell me you’ve never thrown up from overindulgence of some kind. My body decided to give some strong feedback, and I’m choosing to listen. But what I won’t do is shame myself for making a mistake. I’ve already spent too much of my life shaming myself over dumb shit that never mattered. If you have a tendency to self-shame too, just remember that I threw up and then admitted it to the entire internet.

Why admit it at all? Because my real quest is root out the lies. It’s true that I was an avid runner, and I love my current workout program. It’s true that I like to talk about clean eating. And it’s also true that I struggle with comfort eating. I want to project an image of health so that people approve of me. I don’t work out that often or make healthy eating choices that often either.

Integrity has been on my mind a lot lately. I want to explain it to my kids, but I don’t really know how to define it. I do know that enjoying one’s favorable public image is not conducive to full integrity. I know that it’s easy to let people perceive you a certain way. I know that part of me wanted to share a picture of me on the mountain ropes and never tell you what happened at dinner afterward.

I also know that real self-care involves integrity and action. Y’all know I’m spiritually churning, but I have to say, the part about the narrow path hits me in the gut because it’s the truth. There is beauty in pursuing a narrow path. My quest is walking toward more integrity, in public and in private, to myself and to others.

So, I’ll be rolling into pizza night with my quinoa salad from now on, and I’ll try not to be a show-off about it. I like to hope that, instead of begrudging my body, I can thank it. For carrying messages of the legacy of my past, for forcing a reckoning with truthfulness, and yes, for summiting mountains too. You’re a great body, and you deserve someone who is honest with you.

A note for the Schoenleb family: Diabetes or no, James and I are going to Burger King soon. We’re going to eat Whoppers and “have it your way”. Love you all so much.