So I think I've formulated my thoughts for this post about as much as they'll formulate. Usually things just flow more once I start writing. I warn you that it's going to likely be incredibly long, but deeply heartfelt, so if you don't have 5 or so solid minutes (based on average reading speeds) then you might want to come back when you have a little more time. That would mean a lot to me, because this one's going to be a doozy and I'd rather you get the full effect than just skim it or get overwhelmed by paragraph 7 and skip the rest.
I have to pause here and point out that at the beginning of last night's post I said that I'd type a short one. Short and sweet, actually. And then it was a long rambling nothingness post. Perhaps that's why no one left any comments... not that it really merited any, anyway.
On to what's been on my mind... I started this blog because I reached the point where I knew my life had to change. I won't lie to you- I have sometimes dreamed that this blog would follow me losing 220 pounds and I'd get all sexy and hot and Hollywood bigwigs scouring the internet would be instantly charmed by my snarky wit and engaging banter, and they'd of course sic the paparazzi on me and begin penning my life story in which Drew Barrymore would don a fatsuit, lose it throughout the film, and as a result win her first Academy Award. Well, I just made most of that up, but I did have flitting thoughts of grandeur, I won't lie. But, really, I started this blog for the right reasons- I knew deep down that my life needed to change in a big way, or else I would follow in the footsteps of an aunt I can't even remember and die of a massive coronary failure at 42. Part of that change includes the accountability of baring my soul and putting it out there for others.
I thought at first that my blog should be totally anonymous, so while I show my face in early pics I never intended to use my real name or even point many real friends to it. But then I realized that if others could actually help me, they needed to be people unafraid to call me to the carpet and actually support me, as opposed to coddling me. Thus, the others began to trickle in. These ubiquitous others began just as close family and friends... then, I found directories of other people with similar weight loss journeys, so I began building up my very own online community. All of this has been incredible, and really good. I can relate to what people write, and it helps me when I realize that pretty much everyone else struggles with their eating when they're off their routine (namely, weekends), lots of people still have to force themselves to get out of the kitchen, and almost everyone still has to make themselves work out.
Despite this base I have found, I've felt for a few weeks that something is just off. I had to do my whole reboot two weeks ago, and then had an amazing week... and then a mostly cruddy week. I keep trying to stay with the program (I'm not on an actual program... I just mean in the generic sense) and then I just... don't. This weekend was a bunch of blah moments. Granted, at the peak of PMS I have to fight feelings of utter hopelessness, which is so irritating because I am so the opposite of a hopeless person. I can't even think of a quippy simile for you as to how unhopeless (double negatives = awesome and you know it) of a person I am, normally. So it's incredibly frustrating to have to literally wage war against my own body when I least have the ability to summon up any gumption to do so. In those moments when I need to be "breathing murderous thoughts" against my hormones they are the very thing rendering me helpless (at least it feels that way), which in turn leads to the hopelessness. So what do I do, usually? Stuff my face. Because eating a half of a loaf of banana bread with 200 calories of milk always (read: never) makes me feel better.
Ugh. It so freaking sucks. Yeah, I know I sound like I'm 12. But sometimes blunt and uncreative is the most striking verbage of all.
You may be asking yourself if the purpose of this post is to whine and feel sorry for myself.
No. Actually, I'm realizing that I'll never win this battle, so instead of feeling sorry for myself I am just giving up. Who cares if I can never sit in good Mariner's seats? The bleachers aren't so bad. Who cares if I can never buy cute clothes and I'm always self-conscious? It's better than this constant battle everyday. It's exhausting. Better to just be numb and not beat myself up mentally over not working out. Being fat may not be easy, but it was actually a whole lot easier than this constant war over food and thoughts and exercise and emotions and issues and wounds has been. So, now you have it. I quit.
Ok, not really. That's utterly untrue. The fact remains, this is a LOT of work, and it's worth the battle. But it is extremely exhausting and I keep expecting myself to get perfect. I also expect to miraculously not have to struggle anymore, for it all to get so easy.
This all ties together, I promise. Part of the battle being so tough stems from the fact that I've allowed myself to get a little off focus. It's amazing what one good week on the scale will do to me- I lost 5 pounds last week (25 times what I lost the week before), and suddenly all I could think about was how great I was doing (despite having a mediocre week at best... I am so bad about working out... rather, not working out) and how if I just lost five pounds every week I'd be so thin in no time, and maybe a goal weight of 120 to look like Ali from The Biggest Loser, though I hope I'm not as stuck on myself and obnoxious as her (I still find her annoying, I don't care how good she looks) is totally realistic... and then, while I thought these things all the time, I worked out once (Saturday, and at an intensity of 5 out of 10) and ate with only minimal self-control.
So stupid! But I just felt miserable and couldn't figure out what my problem was. How could such a great week do anything other than inspire me to step up the intensity and do even better? The answer seemed elusive and I had pretty much resigned myself to going back to the old me, losing .2 pounds a week.
Then, yesterday at church, Pastor Mark preached about mankind (yep, women too) being created in God's image. It was the most incredible thing when he talked about the fact that we don't have to be victims. Being hurt is not an excuse to cling to that hurt and reject God. Most profound of all was that I was reminded of a truth that I often deny- my body is a gift, and I am to steward it. The heart issue here is that I finally began this journey not merely to lose weight, but to truly surrender to Jesus. I turn to food because it is an idol. It brings comfort. I love food and sitting on my arse (another great word) and the way they make me feel... or rather, numb me so I don't feel... more than I love Jesus. I find satisfaction in food and laziness that I don't allow myself to find in Jesus. Really, I don't give Him the opportunity to reveal it to me, and He's not going to force it on me.
The problem here is that for 26 years (well, ok, more like 20, since I can't remember how I felt about food from ages 0-6) I lived this way and mostly felt ok. Becoming a Christian at 16 brought on issues of conscience, in that I knew gluttony and sloth were sins, but only recently has the Lord really brought all of this to the surface in a way that it must be dealt with. And, really, it must be dealt with. It's why I am so miserable- I know there is something more, actual intimacy with Jesus that I have never known, but it's just beyond my grasp and I keep trying to reach out for it but then I realize my hands are tightly clenching a half-loaf of banana bread in my left and a glass of milk in my right and declaring that what my left hand holds is far better than than the Bread of Life and the right hand has something infinitely more satisfying than the Living Water. Like a petulant child I proclaim reality to God, certain that I know best.
Can I point out there that this reminds me of a section from Where the Red Fern Grows?
Sadly, I am that raccoon. I cling to my food addiction, my absolute laziness regarding working out, and I convince myself that the shiny piece of crap that looks interesting but adds zero value to my life is worth dying over. Food is wonderful, but it's a gift from God meant to be enjoyed to His glory and not to the glory of my stomach. I realized yesterday that I am off track because not only do I allow food and laziness to be the shrines to my idol of Comfort but I cling to my past hurt as an excuse to do so.
I was hand knit in my mother's womb in the image of God Himself. As the one created, I have no right to cling to my hurts or to excuse bad behavior because I was wounded. I am not a victim. I am a woman created by God in His image for the purpose of displaying His glory. I have the awesome responsibility of reflecting God's image into a wounded and broken world. God is the object, and I am the mirror. Sin shattered the mirror into a million little pieces, but as Christ changes me He puts those pieces back together and I am able, with more and more surface area, to reflect God's glory to those around me. The issue is that Christ is to the point where the next pieces that need to be melded back onto the mirror are those regarding my idol of Comfort (food and laziness) and until I surrender no other pieces can be added. If I try to stay here the existing mirror will become dulled and gray, the reflection of Jesus will be marred. I really have no choice but to surrender, and I have to stop fighting it.
This hits on the blog, at least somewhat, because I've found myself getting so caught up in the numbers of people reading every day, and linking to me from their sites, that I have neglected to look at my heart. Almost every other blog is all about the numbers regarding weight loss, be it pounds lost, steps walked, calories consumed, inches carved off, with a side dish of personal life and maybe a dessert of the issues regarding why the person got fat. I find that there are blogs of people losing half their body and they have book deals and thousands of readers, and those types of blogs never mention Jesus, though a blind reference speaks to not caring for evangelical types. And you know, not to be too relativistic, (I hate relativism. I prefer Truth.) that's fine for them.
But that can't be my blog. I can't leave out Jesus. He is the center of all that I am and if I deny that then I'm just going to remain a broken mirror with no purpose, clenching the banana bread and whining about how miserable I am. Or, the most horrifying option, I will lose 200 pounds and even possibly gain notoriety and money and never even realize that I've compromised my Spirit in the process. I'll have a hot body and an empty soul. Sure, a nice body is hot but so is hell. If I start living my life in such a way that I am all that matters and Jesus gets the boot from my priority list then I really need to examine myself and question whether He actually is my Savior. If He's not then I'm headed straight for hell and a sexy body will never- NEVER- be more valuable than spending eternity with Jesus.
Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good!Blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him. (Psalm 34:8)
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