So my 40th birthday came and went, and I survived. I actually had a party with some friends and had a great time. Now that I'm over it, I can't remember why I was whining about turning 40. When I think of it in comparative terms, I'm a whole lot better at 40 than I was at 30. I have never looked better. I have never felt better. I have never run farther and all things considered, I am in the most stable place I've ever had in my life.

Taking a step back to think of the many ways that my life has changed for the better allowed me to put it in perspective. OK, so it wasn't the step back, it was my editor Katie who made me think about the good. She had questions from my last post where I was whining about 40 and what surprised me most was that all of her questions were about the good things that I didn't even write about. Naturally, I rolled my neck in true sista girl fashion and I thought, this chick doesn't even know me, and I highly doubt she's 30, so what does she know? Well, she knows a heck of a lot more than I do if she has read my posts over the course of time and recognizes from my words alone that I'm a whole lot better now than I have ever been.

No, my angst did not evaporate because of this realization, but it did ignite appreciation in me. As a reminder of how far I've come, I read some old journal entries. As I read entries from my 20s and 30s, I cried -- I cried hard -- because I could not believe how many of the things I had accomplished and how many prayers God had answered. The one thing I had prayed about over and over was to be released from the prison of morbid obesity. I had written about severe ankle pain, arthritis and my doctor's repeated warnings about diabetes and hypertension. I even suffered through an abusive relationship because of low self esteem. At 40 and 10 abuse free years, I no longer experience any of these things, nor am I at high risk for diabetes or hypertension. So what the heck was I complaining about?

I have lived between two extremes, and I am not quite sure which side is worse. I was morbidly obese, and all I could think about were ideas for getting thin and what my life would be like without the excess baggage. I didn't always act on those ideas, but I can't ever remember a day when my excessive weight didn't (literally) weigh heavily on my mind. Having finally lost the weight, my place today is quite different, but strangely, it resembles my past life. Now that I've lost the weight, I live in constant fear of gaining it back. It's really a senseless fear for the most part, I do OK with my diet and fitness and have not had more than a 2- to 3-pound variance since my gastric bypass surgery in January 2006.

Still, I wonder if it's more worrisome to be fat already or to be thin and fear fat daily. I recognize that any pluses or minuses I experience on the scale are directly related to my decisions. However, it is my thoughts that inform my decision-making process. As an extremist, it can be difficult to find a happy medium, but with something as delicate and significant as my weight, I must. Living in fear is not an option.

I am acquainted with someone who had gastric bypass surgery and then became anorexic after losing the weight. She'd had several skin-removal surgeries and could have easily been a model. After the onset of her eating disorder, she could easily be the spokesperson for anorexia nervosa -- she is all skin and bones. Even though she is extremely thin, she believes that she is still obese, so she exercises a lot and eats very little. I think she is a serious example of extremism at its finest, and she illustrates how imbalance can be near fatal.

Photo: Getty Images

Lordy, Lordy Karla's turning 40. Damn. I don't know if you can say Lordy and damn so close together, but that's where I'm at with this impending 40th birthday. Doom usually comes after impending, and to some degree, that's how I'm feeling. Somehow, I had envisioned being in a different place by this landmark in my life. And if I can be quite honest, I'm feeling some type of way that this is where I've landed.

Don't get it twisted, my life is the stuff movies are made of. Broadway shows, celebrity friends, VIP access and all that. But so what. Who am I amid all of it? Other folks know who they are, but what about Karla? Was this all I had to offer the world? I've spent 20 years doing basically the same job that never quite manifested into a full-blown career. I spent 20 years between two men, and even though they asked, I never could love either enough to stand before God and say I do till death. Damn.

One thing I always offer is transparency and sincerity. I'm not one for pity parties, but I am one for the truth. And the truth is, I'm not one bit happy about turning 40. As my 30s got closer to 40, I began to hear things my tender ears never heard directed at them before, like mammograms and fibroids, increased risks of this and that but decreased chances of fertility. Perhaps 40 is reflective for everyone, and if not, I'm just fine being the only one.

Karla with nephew Dominick Jr. and niece Caroline Photo: Karla Carrington

If home is where the heart is, then my home must now be Brooklyn. I went to North Carolina over Labor Day weekend for my nephew's 14th birthday party (hey Dominick Jr!), and it no longer felt like home. The experience was strange in the sense that it was both new and uncomfortable. Even now I pride myself on being a Southern girl, but something about that has changed.

On this visit, I drove past the house where I grew up with my parents, four siblings and usually a dog or two. The park where I had my first kiss is only a block away. Of course, the sight of my home stirred a plethora of emotion within. Some good, some bad, but all OK. Nothing about this walk down memory lane made me seek refuge in my usual way -- food -- when glancing back at my past.

I can tell that I have healed a lot because I could remember more good than bad. This house is where my eating addiction began. This house is where my brother's friend violated me and made me think being fat and unpretty would save me. A lot happened in this house, but my heart swells most remembering Sunday dinners akin to those in "Soul Food." We were a big family with not much money, but enough love to make up for the lack thereof. Overall, I had a great childhood.

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Because the opportunity for us to appear on CBS' "Early Show" Saturday Slim Down last summer came about over the course of two days, we were pretty much left to our own devices the first week. However, with Saturday's weigh-in looming above, Taia and I did everything we knew to lose weight. We were ridiculous. We counted calories, carbs, protein, fat, cats and dogs. We were practically zombies from starving ourselves. I'm pretty sure the ashy lips we had meant dehydration, but we didn't care. We could die after Saturday's weigh-in. At all costs, we had to lose some weight, because the nation would be watching.

Saturday arrived, and there we were again, preparing to step on the gargantuan fire-breathing scale from hell for the country to see how well we'd done our first week. The producer brought us up on the stage to do a dry run and position us where we were to stand. Me, being the Curious George that I am, I glanced at the scale to see if I could sneak a weigh-in to avoid any surprises before the eyes of the entire nation. I eased over and stepped on lightly only to have the giant digital display show a net loss of .8 pounds. Though disappointed at how little I'd lost, I was certainly thrilled that I hadn't gained. The producer hurried us off the stage where Taia and I chatted nervously with the other participant as we awaited our turn.

"To cease smoking is the easiest thing I ever did. I ought to know because I've done it a thousand times." ~Mark Twain, attributed

Karla Carrington Photo: Charisse Beamon

I used to smoke. And I was good at it. Ironically enough, I was not a teen smoker, nor did I start out as a youngster. I started smoking when I was 26 years old. I know, dumb, right? I had friends who were smokers and would complain incessantly about the nastiness of the habit and how they were killing us all with second-hand smoke. You've never seen a louder non-smoker on a soapbox than me. I'm the perfect example of how things change.

Ten days before Christmas and shortly after my 25th birthday, my mother died. I was extremely depressed and began drinking heavily. Because I hated the taste, I would take a few pulls from a friend's cigarette to offset the taste of the alcohol. A few pulls turned into buying single cigarettes, then eventually packs. Before I knew, it I was a full-blown smoker.

I can't say I ever really enjoyed it, but how many people stop to examine whether they enjoy a habit or not? It's a habit! I must admit, I was surprised at how easily I slipped into the role of smoker with such little resistance. In spite of all my complaining and vowing that I would never smoke, I had fallen prey. Some would say it was in the cards, having parents who smoked, but I honestly never thought it would be me.

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight, and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

The first time I was called the "N" word, I thought it meant fat. I was five years old and until that day, all the names I'd been called by mean kids had to do with being fat. It happened as I was making my exit from the kindergarten bathroom. I can remember bumping into a little white girl about the same age. I said "excuse me" as I'd been taught to do -- even though it was her fault -- and her response was absolutely stunning. She said, "Move, N word." For reasons I did not yet understand, it hurt deeply. Surely such an ugly word like that had to mean fat, too.

I went home and recounted the exchange with my then 29-year old-mother of five. I knew right away that it was serious because she explained the meaning of it through eyes moist with tears. She tried to counter the ugliness by speaking in such terms of endearment over Civil Rights marches and great leaders who fought for change. But it did not ease the pain of that little girl's words. My 5-year-old mind could not understand how my color could incite such ugliness more than being the fat kid in school did? Great, one more reason to be ashamed. Shame over being black helped make me fat.

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight, and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

I am a fraud. Not just any old fraud -- I am a fraud of the worst kind. The worst kind in my book is one who lies to herself and believes it. I do that.

In spite of the fact that I am battling my weight with every bite and every rep, I am not as sympathetic to those around me who are fighting the same fight. I have, on occasion, looked at fat people unfavorably as if I know nothing about being fat. What a hypocrite. For whatever reason, I feel a need to distance myself because I am closer to them than they could ever know. Any time I see fat, I see me. And it hurts. It hurts so much from the many, many rejections I suffered, simply because I was fat. When I see someone who is overweight, what may appear as my rejection of them is really self rejection and fear of ever going back. I may regret someday that I have written these words but not today. My hope in being so transparent is that my truthfulness will set me free from my own delusion and fear.

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

I stood on my BFF's porch recently and heard a sound I hadn't heard in nearly two years -- a lawn mower. Even though it was distant, it was easily identifiable. Having lived down South for most of my life, hearing this sound is not unusual. Having returned to my southern home from my current New York home, the nostalgia this sound brings makes me exhale deeply. Not a lot of grass being mowed in Brooklyn but standing there on a porch in Charlotte, NC with the 60-degree sun shining on me, I was glad to be home.

In my last post, I expressed deep concern over reverting back to my old ways once I returned home. I wasn't sure if I would continue my good New York habits. In some ways, I thought I would; in other ways, I did not. After much agonizing over making time to exercise, I decided I would do what I could do. I was intent on enjoying my family for the first time this year, after all. So, I managed my portions well and made good food choices. I did not deprive myself of the local favorites I can't get in NY, such as Chick-Fil-A, but instead of having the whole sandwich, I ate half. I also enjoyed a hot dog from the North Carolina exclusive Cook-Out. Instead of getting the famous foot long, though, I had the regular size dog. This trip was a balance of what's become important to me now and how serious I am about my newfound fitness and my healthy lifestyle. It was also indicative of my connection to food, family and friends.

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

As soon as I open my mouth, my roots are a dead giveaway. I am a proud Southern girl. I hail from the land of grits and gravy. If it's not fried and fried, well, then take it back. I grew up in a house where pork was not a four letter word. It was breakfast, lunch or dinner. There was one portion size that fit all -- heaping. We were not rich, but we were family. Sunday dinners were a HUGE deal in our house. If you've ever seen the movie Soul Food, you've seen us. You've also seen a table that had no concern for fat content, cholesterol, calories or any of the other things that matter so very much to me now.

I now reside in New York. It's Thanksgiving, and I am headed South with my new size 12 body. I am terrified at the prospect of what could happen to it while I am home. In so many ways, aside from my singing voice, my weight was my most identifiable trait back home. Growing up, having endured nicknames such as Pork Chop, Fat Momma Cass; accompanied by casual greetings such as "What up big girl?" home is the fattest place on earth for me.

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

Sex and the City was one of my favorite shows. I used to watch the show and wow over the lives these savvy women were living in the Big Apple. They shopped, they partied, they were true girlfriends and life was good. My 400-pound frame would lie in my bed in North Carolina and eat cookies or ice cream and wish that my life was like theirs -- fit, fun and fabulous!

Who knew that five years and 218 pounds later that the same life I wished for would be mine. I now live in New York City, enjoy Sunday brunches at outdoor cafe's in SoHo with my own circle of girl/guy/gayfriends, hop cabs from one club to the next and meet for fancy dinners monthly. We bike ride through Prospect Park and watch movies under the stars at Bryant Park. We enjoy Broadway shows and are blessed to experience every aspect of New York City living. But wait, that only covers the city, now for the sex.

At my former weight, sex was good. As an overweight lover, I can admit I had limitations. I had come to accept that there would be no hanging from chandeliers without subsequent ceiling repairs, so I passed on the extras. Turning off the lights was not enough darkness for me to get naked. I needed a total city blackout! No matter how many years I had a partner, I was too insecure to show myself completely naked. Over the years, it almost became game-like in the creative ways I would avoid exposure. My over-sized body had one partner officially dub me, "Queen of the Quickie."

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

After my surgery, I was depressed. At the time, I can't say I was aware of my depression but soon after, I realized. Continual thoughts of having mutilated my body to lose weight and fears that the surgery had failed plagued me daily. I was sad about what I couldn't eat and mad that it FORCED me to make changes I was not ready to make.

Six months after my surgery, my beloved Father passed away. My sister, the therapist, suggested I "see someone." Well, she is a doctor, so I agreed. I was very close to my Dad and his passing was difficult. Even so, I was at peace with it because I did right by him. However, being at peace did not alleviate the pain of losing both my Dad AND my former lover, food. I missed them both. According to the checklist, I was depressed.

I called my company's EAP and got a referral to see a therapist. This benefit offered by most companies allowed me six free sessions. I met this wonderful Jewish woman who astounded me with her guidance. My first instinct was to find an African American, but death and fat have no color. As different as she and I were, her counsel came with no color. I found that these sessions were more about my weight loss than the loss of my Father. He had cancer, so in some way I was prepared. As for the weight loss, I was not prepared.

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

People treat me differently. I don't always like that they do, but they do. When I was fat, they didn't treat me this way. Girlfriends who loved to roll with the old big girl won't invite me anywhere now. Men open doors when in the past, they've let them close. Hushed tones whispered when I'd enter the room now hold a different message. No longer the elephant in the room but the swan. I was never the ugly duckling. Although, life at nearly 400 pounds made me feel that way.

Going to night clubs in heavier days was an emotional disaster. No matter what I wore or how tight my makeup was, I was always the biggest one in the crowd. If I encountered anyone bigger, we would share a secret glance of agreed pity, one fatty to another. I made my ugly girlfriends look better. Hence, I was never short on invitations. It took me some time to realize that I created the experiences I had. I would come in with a posture that screamed insecurity and wreaked of dejection. Eventually, I got over myself and began to enjoy the music even if I had to dance by myself. My posture changed and declared that this was me. Deal with it. Inevitably, a man would always come join me. People saw me as I began to see myself. Weight aside, I was alright.

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

When I decided that I would get off my butt AND make it tighter in the process, I knew I would not be able to do it alone. Sure, I'd risen from my couch in the past on hundreds, OK, tens, of occasions. Oddly enough, I always found my couch to be far more comfortable than bending and stretching ever was. Imagine that.

When I rose off my couch the last time, I assembled a team of professionals to help keep me off. My nutritionist, Keri Glassman, M.S., R.D., C.D.N., armed me with all I needed to eat wisely. She was skilled enough to incorporate things into the plan that I could not give up. That's right, Keri did not force me to give up Nilla wafers and grits. Instead, she taught me moderation. Anybody who allows me to eat grits is alright in my book. Keri is definitely a top five all-star to me.

My first trainer was the amazing Liz Neporent. I hated her from the start. Seriously, her butt was as tight as a drum. I just didn't think I could trust nor have anything in common with a woman who's butt was that tight! I was wrong. I love Liz, and she loves me. She taught me more about fitness in a few weeks than I'd learned my entire life. I was pro bono work for her, by way of a TV show that flopped. Even when the show went away, she stuck with me. My only competition with Liz was to see if I could be as committed to my fitness as she was. Liz, call me when you get rid of all that celebrity clientele. I need you more!

Welcome to the Good, the Fat and the Hungry. I'm Karla and I have been -- or am -- all those things. Here, I will share with you my lifelong struggle with my weight and I hope you'll follow along on with my determined attempt to lose nearly 40 pounds. I promise to tell you every win and setback along the way every Tuesday and Friday.

I miss REAL ice cream. I miss cheese cake. And oh, how I miss chunky peanut butter. What I did NOT miss, however, was the bus with gastric bypass surgery. Sure I may not be able to eat these things now, but it's worth the trade, because I don't miss morbid obesity. I have dodged the bullets of diabetes and hypertension by getting the weight off.

To share this journey in truth, I must admit to having doubts. Prior to my surgery, I found a great gastric bypass website filled with pictures and detailed accounts of others' journeys. I practically became obsessed with before and after photos. I would look at those smiling post-op people who barely resembled their befores. Folks were experiencing a new life and dubbed their surgery dates their re-birthday. The after images were emblazoned into my brain. I longed to be a smiling after picture.

This same amazing web community contained blogs of past, present and hopeful bypass patients who wrote about insurance battles, mixed feelings and both good and bad results. Some of blogs ended with notes from family members announcing the passing of the writer. The blogs sometimes conveyed happiness and/or regret about the surgery. I read. I viewed hundreds of pics. I learned. I prayed. I did it.

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