me too people

The people I connect with the most are part of the "me too club".  I think that is who most people connect with on a deeper level.  I read blogs of people who say what they are feeling and are honest about it.  I get bored and stop reading when it is simply to instruct me in all the ways I fall short.  I connect with so many of you because you say, I had a great day as well as saying wow, today really sucked the life out of me.  I connect with you because you read my stuff and you say, "Hey, me too.  I know what that is like."

I want to be a me too person.  I don't want to be someone who has it all figured out.  I want to experience it with others.  My pain, their pain, my joy, their joy, to walk side by side and experience life together.  And yet at the same time, I'm a little afraid to say what's on my heart because I feel certain that no one will say to me, "yeah, me too".

I can lay it out here on my blog.  I can say, hey world this is who I am.  I've made some very dear friends through my blog.  I just have a hard time taking that into real life.  I love to hear others stories.  I love to know what makes them tick.  I love to see their lives in action, especially in the nitty gritty.  But then when it comes to me, I don't want to show them the nitty gritty.  I am afraid that in the real world that I won't find the kind of me too people that I have found here on my blog.

I love to hear the stories behind others tattoos.  And yet I find myself at work being cautious about asking the significance because then I open myself up to someone asking the significance of my tattoo.  I want to know why one woman at work picks her food apart and doesn't eat as much as the anyone else.  But then I have to admit that I have noticed it and open myself up for her questions.  Most people wouldn't notice that she does it.  It is very subtle.  But I notice, and if I notice that, why when no one else does? 

I heard Lisa Terkheurst speak yesterday and she said something that I know and yet struggle with.  God gave us emotions so that we can experience life not so we can run from it.  I feel like I experience it here, where it is safe, where few actually know me.  But I'm still afraid to experience life and emotions out there in the real world.  I really do like the safety of my blog.  What happens if I take the safety here and become a me too person out there?

old verse, new perspective

As you know I have Psalm 45:11 tattooed on my shoulder, "The King is enthralled with your beauty".  It is a verse that has meant a lot to me in recovery.  Yesterday I read that same verse in a different version.  It said, "Let the King be enthralled with your beauty."

It went from a statement about how I am seen to a command of how I respond.  Let.  Three simple letters and yet I wonder how often I sabotage my own beauty.  How often do I let anyone, even the Lord, just enjoy my beauty without backhanded remarks about myself?


When others admire my beauty, I turn their words of compliment away.  Maybe I credit a good hair day or a cute outfit.  I never credit myself for being beautiful, but rather an accessory that has illusioned beauty for me. 


When my husband admires my beauty, I bow my head, my cheeks flush, and though I am most often convinced he sees me through Hubby colored glasses not the real me, I try to not knock down his compliments.  Even though I try, I still end up shaking my head, telling him he's wonderfully crazy.  Crazy to see the things he does, but wonderful that he does see them.

And yet here, in one of my favorite verses, I am asked to LET my beloved be enthralled with my beauty.  I don't really know how to do that, at least not yet.  I do though know that He is trying to break through to reach my heart and I need to let Him be enthralled with the beauty that He created.  The second part of the verse says "Honor him for he is your Lord."  I can't help but wonder if letting Jesus be enthralled with my beauty is the first step to honoring Him.  

butterflies

I've been looking at and contemplating my tattoo quite a bit over the past few days.  It started with a text from a friend telling me to find the song, "She's A Butterfly" by Martina McBride because my friend thinks of me when she hears it since I like butterflies so much.  I started thinking about why I like butterflies. 

The day is etched in my mind and is still crystal clear in my memory even though it is months old.  It was a hard day.  I was at a weekend intensive.  I stood and said words I didn't even know I felt until they came tumbling out of my mouth.  "Why wasn't I worth protecting?"  Many tears later I was in a better place.  My friend, an older man, told me I was beautiful and then kissed my cheek.  It was the first time in my life I ever believed I was beautiful.

The next day someone said that the transformation they had seen in me was like a butterfly.  That sealed it, I was the Butterfly for the rest of our follow up sessions.  Many people called me Butterfly Girl.  And my love of butterflies was born. 

I have a butterfly tattooed, permanently marked on my body.  It is there to remind me that what I went through may have been tough but it still produced beauty.  It is there to remind me that I am not who I was.  It is there to remind me of the One who carries these wings.

God bless the butterfly.  Give her the strength to fly.  Never let her wings touch the ground.

God help me to soar.  Give me the strength to fly.  Give me the strength to be beautiful.  Keep my wings from being stepped on, broken, and wounded.  

random observation and a really good link

I have had a random observation.  Last week when we were at Elitch's I realized that having a tattoo does not make you any different from anyone else.  More people have them than don't, I have come to believe.   Having a tattoo doesn't make you different anymore than having a fingerprint makes you different.  Though everyone has a fingerprint, everyone's fingerprint is different.  Having a tattoo doesn't make me special.  Knowing what it means to me does.  I don't really care if anyone else likes it or understands it.  I don't even care if people think I'm stuck on myself because the words say, "The king is enthralled with your beauty".  I look in the mirror at my tattoo on those rough days and I remember that God made me to soar, that He carries me through, and that He finds me beautiful.  My parents despise my tattoo.  I don't really care.  They don't know why I got it and will probably never ask why or what it means to me.  That is ok because it is not for them anyway, it's for me. I love having a permanent reminder every single day that someone sees beauty in me, and not just anyone, but the Creator of the universe!  I may not always see the beauty, but my King does.  And that is truth. And that is the truth that matters.

I know you've already seen it, it still makes me smile though :)

I was reading the blog of a friend of mine and she linked this blog.  I'm not much on fashion blogs usually.  I tend to feel like they are telling me how terrible my wardrobe is and that I'll just never quite make it in life if I don't do the dishes in heels or chase my kids in mini-skirts.  This blog was different though.  This blog was quite the opposite, actually.  This blog tells the fashion industry, mostly politely, to back off and let women be women.  I really liked the post.  If you have a minute, hop on over and read it.

I didn't hit the panic button!

Last week could have been devastating to recovery, but it wasn't.  What I thought would be a week wrought with food panic was a week covered by the grace of God.  I did not one time panic about the food I was eating!  Let me repeat that because as many of you know it is indeed HUGE. I did not one time panic about the food I was eating! 

I have had several people notice the ribbon in the wing of my butterfly tattoo.  One asked if it was a fish, I said no it's an awareness ribbon.  She asked if it was for breast cancer.
After a quick pause I answered, "It's actually for Eating Disorder Awareness."  Her response was interesting to me.  "Do you have an eating disorder?"
"I'm recovering from one."
"Wow, so that explains how you lost all that weight so quickly this past summer. I wanted to be like you and then I decided you were maybe a getting a little too thin."
"Oh. Um, so you noticed that too?"
"Yeah, how could we not notice?"

In thinking about it, I find it to be funny the difference in men and women.  Women around me noticed.  Men did not (or if they did, they pretended not to.)  My pastor was surprised, his wife nodded and said, "Yeah, you are looking a bit thin, Missy." My husband noticed, of course, but that is not a fair call because he sees me naked so of course he would notice!  Many of the women around me were concerned.  I got comments like, "You're not eating with us?" more than once.

I thought I was being discreet.  I mean really, how could it be obvious to others?  It wasn't obvious to me until I went to the hospital.  Isn't it funny what ED does to your brain?  I would easily notice it in someone else and yet I expected no one to notice it in me.  I didn't see it in the mirror (remember Why does the mirror lie?) so it seemed unreal that others would see it.  In looking back though, I don't know why I thought my disease was invisible.

I guess because I felt invisible, I felt that my disease was also invisible.  If they can't see me, then surely they can't see my hurt both physical and emotional.  I know that triggers are always a breath away.  I am so grateful for the online support I have found with others who struggle.

Here is what I have learned about eating disorders (especially anorexia).  Way too many people suffer from ED.  Many more people are committed to recovery than I had ever realized.  Many more people are afraid of recovery than I wish to mention.  We all suffer differently and yet the same.  While one is doing in-patient care for months, another is finding support groups nearby.  One trusts God, another trusts self.  We all hurt.  Some look the part of the emaciated little girl, some look normal and healthy while slowly dying.  Some were smaller than me some were bigger than me and yet we all felt like we were not small enough.  It is not age confined.  I have talked to young girls, teenagers, college students, newlyweds and even other 30 something moms like me.  While the media may give an age range that is more likely to struggle with ED, it is not something that ends when the stress of grad school ends or the days of up all night with the baby end.  It is not confined to the poor or the rich.  It crosses every socioeconomic barrier, every age barrier, every religion barrier, every time zone.

Recovery is harder than the hardest work.  It is harder than giving birth, harder than surgery, harder than any physical condition I have ever had to overcome.  Recovery is harder than giving in to the addiction, it is harder than meeting a deadline, it is harder than the most daunting tasks I have ever undertaken.  It is harder than parenting and harder than loving.  Recovery opens up a part of you that you never want to be seen and then you have to keep it open in order to allow healing.

Recovery to me means I have to keep letting people in, even when all I want to do is shut them out.  It means believing my husband when he says I'm beautiful.  It means knowing that I really do want to be around for my kids and my hubby even when I think I don't want to live.  It means not looking at calories or sugar grams when I indulge.  It means giving to others even when I am afraid that I have nothing worth offering.  It means trusting that God has a plan and a purpose for my life, even when I can't see it.  It means being willing to let go of my hurt rather than let it control me.  It means being happy for every baby step I make.  It means rejoicing when I have a week that I didn't panic once about food.  It means telling people I am a recovering anorexic, not that I am anorexic (big and difficult distinction there!). It means finding ways to cope with fear, pain, anxiety and stress in healthy ways not destructive ways.  It means not allowing myself the euphoria that I experience when I restrict.

I'm not foolish enough to think that one great week means no more bad weeks, but I am happy to know that I have finally reached a point where I can have a great week not just a great day!