'I got weight loss surgery after years of self-loathing. Here's what nobody tells you.'

I didn't bounce back after motherhood. I broke down, rebuilt, and reinvented myself instead.

There's a photo of me from five years ago that I can barely look at. Not because I'm ashamed, but because I genuinely don't recognise her. The woman in that photo was carrying 60 kilograms more than I do now, but the weight wasn't the heaviest thing she was holding.

I was post-40, post-baby, post-husband, and ready for something to change.

Everyone talks about getting your body back after having a child. But what if you don't want it back? What if the body you had before isn't the body you want to return to? What if you need to build something entirely new?

Watch: A discussion about how pregnancy and birth physically change a woman's brain and body. Post continues after video.

The war I didn't know I was fighting.

I'd always been confident. But yet there was a slow, quiet hum of "not quite good enough" that followed me into dressing rooms, school gates, and family photos. The constant mental calculations: suck in here, maybe skip that second helping.

I wore strategic black clothes. I knew my angles. I said I was "big-boned" or "curvy" or "fine with it."

But behind closed doors, I was constantly bargaining with my body. Be smaller and I'll be happy. Be smaller and I'll finally show up fully.

Lisa, before having gastric sleeve surgery. Image: Supplied.

The thing is, I'd tried everything. Every diet, every program, every promise of transformation. I was also the girl who was doing four or five gym classes every week, trying to run my way towards that skinny body.

I also began researching weight loss surgery. I have done this for years, literally years — reading forums, following journeys, weighing risks and benefits.

This wasn't a decision made lightly or in desperation. It was calculated, considered and ultimately, necessary.

Post-baby and post-husband I was ready for something to change.

The decision nobody tells you is brave.

In 2020, I had gastric sleeve surgery.

Let me address the elephant in the room immediately. No, it wasn't the easy way out. No, it wasn't a shortcut. Yes, I tried everything else first.

Lisa finally decided to undergo grastric sleeve surgery. Image: Supplied.

The decision to have weight loss surgery is met with a strange cocktail of judgment and curiosity.

People want to know why you "gave up" on doing it naturally, as if spending years trying and failing somehow doesn't count.

As if asking for medical intervention is weakness rather than wisdom.

Lisa undergoing gastric sleeve surgery. Image: Supplied.

I was tired of myself. Tired of avoiding mirrors, and tired of existing in a body that felt like a prison, I couldn't escape no matter how many diets I white-knuckled my way through.

Gastric sleeve surgery was my lifeline, not my cop-out.

What comes after weight loss.

After the surgery, the weight came off fast, aided by a complete lifestyle overhaul. I did the work, and showed up for myself in ways I never had before. Sixty kilograms melted away, and with it, many of the limitations I'd accepted as permanent.

Then I was faced with something nobody had really warned me about: excess skin.

Loose, hanging reminders of where I'd been. Proof of the journey, but not the body I wanted to live in. I'd worked so hard to get here, only to feel like I was still trapped in the wrong skin. Literally.

Excess skin is one of the side effects of gastric sleeve surgery. Image: Supplied.

So I made another choice that yet again required explanation, justification and courage. I had skin removal surgery.

The first procedure was a 360-degree tummy tuck alongside a breast augmentation — a full day in the operating theatre rebuilding my core. A year later, I went back for my arms and legs. Over two metres of stitches all up, crisscrossing my body like a roadmap of reinvention.

Lisa's body after skin removal surgery. Image: Supplied.

The recovery was brutal.

Drains, compression garments, weeks of not being able to lift my arms above my head. But every day of healing was a day closer to the body I'd been working toward.

The body I live in now.

Now I'm scarred, but I'm also strong, and I finally feel like me.

The scars tell a story I'm learning to be proud of. They're not badges of honour exactly, but they're evidence that I chose myself, again and again, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

My body isn't perfect by magazine standards or Instagram filters. It's marked by motherhood, by weight loss, by surgery and by life. But it's the first body I've had in years that actually feels like home.

I can move without pain. I can shop without dread. I can exist in the world without that constant background hum of discomfort and shame that used to soundtrack my days.

What nobody tells you about transformation.

The main takeaway I've found is that body transformation isn't just physical — the identity shift is what rocked my world.

I grieved the old version of myself. Not because I wanted her back, but because letting go of who you've been, even when you didn't always like her, is a form of loss. You mourn the familiar, even when it was uncomfortable.

I've also had to learn how to accept compliments, and how to be visible. These sound like small things, but when you've spent years trying to disappear, being seen is a whole new world.

And here's the part nobody talks about: you can be grateful for the journey and still wish you'd never had to take it. Both things are true. I'm proud of what I've accomplished, and I'm also angry that I had to fight this hard just to feel comfortable in my own skin.

Lisa after undergoing both gastric sleeve and skin removal surgeries. Image: Supplied.

To anyone in the middle of their own reinvention.

You don't owe anyone a specific journey. You don't need to lose weight "naturally" to earn your transformation. You don't need to love every version of yourself along the way. You don't need to be grateful for the struggle.

You're allowed to ask for help. You're allowed to use every tool available to you. You're allowed to make choices that other people don't understand.

Post 40, your body doesn't owe anyone a comeback. It doesn't owe anyone an explanation. It doesn't owe anyone anything except you.

The body I live in now isn't the end of the story. It's just the first chapter where I finally feel like the main character instead of an extra in my own life.

And that makes every scar, every choice, every brave decision worth it.

Lisa Jones is an Australian-based entrepreneur and mother to Maya, 14. She shares her journey navigating gastric sleeve surgery, weight loss, neurodivergence, and entrepreneurial parenting on Instagram @lisajones_co.

Feature image: Supplied.