So I’m not really getting on the self-love bandwagon. I see the mantra from fitness people, healthy foodies, people recovering from low self-worth. It can be a helpful tool when for so long, you’ve spoken hateful things about your own body or trampled its boundaries with various abuses or forgetting to say “no, thank you.”
Maybe to combat the stresses and neglect, you’ll give yourself a luxurious spa day, or nourishing food, or time doing what you love. Showing your self love. But this luminous self-love that we are to employ— apparently it stems from within. It begins with us. How, may I ask? Is this the same self-love that causes a baby’s every waking moment to demand food, comfort, & attention? The self-love that prompts a toddler to scream “mine!” or “no, I don’t want to!” This self-love that we all innately have is called self-centeredness. A putting of oneself on the highest pedestal in our lives. Wanting what we want, above what our parents or friends know we need. We are the idol we worship, maybe unknowingly, & yet it always is our instinctual first thought. “I want, I will.” But what is love? Would we be able to practice “self-love” on anyone else as it is so self-fixated? No. Love has to begin somewhere besides within us. And if self-love/self-centeredness is a bit, well, selfish.... why are we worth loving at all? “But God is so rich in mercy, and he loved us so much, that even though we were dead because of our sins, he gave us life when he raised Christ from the dead. (It is only by God’s grace that you have been saved!) For he raised us from the dead along with Christ and seated us with him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus. So God can point to us in all future ages as examples of the incredible wealth of his grace and kindness toward us, as shown in all he has done for us who are united with Christ Jesus.God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago. — Ephesians 2:4-10 We are so worth loving because God believed we were. He wanted to show me what real love looks like, and gave me a gift I still am in awe about. And then He went over the top. “Greater love has no one than the one that lays down their life for their friends.” — Jesus’ definition of love, John 15:13. “But anyone who does not love does not know God, for God is love.” 1 John 4:8 So.... the source of love is God, because God is love. Jesus gave us a tangible picture of what love does by getting a facial, eating the dang cupcake, and cutting out negativity. No. By laying down His life for people who had no hope of saving themselves... and potentially not loving Him back. He put his desires aside (“Father let this cup be taken from me!”) and chose to show true love. I am not commanded to show self-love every day, but to love others as I do myself every day. (Mark 12:31) So... short of laying our life down.... what does loving others as I love myself look like. Because sometimes dealing with people feels like the opposite of taking care of myself. “Love is patient and kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every circumstance.” —1 Corinithians 13:4-7 So if I am to LOVE others as I LOVE myself.... I’ll be patient, and speak kindly to other people JUST like I need to give myself that grace. I won’t be jealous of what others have, boastful of what they don’t, or rude to anyone (including in my thoughts.) I won’t rejoice when people are treated unfairly, and be happy when the truth comes out (even if it comes in an unflattering light, swallowing the truth is better than telling yourself lies.) I won’t give up on you, and I won’t give up on me either. I’ll have faith and hope in your circumstances because I want the same for mine. Showing love doesn’t mean letting anyone walk all over you. Just like we protect our friends or protect our children, I’ve gotta stand up for myself and speak the truth in love. I’m gonna say “Hey, I need some time right now.” Or, “You should take a breather. Let me help out somehow.” Whether we all like it or not, we need to sleep. We need to nourish and take care of ourselves. Little ones don’t always see that their parents love them and want the best for them. They’re wrapped up in self-love (“I want, I will”) and don’t see the things their caretakers have in store. Just as I love me & am attuned to my needs, I am called to love & be thoughtful of other’s needs. I’ll set boundaries for my relationships, just like I’d set boundaries for my children or people in my care. And it’s because I love you as I love myself. So set boundaries for yourself. Treat yourself well & feed your body & soul. But we all have an immense capacity to love that expands when we give love. Can we call it... selfless-love? And somehow I feel so refreshed and whole when I love you the way I love me. “This is real love—not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as a sacrifice to take away our sins. Dear friends, since God loved us that much, we surely ought to love each other. God is love, and all who live in love live in God, and God lives in them. And as we live in God, our love grows more perfect. We love each other because he loved us first.” — 1 John 4:10-11, 16-17, 19 “When [God] talks of their losing their selves, He means only abandoning the clamour of self-will; once they have done that, He really gives them back all their personality, and boasts (I am afraid, sincerely) that when they are wholly His they will be more themselves than ever.” — CS Lewis, the Screwtape Letters
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At the beginning of it all, I just wanted to go back to normal. I didn’t mean to be consumed. Before age 16, when life was simpler, my energy was effortless and my clothes always fit. I didn’t have to think twice about filling out clothes “too much” or things being “too tight”. But then I guess my metabolism slowed and my love for cooking began to show? Or maybe I was indulging too much? I began to be embarrassed that things were too small or revealing to wear, and began to despise my current “normal”. My body was an insecurity of mine probably since age 16, when my naturally small shape would randomly fill out and change, and I'd fluctuate between 120-135 lbs. I didn't really know why my weight crept up, and I hated the fact that I accumulated fat on my thighs and hips. It seemed that after age 16, I didn't know what my normal looked like-- I only remember that when I had a distraction, like projects, school, and a happy social life, my weight and eating habits would be an afterthought and the scale would settle around 125. But when I got close to graduating high school, I was running out of distractions. It soon became clear my mom had a college plan laid out for me, in an effort to make sure I went where my high school friends were going. I’d been seeking and praying about what God wanted me to do with my life, and college wasn’t it at the moment, especially not that particular college. But my mom made it clear I was going. She wanted the best for me, and I guess I didn’t know what was really best for me. I’d be going to that school, and in a year’s time, when my friends graduated and would be going. Everything she knew I wanted, right? Around this time, I realized that in the past, I would stress-eat without even thinking. I’d sometimes overeat, or crave carbs, because my anxiety felt like a hunger for comfort and stability of some kind. So I overcompensated. I chose not to stress-eat. I began taking steps to lose weight. When the stability of my everyday life seemed to slip away, in an effort to keep at least something under control, I learned to fidget, clean the whole house, work out, and eat less. The increasing exercise, disordered eating, and fixation with attaining a certain number on the scale were the first symptoms of my condition. Then, as my home life and relationships got complicated, and the beginning of my adult life remained seemingly out of my control, I'd compensate with a stricter regimen of exercise and diet. I graduated May 2012, and knew that come 2013 I'd be off at a college I didn't want to go to. I spent the summer wrapped up in music lessons, running, cleaning and cooking for my family, and slowly seeing progress on the scale. At least something was turning out the way I wanted The insecurity got worse when I had a crush on a boy who'd previously liked much tinier girls. I knew I wasn't that type at the moment, and longed to wear things the "small girls" could that my full figure didn't allow. It never hit me that he hung out with me and liked me just as I was. But I secretly, obsessively tried to reach what I thought was his ideal. Slowly, I began to get there. Reaching that small size meant I could finally wear trendy clothes and it would actually look like the way the clothes fit the models. I could be small enough to be picked up easily, even by shorter guys. I felt lighter, sassier, and turned not only guys' heads, but girls too-- I'd reached what so many girls around me wanted. For a while I was eating "enough"... regular meals, but only the "healthiest" ingredients as approved by women's magazines. Okay, but a milkshake here and there ‘cause there wasn’t wheat in it. My perception of healthy wasn’t founded by research, only what I could find easily in magazines, Pinterest or Livestrong. Everyone wants to lose weight, right? Everyone's trying-- I followed religiously, only eating salads, Kashi, fruit, nonfat yogurt, chicken breast, hummus, little to no fat of any kind...but soon, I realized I could not feel satisfied after those carefully portioned meals, so I'd drown the hunger with water and black coffee. I never counted calories, so I think I never realized how little I was eating sometimes. Even with how healthy/much I felt like I was eating, I still had a gnawing, anxious hunger. Strangely, I don't think it was always physical. I hungered not just for attention, but appreciation-- to have attained something through my hard work. I just wanted to reach that standard, that image I could finally accept and that society idolized. Even though my life seemed like a mess and I was so imperfect, I wanted to reach something that people around me wanted, but that I was willing to work for. I wanted to have the discipline to reach at least an outward ideal. All those people who "couldn't resist sweets" or "didn't feel like working out" -- well I was going to prove that I could resist. I pushed through any feeling to work out. No excuses. I numbed my body into submission. Even as I got smaller, reaching and passing my goal, I didn't think it was enough. The mirror remained unsatisfied, just like me. August 2012 I left home to be a nanny for my sister and her little boys, she was really surprised how small I’d gotten. I think she knew things were rougher at home and that I didn’t have much say in a lot of my life choices after high school. She probably began to put two and two together after spending time with me. After a month or two, she and her husband wanted to help me take steps to become independent and decide my own life after the semester and I was done working for them. I honestly didn’t know how to deal with the idea of disagreeing with my mom, and the overwhelming amount of decisions and choices I’d have to make on my own. Controlling what I ate was so much easier, and frankly, all I thought about. I guess because it took a while for the effects of my eating disorder to make changes to my body, I didn't realize how far it had taken hold of my thoughts until I was in the middle of a mess-- and the increased "control" I had over my body did not match the chaos and disorder in my head. I might have been the same size as those far-gone years where I had no worries, but my thoughts were anything but normal. On the beautiful lakeside missionary campus my sister went to school at with her husband, I could roam freely with my nephews during work and after I got off. She let me borrow her camera, so I could capture the vibrancy and life all around me. I had this amazing opportunity to enjoy the outdoors, whenever I wanted, but I had an anxious motive for all my activity. I had to exercise in some way every day. I didn’t like to sit down, and found an outlet for that: errand running, cleaning house and babysitting, my job description as a nanny. When people had me over I’d help with everything, set up and cleanup. When people wanted to hang out, it turned into a several mile walk or a canoe ride. I was already up early in the morning working, and even throughout the evening I was on the go, never at rest—not even being able to sleep when I went to bed. My eating disorder took hold of these things I loved – being with people, working out, cooking – and warped it into something that robbed me. The constant activity kept me from doing things with people that involved too much sitting. It also left me exhausted, to the point where walking up a hill left my heart pounding. I loved to cook—always had – but only ate bites of what I made, or I’d cook for other people all the delicious things I wouldn’t dare eat myself. My reasoning made sense in my warped mind. I didn’t want to be seen as idle, so I worked and worked, and almost never stopped moving. I wanted to be selfless, so would put everyone else ahead of me: make sure they were fed and taken care of even if I forgot about myself. If something went wrong, I knew it was probably my fault—and of course that meant I didn’t deserve to spend time on myself, right? Especially not eating. Selfish pig. My breakfasts got smaller and smaller until they disappeared. Sometimes I just chewed, but never swallowed. I drank black coffee all morning while serving my nephews. Stressful phone calls from home made me lose any appetite completely, no matter how lightheaded I might be. Things didn’t make sense when I was stressed, because I was usually hungry. Since by now I ran on small amounts of fruit, yogurt and dry popcorn, I was constantly running on a sugar high and then sudden crash. It left me lightheaded and spacey, sometimes in the middle of a conversation with someone, where I could hardly process or make very logical decisions. The only clear thoughts didn't feel like my own... like someone else talking to me. You know that tonight there's going to be junk food at that get together. Just find the fruit and fill up on it. You totally messed up everyone's lunch. You can't eat yours now. You don't even know how many calories were in that coffee. You need to go walk a couple miles. As October went on, my days were dark and long and blurred together. My skin was dry and cracked at the knuckles and corners of my mouth. I was always cold. Even layering sweaters and shirts over two sets of leggings left me shivering. But at least I look like that blogger I saw on Pinterest. I wonder how she gets away with eating all those pastries she’s posting photos of? One day, on a trick-or-treat around campus, my sister invited me over because she made snacks we both could eat as alternative to the candy. But, as we were hanging out, she seemed shocked. “Rachael. You’re getting too skinny.” I’d heard this before, from a couple people, but never really took it to heart. I wasn’t seeing what they saw. “Nah—” “No really. Rachael, you look like a bobblehead. You have no butt. A lot of people have asked if you're okay.” I didn’t really know what to say. I was always behind the camera, taking photos of everything and everyone else. I hadn’t seen a photo of me in a long time besides selfies in a cheap bedroom mirror. For some reason I'd always felt hidden away, isolated inside my head, and hadn't considered that other people might notice my changes. So she snapped some photos and showed me. I was stunned. It didn’t look like me. I don’t know what it looked like, but it even didn’t look as good as a store mannequin anymore. I was scary. My hands were bony and my knees were knobby. My hips jutted out sharply and my eyes stared out through a hollowing face. My brother in law came and joined my sister. “Rachael,” he said, “It’s gone far enough. You’re hurting yourself. It’s not attractive—it’s not safe. We’re going to need to take control of your eating for a little while. You are getting weaker and weaker and we’re worried about you.” I stood in their kitchen, a little wobbly, a little incredulous. What are they going to make me eat? Will I have to eat all the junk they do? Will this make me fat? They were going to let me eat whatever I wanted, but I had to weigh in and have a meal with them once a day. I had to reach 2500 calories every day. I had no concept of calories or what they meant, besides in the past, thinking that if I ate something with calories I had to burn off an equal number of calories. Cause our body is a computer, right? Oh, so wrong. I cried. I cried because I knew they were right. I cried because I wanted help, but didn’t know how to ask for it. I was out of control, and had no idea how to regain normalcy ever again. My thoughts still felt like they ruled me; like a running commentary of my everyday life, like a voice that wanted my punishment. I cried because I was responsible for taking care of their children, and I’d been selfishly starving myself to death. I could have had a heart attack if they hadn’t intervened. At the first weigh-in, October 28th, I was 93 lbs. At almost 5’4” this was way, way too thin. They wanted me to gain 10 lbs by Thanksgiving, because we were going home, and my anxiety regarding my relationship with my mom always resulted in me dropping weight. I could finally talk about these things with my sister and brother in law, and process them, and get it out in the open. They knew two counselors whose area of study happened to be family issues and eating disorders, and I got to talk to them on a friend level, pouring everything out. My closest friend at the time had experienced similar things in the past and was able to walk me through those early days. It was no coincedence I was there at that campus at that point in my life-- I had so many people praying for me, wanting my recovery like I did. Honestly, trying to reach 2500 calories every day felt like another form of control. I had to keep track of everything, which felt like an obsession that took the place of the former restriction. But, then I began to see how it allowed a lot of freedom for good, nourishing food and a lot of my favorite foods as well. It was a rare time in my life I could eat literally anything I wanted without it making much affect on me, besides maybe when I was twelve. Also, 2500 calories of REAL, low starch food means extremely slow weight gain for someone of my activity level at the time (biking, walking, actively babysitting, constant motion). But, as I relaxed and just seized the opportunity to cook and experiment and study health, I realized that having the energy to live was worth more than fitting into a certain size of jeans. If this is what fashion bloggers, models, and celebrities had to do to get that thin, then I didn’t want to look like any of them. From that point on, “recovery” wasn’t a point I’d reached—it was just a decision to change, one that I had to make every day. I told myself that with this wide blank page-- a brand new life I’d been given—that I would start over in an effort to get well. To really get better physically, to eat to nourish myself and not just to gain weight, and to somehow get back to a normal viewpoint of food. My sister and brother in law told me I needed to stop looking at myself as inadequate, or imperfect, or in need of changing, and start believing the truth about myself. That I was fearfully, wonderfully made. That I was dearly loved by people around me, and so overwhelmingly loved by God. That I was made in His image, and to view myself, His creation, as ugly, was not true. It’s a revolutionary thought to an anorexic person that they are an innately beautiful being. The idea that, without changing, I am enough, because I was created by God, is something I still cannot entirely understand. Why me? Who would love me that much? But it’s the truth. And now, with my wide open life, where, when I was fed and full the day held so much potential for adventure, there was so much to give. I knew the depth of my self-centeredness before, when my life revolved around the mirror and how eating would affect it. Now, I realized it had hidden from me who I was meant to be. Viewing food as fuel for my adventures instead of something to avoid, I jumped into life headlong. Well, 4 years later and post-baby I could feel the controlling thoughts trying to rear their head. I mean, at 135 lbs, I feel like the fact that I’ve just had a baby is an okay justification. I mean seriously guys! Things take time. Recovery is still not a state I’ve reached. It’s a choice every day to wrap my mind up in other things. Not a distraction, per se, but an actual engaging in the things I loved to do before my eating disorder. It’s amazing to see how much time you have in the day when your addiction is kicked. The things that the anorexia took for its own, I’ve taken back. I can go outside not just to go exercise, but to actually enjoy the sun, and the path, and the horizon. I can get together with people and sit down on the couch, barely fidgeting, just enjoying actually being with them. I can have a clear conversation without brainfog from hunger. I’m rarely hungry—and I don’t have to worry about overeating, because I know what foods satisfy and which ones spark the overconsumption I made in the past. I cook almost all our meals, and research everything I can health and nutrition related. I can’t afford to be ignorant anymore—I’m taking care of me, a husband and now a baby. It wasn’t until recently that I discovered how certain foods make you hold onto body fat, how hormones work, and how metabolism works—and with that knowledge I’m starting afresh to find my new normal. I can now look in the mirror and see me. A beautiful thing created by God. Someone worth loving and taking care of, and someone with an amazing story I can continue to tell. My old self has been crucified with Christ.
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