Food has always been a struggle for me.  Some of my earliest elementary school memories involve hiding vegetables in my pockets at the dinner table.  I once traded a lip gloss that was given to me by a friend as a present for a Hostess Cupcake.  In the second grade I befriended a girl who was somewhat of an outcast, not for the right reasons, but because she had jelly beans to share.  When my mom accidentally sent me to school with my sister's lunch (she actually enjoyed healthy food) instead of my own, I threw it away in order to receive a "hot lunch" instead.  Little did I know that there would be a bill in my cubbie the next day and I would have to admit my transgression to my teacher and parents in order to pay my debt. 

I could never get enough sugar...and since there was very little of it available in my house I improvised and hid bags of brown and white sugar in my room.  A spoonful did the trick when I was craving something sweet.   I thought that the novelty of food would wear off as I grew older and was able to select and buy food on my own...but it never did.  As an adult my weight settled right on the border between "healthy" and "unhealthy" on the BMI scale.  The only thing that kept me from continuing to gain weight for several years was the fact that I was ashamed to eat more than what seemed socially acceptable in front of others.  There was a whisper in the back of my head that told me, "people who are overweight can't order that and not be judged,"  so I refrained in public for fear of the shame.

This next part isn't pretty...

Then Michael started traveling for work and there was no one there to witness my dietary choices.  Most night my dinner was as follows: I would start with half of a jar of nacho cheese dip and whole grain tortilla chips (I don't know who I thought I was fooling with the "whole-grain" part), and then I would eat an entire CPK frozen BBQ Chicken Pizza (those things are at least 2 servings and feature enough calories and fat for at least 4 people).  Once I was done eating, I felt full...for a little while.  Then, I would wrestle with the guilt.  As I would watch TV, I would look for people who were beautiful yet overweight to try and make myself feel better.  However, as the guilt would move toward depression I would start thinking about desert.  I would serve up a double sized serving of ice cream and consume that before deciding to shut off the TV and move towards reading in order to silence my shame.  At some point I would eat sour Jelly Bellys as a bed time snack.  This was my daily routine.  I told myself that the food made me feel better and was worth the toll on my body and my health...

There was brief period of time in which I was able to start eating healthier and control my portions.  However, I started gaining weight again about a year after I started losing it...then we decided to start a family.  Each month would pass and I would use food as a coping mechanism.  I might not be pregnant, but I could eat a bunch of blue cheese.  Then the years began to pass and there was no baby and I weighed more than I ever had.  I was officially in the "unhealthy" area on the BMI chart...and I thought about my weight all of the time.  I avoided mirrors...I dressed in lose clothing...I didn't take pictures...and I continued to eat in secret.  I was in a grocery store when I found out that my parents were getting a divorce.  For the first time I didn't care who saw what I was buying.  In a daze I walked around the store and put every food that I wanted in the basket with absolutely no regard for anything other than a longing to get home as quickly as possible and start eating.

My wake up call came after a miserably hot Fourth of July camping trip.  I sat near the water desperately wanting to get in to cool down, but too ashamed of my body to allow others to see me in a bathing suit.  I was watching life pass me by, and I was too ashamed to actually live my life.  Our friends were chasing their children around in the water and I was fully aware that I didn't have the energy to chase anything.  The day we arrived home, I started running.  Now, nearly two years later, I have been able to keep the weight off and my eating is under control.  I still eat pizza, and ice cream, and the occasional Jelly Belly...but I no longer eat as a way to avoid dealing with my life.

 I still have days when I fear that side of me coming back, but I also know that eating that way robs me of far more than it gives to me.  I was allowing food to fill me, in a way that only Christ can.  I was trying to control one thing as the life around me seemed out of control...but I was looking to fill my heart  with something temporary.  He alone can give me the desires of my heart and fill me with joy.  That is why eating didn't make me feel any better...in fact the exact opposite happened.  Christ sustained me one day at a time when I struggled to change my life.  This story isn't pretty or poetic,  and it is scary to admit my shame so publicly, but my freedom was found in finally trusting that no thing or person can fill the spot that only Christ was meant to fill in my heart.