It's hard to imagine that a year from now it could all be different. That the clothes I wear will be smaller and the space I take up will be less.
It's like I'm still refusing to believe it, this direction I'm trudging in.
I can hardly believe that I will be able to consistently make good choices, choices that are good for me and not just everyone else, choices that propel me down the path that God is clearly illuminating for me. Me.
My gut instinct is that I'm being selfish, focusing on ME. I know I'm not. I know that the foundation of anything that I do must be my own capacity, health and most importantly my very own personal relationship with Jesus. Because if those things are limited than what I can accomplish, the distance I'll be able to go is limited.
It seemed so vain, sitting alone in that little room with the Dr. Man talking about goals and what was happening down to the cellular level in my body. It felt weird to even be talking about my body, because I have put a lot of time and effort over the years into, at best, ignoring it and at worst abusing it. It was mortifying for him to ask me what size pants I wore, and then terribly self-centered to tell him in a halting and not really believing it can happen voice the size pants I would like to wear (which is less by exactly half by the way).
I felt like I was giving all the wrong answers to questions that had no right answers. I felt dumb because I've buried my head so deep in the sand about what and how I eat that all my food tastes like dirt. I had wound myself up so tightly before Dr. Man called me back into the little room that I was needlessly defensive and antagonistic. Because I was so primed and ready for a fight that I picked one just to relieve some of the tension (I do that sometimes, most likely I've done it with all of you). It felt strange that I wasn't met with cruel words belittling my very existence (which has been the case with oh so many Dr. Men before), but that rather I was met with encouragement, attainable goals and a warm and genuine smile.
I wasn't prepared for that.
This journey of melodramatic weight loss is being lived out so much more internally, in my heart and my head, than I was really prepared for. I'm being confronted by this idea I have of myself that is not based anywhere in the realm of reality. I'm finding the cruelty I so fear coming at me from the mouths of others is really only living in my very own heart. I'm hearing the whisper that it isn't supposed to be this way, that I am not this person I've talked myself into believing I am.
Instead, it's slowly sinking in that I am a cherished child of a big God that has a call on my life to do things in His name. It's finally occurring to me that I wasn't created just to be a punching bag in any way, not even by my own hands.
It was hard to imagine even just a year ago that I would ever truly believe that the promises I read about in scripture truly apply to me even at my most damaged. It seemed impossible that the God I loved and longed for other people to know truly cherished me. Because I put on him the junk of people that are not God and believed that was all there was. But now, I can barely recognize the girl from even just a year ago, let alone the angry sad girl of so many years.
So I'm trying to remind myself, that even though I can hardly imagine that in a year I could wear pants half the size I wear now, that I could have a sustainable habit of eating and living, that I could have so much more capacity to live out the call on my life, even though I can hardly believe it could be true, I know it can be. Because I look back on all the other impossible to believe things that have happened since I met God one scary grief soaked night on a balcony and I see that my God, my big God makes the impossible possible.
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