Eleven Honest Years

Today is my eleven year anniversary.  Not mine and Jason's.  Not mine at CenturyLink (nee EMBARQ, nee Sprint).  Not my mom and dad's.  Mine.

Eleven years ago today I believed me.  While I'm not likely to post any incriminating (aka embarrassing) pictures, I had a very unfortunate adolescence -- bad perms, bad skin, bad glasses, bad shape and worst of all, a bad attitude about it all.

A foodie from birth, I was a cuddly baby, a chubby child and a heavy tween -- so that by the time I started to thin out a bit in late highschool, my perception of myself was extremely skewed and at ten to fifteen pounds overweight, I felt obese.  To combat these feelings I dieted like a fiend in public and ate outrageous amounts of food in secret, and in July of 1993 I managed to make myself throw up for the first time after gorging myself at a baby shower.

It sounds crazy, but that day was something of an epiphany for me -- I thoughtI had finally figured out how to "control" my weight.  I was finally going to be thin (or so I thought) -- the most important quality in the world, the quality that would make me beautiful and charming and confident and kind.  The quality that would make people love me.

For six and a half years my weight and my moods fluctuated, but two things remained constant -- I was a liar and I was completely out of control.  I lied to everyone who knew me: my parents, my siblings, my friends, my coworkers, my classmates, my roommates, my employers, my first boyfriend and strangers on the street -- pretending to be charming, confident and kind when I was bitter, self-loathing and resentful.

I lied to myself every day saying "this time will be the last time" and every few weeks saying  "when I graduate highschool I'll stop," "when Christmas break ends I'll be better, " "when my birthday gets here I'll stop, " "when I find someone to love me I'll stop..." 

In the summer of 1998 I graduated college and jumped into adulthood, but the bulimia came right along with me.  Finally one Saturday morning after eating a dozen Mr. D's donuts, I admitted to myself that unless I fixed this I could never truly fall in love or get married or have a family or have the life I wanted, because I was a liar and I was out of control.  I opened the yellow pages and left a message for Dr. Mimi Zimmerman, an eating disorders specialist in Kansas City.

Despite the confusion of insurance, my refusal to take anti-depressants and my continued need to keep my struggle a secret, over two courses of eight weeks each, Mimi helped me see that my problem wasn't with food, but with my need to be in control of  who I was to myself and to others.  My fear wasn't of being fat, but of being alone. 

In the spring of 1999, after weeks of "incident-free" living, I binged and purged the night before my sixteenth session with Mimi.  I lied to her about my episode, and towards the end of our hour she told me that she didn't think we needed to continue, that my understanding of my motivations was obvious and my ability to deal with the stresses of life had improved.  Mimi said that I was "well", so I was.

For over 6 months I was "well" because Mimi had said so.  That fall in the midst of a painful breakup, a major career shift and other life changes, I started to binge again, and soon after, I started to purge again.  I lost the fight and my confidence.

Through that winter I learned to survive a bruised heart, I learned to play the corporate game and I learned that I could take care of myself.  Then on February 2, 2000 after my nightly binge/purge, I sat on the bed in my little studio apartment and asked myself why I could be "well" when Mimi said I was, but not on my own.  The answer?  Because I believed her.  So, on February 2, 2000 around 8:00 in the evening, I prayed to God for His strength and His guidance, I told myself I was well, and I believed me.

Someone important is obviously missing from the majority of this story-- God.  I have been a Christian since I was a small child, always believing that Jesus Christ was the Son of God, that He lived and died for my sins and that He is the only source of salvation, but for many yearsI chose to ignore God. 

I focused on my physical body and worldly concerns and pushed aside His love and His plan.  I went to church and I prayed during this time, but let's be honest, I prayed to be thin, to be loved and to be happy -- when all along God had created my body exactly how He wanted it, He loved me beyond my understanding, and His joy was right there for the taking.  He waited for me and saved me from my self-centeredness and fear when I was ready to let Him.

A few days later I perched on Jason's desk for the first time and took those very first, all important, baby steps into love.

Eleven years later I am not a liar, because I am worth honesty. I am not out of control because I don't try to be in control. I am not alone because I believe that I am worth the love that I receive from God, Jason, Charlie and everyone else who know the real me and loves her.

I regret my selfishness.  I regret my lies.  I regret all of the wasted tears and pleas and relationships, but I do not regret having suffered from bulimia, because I learned that I am worthwhile because God created me and that I can overcome anything with His help. 

I also learned that those people who seem the most "together" may be falling apart inside and may need my love and patience and prayers more than I could ever dream.

These lessons made me a better wife, daughter, sister and friend and prepared me to be Charlie's mom.