First of all: to the person who used my Amazon link to order a pair of pizza socks that literally comes in their own miniature cardboard pizza box….a) Can we be friends? b) You’re winning at life. And C) Thank you for using my link! 🙂
OK, so real talk: this was a tough weekend for America.
We’re losing miserably at the Olympics. Facebook is a dumpster fire of people soapboxing about guns. Jennifer Aniston and Justin Theurox split up. Kids are staging a school walk out protest. And to top it off, the weather is having an anxiety attack, much like us – with snow storms one day, followed by 75 degrees the next day. Basically, we’re all a little on edge.
At least Kylie’s pregnancy rumors have been put to rest.
But I wanted to just take a little breather tonight, and perhaps go in a different direction than I had planned.
This post is for a very special reader — you know who you are.
Sometimes we wake up one morning, and struggle to comprehend how we got to where we are right now.
There are a lot of things about my recovery that I don’t share about on here. Hard to believe, I know…I mean, everything from my virginity, to my love life, to my failures, politics, and even reproductive health! – have been fair game thus far…But there are parts of my recovery that I never really talk about.
And mainly because it involves a lot of sadness for me.
One of the most challenging aspects of my recovery has been mourning the loss of time.
Grieving for the adolescence I never had. For the vibrant girl who never got to laugh and dance and love and fall and get up and bloom. I had to mourn that loss. Mourn the life I didn’t get to live during my eating disorder.
The fact is, I spent a good four or five years enslaved to my anorexia, and then directly followed by another year on bedrest for my ulcerative colitis. So close to six years during my formative years – was spent not living.
Instead of growing into the young woman I was supposed to be, and pursuing my dreams, setting goals, making friends, having fun – I was chained to my eating schedule and excessive exercise regime. Crippled with obsession about food, yet avoiding it at all costs, no matter the social or bodily implication. There was no life – From the panicked moment my eyes snapped opened in the morning to the anxious collapse at the end of the day. Never a moment of peace. For six years.
One of the biggest challenges for me, today – healthy and whole – is coming to terms with that time I can never get back. And accepting the loss of that pivotal time in my life.
Truthfully, if I spend a lot of time thinking about it, I can still feel my chest tighten in anger. But I rest in the hope of something that is bigger and greater than me. I have to. It is the only way to cope.
I have to trust that God is in control. I just have to. I have to believe that God will not let that strife be for naught.
And I have to believe that I still have something to offer. That He has something planned for me to do. Some way to use that darkness for light. Letting it not have been in vain.
That is why this blog came to be. That why I wrote my book. Laying it all out there with the hopes of offering encouragement to people with all types of adversity in their lives – including eating disorders.
I know that God will use my painful season for good. That is who our God is. That is how He operates. Time and time again, He demonstrates that — including with His own Son.
How easily we forget or gloss over the fact that for forty days — forty days— Jesus — God’s Son — was left alone in the desert to be tempted by satan. I mean, that is outrageous. First of all, I can’t imagine the will power it must have taken for God not to just swoop down and save His Son. But also – I can’t imagine how alone Jesus must have felt.
It is one of those situations from the Bible that is truly impossible to fully comprehend.
But if there’s one thing that shows, it’s that “desert periods” will occur in life. We will go through the desert. We will feel alone. And forgotten. Maybe inadequate. Possibly despairing. But our suffering doesn’t negate the Father’s love, as hard as that is to believe. And when we find ourselves in the middle of that desert, it’s even harder to believe that one day, we will ever be whole, or useful, or thriving again.
It turns out that Jesus’s “desert period” was simply the overture before the symphony. It was leading up to the purpose of His life.
He was never forgotten. He was being formed.
I still carry a lot of shame and feelings of inadequacy – believing that because of my past, I am broken or less than. But the truth is, God takes all things that are broken and makes them new. He turns the dust into clay, and that clay into beautiful masterpieces.
Lord, help me to believe that.
Help me see the work you are doing in me.
And may you feel His hands forming you. too.
***THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS ORDERED MY BOOKS, BLOOM: A JOURNAL BY BEAUTYBEYONDBONES AND “MY BLOGGING TIPS“***
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