Am I Wonderfully Made?

Psalm 139:14 "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." (NIV)

I tell myself over and over again " You are fearfully and wonderfully made."  But as I slip into my swimsuit this past weekend and again today, I am not convinced.  My body, in this moment in time disgusts me.  Those of you with out eating disorders or body image issues, look at me as if I am "fishing" for compliments, or trying to make you feel bad (or worse) about your own body.  This is so far from the truth as I see past your bodies and see your brilliant minds and beautiful hearts.  I am sorry that the disdain I feel for my body causes you to scrutinize your own.  I try to be selective to share my discomfort only with  the people that understand my struggle.  Although I am selective, I know that this still may hurt you and I am sorry.  Just as my suicidal ideation reaches out like the far reaching tentacles of an octopus and touches those I love, so does the eating disorder.  I will try to be as careful with you as you have tried to be with me even as my illness reaches out and touches you.  This is tricky to try to accomplish.  I try to remember that any illness that friend or family member may may struggle with, be it mental or otherwise, can spill over like boiling water splashing and burning those those around them .

Admittedly, as I have tip toed into recovery, I receive compliments on my figure all the time.  Now this creates a mental challenge for me.  The first issue is that when those of you who have walked through my struggle with me comment on how "good" I look, all I hear is, "Wow! You have gained weight," "and yes I have and it scares the shit out of me! thank you very much!" is what I want to say.  Wouldn't it be nice if people understood that this weight was much more difficult to add to my frame than just eating donuts and milk shakes.  Anyone can gain weight, but it takes an enormous amount of time, effort, and heartache to let go of an eating disorder.  I would rather hear,  "You look well.  You must be proud of all the hard work you have done. It must be difficult.  How are you feeling?" I could answer with a simple, "Yes, recovery is a tough journey, and somedays I still feel the pain of the illness.  Thank you for your concern." You see,  the weight may say my body is out of danger, but there are remnants of the illness still coursing through my brain. I may look well, but often don't feel well.  The anxiety and depression still sneak up and consume me.  Sometimes I feel like the cancer patient waiting for the final scan the says "Yep, you are cancer free."  Alas, I don't have such a scan, but acknowledging that eating disorders are about more than just the food and weight, but about the person behind the illness, can help recovery feels less unnerving.

 The second issue is that not all of you out there even know about my struggle and when you say "You have a rocking body (for a 51 year old),"  I feel like a fraud by simply saying "Thank you!" because I know what I have put my body through to look this way.  I know how ferociously I worked to become skeletal, and how I  battled with myself to allow the weight back on.  I know the price I have paid to look this way and still I am still at odds with this "rocking body" most of the time.  I also don't want to unwittingly perpetuate the myth of the thin cultural ideal.  Eating Disorders suck, and suck the life out of you.  I want people to find their identity Christ not the size of their jeans.  Yet, here I am knowing who I am in Christ, but receiving and believing is a tedious process.

I begin today asking God to forgive me for disliking his fearfully and wonderfully made creation.  I don't know if it is what I feel about my body that depresses me or that "It" still still hides in the folds of my brain taunting me.  I  wonder if changing my mind and transforming my thinking needs to happen before I can be okay with food and this "wonderfully made" body?  Or do I push past the food and body image issues in order to transform my mind? I would prefer to have God just perform a miraculous transformation of my mind.  I am tired!  I have worked so hard and wonder, "Where is the pay off?"

Today I swim outside in the cool, almost cold water of the virtually empty pool.  I swim my 3,200 meters and plan to relax for a little while in the first warm day of summer.  When I go to change out of the practice suit, I can't help but to see my refection in the surrounding mirrors.  I am less than
thrilled by what I see.  I see my body as thick and encircled in excess layers of fat.  For some reason the image of a slice of  layer cake pops in my mind.  I cringe as I survey my waist and flank.  I think I even see back fat seeping out the straps of the suit.  Is this image accurate?  Do I really look like this, or is my image distorted by the remnants of the eating disorder.  I really am getting sick of "It."  I slip into my two piece breath and tell myself that I am okay, but I am not. The ambivalence I feel eats away at me and I find myself afraid to eat and afraid to not eat.

Once again I wonder how I got to this place again, and how can I escape to where "It" is not?  "It" has a way of always following like a bandit in the shadows waiting to take me out.  I see myself in the mirrors surrounding me as I unfurl my yoga mat in the steaming hot room.  I wish the mirrors would fog over so I could avoid my reflection.  I close my eyes and try to reflect on all those things that I am besides the eating disorder and this body, yet it is still the body that takes precedent as it is reflected back at me from every angel. I see my breasts, and they are fuller and actually quite lovely, but a reminder of the weight I have gained, and the slow surrender of my friend the eating disorder.  There is also flesh in other places that, in my opinion, is not so lovely.  I am sure people can see my flab and rolls.  I then look around the heated room and wonder how my body measures up to the other women.  I decide I am not too bad considering my age. Then envy those that seem so comfortable in their own skin.  Are they really comfortable?  My guess is most are not.

My body's reflection sends me such mixed messages.  I don't look sick, but my therapist, and new nutritionist believe, that like a child dipping her toe into the pool before jumping in, I am just testing the water's of recovery and not quite ready to take the plunge.  My nutritionist points out how forward the eating disorder is.  I remind her and myself that she has no clue how far I have come as she has just began her work with me.  She is looking for the signs of its life, and I am pointing out the parts that have died off.  She asks me to consider how much time it still robs me of daily.  "A Lot"  I confess, and in this moment I feel like I am climbing a mountain and what I thought was the summit was just another blind pass.  She talks to me as though I am a child.  God I hate this!  I know she is still getting to  know me, but being sick doesn't make me ignorant or child like.  As I leave she tells me she is a breast cancer survivor and knows her body isn't perfect, but she is grateful to just feel good, healthy and alive.  Shame rises from my core and radiates through me like a menopausal hot flash.  She has survived cancer so her body image is no big deal.  I, in theory have my health, and should be grateful, but am worried about my body image.  I certainly have no clue if I have my health after years of this illness, but I say nothing. She works with eating disorders all the time, but seems to minimize the illness.  "Live as if you didn't have it," she says!  Friends if I could, I would, and by the grace of God one day I will.  Today I will live with it, but press on because I believe He will restore.  Am I fearfully and wonderfully made?  Yes and so are you.

As If......

Luke 5:5 (NLT)"Master" Simon replied, "we worked hard all last night and didn't catch a thing.  But if you say so, I'll let the nets down again."

I often feel as I imagine Simon must have felt as I fight the eating disorder day after day, sometimes I have great success, other times not so much.  Like my friend Simon, I cry out to Jesus "But I am tired, I have all ready worked so hard and feel the failures more than the victories.  I purged again God!  I restricted again God!  See, I just can't do this!"  “Ah, but you can Liz.  I am telling you that you have worked hard and some days it feels like you aren't "catching" a thing, but you if you keep following my still small voice you will be filled with The Fruit I have promised. Just as I filled Simon's net with fish. Today is a new day and I am telling you to reach for my hand to pull you up, and keep at it again and again.  Just reach for my hand and listen really, listen to my voice."

So, it with God's words to me I keep "casting out my net" even when I am tired of working so hard and some times blow it, and literally come up empty as I purge, or restrict.  I try to walk through my days I recently spent in Michigan "As if," I am not still battling the remaining vestiges of the eating disorder and I can (minus a small purge) almost do this.  By "doing this" I mean doing what I should even though I don't really feel safe from its sneak attacks. These attacks are the terrifying ones that can take me down like a sharp shooter with precision aim. I don't really feel free from the eating disorder.  I know the sharp shooter awaits an errant move on my part that will expose my cover while I meander through my day trying to live as is I am free because I am not truly free.  When does the freedom come?  When will I be free from wondering about my weight or checking my body?  When does my defense become my offense?  I wonder if my summer friends will look at me and think, "She has gained weight!"  Yet, I couldn't begin to tell you if any of them has gained or lost weight.  I can tell you about their smiles and welcoming hugs that warms my heart, and that the little children sprouted up like weeds since I saw them last, but their, weight I notice nothing!  Could it be that they too noticed my smiles, hugs, and warmth and not my weight?  

I continue to remind myself that I am not my eating disorder, but that I have one.  My weight is not a measure of my value and worth.  God calls me worthy and that is enough.  Even with all of this swirling through my brain, I feel myself drawn towards restricting.  As that oddly vacant feeling rises up it feels more scary than comforting. I hope this is a good thing? I take a moment and thank God that he promises me true and lasting comfort and that the eating disorder eventually becomes uncomfortable.

Isaiah 49:13 “13Shout for joy, you heavens;

Rejoice you, earth;

Burst into song you mountains!

For the Lord comforts his people

And will have compassion on his afflicted ones” (NIV)

 The restricting is deceptive.  Like a shot a Novocain it simply numbs the pain that is there, eventually wears off, and the pain becomes a throbbing ache.  I also know that while it numbs the pain, it also numbs the surrounding area that isn’t in pain at all. If I disguise the pain I miss the joy.  So I pay attention to my hunger (sort of).  I allow myself my usual breakfast of yogurt and granola.  I am still hungry!  How can that be possible, I don't want more, and convince myself I don't NEED more.  I sit silently reading the Bible and praying as I give myself permission to slow down and not rush to workout.  I feel like I am always rushing even when I have no place to be.  Can I give myself this time to just be?  Just "being" feels like work as I sit gazing at the water. The eating disorder and I begin to fight to be in charge, but for a moment I am able to take over and just breathe.

I find myself walking outside to soak in the warm Michigan sun and feel the cool breezes.  I inhale the fresh clean air and try to exhale the filthy stench of the eating disorder.  It is 9 am and the eating disorder has already exhausted me.  I lie down on the warm stones of the patio while still in my jammies (it is what we do Up North) and stare at the vibrant deep blue sky. I contemplate the stark contrast of the emerald green leaves that have just opened upon the branches preparing to nourish the tree.  I feel a sense of irony that in order to survive the tree must bloom and receive the nourishment of the sun, but that also means it will grow.  If I continue to fear physical growth, I will not bloom, and I will fail to survive.  As I retard my physical growth, I am also stunting my emotional growth.  I need to allow myself to bloom to receive physical, emotional and spiritual nourishment.  I survey the hillside aware of the beauty of the cherry blossoms, and the lilacs.  I particularly love the lilacs, but appreciate the cherry blossoms as well.  Could it be that if I allowed my self to bloom, I could take in the love that some have for me and rest in the fact that others appreciate me even if I am not their favorite.  My intellect recognizes the truth, but in my heart it still feels like rejection, so maybe that is why it often feels safer not to bloom.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of summer rising from its winter slumber as all kinds of activity commence around me.  The sounds of summer also drown out the annoying whine of the eating disorder. Our dock is pounded in to its rightful place just in time for my friend and I to take our place on the dock to soak in the sun, rest and read. I have yet to work out, but finally change into shorts and a tee.  The silence is broken by the birds chirping, the hum of humming birds, and the hum of boats taking their test runs on the clear cold water.

The best sounds are those of my summer friends, children and dogs as we greet each other after months of separation.  Time moves on, but at the same time seems to stand still.  Time up here moves slowly, but has away of sneaking up on all of us.  I lose track of time until the hunger begins to speak to me.  I am once again irritated by it, but heed its call and grab a sandwich of almond butter and homemade cherry jam.  I inhale it with some almond milk before I can answer to the eating disorder instead of myself.

"Live as if..." I say to myself.  "You can do this.  You are God's not the eating disorders."

I have plenty of work to do around the cottage, and I hate to admit it, but I am aware that work equals calories burned.  Once again it takes me out of the moment of just planting my gardens and savoring the silence of the lake as I paddle board.  I am not sure if my eyes mist from the cold breeze, or if I am crying because the eating disorder keeps taunting me. I want to scream, “Leave me alone!” At the top of my lungs and hear it echo of the hillside, but I settle for a quiet angry rebuke.

 Why is it so fucking hard for me to just stay in the moment?  Laura talks to me about this all the time.  Some times I just want to scream, "Do you not think I want to stay in the fucking moment!!!!"  I know she doesn't mean it as a criticism, but it feels like it.  Some times I want to just ask her "Are you always in the fucking moment? (I know she is not)  I am sorry I am doing the best I can and what if this is as good as it gets?  Does that mean I fail?"  

I fail at dinner as I purge the Mexican feast and the margarita.  I succeed at letting it go and giving it to God.  As I go to him he reminds me that I get to “cast out my net again” and I will eventually have more victories than failures.  “Are you sure Lord?  I have been at this for such a long time.”  That night when we got home we decided to fish off the end of the dock while the sunset on another beautiful spring day.  Kurt baited my hook, and told me to just let it sit until I felt a tug on my line.  Now sitting still is not in my nature, so I cast and reel it in, cast and reel it in, again and again, until finally the sun has just dipped behind the hills.  Just one more time, I cast and reel it in.  This time I feel the tug, pull back to hook it and reel in the largest bass I have ever caught.  I was beaming as I was in the moment and knew God was speaking to me about more than fishing for bass.