Jonathan’s Story
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Jonathan Ressler
Welcome back to Shut Up and Choose, the podcast that cuts through the noise, the nonsense, and all the bullshit the diet industry and internet influencers throw at you. They lie to you about weight loss. They sell you shortcuts. They never tell you the truth. So today, I’m going to tell you what the truth actually looks like.
In early April of 2023, when I walked out of the hospital after twenty-one days, I didn’t walk out healthy. I walked out patched together. Like Frankenstein held up by medication and luck. Sepsis almost killed me. My body was wrecked.
They sent me home with a plastic bag full of orange pill bottles. Blood pressure meds. Cholesterol meds. Blood thinners. Diuretics. Gout meds. Kidney meds. Meds to counteract the side effects of the other meds. I looked at that lineup and thought, this is my new breakfast.
It was so complicated I had to set phone reminders just to keep the schedule straight. Every morning was the same ritual. Swallow pills. Chase them with water. Wait for the dizziness and nausea to pass. Then pretend this was normal.
The doctors kept repeating the warning. Your heart is weak. Your kidneys are damaged. You can’t keep living like this. I nodded. I promised to do better. I said all the right things.
And the very same day I got home, I went right back to my old habits.
That’s what addiction looks like when food is the drug. It’s quiet. It’s automatic. You don’t binge because you’re hungry. You binge because it’s the only thing that still feels like control.
There I was. A walking pharmacy with failing organs. Sitting in my kitchen ordering takeout. The hospital bracelet still on my wrist. That’s how sick I was. Not just physically, but mentally.
The days after the hospital blurred together. Pain. Pills. Gout flaring. Joints on fire. My heart pounding like a warning siren. Instead of listening, I numbed everything with food, TV, excuses, and more food.
You can’t medicate shame. So you bury it in something that tastes good for five minutes.
My cardiologist looked me in the eye and said, if you don’t lose weight, you’re going to die. You need bariatric surgery. You don’t have a choice.
I’d heard that before. I didn’t even react. I just wanted to be left alone and get back to the only thing that brought me comfort. Eating.
If you’ve read my book, you know about the pink gorilla that changed everything. If not, here’s the short version. A friend sent me a singing pink gorilla for my birthday. I had to take a photo with it to say thank you.
When I saw that photo, I didn’t recognize myself. I had avoided mirrors for years. That picture stripped the denial away. I wasn’t the person I thought I was. I wasn’t someone I respected.
That’s when I finally believed the doctors. I didn’t feel invincible anymore. I felt fragile. Breakable. Like one cheeseburger away from a headline.
So I did what scared people do. I looked for the fastest exit. Bariatric surgery. Sleeve. Bypass. Band. Testimonials. Crying people holding up jeans like holy relics.
I wanted safety. I wanted certainty.
Insurance wouldn’t cover it. Wait times were long. I felt like I didn’t have months. Then I found a clinic in Mexico. Luxury recovery. Expert surgeons. Results that would change everything.
I scheduled it. Thirty days out.
That night I sat on my couch surrounded by pill bottles and junk food wrappers thinking maybe this is how I finally win. Handing my life over to someone else felt like relief. I was tired of being responsible for me.
Later that night, the fear hit. Surgery. Anesthesia. Infection. Being alone in another country. And one sentence from the doctor kept looping in my head.
Start eating less now. Prepare your mind for life after surgery.
If I can eat less now, why the hell am I flying to another country to have my stomach cut open?
That question didn’t let me sleep. It forced the truth out. I didn’t need a surgeon. I needed accountability. I needed honesty. I needed to stop waiting for someone else to fix what I kept breaking.
The next morning, I canceled the surgery.
I didn’t feel empowered. I felt exposed. No plan. No safety net. Just me and the mess I created.
I cleaned out the fridge. Not dramatically. Just enough to create space. Then I made breakfast. Eggs. Toast. Water. Nothing perfect. Just real.
I sat down and ate slowly. No phone. No guilt. No plan. Just the quiet thought that maybe I could do this.
The first days were rough. My body was wrecked. Walking hurt. Breathing felt heavy. But something new showed up. Curiosity.
Why am I hungry right now? Why do I eat when I’m bored? When I’m scared?
I wasn’t trying to be perfect. I was trying to be honest.
I told no one. To them, surgery was discipline. To me, it was surrender. I wasn’t chasing a smaller stomach. I was chasing a bigger life.
Every day I made one small, smart choice. Just one. Walk a little farther. Drink water. Go to bed earlier. Keep my word.
Trust started to come back.
One night I sat in my car outside a fast food place. Same place I’d hit a hundred times. I smelled the fries. My brain screamed for it.
Then a quiet voice said, you don’t have to do this anymore.
I drove home and made a boring sandwich.
No fireworks. No transformation montage. But I felt more powerful than any miracle cure ever gave me.
Rules make you obedient. Choices keep you alive.
The weight started coming off. Fast. Not because of luck. Because my body was ready to heal the moment I stopped assaulting it.
I never counted calories. I tracked integrity. Did I keep my word today? If yes, I was winning.
Control isn’t the goal. Trust is.
I didn’t lose 140 pounds by finding a better plan. I lost it by finding my backbone.
That’s what Stop Dieting. Start Choosing really means. It’s not motivation. It’s ownership.
You don’t need surgery. You don’t need injections. You don’t need permission.
You need honesty. Consistency. Self-respect.
Stop waiting. Stop outsourcing. Start choosing.
Shut up and choose.