Thigh Gap Vs. Thigh Clap

By now, you've heard the phrase "thigh gap", right?  It is yet another nearly impossible goal for women to aim for as they attempt to lose enough weight and work out enough so that, when they stand with their knees together, their thighs do not touch.  For the sake of beauty, of course.

Thigh gap will get you likes on Instagram.  Thigh gap will not do much else.  It, of course, will not land you a great-paying job or earn you an education.  It will not "snag you a man" or encourage people to respect and admire you.

(Please ignore the punctuation error in the above
image from someecards.com.) 

I don't have thigh gap.  I mean, I did when I was like four, but it wasn't a thing back then, so whatever.  I have what I like to refer as "thigh clap".  Regardless of my weight, my thighs rub together when I walk.  That's the way many women are built.  Our legs, they cheer us on.  They move us.  Sometimes they look appealing in skinny jeans.  Sometimes they don't.  Some of us live in A-line skirts to hide our thighs, and some of us embrace them with jeggings and cut-off shorts.  Meghan Trainor says boys like bigger girls, right?  

(Please do not get me started on how disappointed I am with the twisted message she is sending a whole generation.  I don't have time for that post now.)

Most people who know me are aware that I've struggled with my weight most of my life.  There have been various reasons for it, and I can blame anything from heredity to asthma to gluttony to flat-out apathy, but shifting the blame never made me feel better, nor did it even help me become healthier.  Like many women, I've suffered through the rollercoaster of fluctuating weight.  I have "fat" clothes and "not-as-fat" clothes.  I've fit into everything from a size 6 to a size 14 and a small to an extra-extra large.  I've loved my reflection; I've hated it.  I've scornfully skimped on calories and I've furtively embraced them like a clandestine lover.

To combat the "skinnier is better" rhetoric, plenty of body acceptance movements have emerged.  Women purposely post photos of themselves, proudly wearing clothing they "shouldn't".  Companies have launched campaigns designed to showcase curvier and heavier body types.  A size 22 model has been signed to a major label.  Catchy pop songs talk lasciviously about thick booties and sexy, wide hips.

But what's it all for?  Celebrities we love - especially curvy ones - continue to photoshop their own images on social media.  Fat kids still get mocked on the playground.  Heavier men and women still have to pay an extra $2 for larger sizes.  And we (me included) still buy Spanx!  I admit that I am sometimes one of the naysayers who doubts when seeing an image of an obese person insisting he/she is in "perfect health".  Yet then I feel guilty, thinking that it's not my place to judge.  But am I judging?  Or am I concerned?  Am I relieved?  Am I justifying my own appearance my comparing it to another's?  

I - as a petite, plus-sized woman - still feel shame when I have to pull on my "fat pants".  I still berate myself when I feel that I eat too many calories in a day.  I still throw some serious side eye when I see the teens in the mall sporting their itty-bitty crop tops and their high-waisted shorts.  I still struggle in the knowledge that my husband loves me and wants me, regardless of how I see myself.  I constantly walk the line between wanting to love my body exactly as it is - and wanting to force it to change so I feel better about it.  It's a daily battle.  Even when I feel beautiful in the morning - my hair is bouncy, I'm trying a new lip color, or I'm sporting my favorite chunky shoes - when I see a woman I perceive as more beautiful than me, I feel like shriveling up.  

I hate it.

I hate feeling, in my mind, like I am constantly in competition with other women.  It doesn't even make sense.  What do I gain?  What do I prove?  Does her beauty diminish mine?  Do I lose value in her presence?  It isn't even something I consciously do.  Thoughts just pop into my head, and I realize I'm focusing more on what the girl in the Starbucks line is wearing than I am about the cute little baby in my stroller, or the blessings in my life.

Worst of all, I still seem to think that God's love for me depends on my appearance.

Even seeing that thought actually typed out makes me sick.

The Creator of the Universe, who loved me enough to send his Son to die for me - is actually judging me based on the size pants I wear?

It's funny because it's true.
Image from someecards.com.

More likely, his heart is breaking because I am letting my figure affect my joy and peace.  More likely, his desire is for me to make healthy choices that allow me to enjoy his creation more.  More likely, he wants me to know that he made me the way he did for a reason.  And that he gave me the ability to make decisions that positively impact my health and my self-image.  

He gave me legs so I could walk and run.  And become healthier.  

He just wants to walk alongside me.  And he doesn't care in the least if my thighs touch or not. 

Yay, God!

Look.  It's nice to hear, but the point of this post is not for people to feel obligated to tell me I'm pretty.  In some people's eyes, I'm sure I am.  Others see me as overweight, or they see large pores, or split ends, or calloused heels.  They see cellulite or ragged fingernails.  Okay.  Deep down, I do know that I am beautiful.  In many ways.  It's a shame that the same society that scorns women who don't meet the accepted standard of beauty also mocks those with the audacity to openly consider themselves beautiful.  So, I can think it, and I should act like it, but I shouldn't say it, because then I'm selfish and vain.  

I don't know if there will ever be any kind of real resolution on this issue.  I'd like to say that "healthy" is the sexiest kind of body, but even that has a million definitions to a million people.  I'm just deciding that I have to love my body for both its current limitations as well as its potential.  There are a thousand words to describe it - curvy, pale, soft, short, basic, cute, chubby, zaftig (that's my favorite) - but only one that actually matters:

Mine.

And it's the only one I get.

It's time to be grateful for that, no matter what society tells me I should be wearing, or weighing, or eating, or thinking.  I am grateful for my body.

Weighing In - A Heavy Matter

Recently, Weight Watchers has been airing a pretty clever little radio spot I've been hearing a lot. It talks about how we (as middle class Americans, I'm guessing) are losing our ability to tell when we're hungry, versus when we're bored, upset, or tired. That, and my stepmum's recent 50-pound weight loss (you go, girl!), got me thinking. What kind of eater have I become?

When I was trying to lose weight in 2013, I became a calorie counter. I was concerned about sodium and a few other nutrients, but mostly, it was the calories that got me. I was willing to eat a rich, delicious donut for a meal once in a while, as long as my total calorie consumption was within reason. When I added regular exercise, I lost 18 pounds in about 5 months. That's nothing spectacular, but slow-and-steady worked for me, and at my slimmest, I was still medically considered overweight. Still, I felt confident, attractive, and healthy.  

Then, one complicated pregnancy and recovery later, I'm back at my original weight. The confidence I had gained when I was thinner, which manifested itself in a more fun fashion sense and experimentation, still remains, for the most part. I had to pack away a lot of my "skinny" clothes, but I'm certainly not giving anything away just yet!

Today, I restarted my calorie-counting routine. Some people go organic. Some prepare only whole foods. Some cut sugar. Or artificial sweeteners. Some stop snacking between meals. I think that, because people have such different needs and such different habits, there are plenty of methods that work. I'm a person who dislikes but NEEDS routine. I had to exercise at the same time each day (my lunch break at work) and record my calories as soon as I ate them. So, it's back to it.

After some thought, I've realized that I'm not really a person who "eats my feelings". I'm generally more of what I call an "opportunity eater". If food is available, then I'm all up in that. (This makes gatherings with lots of food a huuuuuuuge danger for me.) And grocery day? Coming home with all those delicious packages of unopened food? Getting to try a new recipe with the (gasp!) cauliflower I snagged! I can't even talk about it. Honestly.

It's interesting to me that a plus-size woman has recently been signed to a major modeling company. I think this is a good thing. A very good thing. I do not think, as some do, that we are glorifying or glamorizing obesity in celebrating this. I think we are finally acknowledging that American women would like to have a haute couture model who is not a size zero to admire. We already have a good many women of all different races, builds, and ages to admire who are athletes, writers, actresses, singers, leaders.  The world of modeling is among the last uncharted territories for unconventional body types. "Thin" is a medical fact - more or less. "Sexy" is a state of mind. "Healthy" is a medical diagnosis, charted by blood pressure and BMI. "Happy" is a choice.  

Why do I mention that in the same post as a discussion about weight loss? Because I'm not trying to lose weight to please or impress anyone. I'm not doing it to make myself more attractive. I'm doing it because, right now, I'm not really healthy. My habits aren't healthy. My own self-image isn't always healthy - and obviously, a good self-image something this model has going for her that I do not. But I'm inspired by a lot of healthy and getting-healthy women in my life, and it's really inspirational to see them making changes in their attitudes, their habits, and their lifestyles.

So, the first step to recovery - of any type - is admitting you have a problem, right?  

My name is Rebecca Godlove, and I'm an opportunity eater. But, the good news is...I'm excited to make a change! 

Today is Day One.  

Me-vember

Yup, I signed up for NaNoWriMo again.  Yup, I gave up again.  My excuse this year was the five-day road trip to Iowa, during which I tried to write but found myself both uninspired and carsick.

We were there to visit Ross's family and enjoy and early Thanksgiving.  It was a very quick but pleasant trip, made even sweeter by my decision to drop NaNoWriMo this year.  No, it's not that I am proud to be a quitter.  Not by any means.  I've tried this three times and just haven't been able to discipline myself enough to stick with a daily writing schedule.  And yes, I know that I will NEVER be a successful writer if I can't do that.

But, while we were in Iowa, I realized a few very important things about myself - things I was unhappy with.  Things I want - and need - to change.  Things that are far more important than stringing together 50,000 words and patting myself on the back.

Don't think that I'm mocking those who are participating.  I think it's a super idea, but for me, right now, it's become low priority.

In two days, I will be 33 years old.  My baby just turned 5 months old.  I am very unhappy with my body.  With my general state of health.  I've been told that moms can't snap right back into shape, that their bodies take 9 months to change and grow a baby and that there should be 9 months for it to return to "normal".  Which is fine.  But that doesn't mean that when my baby is 9 months old, suddenly by body will magically drop these 25 pounds, that my lungs will return to their "running-friendly" state, and that I will be able to sign up for the next 5K that pops up in my Facebook feed.

I have to DO something.

Granted, for 3 months after the birth of my baby, I was under medical orders not to exercise.  I'd had an emergency c-section and frankly, dealing with a baby who couldn't nurse, dealing with my own emotions, and dealing with the choice to return to work - or not - after becoming a mom, well, all those things were more than enough for me to focus on.  I wasn't worried that I couldn't squeeze my still-swollen feet into my Nikes.  Who cared?

Well, now that I've had to invest in a new, "upsized" wardrobe...I do.

It's time to celebrate me by beginning to take care of myself again.  Eating healthier.  Cooking at home more often.  Hiding the Halloween candy from myself.  Walking again.  Refusing to put myself down with my own words.  Putting God first again.

So.  For the rest of this month - and hopefully, indefinitely, I have to focus on myself and my family in a healthy, God-honoring way.  It doesn't mean I won't write.  It just means that I need to plan my time better, to sacrifice some of it for my husband and my son, to work on healthier decisions, to improve my spending habits, to put a little more effort into housework, to exercise more, to pray more, to cook more, to love more, to connect more with friends and family.

And...yeah...to put down the smartphone more.  

So that's what I'm doing for the rest of the month.  To my Nano-friends: I salute you!  May success be yours!  I'll join you next year.  By then, I am hoping and praying, I will have gotten back into the routine of taking care of myself.  

In fact, I'm planning on it.

Pink Power

As we observe the final few days of Breast Cancer Awareness Month (or Pinktober, as I like to call it), I wanted to share about some incredible women in my life -all of them with gentle hearts but fierce fighting spirits.

The first woman I want to honor is, interestingly, one of the most passionately private people I know.  Therefore, I will limit my story to the basics of her fight - not her personal life.  Laurie, my church's capable and always-smiling secretary (who easily does the work of at least three people), is a lady whom I have admired for years.  Her family and mine have been very close for probably about 17 years.  We joke that Laurie's sister and my dad are so similar that they must be long-lost twins.  Laurie herself is a beautiful example of God's redeeming grace, having gone through a very difficult divorce many years ago.  I think I would have handled things differently had I been in her situation (and by differently, I mean very, very poorly), but Laurie isn't the kind of person to raise her voice unless she is cheering someone on!  I never saw her lose hope.  I know her struggle was and is an internal one, and I don't presume to know what pressures she undergoes.  But I do know that she is a woman who exudes grace and dignity even as the storms of life are crashing all around her.

She will probably blush, shake her head and laugh when she reads these things, but she needs to know how deeply to heart I have taken her example all these years.  Although she certainly has a great sense of humor, what is most remarkable about Laurie is her quiet, gentle bearing.  She is a physically lovely woman with an easy, infections laugh (I think it's one of my favorite sounds ever, and all the women in her family share it), but she doesn't like to draw attention to herself.  She doesn't pretend things are okay when they are not, but she has a zero tolerance policy when it comes to drama.  She is loyal. She is faithful.  She is kind. 

So when, several months ago, she shared with us - the members of Pastor Stephanie's small group - her diagnosis of breast cancer, we were stunned.  Laurie was one of those people who loved exercise, ate well (in part due to some dietary restrictions), and took care of her body.  How could this happen?  I, in particular, don't think it registered in my mind as fact until many weeks later.  Of course we prayed for her, but my heart housed some fear.  We had just lost two beloved ushers in our church very unexpectedly - and then I lost my mother immediately after that.  Another usher had a close call and landed in the hospital as well.  Being so deeply involved in our church, these ushers, to us, weren't simply smiling faces who handed out bulletins and guided us to empty pews.  Linda had been a friend who whore the same perfume as my mother, who lost her adult son within weeks of one of my miscarriages, who told me that her boy was already taking care of my babies in heaven because he loved children.  Steve was our head usher, patriarch of a family that I consider pillars in our church community - his widow, Kay, is a leader on the ministry team; his daughter, Sue, is one of our worship leaders; his granddaughter, Sarah, is an active and vibrant part of the youth group.  Brian, the usher who survived, is a newer member of the church with a big grin and goofy sense of humor.  We all held our breath as news trickled down to us that he was improving and, eventually, released from the hospital.

Would our precious Laurie be the next victim in this bizarre series of tragedies?  I admit, since my miscarriages, my relationship with God has sometimes been strained.  I don't blame him for "taking" my children, but I keep returning to Him like a needy child, asking again and again that simple but weighty question - "Why?"  I didn't know what to expect for Laurie.  Of course we prayed for and with her, but I feel like my faith is remedial nowadays, plodding forward with itty-bitty baby steps, rather than great soaring leaps.

So I hoped.

Laurie believed for her healing, but - like most folks in our church - had no issues with turning to doctors for support and treatment.  (Or general belief is that God has MANY ways to heal His children, and medical intervention IS, in fact, one of those ways.  We believe in prayer combined with medical attention.)  She underwent her radiation like a champ.  She lost all her hair.  She had to cut back on her hours at the church. 




Image from www.Miami.com

Last month, she had her final biopsy and got the all-clear.

Laurie is cancer-free!

Through the whole process, the only complaint I heard from her was that she was frequently tired - which was, of course, due to the chemotherapy.  She did shyly mention, however, that her nurses told her they loved working with her because she was so full of joy.  She wanted her experience there to represent her love for Jesus and share it with others.

I think that's pretty amazing.

The other two survivors I know have come into my life only recently.  My direct supervisor at work, Mary, and the office manager, Karen, are both standing tall (relatively speaking, since they aren't much taller than me) after battles with breast cancer.  Although I don't know much about their individual battles, I know that they are part of a much bigger network of support and love for victims of breast cancer.  When I told Mary that my friend Laurie had been diagnosed, she asked about her regularly.  Both women were quick to sign a get-well card I got for her, even though neither had ever met her.  When I shared the news that Laurie was cancer-free, both ladies celebrated with me as if they'd just been given the same news for themselves.

What fascinates me about this awful disease - which strikes both healthy and less-than-healthy women...which attacks the very nature and identity of the female body...which causes women to struggle with their identities as women...which has no real cure...has also proven to motivate women to support each other with an unwavering and awesomely beautiful strength.  The mildest, quietest women become outrageously fierce warriors when they wrap their arms around the newly-diagnosed, when they strap on pink sneakers to raise money, when they don pink shirts and march for the cure.

While I hate the disease, I love that, although it was meant to main, destroy, weaken and kill, it has instead raised up a veritable army of both women and men who have given each other the strength to raise their voices as once and roar, "I will overcome!"

Overcomer

There are times when I listen to a lot of Christian music.  There are times, a lot lately, when I prefer oldies or classic rock - or a good dose of Pat Benatar or Billy Idol.  Still, I'd heard a lot of buzz about Christian pop star Mandisa's recently-released single, Overcomer.  I've developed a lot of respect for this woman since I had first learned about her.  

Foremost, she is openly and joyfully in love with Jesus, and that is a beautiful thing.  She is an optimist but is down-to-earth and readily admits her faults.  Yes, I base much of my impression on social media, but let's be honest: if you were trying to look more put-together than you really are, why talk about how much you love your bed on Facebook?  The girl is real.  Her very public dismissal from American Idol by Simon Cowell, who snidely insulted her weight - as well as her immediate, gracious, and loving reply - were what launched her career, rather than canning it.  While much of America looks to actress Jennifer Lawrence as their "everywoman" - unashamed to talk about food, prone to goofing around, and all-around decent, I relate more, I think, to Mandisa.  I could actually imagine sitting down with her and joking about clothing a zaftig figure, loving Southern-fried food, and how there are a lot of days when Christians don't even feel saved.

So, when I heard her new song for the first time, I cried.  The message, like many of hers, is both simple and essential.  The theme of overcoming is mentioned a lot in the Bible.  It can be found in 1 John 5:4, where is is clearly stated "For whatever is born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith."  

The concept of living victoriously because Jesus triumphed over the grave is not, as some think, a "bonus blessing" only to be received by an elite few.  I am learning that is actually a fundamental building block of the faith!  If you have accepted the already pretty hard-to-swallow idea that Jesus is God's son, that He died for your sins, that He rose from the dead, and that He absolutely and completely adores you, then the next step is to believe that He actually wants you to live a full and fulfilling life.  That doesn't, of course, mean that your life will always be comfortable, or that you will never experience stress, sorrow, or pain.  But it does mean that you have the power and the choice to look past your circumstances into the eyes of the One who created you, who actually wants you to experience peace and joy.  

Don't get me wrong, here.  I am not preaching or promising a life full of warm fuzzies!  I'm speaking from a place of, well, not a lot of warm fuzzies myself.  I'm missing my mom.  I can hardly believe it's been seven months already since she passed away.  I mourn the loss of my children.  Ross is having a very hard time finding a job that suits him better than his current one.  His hours do not allow for a lot of quality time with me or our families.  

I can focus on the things that make me unhappy, or I can focus on the fact that, in spite of everything that is painful and uncertain right now, God does have a plan for my future, and everything will be okay.

I listen to Overcomer most days during my lunchtime power-walk.  It reminds me that, according to God's word, I'm not an overcomer when I see, feel, or experience victory.  I am one now.  I am allowed and even encouraged to hold me head high, smile, and walk joyfully through any situation with the knowledge that my enemy cannot destroy me.  I am an overcomer, even though I have lost three pregnancies.  God is bigger than miscarriage.  God is bigger than the doctors' response of "we don't know what's wrong."  God is bigger than the fear that threatens to rise up and suffocate me when I think about trying to conceive again.

June 2012, at my sister's wedding.

I have not yet seen victory in that area of my life, but I my spirits are lifted by the victory I am seeing in another area - weight loss.  Like Mandisa, I have grown more conscientious of my health in the past several months.  In the past year, I have (slowly!) lost nearly 20 pounds.  I was a size 13 in Juniors' styles this January, and I'm now beginning to try on size 7.  

 

 

This is uncharted territory for me!  I have never in my adult life dreamed of it.  I'm having more fun with fashion - even embracing skinny jeans!  Beyond that, I know that I am helping my heart and lungs, and even possibly helping to prepare my body for a healthy

August, 2013.

pregnancy.  Soon, I hope!  While I may not reach my goal weight by my November birthday, I have proven to myself that I can make a difference in my own life.  God's presence throughout this process has been subtle.  He hasn't shown up with a loud voice and fireworks, but he has calmly and steadily given me the strength to stop believing the lies I've told myself, or let others tell me.  The lie that my asthma was my identity.  The lie that it was no use to try to change, because everything was always going to be the same.  The lie that I just had to accept my family's health history as my own, and just wait for diabetes to set in.  The lie that I never, ever accomplish my goals.  The lie that I'm not worth taking care of.

That's the key to really accepting the fact that you're already an overcomer.  It's to stop listening to the lies that whisper "you're not good enough, God doesn't love you enough, and he isn't big enough to help you."  Once you finally understand that his grace is enough, he does love you enough and more than enough, and he is big enough to handle your pain and doubt, you can start to live like an overcomer - even if you don't feel like one.

The Numbers Game

I hand-wrote (!) this message yesterday during some down time at work (days before holiday weekends are generally very slow).  After talking with my relatively new artsy-nerdy friend Emily over coffee this morning, I felt it very important to post this today.  I am certain that there are a lot of women, and probably a lot of men, who are dealing with the same feelings as me, and this is something that needs to be addressed right away.

As I inch (literally) closer to my weight and health goals, I realize that I have reached a very dangerous place.  It has nothing to do with BMI or blood pressure or Daily Recommended Allowances.  It has everything to do with identity and self-image.

I have come to the jarring realization that I am on the brink of defining myself almost exclusively by my appearance.  And that terrifies me.

It's hard for me to admit this because I am a huge advocate of teaching the next generation, young women in particular, of the value of inner beauty.  It would be easier to pretend I was not having this struggle, to simply smile and say "thank you" when people notice how different I look now.  I hate what the media does to the value of womanhood.  I hate that we, as a culture, accept the cheapened version of femininity - the image of women as sexual objects, the condemnation of stay-at-home moms and working moms alike.  I hate that, as I myself eye my scale, I have begun to base my worth on how low the number dips.  The lower it goes, a little voice tells me, the greater my value.

I know this way of thinking is wrong on multiple levels.  First and foremost, it's shallow.  To assign a value to any person based on appearance alone is thoughtless, foolish, and often cruel.  How do we learn such injustice?  Look to Hollywood, full of scripts in which the well-meaning loser guy gets the gorgeous girl, but rarely the reverse.  Look to magazines, full of countless glossy pages of women so airbrushed they hardly look real.  (Can I also say here how much it pains me to see spreads in which the "affordable" clothing pieces top $400?  That's neither here nor there, of course, but man, that gets me riled up!  Moving on...)  My heart sinks when I think of all the truly talented, hard-working people who will never attain the "success" they desire because they don't have the right "look".  We are often chided not to judge a book by its cover, but it's something we do on a daily basis, often subconsciously.

And it hurts.

Another reason that this line of thinking is wrong is that it's simply untrue.  The Bible says that every person conceived has value, and nowhere does God indicate that any person is more important than another because of appearance alone.  In fact, 1 Samuel 16:7 indicates that God is speaking through the prophet with these beautiful and encouraging words: "But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him [a brother of David]. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.”  That's pretty darn clear that, although he designed our looks, they don't indicate value before God!  We don't have to think, act, speak or look a certain way before he gives us his love!

Yet another argument against these thoughts is a less profound, but equally important one: it robs me of my joy.  Instead of enjoying a hearty meal, I find that I eye it warily, mentally calculating the "damage" it may cause.  I have been, without even realizing it, labeling myself a "good" or "bad" girl depending on the amount of calories I've consumed and expended each day.  Why have I been punishing myself with insults when a chocolate craving attacks me or I don't count out each and every tortilla chip in a serving?

I don't exactly know.  In fact, the thing is, I absolutely know better.  I have both Bible verses and other words of encouragement to speak over myself.  I have a husband, family, and friends who loved me when I weighed almost 170 pounds and they'll also love me when I reach my goal of 126 pounds.  I'm not a model or an actress; I'm not in the public eye and therefore required to look a very specific way.  (I mean, come on, people, I wear scrubs to work.  Comfy, but hardly glamorous.)  I'm not trying to "shake my thang" in a bikini on a beach to drop jaws.  Even in regards to signing up for the Great Race, I am not trying to win - just to finish.  So why is this obsession getting the best of me?

I wish I could say.  All I know is that I am not alone.  While I do not have an eating disorder, I am aware that I don't have a healthy relationship with food right now.  I do wonder - would I feel the same way about myself if I'd been born tall and lanky, with a boyish figure?  Or with dark skin and kinky hair?  Or even shorter than I am now, with golden skin and almond-shaped eyes?  Do all women truly compare themselves to others?  Worse, do they compare themselves to those magazine models who don't even exist?  Are we all "just 10 pounds" or "just 4 inches" away from accepting ourselves as beautiful?

If my experience is any indication, I'm going to say that no, we're not.  You don't automatically gain self respect when you lose weight.  Oh, you find yourself more confident, more comfortable, but if you've developed negative habits before you lost the weight (or kicked smoking, or left an abusive relationship, or made whatever life change you needed to in order to be more healthy), you'll hang onto those habits until you realize they're hurting you more than the unhealthy conditions did.  Emily told me this morning that the things that wake her up at night aren't reminders of the physical abuse she had suffered - although that hurt, too.  She says what troubles her most are the psychological effects - including her own self-image, damaged by relationships that were not right for her.  

As with many of my more pensive posts, I don't exactly presume to have an answer.  I just wanted to be vulnerable and put this out there.  I strongly desire to be a good role model for the young ladies in my life - my friends' daughters, my nieces, the girls in my church's youth group.  And, when the time comes, for my own daughter (as bleak as things look right now, somewhere in my heart I still believe I will have a little girl someday).  It's the humanity of people who seem to be invincible that makes you realize no one's perfect, and although I don't claim to be a hero, my writings have brought me a lot of comments along the lines of "you're so strong".  

I don't feel strong right now, but I do feel like it's okay to admit that.

A Pound of Flesh, an Ounce of Hope

I dislike math.

I dislike math for the same reasons I dislike following recipes.  Too much structure.  Too many  opportunities to err.  To me, math is devoid of creativity.  It is the opposite of art.  There is only one way to reach a solution.  Despite being a Christian who does indeed believe in only one way to get to Heaven, I find that applying the concept of "my way or the highway" rarely works in most social exchanges.  In fact, people who behave in such a way are often labeled unkindly.

So, you see, to me, math is sort of a bully.  It says: one way.  Period.

I dislike math.

But I am now finding myself relying on it as I - sigh - count calories.

Although I hear "oh, my gosh, you are SO not fat!" from a lot of my friends, and I do appreciate the compliments, the fact remains that I have been heavy all my life.  Yes, I have learned to dress in a way that flatters my figure, and yes, I am wise enough to know that the jeggings fad is not for me.  But it has always bothered me that I never liked exercise, and that I liked food too much.  Couldn't it be the other way around?

My recent scare with abnormally high blood pressure has got me more concerned than ever about my health.  The good news is that I successfully avoided "newlywed weight gain" and have maintained my weight now for about 2 years.  This is good...because in college, my weight only ever went up.  Between working at Starbucks and Curves for several years, I lost about 25 pounds.  I gained some of that back after leaving Starbucks, but I have been holding steady.  That in itself is an accomplishment for me.  So I feel like I am ready for the next step.

Of course, in order to like - or even tolerate - exercise, I have had to associate it with something else I do like.  Visions of myself in a super-cute bikini near the ocean don't work for me, since I don't know how to swim.  My wedding has passed, so picturing myself in a wedding gown, slim and trim, doesn't help either.    What may help is imagining myself at my current weight, packing on an additional 30 pounds during pregnancy,  Eep!  That is way too scary!  So forget the visualizing.  It's bunk for me.  What is working is, of course, music.

If you think I downloaded the theme from Rocky, you would be correct.  I put a deliciously cheesy soundtrack together for myself, and I don't care who knows it.  If you aren't moved, even the slightest bit, by the opening fanfare of "Gotta Fly Now", then you are dead.  And therefore, you don't need to worry about your weight.  But for the rest of us...

Ross's employer offers a discount on health insurance if he fits into certain categories.  One requirement is that he lose ten pounds before the end of April.  Now, I certainly don't think my hubby needs to lose any weight, but he is willing to do it.  For the discount, of course.  So we've committed to losing 10 pounds in about 8 weeks.  That is a reasonable goal.  I think I can do it.

Sometimes deadlines are helpful, you know?

Several years ago I attempted to lose wight and joined an awesome website called myfitnesspal.com.  It is a great resource, but I got tired of tracking everything I ate.  That counting thing again.  But now they have an app for my phone, so I figure I will give it another go.

The best part?

Cooking burns 140 calories an hour.

I can so do this.

Heading to the Enemy's Camp...

For you to understand what I am about to say, you need to understand a little bit about my faith.  I am a person who solidly believes in the whole Bible, beginning to end and everything in between.  I know not everything in it seems to make sense, and I may catch hell for it, but that doesn't really bother me.  What is important is that I have no doubts at all that Jesus is the Son of God, born of a virgin, Who took on the sins of the world and died on the cross that men could see Heaven.  

Whether or not you agree with that is, of course, entirely up to you.

But you have to understand that I fully believe it, if what I am to say will make any sense.

For the past three weeks, my church and many, many others across the world have been engaging in a fast.  The purpose has been to draw nearer to God by "putting the flesh under" - in some way, ruling over our bodies and not giving in to them.  Romans 11:16 states that "If the part of the dough offered as firstfruits is holy, then the whole batch is holy; if the root is holy, so are the branches."  We are giving the first portion of our year to Him.  You get a little more sensitive to things when  you're denying your body something it tells you it wants.  You hear God more clearly, you think things through more completely.  You are the better for it.  Cleaner, more receptive.  Like a spiritual detox.

Ross and I felt that we needed to be a part of this journey.  We felt that God was leading us not on a "Daniel fast" of fruits and vegetables, but we did feel that God was asking us to lay aside some of our favorite foods and snacks, as well as things in other areas of our lives.  The funny thing is, though, that giving up cheese (my all-time favorite food), popcorn, pop ("soda", Ross calls it; how droll), processed sweets and video games wasn't the challenge for me.  What is a challenge is what has been happening in all the other areas of our lives!

Last year, at the same time the fast started, Ross and I were honeymooning in San Antonio, Texas.  We were having a wonderful time...eating too much, exploring, having adventures, and spending every single second wrapped in each others' arms.  This year,  it was a different story.  Both our vehicles needed extensive repairs within a day of each other...Ross was turned down for both positions he applied for...we nearly got into a car accident...I am having difficulty in launching my Bible study group...and I was rushed to the doctor with dizziness and chest pain to learn that I have seriously, dangerously high blood pressure...and they cannot yet determine why.  

You can imagine that we're a little discouraged and confused right now!

If all these things had happened at almost any other time, I don't know that I would have felt so seriously attacked.  But this is what I believe: there is something waiting for me in just a few days that the devil absolutely does not want me to have.  

When I saw the letter stating that Ross was turned down for the job he really, truly wanted, I was about ready to leave for work.  I got into the car and just broke down in tears.  I was so hurt for him.  I knew how much effort he had put into his interviews and how excited he was to work for the company.  I felt like the whole thing was a slap in the face.  And I heard the devil smirking: "See?  This is what you get for trusting your God.  How little he values your worship!"  

And then I got mad.  I realized that the only thing to do was to praise the Lord, and I turned up the music and sang before Him.  It was the one thing I could do to smash my heels into the devil's face.  And immediately, God spoke to me, promising me that the perfect position was opening up for Ross...and that we should not mourn at this "defeat".

While we are still waiting to see that position open, we are standing fast in our faith.  For now, though, both Ross and I have decent-paying jobs with cushy hours and good benefits.  Which we will need, considering the recent attack against my body.

Other than my childhood, which was wracked with allergies, anxiety attacks, and annual pneumonia, I am a fairly healthy person.   In fact, if you follow my blogs at all, you can see that I am what my loving step-mother calls a "food Nazi".  Processed soup has no place in my pantry.  Canned veggies had better say "no sodium" on the label.  All dairy is fat-free or reduced fat.  Eggs are reserved for special occasions (egg substitute is preferred).  While I am not the "gym-nut" that I someday hope to be, I am very conscious of eating as healthy as I can for the majority of the time.  In addition, I don't smoke and very, very rarely drink any alcohol.  I have cut back substantially on my coffee intake.  I have cut a lot of sugar from my diet.

Then why is my blood pressure 180/120?  That's...that's just crazy.  The nurse who took it looked at me like she was about to throw up.  "Um...did you know you have high blood pressure?" she gagged.

Basic blood tests and a physical exam haven't revealed anything yet.  I'll be honest.  It's pretty scary.  I told my dad that I felt guilty, like I did something wrong, or that I deserve it...like I am a time bomb and at any moment, something may tip my blood pressure just a bit too high and something really, really bad will happen.

Fortunately for me, I have a whole legion of prayer warriors on my side, and I am not allowing the twin serpents of doubt and fear to speak too loudly in my ear.  

I didn't share any of this for pity's sake.  I shared it because I firmly believe that, very soon, I will have a victorious tale to tell, and I wanted to use a format such as this to proclaim what I feel to be true.

Stay tuned, dear readers, dear friends.  There is a part two to this story, and I cannot wait to experience it!