Philippians 1: 6 " And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Jesus Christ returns"
To Weigh, or not to weigh? That is my question today. I haven't stepped on the scale in 2 weeks, and there is a part of me that has enjoyed freedom from a number. A number that can make or break my day. If it is up I panic that it is coming on too quickly, if it is down I worry I have let the support team around me down. Or, worse, that I have proven to them that I am still on a slippery slope, that I am not as well as I feel. However, there would also be a sense of relief if it were down or at least the same.
Knowing that I face the rest of my life trying to manage this demon is daunting. Sometimes I feel like it might just be easier to give into it than fight it. I want to be well and feel well, but I want to do it on my terms (because that has worked so well for me this past year). I guess that means I want to recover in every way, but the weight. I am home and fall right back into some of the ritualistic behaviors that somehow comfort me, yet annoy me at the same time. Ah, the mirror, the full length mirror. Hello friend, judge, and jury. Let me take a long hard look. Top to toes, front to back, and side to side. Have I gained weight or lost it over the past month? I look a little heavier from this view. No, a little too thin form this angle. I move, I turn, and twist around until I am convinced I look ok for now. What is really twisted and turned around isn't my body as much as my mind. Not only does my body and mind send mixed messages back and forth to each other, my mind receives them as well.
I go out to the gym. I work out, then literally shaking with fear, I step gingerly on the scale. How will I react to this oh so powerful number? I slowly move the weight to the 100 lb starting point and eek the top one down the scale. I am sure I am close to the 120 lb they desire me to be. I drop it down 1lb. then 2 lbs., 3, 4, 5 and 6. Finally the little notch at the end of the scales rests in space. 114 lbs it rest just there. I am not up? I stand there for a moment in disbelief, then relief. Then I look around the locker room hoping no one has watched me in this sacred moment. Then I realize that I shouldn't be relieved, but I am. I freed myself from the shackles holding me to the scale, I ate when I was hungry, I enjoyed just being and not feeling "sick" and I guess I essentially failed. I proved them all right! I didn't gain, or even maintain, I lost. Today I am the exact same weight I was when I came home from Michigan 1 year ago. I wonder if my therapist will look at me and know right away, or ask me? I am curious as to what she sees?
The rest of the world sees me as stronger, fitter, healthier, than when I came home last year. How ironic that the same weight last year caused shock and fear, but today I look great, perfect, lean, strong etc...? Frankly I feel well, strong, and fueled. I fell like myself. Even though am not sure who that is, others recognize me and see me emerging from the anorexic haze. I feel myself emerging from the anorexic haze. I went out with friends tonight and Ally commented on how I have returned, not just from Michigan, but back to myself despite the lack of weight. Maybe I work too hard to define me instead of just allowing myself to be.
Yet, I know I need to define myself beyond the illness. My therapists suggest that as a writing exercise. I want to defer to those who know, or think they know me. Define me. Tell me who I am to you. Then maybe, just maybe, if your definition aligns with who I believe I am then I can trust my self once again to be something other than anorexic. Oh I know I am smart, kind, sensitive, thoughtful, giving, tender, sarcastic, and have acquired a wisdom from all I have been through. I am a warrior, I am a survivor. I am evolving. I am resting on his promise that His work in me isn't finished yet.
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