Hello there, my lovely readers. I know what you’re thinking: “It’s Friday! Where’s my Diet Coke 12-Pack? I have a super awesome Friday night ahead of me which I plan to devote entirely to wasting on the internet. Where are those links?”
I apologize, friends. But there aren’t any this week. Well, there are, but a conversation my husband and I had last night over coffee (pumpkin spice lattes to be exact!) prompted me to post something different today. Something honest.
Last night Dan and I were chatting about the future of our marriage and what’s next for us and all that good junk, and we talked about the possibility of doing ministry together. Like, grown up ministry. Sure, we minister to junior high kids every week. But let’s be honest — it’s a lot easier to look like you have your crap together when you minister to people at least a decade your junior whose biggest problems in life are passing their vocab tests and not getting grounded for pummeling their siblings. If we feel called to someday minister to adults, we obviously need to make sure we’re healthy enough spiritually and emotionally to tackle that kind of calling.
“Alright then, what’s wrong with me?” Dan asked.
“What’s wrong with me? Diagnose me! Tell me what I have to work on so that I can get better!”
We chatted about him and his upbringing a bit and finally decided that he needs to work on his cynicism and his laziness. He’s a guy who, as he put it, “has never had to know what it is to work hard — success has always come easily.” This, naturally, is Miracle-Gro for a lazy disposition.
“Okay then,” I turned. “What about me? What do I need to work on?”
“Easy,” he said. “You don’t know how pretty you are. You’re confident, but not enough — not as much as you should be, considering how pretty you are.”
“Really?” I was laughing pretty hard at this one. “THAT’S my biggest issue?”
“Maybe not,” he conceded, “but it is an issue.”
He’s adorable, right? I’m not worthy.
At any rate, I continued to listen to him gush over my beauty while sipping my latte and nibbling at our (free!) pumpkin spice scone. With each compliment about my beauty, I shifted more and more uncomfortably in my seat, fidgeting with my tell-tale knee brace, until finally I couldn’t take it anymore.
“No,” I stopped him. “Listen, the truth is, I’ve gained weight. Like, a lot. I know, because they weighed me right before surgery. My lack of physical activity and the fact that I haven’t been avoiding carbs like the plague is really getting to me. More than I let on, actually.”
He quietly looked at me with concern in his eyes. “Wow. Really?”
“Yes. Yes really. And I feel like a complete fraud and failure with each self-love blog I write knowing that deep down at this very moment, I hardly believe what I’m writing. To be honest, I’m terrified of food at the moment. And I can’t write that.”
“Lindsay, you’re human.” His words were kind, but firm. “It’s your blog. Write what you are feeling. Honestly, people might be able to relate to that even more.”
I’m going to assume he’s right.
The truth is, this knee surgery clustertruck (PG-13!) has really been difficult for me to stomach. For the past two weeks, our dinners have been delivered to us by members of the church. This is a HUGE blessing — with my aggravating immobility, my physical therapy appointments, and the boatloads of money we’ve been shelling out throughout this entire process I have never felt more blessed by something as simple as dinner. But last night, my ED-wired brain turned against me.
You’re really going to eat that? Remember the number you saw on the scale two weeks ago before your surgery? Do you really want to add to that? You know you can’t work off the calories, so why are you even eating them you fat piece of crap? Even if you start working out when you’re fully healed, it will take you forever to work all of this off, if ever. You’re worthless.
I guess this is what it means when I hear someone say, “You’re always recovering from an eating disorder.” You win some (and in my case, a lot!) but you do lose some. If I am to be completely transparent with you (and I fully intend to be) at the moment, I feel like I’m losing, and considering the fact that I won’t be able to exercise like a normal person until 2012 I have a sneaking suspicion the losing isn’t over yet.
And so. I ask for grace. I ask for prayer. I ask for support and love and things of that nature from you, my readers. You all mean so much to me, so much so that I fear writing what I’m truly feeling because I don’t want to hurt you.
But right now, I hurt a little inside (and a LOT on the inside of my knee, LORD.) And I hope you can forgive me for being honest.