My eating disorder was the product of heart wrenching hurts, unanswered questions, and choices. Mere choices. I know God has always been a part of my story. Really, He has been the author and main character of my story even when I did not invite him onto the pages. And He is a good God and a protector. He loves me with more zeal than I can possible muster.
But, I have consequences to my choices. So, when I chose to get wasted with people I did not know well, I undoubtedly put myself in situations where I could be hurt. When I heard the voice of God gently calling me to join Him rather than trying to write the story myself and I plugged my ears and ran away, I chose to build walls and put distance between the One who loves unconditionally and my broken, love-starved heart. I chose isolation. I chose to party. I chose my own way. I chose to throw up.
Through my struggle with bulimia, I have come to believe something negative and bad and evil takes over. I remember sitting on the floor next to the toilet having just made myself purge, mascara staining my cheeks, the wretchedly sour smell of bile fumigating the bathroom. I remember hating myself. Hating what I had just done. Hating what I looked like. Hating the mistakes that haunted me, hindering any chance of joy or peace. Disgusted with who I thought I was.
I remember wondering, What is happening to me? How did I get here?
It was a whirlwind. The negative and the bad and the evil slipped in like a bat out of hell. It bombarded me with scary, loud lies and took over my thinking, my emotions, my processing, my rationale. But, I still made the choice to engage with the negative. The bad. The evil.
On countless occasions, I did know what I was doing. And I did not care. To feel control, to be skinnier, to hurt myself was more alluring than feeling and enduring the pain that was associated with my self-hatred and disgust. I could binge, maybe consuming anywhere from 3000-7000 calories (but who is really counting at that point), and ensure I did not gain weight because I would violently induce vomiting and follow that humiliating act with hours of relentless cardio at the gym.
But I also remember moments of pure, blissful VICTORY. Moments when everything in me wanted to binge and purge that all I could think of was food and puking and being skinny and feeling like I was in control of my own life. Moments when I would get in the car, drive to a greasy fast food joint with my order in mind, and turn the car around to return home before ever arriving at the restaurant. I remember a day when I realized, I am of more value than this and I will no longer believe the negative and the bad and the evil.
In this present moment, while I am on a flight from Denver to Orlando, trying to get home to Virginia Beach after an exciting, magical weekend of bridesmaidism and spending quality time with west coast girlfriends, I am not sure why I am even writing this… Writing with vulnerability of this degree is humbling. It is scary. It feels yucky and liberating all at the same time. I think it will be worth it. But, sometimes I do not know. I just have to go with the positive and the good and the beautiful voice that prompts me to share my story and walk in freedom.
National Eating Disorder Awareness (NEDA) week is approaching. The dates this year are February 22-28. NEDA is my passion. Well, one of my passions. I have so many I am no longer sure if I have passions or if I am a passionate person with many, and sometimes fluctuating, interests. I am leaning more toward the latter of the two. I am convinced it is a positive aspect of my obsessive personality—I give my all to whatever gives me excitement. In my bulimia-recovered, wild, adventurous, sometimes unpredictable world, NEDA week is an opportunity to share the details. The hurts. The victories. The misconceptions. To be honest and vulnerable and open. NEDA week is my reminder to be authentic. To keep healing and to keep pressing and to keep being real.
I do not know what healing will continue to look like or how this process ends. Maybe it does not end. Maybe I am forever wrestling with the tension of giving God control of my life and inviting Him to be the author of the story rather than snatching the pen from him. Maybe I will forever struggle with body image and self-value and feelings of unworthiness until the day I die and meet my Maker and am fully healed in Heaven. I do not know.
But what I do know is I am sold out and fully committed to the process of healing. God made me to be the ultimate anti-quitter. I will not quit. This anti-quitter is on a journey to something better and more stable. I do not know what it looks like, but the positive and the good and the beautiful tells me it is worth it. I am healthier today than I was yesterday. The end is not the goal to keep in mind because the end is not yet written or published.
In this present moment, while I am on this crowded, stale-aired plane from Denver to Orlando, while I am eagerly looking forward to being home, I can hold onto the hope of being healthier and more whole and more healed with each passing day. With each opportunity to listen to the positive and the good and the beautiful, He writes another sentence of this amazing, challenging, incredible story. It is worth it.
Please share your story! I would LOVE to hear about where you have been and where you are headed. Please email me at k.clevenger@hotmail.com or comment below. I am eager to invite guest writers to share their story on Re: Defining Beautyful You!
Live wholly, love fully, rejoice daily.
KC
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