***If you have not read the previous post, Friendship and Faith, please read it first.

When Chris left this summer for Fort Jackson, I was having a hard time with a lot of things. Chris has been my entire support system for the last six and a half years. I have leaned on him probably more than is healthy. I was a sad, hurting, slightly angry kid with very little self esteem when we met. Being around him helped. I felt better when I was with him, but, unfortunately, I found my worth in his love. During the time we dated, we broke up twice. Both times, it felt as if my world had fallen to pieces, because, without his validation, I didn’t feel like I was worth anything. The years directly before and during the time I was dating Chris, were the hardest years of my life. I felt as if I didn’t fit anywhere. I was lonely. I felt like I was not good enough for anything or anyone. It was during this time that I developed some terribly unhealthy and harmful behaviors. I felt like I needed to do something to make myself better. I needed to do something to make myself more worthy of people’s love. Like a lot of girls, I convinced myself that losing weight was the way to do that. I would not eat for long periods of time. When I did, I would throw up. It would completely consume me. Writing down everything I ate, labeling certain foods good or bad in my mind, throwing up when I ate more than I felt I should, and beating myself up in my mind throughout the whole process. This became more than just an effort to lose weight. It became a coping mechanism for me. When life got to be too much…when the pain got to be more than I could handle…I would throw up. I was just a kid. I was confused and hurting, and I was silently crying out for someone to notice. Only two or three people knew about it. I told a couple of my friends, but they were just kids themselves. They didn’t know what to do or how to help me. Chris knew, too, and he helped me in the only way he could. Assuring me of his love. Promising that he would stay with me. Telling me that he thought I was beautiful and smart and that he loved me. It helped me. I was confident in his love for me, even if I was not confident in myself. That was how I was able to move past the behavior. For a while, at least.

Over the years, when things have gotten hard for me, the desire to purge…to try to empty myself of pain…would return. I knew it was wrong. I knew it was stupid. I felt great shame, but I still had the overwhelming desire to do so. For the most part, I was able to keep it in check, but it was a hard place to be. After I weaned Elijah, I had a horrible time. I no longer had a baby dependent on my body for the first time in four years. I did, however, have several pounds that I associated with my lack of worth. I fell into the same old habits. When I confessed my temptations to my husband, while he tried to sympathize with me and encourage me, I knew he just did not understand. The shame grew. It was a horrible cycle, and I was at my wit’s end. I was in a bad place. The thing that put an end to it that time was when I got pregnant with Owen. I valued the health and well-being of my baby much more than that of myself. I was able to stop the behavior instantly when I knew I was going to have another baby. The feelings and urges were put off for a while.

Fast forward to the beginning of this summer. Chris was gone, I was weaning Owen, and I was smack in the middle of some terribly difficult emotions. I didn’t have Chris to discuss them with. I didn’t know what to do with them, and it was then that my old demons came back to haunt me. I had times where I was just completely overwhelmed with the desire to throw up. That’s not pretty. It’s not easy to say or talk about. What it is, though, is the truth. Not only was it a coping mechanism but it was also a distraction. When things got too hard to deal with, I distracted myself with obsessing about my weight. I couldn’t even tell Chris about it this time, because I was afraid of worrying him. With all of the Army stuff, I didn’t want to make him worry about me back at home. It just built and built until I was at the freaking out point. The point at which I had to get some help or I was going to give in.

I did get some help. First of all, I learned to talk to God about it. It’s crazy how we think that just because something is ugly and we don’t want to talk about it, we think God doesn’t know? Like, if we don’t tell him, He won’t find out. Crazy, because He knew about it before we ever even thought about it for the first time. I could never pray about this, though. I could never ask Him to help me to quit doing it, because I felt like it was something I should be able to quit at any time. It was a wall between me and Him. My problem was that I kept trying to move the wall, and then talk to Him. What I really needed to do was to ask Him to move it for me. I’ve been doing this. Over and over. He moves it, but I keep dragging it back. Once I’ve drug it back, I’m too tired and exhausted from the dragging to move it anymore. I have to ask Him to move it again. It’s ridiculous really. I’ve been a slave who has drug my chains around, refusing to believe that I’ve been offered my freedom. What I’ve learned, though, is that He IS faithful. He forgives me. He helps me.

Another thing that helped me was that I made myself accountable to my friend. I had told her about what I had been struggling with. She didn’t judge me or lecture me. She just loved me anyway, and time after time pointed me to Jesus. She reminded me where my worth comes from. This summer has been a combination of things regarding change. Some things were one giant step and that was it. Other things were baby steps. I’ve been taking baby steps with this situation this summer. Sometimes I take several steps back, but, for the first time in my life, I’ve been able to make progress.

Amy shared a verse with me at the beginning of the summer.

The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
because the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor;
he has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
and the opening of the prison to those who are bound; Isaiah 61:1

This verse gave me hope. Jesus wanted more for me than to live life as a slave. He didn’t want me dragging my chains around with me. He wanted to bind up my broken heart. He came to set me free. I wanted to be free.

All summer, I prayed and tried to seek after God. He was blessing me beyond what I could have ever asked for, but yet I was still hanging on to this thing. Even after I had got past the place where the desire to purge was really strong, I still battled the urge to not eat. I had conflicting emotions. I was not strong enough to keep resisting on my own. One day was particularly hard for me. It was a Sunday. I don’t even remember what I was so upset about. Maybe I had gained a pound or thought my clothes didn’t fit right or maybe I was just having a hard day. What I do remember, though, is that the desire to purge was almost more than I could handle. In an effort to make myself accountable to someone, I got online and told Amy that I was having a hard time. She called me on the phone, and prayed for me. I don’t know why hearing someone talk to God about your needs is so comforting, but it was. After I hung up the phone with her, I immediately walked up the stairs, sat down, and wrote my Faithful Friends post. I didn’t eat a thing that day. It was a hard day all around. I knew that freedom was mine for the taking, but I was afraid to take it. I was like the black slaves that were freed after the Civil War. I had no concept of freedom. I knew that I was free. Someone greater than myself had proclaimed my freedom, after all. It was just that I was used to my slavery. It was familiar.

All summer I struggled with this thing. I would have good periods where I didn’t think about it as much and felt so close to God, and then there were times where it started to take over my mind and I felt distant from Him. It just wouldn’t go away. In hindsight, I think He used Chris’ absence to make me deal with something that I had kept putting off dealing with for at least a decade.

When we got back from our vacation, Amy and I had stayed up late one night, after everyone else was in bed. We were talking about lots of things, but this topic came up. I don’t remember all of our conversation, but I remember that, at one point, God made it very clear to me that this was not just a problem I had. It was not just some thorn in my side that I had no part in. It was sin. It was an idol that I worshiped. It was a matter of pride and disobedience. It was awful and ugly. I saw it for what it was. That night, I confessed to God that I had been hanging on to sin for years. I asked Him to take it from me, because I couldn’t do it on my own. I asked Him to break the chains that bound me. You know what? He did. Chains that had bound me for years were broken in one moment of obedience and surrender. I can point to that moment and say, “That is when He set me free.”

It’s not been a bed of roses since then. There have been times when I’ve been tempted to fall back into the old way of thinking. It’s a hard thing to deal with when I’m still trying to lose weight. It’s just part of my history, though. It’s something that I deal with. I deal with it by giving it to Him. I can’t do it on my own. If it weren’t for Him, I’d pick up my chains, and lock them back around me. I know this now. I know that it’s only in Him that I have freedom. So when I feel badly about myself…when I am tempted to rattle my chains a bit…I give it back to Him. I trust Him enough to know that He will hold onto me. He’s in it for the long haul with me. He’s a patient Father, and He loves me.