It has been a difficult few weeks for me in this journey. I find myself angry that I was able to eat for so many years without even thinking about it and yet now I have daily to choose truth over the lie. The biggest difference in my struggle now vs. my struggle then is this: now I am cheering for the truth to win instead of trying to help the lie stay alive a little longer. Some days the lie still wins.
A few weeks ago my three year old son climbed up into my lap. He hugged me and told me, "I wuv you mommy!" I kissed him and watched him run off singing to play with his brothers. I was cherishing his innocence when suddenly I was painfully aware of something. I was suddenly, for the first time in my entire life, fully aware of how young I was when the abuse started. I looked at my children and was suddenly aware of exactly what was stolen from me.
I called my best friend. I knew I wouldn't have to explain with her, she would just understand. She did. She also has been through some traumatic events in her life and gave me this perspective. When you are in the middle of it, you just survive. You just do what needs to be done. You don't usually realize exactly how bad it really was. She has called me a couple of times crying and asked, "It was really that bad, wasn't it?" I then confirm that her situation was indeed that bad.
This is, in essence, what happened to me. I suddenly was aware of how bad it really was. I was appalled, looking at my three year old, that anyone could ever even imagine hurting someone as young and innocent as that. I then looked at his older brothers. I listened to them playing and was so thankful for their continued innocence. As I looked at them I realized what I knew of life by the time I was their ages. I knew so much more than I ever wanted to, so much more than any child ever should know.
I spent my day crying. I spent my day avoiding food. I spent my day listening to my favorite song, "Your Hands" by J.J. Heller. I, for the first time in my life, completely acknowledged what had been taken from me. I was not ok. Other than talking with my best friend in the morning, I didn't talk to anyone else. I barely talked to my husband. It was days later before I could finally verbalize to him why I had been so upset. And it is weeks later before I can blog about it.
That day, the lie won. I refused to get anywhere near food. I was hurt and food felt like it was going to make everything 1000x worse. Finally at 8 that evening, I felt like the Lord was telling me that it was ok to eat. I know, it may sound silly but it is exactly where I was. I knew He was telling me that it was ok to take care of my body, that He would carry me emotionally. I ate. I ate very little but I refused to let the lie take complete control again.
I'm not going to lie, blogging about some of this really sucks! It is a strange form of accountability and healing. I am not exactly liking the things I have had to resurface during the process but I am liking the healing that has been taking place in the midst of my pain. Here's where I stand, I still have food issues. I still sometimes have to fight myself to eat. I, once again, actually think about food and it's impact and abilities on a daily (sometimes hourly) basis. I find myself, once again, in the position of hating food.
When I struggle with anorexia, I don't feel like the beauty queen of my husbands dreams but I am transported back to a scared, insecure, less than beautiful little girl who I used to be. Sometimes for half of an instant, I miss being able to count my ribs by looking in the mirror. Sometimes for half of an instant I want the lie to win.