“You’re Not that Chubby” (Part Last)

For the last two weeks I’ve talked about an unexpected weigh in and my response to it.

Now, I want to tell you where I am now. To summarize (in case you don’t need explanation, you just need take away: I’m looking at you, boyfriends of girls you think are crazy because they think they are fat):

• If I am letting the Spirit guide what/how I eat, I could not have a better eating plan.
• I SHOULD work out. But NOT to loose weight, just to take care of my body that I may be a blessing and not a burden to others now and in the future.
• My weight DOES NOT MATTER. My GOD matters and he made me, famine-built and all, on purpose.
• To be honest, I’m VERY IRRESPONSIBLE with a thinner body. I’ve had it before and worn things that, looking back, I’m not sure qualified as clothing so much as “material.”
• The people who love me and who I need in my life (and who need me to be in theirs) will be there no matter what I weigh.
• My absolute top priority in body image and diet SHOULD BE TO GLORIFY GOD. Not to attract or please man.
• I need to get over myself.
• My redeemed body will be just right (HALLELUJAH).
• I AM NOT MEASURED BY A NUMERICAL EVALUATION OF MY WORTH. I AM MEASURED AND COUNTED CLEAN AND WORTHY, LOVEABLE AND LOVED, BY GOD WHO DIED FOR ME.

Hokay. Here’s the long version.

The few days before and after I got weighed, I looked awful. My skin was revolting based on my poor treatment (I had just moved and was out of anything resembling “skin care.”) there of.  My hair was a mess because I didn’t have conditioner that worked, and I forgot how to use makeup. I’m not joking. I looked rough.

Made MUCH worse by the fact that I thought I looked rough. And I didn’t have  a smile on my face. And I couldn’t wear any of my cutest outfits because I’m forcing myself to wear ALL of my clothing and I’m down to the oddest/least cute things. (I’ve been at it for almost two months).

Here’s a pic showing you what I mean.

A five year old snapped this while I was sleeping. I wasn't babysitting.

I. was. a.mess.

I AM a mess.

But at this point, and at many points, I LOOKED it.

And I cannot explain how ashamed I am that something as trivial as how I look affected me. Did I sit around and meditate on the flooding in Pakistan? no. Did I pray in the car for my friends desperately trying to conceive or adopt? No. I wondered what I could do to not be as ugly or fat or whatever I was convinced I was.

And this is the part where I’m supposed to say that God slapped me, I hopped back on board and got over it. Except that’s not true. I know the truth, that I am lovely because God loves me, but I don’t believe it. Not with a belief that means anything.

So what is really going on is every morning I get ready and as try to ask those three questions: a)am I healthy? b) am I modestly dressed? c) am I comfortable.

I can look okay,

And not okay. At the same time. I have no concept of reality in these things.

And then I try to move on. Even if I’m not pleased. Even if I’m sure of the lie that I’m the ugliest thing ever to parade around in a world of pretty things.

And I ask God to please change my mind and my heart to believe what is true. cast out what is not, and ignore all that doesn’t matter either way.

A sort of “fat girl on the inside” version of the serenity prayer.

“God, give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

I’ll get back to fine-with-my-body. I’ll keep laying this lie down at the cross until I do. Eternity promises a better country, and I have hope even on this side.

**This was written at pretty much the same time as the others. Today, I’m back to fine-with-my-body, enjoying the world, caring mostly about things that actually matter. God is good.**

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