Heavy...

Heavy...

Tonight’s blog post...

Another post about my weight...just to warn you! I just stepped off my treadmill for the first time since last Monday. I run Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Last week I came home from a dentist appointment with Emerson and went to bed. And didn’t get up until Friday. And then it was only because I had to. I was super sick. So, two missed runs and a missed kickboxing class made for a rough run today. Having something up with my lungs didn’t help any. But I did it. And this was the topic on my mind my whole run. I really wanted to call this blog post “What’s My Weight Again?”, a parody of one of my favorite Blink 182 songs, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. So now you know the alternate title. 

When I was in high school I weighed 240 pounds. I remember exactly because we stepped on the scale in tenth grade PE and I was horrified. So ashamed. I was athletic but I didn’t control my eating. I would hide food. Sneak food. Spend my money on food. I was ashamed but not enough to do anything about it. 

When I left for college I actually lost weight my first year. I remember weighing 220 pounds as I entered my sophomore year. Still not where I was supposed to be but I remember feeling good about myself. I was walking and riding my bike around campus. Eating better. I was feeling good about myself. I dressed a bit more skimpier. I wore short skirts showing off my legs. I found shirts that I loved. Then I went to a party. And was brutally assaulted by more than one man. Over the next seven years I ballooned from the 220 I was so proud of. By the time I walked into my first WeightWatchers meeting I weighed 341. I had already lost 20 pounds on my own. I worked hard and got my weight back down. 

I met Brian. We fell in love fast. He proposed. Moved to Bremerton. We made wedding plans and the day that I got married I stood at the altar in my wedding dress weighing 220 pounds. I felt beautiful. I felt healthy. I was so proud. Two babies later and time a period where my weight rose above 300 two more times and losing it again in between. Then Brian killed himself. 

My first thought? I shouldn’t have lost weight. I shouldn’t have gotten back to 220. Bad things happen when I get skinnier. I got raped. I met Brian. Bad things happen when I become more tolerable to men. That number - 220 pounds - weighs heavy on my mind. The PTSD feelings surrounding that number gives it a life of its own. I cannot weigh that ever again. I need to pile on the layers of fat to protect myself. If I keep myself disgusting, if I keep myself obese, I won’t be a victim again. I’ll be safe and protected. 

I am nearing that 220 mark once again. I am eleven pounds away. My last weigh in showed me to be 231 pounds. And I can already feel the anxiety and fear building. So I turn to writing. And I’ll turn to God. 

The photo below on the left is me at my heaviest, or at least close to it. I was hiding behind food. Hiding behind the pounds. The girl on the left was full of heavy things. Fear. Sadness. Hidden secrets. A soul that was cracked and bleeding. Flashbacks of trauma and assault. Anger. Confusion. Pain. So much hurt. So much doubt. So much just wanting to die. Just wanting to feel safe and protected in a world that had been shattered to pieces. And then seven years later, I took charge and took the first few steps to healing. To stopping the cycle of weight gain. To finding who I could be. 

When I met Brian I was still on my initial weight loss journey. He was loving and accepting. He knew I was working on me. My weight didn’t bother him and I was looking and feeling so good. The day I said “I do” I was back down to 220. My magic traumatic number. And then just a few years later, Brian was gone. And something that came out in therapy was the damn number. Why did I let myself get down to 220 pounds again? Brian found me attractive. I wasn’t at a point where no one would find me attractive so I opened my heart and let someone love me and then he died. 

That number has become a panic for me. A moment of anxiety. I don’t want to be fat. But I need to figure out how to not be fat and not see 220 on the scale again. When I think about it I am full of fear. I’m full of doubt. I’m full of terror thinking about what might happen. What will happen if I weigh 220 pounds again? 

I posted the two pictures side by side for a reason. I don’t ever want to be 361 pounds again. And I’ve done a great job of not getting that heavy since then. But I also don’t want to be 220. 220 is just a stopping point between here and my goal. I cannot put so much into just a number. Nothing bad happens at 220. Nothing bad is going to happen. Those two events were just a coincidence and I can make it past that number on the scale. 

I have invested so much time and energy into finding out who I am, there’s no turning back with this. I will overcome the trauma of that number. I will get closer and closer and then blow right past it on my way to reinventing myself physically. I am excited about who God wants me to be in my health and exercise. I will not be a victim. I am a survivor. I am a fighter. And I am not going to be chained to a number on the scale, no matter what that number says. 

God has a message just for me, just for this situation: Isaiah 43:19 says “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

See? He is doing a NEW thing! In me! This 220 hangup that I’ve had for a while? This is not part of His plan for me! He has more! So much more! And He needs me to blow through 220, and give all of my fear and worry and anxiety to Him. To have faith and trust in His plan. To cast all my cares upon Him. To know He will walk with me side by side through the rough parts. He’ll cradle my head in His arms as I cry tears of heartbreak. He’ll place His hands on my shoulders as I walk through flashbacks and night terrors. He’ll hold my head in His hands and glue all of the pieces back together as I work through the healing work that needs to be done surrounding this. 

I don’t want to be heavy. And I don’t want to be carrying the heavy burden and heavy chains of brokenness. I will walk through, one step at a time, one day at a time, one pound at a time. I will work towards forgiveness of my attackers, forgiveness of Brian, forgiveness of myself. I will eat right and run and kickbox and pray! Mostly pray! I will get past 220. I will love myself no matter what the scale says. I will trust that He has me, and my path, in His hands.