{Be Confident} the Image Issue :Part 1:

It’s something that not many of us want to talk about.

Or, some of us talk about it so much that others of us are sick of it.

So, I get it.

Body image is a tender subject.

So, instead of telling you how you should feel about yourself, and your body, let me tell you about how I felt about mine.  This is a multiple part story- so bare with me.  God’s done a lot, and he is worthy of praise.

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        I stared at myself.  Watching myself turn, I looked over every angle.  My eyes found my face’s dissatisfaction reflecting in the mirror and tears filled my eyes.

I just didn’t like what I saw.

I just didn’t like myself.

Why would someone create me this way?

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When I was teeny tiny, dancing in our family’s kitchen to the Nutcracker soundtrack was a normal occurrence.  I loved the way music moved me.  But most of all, I loved the way that music made me feel.  In middle school, I yearned to create my own.  I joined my school’s band as a flutist and discovered the beauty of being a part of a large ensemble.  Everyone had a role to play, everyone had a part, and together, the collaboration was nothing short of magic.  The harmonies, the melodies, the expression of self… it all mystified and intrigued me.  Every performance was like Christmas.  After our performances we would each breathe a sigh of satisfied relief.  We did it.  Not one of us, all of us.  Together.

I picked up my first guitar in high school. It was my dad’s, a dusty old thing that hadn’t been played in years.  But it had potential, and I wanted to discover it.  Suddenly, my journal entries became song lyrics and I couldn’t contain my joy when words that I had written were stuck in the heads of my friends and family.  I’d catch my mom humming a tune that I had written the night before and couldn’t help but squeal gleefully.

Something that I created touched the heart of someone else.  It awed me.  It left me speechless.  It made me want to write more.  So I did.  All through high school I wrote melodies, lyrics and chord progressions.

There was something truly incredible about connecting to the lyrics of a song that someone had written.  It was as if they saw a part of you that you thought no one could see.  I wanted to connect with people that way- I wanted them to know they were seen.  I had no idea that in actuality, I was longing for someone to see me.
Music became my outlet.  When I didn’t understand life, I told it so through verses and choruses.  When a boy told me he loved me for the first time, I couldn’t contain the enthused lyrics that burst into rhymes.   When I watched those I love learn what it meant to lose someone to addiction, the emotion that erupted from my heart became a melody.

Music was my joy.  It was my comfort.
It was my outlet and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Along with picking up a guitar in high school, I also picked up my own addiction.  It was an addiction of self.  I don’t know if you’ve ever been there, but I was convinced that if I lost weight I would be desirable and worthy.

My mind was filled with reasoning…

If I was skinnier…
If I wasn’t as curvy…
If I my body was just shaped differently….

If..

If..

If…

I fixated on these ideas for years, obsessing over the fact that many of my problems would be solved if I was more attractive, and the number one way for me to become more attractive was to be skinny.

I got this notion in my head that if there was less of me, more people would love me.

I was fourteen when the addiction began.  It started with binge eating.  Food had always been a place where comfort had been found for me.

Especially since I grew up in the south.

They don’t call it “comfort food” for nothin’.

I’d eat in excess to feel good, and then immediately feel guilt and shame after.  So, I made the decision that I should just stop eating all together.  I believed that losing weight meant cutting out the thing that made me gain it.  There were days when I would only eat a few peanuts, and would feel guilt.  I felt like even that was too much.  I quickly realized that wanted to eat whatever I wanted, without discipline.  But I also didn’t want to gain weight.

I discovered bulimia quite accidently.  It started with one time.  Just one time.  One decision.   Soon, it became a regular occurrence.  After every meal, I would go to the bathroom full, and leave it, empty.

I became addicted.  Literally addicted.  For seven years I struggled and wrestled.  I kept my addiction hidden- no one knew.  But, It didn’t take long for me to notice changes.  These changes weren’t to the size of my body.  In fact, I actually didn’t lose any weight when I was bulimic. These changes were to my vocal chords.  See, in the midst of my bulimia, I had no idea that I was destroying my voice.  The same voice that sang songs in coffee shops and yearned to connect to people through music was slowly being destroyed.  My vocal range deteriorated.

Sin does that.  It creeps in.  Slowly but surely it eats away at the blessings that the Lord gives us.  We may not see the effects of sin initially, but overtime they are tremendous.

Now, my addiction didn’t stop when I committed my life to the Lord.  I thought I could still harbor my addiction AND serve the Lord.  But, we weren’t created to serve two masters.

I came to a place of frustration with God.  God created me and He knew my dissatisfaction with myself.  He knew that I didn’t like the body he placed me in, and yet he kept me in it.  I longed to see myself the way he saw me, but the truth was, I didn’t.  I knew of Jesus like I knew of a celebrity.  I knew the stories, I knew he had 12 disciples and that one time he turned water into wine.  I knew that Jesus died for the sins of many, and that he was perfect and never sinned.

But the fact of the matter was, I didn’t KNOW Jesus.

A discovery began.  I wanted to know him.  I wanted him to be real to me.

How could I possibly love myself when I didn’t know the depth of Jesus’ love for me?  How could I genuinely love other people, if I didn’t genuinely love myself? See, and that’s the catch, that’s the hook.  That’s the thing that I want you to see more than anything at all.  That’s the light at the end of the tunnel.

We cannot love if we do not know how much we ourselves are loved.  

Jesus says: “I take you in as you are regardless of situation or circumstance.  You don’t need to change yourself in order to be worthy of my love.”

But in the midst of that, love changes the heart of a person.  You don’t have to change to be loved, but no matter what- love changes you.

The relationship that Jesus longs to have with you takes time to be established and time is a good thing.

That’s what it took.  It didn’t happen over night.  I relapsed often.  It wasn’t easy.  It wasn’t as if Jesus came down and cured me of it every time I prayed for healing.  It was a process.  It was my decision to not give in to it, but it was his love that kept me deciding that I wanted change.  There were times when I would feel overly full and slip away to the bathroom after a meal.  Only to kneel, crying on the floor, begging God to help me.  I didn’t want to stay this way.  I wanted to be healthy.  I wanted to trust him.   Every day, multiple times throughout the day, I made the decision to trust that the Lord was the definer of my worth.  If God was really who he claimed to be, then I wanted to give him a chance to prove himself.  I wanted to trust him- but I had no idea how.  So, one decision at a time I trusted the Lord with my addiction.

One decision at a time.