Five and a half years. A child born on the day I started this journey would likely be in kindergarten. A car bought on that day would, on average, have around 80,000 miles on the odometer; the equivalent of more than three times around the Earth. A college student starting on September 3, 2013, would likely have graduated and may even have started their career.

I have been in the process of changing myself for that long. Most of the time, it seems as if my life before has disappeared, and this is who I am, now. I look in the mirror and I am still surprised at what I see. I feel great; I can do what I want to do — and the things on the bucket list are now possible when they weren’t, before.

But I have a ghost. I tend to forget about her until she pops up unexpectedly, like yesterday. I checked in at my orthopedic surgeon’s office for my final surgery follow-up, and the woman at the desk went down the normal list of asking me about any changed information. And then, she glanced at me, and said “we need to take a new photo for your files. You don’t look anything like the photo we have!”

My photo was of my last driver’s license, taken in October, 2014. A year and a month in, there was little distance between my ghost and me; I hardly knew she existed. Before that point, I had been on a few diets that had lasted longer and been more successful. I had yet to prove to myself that the changes I was making, in the process of becoming healthier, would stick.

The day — the moment — I made the decision to try one more time, without ever realizing it, a part of me pulled away; that ghost, that image of me at that moment before I changed. The ghost is me who might have never changed.

It’s easy to forget she ever existed, especially as I move through each new day doing things that weren’t possible for her. I hardly owned a mirror five years ago; I couldn’t bear to see my own reflection, and when I had to look, I cringed, made excuses, and tried to only focus on whatever the reason was for looking. There are very few photos of me, then, for that same reason; I dreaded being remembered as I was, then. I was more likely to make a silly face if I just had to be in a photo, or find a way to hide behind someone else. I spent a lot of time trying to escape who I was.

Sometimes, she pops up from nowhere. She’s the anxiety that the jeans I haven’t worn since before surgery won’t make it past my hips. (They do.) She’s the fear that if I deviate from plan for a day, I’ll be back at 371 pounds tomorrow. She’s the residue of the person who thought she didn’t stand a chance at the things she really wanted to do, and there are still times that doubt creeps in and reaches out for me in an attempt to hold me back.

She’s the echo of my life before. But unlike so many who manage to change and then denounce the people they were before, I cannot and will not do that; those faint reminders keep me honest and on my path. I don’t hate the person I was; there’s no point in that. Besides, I did that years ago; I shunned who I was, before, became overly confident, and then slid backward and regained every ounce. (And quite a few more.)

We are all the sum of our experiences, and to remove or attempt to forget the lessons in any of those experiences, good and bad alike, is a mistake. The acceptance that the ghost will always be with me is a crucial step in my future success.

I am not her any longer, but she’s always within me, that ghost of me.