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Bill

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace and tagged with , ,

On the first line of my first blog of this journey, I use a random, exaggerated amount of time that I have been in counseling – “523 years.” In a FB story, while on a trip with my daughter-in-law and after doing a “Polar Dip” I wrote “Bucket List #53 – Polar Dip” with a pic of our frozen selves, seemingly a random Bucket List item number, but actually one that doesn’t exist at all.

In reality there is no randomness to either number. These numbers represent the birthdays of two people that have impacted my journey the most – Bill #1 (5/3) – my dad, and Bill #2 (5/2) – my son’s dad and my first and only true love. I knew that each of them were involved in this journey in impactful ways and I have had a post formulating in my mind from the beginning – even thinking of quirky titles like Stackin’ Bills, Too Many Bills, Stack of Bills – you get the picture.

Here is the thing about this journey and this blog, however. First, what I always think I will write about, after some time, transforms into an entirely new thing. With that being said, this post is all about Bill #2. Second, this “journey” is no copy of any other diet or exercise plan I have previously been on, and I absolutely don’t want it to be. It is a journey to peace that involves better physical, mental and spiritual health (totally hijacked those words, but they work.) It has taken me two-plus months to realize this to the fullest extent, and not for lack of being told. What was said months ago: “This will be a hard journey, a battle.” What I heard: “It’s going to be hard to get my fitness level back after all this time.” What this person knew, and I didn’t at the time, is that this road would be twisted and confusing and complicated and that the physical part would be the easier piece.

Oops. My bad for not listening more carefully.

The thing is this – pain, hurt, brokenness, deep struggles – that I buried far, far down inside are being pulled to the surface, and I’ll tell you this, there is no fun in it. In all honesty, the last few weeks can be summed up with one word – suffering. I’m very visual and I keep imagining this giant garbage can being dumped upside down. The things at the top, well, many are wet or burned – not even able to be recognized. They are forgotten. At the bottom, however, are things that are still sitting there, intact as they were so many years ago, not disturbed, and certainly not forgotten as I falsely believed they had been. These things form the base of where all of the disordered eating and self-image issues began.

The two Bills each form varying pieces of this base but as the garbage can has turned over the past several weeks, Bill #2 came flying out with a vengeance. I realized that the neat little box he was in was being ripped open and pieces were flying out all over the place – little bits here, little bits there in a huge whirlwind in my mind. Separating out this pile of garbage is proving to be absurdly painful and deeply confusing.

Bill came into my life when I was a teenager. I began working at his family’s company and I fell fast and hard for his charm, wit, fun spirit, beautiful looks, and let’s be honest – the excitement in the way he lived life. Already struggling with my self-esteem and not really having a goal for my life, there was nothing to ground me. I know that even had I had those things, I couldn’t have stopped my heart from loving him with everything it had. To fuel my deep feelings for him, his family wanted us to be, were very vocal about it, and that tangled me tighter into the dream of an us.

It’s vital to add in here that I began attending church with him and his family and this is when and how I became a Christian. Saved and baptized at 19 years old with the man I desperately loved in the audience. Yes, my testimony involves a person that has hurt me more than any other I have known. It’s interesting how God uses people in our stories in ways that seem so uncharacteristic of the overall version. But that is how it happened, because of Bill #2, I became a Christian. I think to see that this was a beautiful purpose in this relationship is vital, as well as healing.

Bill’s family and I went on a ski trip one Spring and while there, I got really horrible “altitude sickness.” A few weeks after we returned, I knew in my heart, and a quick test confirmed, I was pregnant. I can remember with so much clarity this entire day. Going to get the test at Target with a friend, taking and seeing the test results, crying so uncontrollably laying on a bed in a friends apartment with pieces of a roll of TP laying all around me, little white representations of the scattered mess I felt I had made of my life. I couldn’t stop crying, I couldn’t think of what to do. I couldn’t see anything beyond that moment of pain and fear and uncertainty. What I did know, in the midst of it all, is how Bill would respond and he didn’t disappoint. As a matter of fact, he trumped my expectations.

Another friend went to get him and told him. Still laying on that bed, sobbing and terrified, I heard the apartment door open when they returned. He walked in the room, sat down beside me on that bed and said “I don’t love you and I’m not going to marry you.”

I don’t remember moments after that – any other conversation with him, leaving there, driving home, only a desperate and dark pain. Later, I remember telling a few friends. One of my best friends cried, which heaped more hurt on me. I told a few people who were supportive and encouraging and that may possibly be the only lifeline to all that happened in the following weeks. Then I told my mother. It was a truly painful conversation with tears and words said that I will choose to not share. Ultimately, she was supportive and that is all that matters. I never told my dad, my mother did that and I have often tried to imagine the conversation. Bill #1 and his response are set aside for another time, but possibly never. I’m unsure. What I will say is that their disappointment was palpable and even more painful.

The next conversations with Bill #2 were hard and deceptive and excruciating. I can’t and won’t write any more about that except to say that he gave me absolutely no support whatsoever. It became clear that I would navigate this pregnancy alone – emotionally, financially, physically, and in every other way. I made the choice to have this child and love him with everything I had. I have to give a shout-out to an angel in this part of the story – one that I don’t even know her name and that will never see this, but that said and did all the right things at just the right moment to bring me over a giant Bill-created mountain of deception.

Lack of self esteem, rejection, indescribable pain- each of these led me deeper into the world of what I now know as an eating disorder. Prior to becoming pregnant, I had been on a long bout of starvation. Becoming pregnant following starvation proved to produce ridiculously quick weight gain and a deeper and more dire insecurity and self hatred with my body.

During my pregnancy, Bill began dating another woman. I don’t have words for how broken my heart was because the truth was I was holding out hope for us to be a family. This broke me into a million little pieces. At least a million. I was still working for the family’s company, watching up close and personal all of this unfold. (Don’t be thinking to yourself “why didn’t you get another job” because YES, I DID try to get other jobs.) I would go home in the evenings and sob uncontrollably laying on my bed and fall asleep. It was a brutal time.

After my son was born, they became engaged and the unfortunate thing is that my feelings were never a consideration, or he was too weak of a man to face them. I came into work and a caring coworker told me about the engagement. I stood outside of the building and I broke, fully and completely. Every dream I had hoped for lay shattered on the ground around me.

My cycle of dieting started as soon as my son was born. Embarrassing to say but true, many diets began with, “I’m going to show him what he is missing.” I knew I loved him, I knew he knew I loved him, I was “nice” about everything that had gone on, and the unknown-at-the-time ED just led me to believe that the reason he rejected me was because of my weight. Now, years later, I know that I was facing a giant of an enemy that was already working to destruct me alone and then in conjunction with someone I loved and we were rolling down hill at warp speed. When I see pictures from that time, I see a girl that thought she was enormous, that felt desperately rejected and unwanted and unloved and so deeply insecure. They are hard to look at and realize how severely broken I already was.

All things Bill #2 were shoved into a neat little box at the bottom of the garbage can, and I began to date, lived with different men, had ‘flings’, drank a little too much, anything possible to try to fill the raging voids within me. Each relationship was more dysfunctional than the last, some emotionally and physically abusive, and I had no clue at all about how I should be treated, how a real man treats a woman, how I should respect myself, or anything else relationship related. The never ending dieting cycle continued, bingeing, purging, starving, exercise as punishment, and the nuclear bomb got bigger and bigger each year. Only, I didn’t know what was happening, I was just moving forward. I definitively knew that I wasn’t right, I just didn’t know what was wrong.

There were moments where the lid at the bottom of the pile cracked open a little and I would dream of what it would have been like to have the three of us be a family. Then there were the opposing moments when I knew God had saved me from a life full of even more pain and destruction than had already happened. Despite everything, I truly am thankful for that, but it certainly doesn’t negate the hurt this caused. I knew that I would have hung on with tenacity to a deeply sick person and would have tried to save and change him with everything I had. I knew he was hurt and broken and I knew the ways that he tried to solve his own problems, I just thought I could solve them for him because I was the one that truly loved him.

That knowledge was well known by some close to the situation and used carelessly – “Melissa has always loved Bill” with this nostalgic tone and isn’t-that-so-sweet facial expression. I got a highly dysfunctional thrill out of being known as the one that always loved Bill. It was the thread that kept me woven into the sickness of it all and into my own sickness.

Over the years, some moments caught me off guard and when our son had children was one of them. Out of nowhere, I was engulfed in yet more Bill-related pain. I went into a space of wondering what we would be like together as grandparents – Meme and Pops with their grandkids. In my twisted vision it was so dreamy but the reality would have been anything but. I cried heavy, hard tears when he would text me when they were born and say how he was so excited “we” had grandkids. Always lingering there was the “what if.” What if he could straighten up and we could be together. Stabbing hot pain burned me again but I would shove that box closed as fast as possible and binge the feelings away like the pro I had become.

Here is the truly hardest part of this entire ordeal. I have, yes HAVE, held onto shame from the very beginning. I can’t begin to explain the number of times shame engulfed me as I heard words such as, “OHHH how are you related to . . .”, “Who is your . . .”, “Are you Bill’s . . .” It happened two days ago and I felt the same dread as I have each of the thousands of times before it. This is how I have always handled it. I would formulate any type of sentence to avoid saying that we were never married. I wouldn’t lie, just use an arsenal of carefully chosen words to not have to admit that I was rejected, unloved, unwanted, etc. It is a heavy and crushing burden to carry. Sometimes, I think I will live under the umbrella of shame and brokenness with this forever.

But nope. On my own terms, I’m ripping the lid off the box of shame surrounding this and it is well beyond time. For anyone that questions, and wonders and whispers or boldly and carelessly asks, such as happened two days ago, it’s out there in all of its truth. I see no way forward in physical, emotional, spiritual, or mental freedom without being free from this part of my life – from the shame, guilt, rejection, pain, and unlovable feelings that defined me so long ago.

Here is when and how it became clear that Bill is the only man I have truly and deeply loved.

At the beginning of 2018, his life had reached the low point of a years-long spiral. It is not my intent to divulge his sins and demons as this is not what this is about. It was actually achingly sad to watch the continual destruction happen. In February of that year, there was an incidence. My sister and I were setting up for an event and I told her about it all and how when we were finished setting up, I wanted to go make a well check on him. I said these very words, “It won’t upset me to find him if he is dead. I would rather it be me than Blake.”

While we were at the place setting up the event, Blake called and my sister answered and handed me the phone. “Mom,” said the saddest and most quiet voice. And I fell into the floor bawling. He was gone from this earth forever. I DID care. I WAS upset. My heart was shattered into another million pieces. I was asked to write his obituary as “the one who had always loved him” and I did it. I had to do some other hard things involving the funeral and I cried and cried and cried some more. Some were shocked that I was so deeply broken and sad. Others completely understood. It was just a weird and hard time. Back into the box it all went, healed I thought. He was gone, after all, and I had cried. ALOT.

But, and you know about the buts by now, it’s December 2020 and I started on this journey to peace back in October, never realizing I would be working through one of the hardest things that has defined more of my life than I wish it would have. With great intensity, I learn that I will have no peace until I resolve years of feelings surrounding Bill. I have to get over it all and truly move on.

We had no closure and will never, but I want to move forward with forgiveness without a sorry. I want to love someone else, prayerfully as much as I loved Bill and that I don’t ruin the relationship BECAUSE of Bill. I believe that there are people God has put in my life that are showing me how I should be cared for and treated by a man. That may be the hardest part for me – allowing myself to be cared about but with that I can feel that the cracked edges of this part of my life are softening and healing. It is a hard journey, this part of it. ED wants to deceive me with everything in him right now – into going back into those old mentalities of pushing people away, isolating myself, believing that I’m unlovable, thinking everything hinges on the number on the scale, finding solace in men, or anything else.

I’m fighting my way to the other side of this no matter what. I’m going to walk through the pain of this part and pray that the healing and newness on the other side are as sweet as I can imagine.

Danny Gokey wrote the song that has defined this part of my journey and word for word tells this entire part of my story.

I was there the moment that it happened
But you couldn’t see me through the pain
I caught every tear as they were falling
When you lost your heart that day
Yeah, you lost your heart that day

And now you only see through broken lenses
Trying to keep your head above the shame
You believe the lie that I am distant
But I hold you every day
Yeah, I hold you every day

If you could see it through my eyes
You’d know that you are wanted
You’d know that you are wanted
And if you’d let my love inside
I’ll show you that you’re wanted
I’ll show you that you’re wanted

You’re more than all your darkest moments
You are defined by what I see
You’re my reflection, you’re my treasure, you’re my heartbeat
Oh, child, you belong to me, ohh’

Cause if you would see it through my eyes
You’d know that you are wanted
You’d know that you are wanted
And if you’d let my love inside
I’ll show you that you’re wanted
I’ll show you that you’re wanted, oh

Not rejected, not unwelcome
You’re wanted (You’re wanted)
Oh, you’re wanted (You’re wanted)
Not abandoned, not forgotten
You’re wanted
Oh, you’re wantedI’m right here in this moment
And I’m singing over you
Yeah, I’m singing over you, oh-oh

If you could see it through my eyes
You’d know that you are wanted
I’d sure you that you’re wanted
And if you’d let my love inside
I’ll show you that you’re wanted
I’ll show you that you’re wanted
Ooh, hey

https://open.spotify.com/embed/artist/5Yu3b48Y29bZlI1cLPOZJz

Berry Proud

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace and tagged with , ,

Just in case my randomness has been hard to keep up with, let me give a quick summary, mainly for the purpose of catching up to what’s currently happening on this journey.

I began seeing ML in April of 2019 and we worked together until July of 2020. During this time, she created goals for me each week and we addressed many aspects of the eating disorder diagnosis. Some of the goals were to do yoga because it is more therapeutic and I couldn’t exactly “punish” myself with it, to practice intuitive eating to try to get my body to learn hunger cues and to reset my thinking on all the good and bad foods, food rules, diet failures and everything else that flitted around in my brain for so many years.

There were many ways that the intuitive eating didn’t really connect with me because my intuition was to binge eat, or starve myself, followed by binge eating. I understood the concept but also could never fully get on track with this – and not for lack of effort because, remember, I am have the perfectionist mentality.

In July of 2020, I had a cancer scare. A BIG scare. As a matter of fact, its the scariest thing I’ve dealt with that had to directly do with me. I had written my obituary and made arrangements of who would get custody of my dogs (not a bit of drama within me.) During this time, I focused all of my energy on this ordeal and all that went along with it – dr. visits, tests, scans, more tests, surgery, and all the 2020 struggles of getting all of these things done. I quit seeing ML during this time, and I realized that we had reached the peak of what we could do together. So much good came out of it. So much awareness, light shined into the dark pit in my soul, and an understanding that I wasn’t a failure as ED the Enemy had me believe for so long.

A few months into working with ML, she gave me an assignment to write a letter to myself. I don’t really remember the specific goals of the letter but what I know is that this letter very quickly shifted to a letter from God and my realization that this was a spiritual battle. I had initially intended to share most of it, but I just can’t do that. What I will share is how low of a point I was and some specific lines that have come full circle and overwhelm me with the goodnesses of God.

5/2/19

“I see that you feel like that storm raging outside. Anxiety is trying to attack you. You are in the beginning stages of self-hatred. No. the truth is, you’ve hated yourself all week.”

“. . . the more you feel the need to apologize to everyone who you feel you didn’t live up to their standards.”

“I can see that you feel completely unloved, unworthy, misunderstood. I know that you think you have disappointed everyone and ruined everything.”

“I want to tell you some things, Melissa. I want you to listen hard to them and begin to believe them.”

“First of all, and most important, the person who is telling you all the things about yourself is NOT ME **Truth** The person telling you these things is the enemy. He is ED. He is the liar. He is the destroyer. He is the one who sees your every weakness and is trying to jump in and bring you down. . . . . He’s won control of your heart, your mind, your self-esteem, your self-worth. Your total value as a human. He has made you believe after all of these years of battle, that you are totally unworthy.”

“He hasn’t worked alone in this! He has brought along people to work with him. You have loved some of these people. Truly, with your whole heart loved them.”

“Scars have been left. Those scars have changed you. You feel more unloved, insecure, unworthy, than you ever have in your life.”

“But, here is the thing! You aren’t going to give in to that. You are going to begin to work toward something new! You aren’t going to get there over night, Melissa. After all these years, there is going to be a struggle to get back what has been lost. It’s not going to be easy. There will be times where this seems impossible and where you can’t see that anything can ever be different. Guess what? It CAN and WILL be different. You are worthy of this. You are worthy of my love.”

Hang with me here because what happens in October of 2020 – 18 months after I wrote this letter to myself, answers so many things in that letter.

After the cancer scare, I told my son, Blake, I wanted to make some real changes. His company purchased the old Tyler Paper building and along with it came a gym. They hired a trainer to come train employees in the mornings and Blake and I had talked numerous times about me coming along. I couldn’t get my head around it and was also still trying to practice the idea of doing more yoga type stuff so that I didn’t fall into the exercise-as-punishment mentality.

For some reason – okay let’s call it what it is – God pulled me out of bed on Friday, October 23, 2020 and I got up and just showed up to the gym at 6:30 a.m. I told no-one I was coming. There was no plan. When I got there Blake and the trainer, Berry looked out the window and I saw Blake say “oh, it’s my mom.”

In my mind, there was no commitment here. This was just a try-out. My experiences with trainers in the past just weren’t that great. I never felt connected, or heard, or . . . anything really. Just like another number on the roster of people seen in a day.

We did our workout. I was so anxious and fearful the entire time. Every glimpse in the mirror was just another chance for ED the enemy to berate and torment me and he did a great job at it. After strength stuff, Berry had me get on the elliptical. I did about 5 minutes and couldn’t do more – between no exercise for so long and so much anxiety, I just couldn’t do more.

I came home that day, feeling like garbage. ED kept telling me how Berry would be going to tell all of his trainer friends what a loser he trained that morning. On top of that, I kept feeling like I was going to be sick and thought that was just because I had worked out for the first time in so long. As it turns out, I had a raging stomach virus.

I missed Monday’s workout due to the virus and when I texted Berry to tell him, ED was working hard some more. “You’re just verifying to him what a loser you are, Melissa. He’s going to send you back the most aggravated text, just wait” BUT. Berry responded with so much kindness and concern. One point for maybe being able to work with him.

The second week, my son was out of town and not at workout, which led me to some mental struggles about going alone. I felt insecure and ED was taunting me relentlessly, but I went anyway. As it turned out, this opened the door for talking to Berry just a little about my journey, where I had been, a tiny glimpse into my struggles. It was just a little, and very hard for me to open up, plus not thinking that he was really interested in this mess.

Guess what? He listened, heard, and responded. I realized quickly he was an intelligent and kind person that didn’t push me beyond my abilities – just the opposite actually. I felt no judgement, or irritation . And here’s a big one. He wasn’t forcing ANYTHING on me. I think he figured out from the start I would run from anything that started with “you have to . . .” – that I wasn’t the kind of girl who would respond to that. I could write a thousand reasons why, over the last two months, the person that God brought into my life to walk beside on this journey has become a friend, an encourager, a cheerleader, a listening ear, and on and on. I’ve expressed fears and frustrations and past failures, and have been met only with the kindest and most carefully chosen words – many of which are written down so that I can reference them when the battle overwhelms me. Bigger than ALL that, he hasn’t given up on me, he has only expressed wanting the best for me and to see me succeed.

See that letter up there, where that girl wrote out of her heart’s pain that she had no idea how things could ever be better. See what He did? He put the EXACT person in my life that He knew I needed, when I needed him and for so many purposes. You just don’t get that every day and every day I’m so very grateful.

Today, I went to the elliptical with the goal of 45 minutes. I did 50. The same person that only 2 months ago struggled through 5 minutes did 10X more. “So Proud,” said my encourager. No Berry, I’M the proud one, proud to have the privilege of knowing you and you being part of this journey. I realized, as I was stepping those minutes away – that it’s incredible how the body responds when treated well. Up and to the right is how I would describe the exercise component of this journey.

Nutrition wise, It’s been about 8 weeks since a binge, and the majority of that time, with that gentle and wise guidance, I have worked on my nutrition in the way that I was already feeling led to before we met.

Always feeling the need to be “real,” I will be transparent in the current struggles. For one, clearing up my past mentality on starvation is proving a challenge on some days. I like instant gratification and what the sick side of my mind knows is that under eating will provide me with the weight loss I so desire. There have been a few days where this was a real struggle. I notice this runs parallel to the emotional component.

While the exercise feels up and to the right in a steady, straight line, the emotional side feels like the trickiest of roller coasters. Some days are great, others are a beat down. It’s exhausting, right now, full of more emotional energy expenditure than I may even realize. (How many calories does crying burn, Berry?) However, I know these emotional ups and downs are providing healing. I actually looked in the mirror two times this week and instead of feeling disgust, I said “we are going to do this girl.” I can say with 100% honesty that I have NEVER said that to myself.

I MEAN. God’s goodness in orchestrating this connection, just who I needed, when I needed him overwhelms me so so much, and – there’s more. Next time, I will be introducing my other cheerleader and that fun Carolton Landing, OK trip that created such a sweet bond.

As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another. Proverbs 27:17

Not Alone, But Lonely

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace and tagged with , ,

This past weekend, my daughter-in-law, Virginia, and I took an incredible four-day trip to Carlton Landing, OK. I have an entire post in the works about the NUMEROUS reasons this trip was so incredible. Spoiler alert – God was ALL UP IN IT.

Today, however, I’m going to jump to the end of the days there. Up until Saturday evening, I couldn’t have even made up something that had been wrong – it was that great. Saturday evening, we were in the pavilion in town square, next to the meeting house, making fresh greenery wreaths with a group of local ladies (no, I’m not making this up). This feeling came over me of just sadness and for everything in me I couldn’t stop it. We walked back to our house and I just couldn’t get past it, the tears were just welling up despite every effort to not “ruin the moment.” I laid down on the couch and tears just rolled out uncontrollably.

While we were having dinner, Virginia asked if I wanted to talk about it. “I don’t know what to say,” I told her. And I didn’t know, I couldn’t put words to it. We got in the hot tub after dinner and I just kept thinking, “what is wrong with me?”

After the hot tub, and as soon as I stepped one foot in the shower – where, oddly, so much self awareness happens – it hit me like a freight train.

Loneliness.

In the year-and-a-half-ish that I saw ML for my eating disorder, we talked about how this was not a linear process. Not even close. In one session, where I was berating myself because I continued to have all this mess swirling in my thoughts, she had me draw a straight line on a piece of paper and then in the middle of it make a tornado shape. “That,” she said, “is how it will look for you during recovery.” SIIIGGHHH. I wanted things to be better. I didn’t want to feel this way anymore – I wanted linear and I was pissed off I didn’t have it.

Currently, during what is the next phase of this process where I am ACTIVELY working on my health with good nutrition and exercise, as well as trying to get the binge eating under control, things are coming out that haven’t yet been addressed. To clarify this, during the time with ML, I was not ACTIVELY working on recovery. I was passively listening, taking it in, trying to understand and connect myself to something that had no name until this time. It took me a hot second to accept and move forward.

Saturday, when I stepped one leg in that shower, it occurred to me that the loneliness piece had never been dealt with. I knew it was there, I knew it hurt, and what had I done with hurt in the past? Shoved it down hard and binged it away. I began to put the pieces of loneliness together with binge eating. They had walked hand-in-hand, step by step, for a long time but until this moment, and with eight-ish weeks under my belt without binge eating, I saw a clear picture of it.

Let me clarify what I mean by lonely. My son and his family live within walking distance, I have great friends, a business where I interact with people all the time, I have lunch dates on the reg, clubs and groups and bible studies and etc. I am in no way alone. At night, however, when I go to my house, the roar of loneliness is surrounding me. I haven’t yet been given my hearts deepest desire to have a partner in crime in this life. Someone that I can care for, pray with and for, love, share life with – and that can do all the same things for me. In this season of life, on this journey, in this year of weird, during the holidays, I feel it on a deep, painful level.

The loneliness that I felt on Saturday night was just that. We were going home the next day and when I got there I would be – alone. Where in the past I would have consumed that hurt away with some absurd food in a just-as-absurd quantity, I now had to face this differently. What I am learning is that all of these moments, handled in new and better ways – well, they are freaking hard. Not linear. Not I’m okay, I’ve got this. Not even close. Each of these new moments that arise catch me off guard and are painful to navigate, creating a desire within me to stay in the safety zone of my people and places.

What I do know, however, that in this safety zone, healing is happening. Each time I walk through these things in a better way, no matter how difficult, will make the next time a little easier, then easier the next. What I also know is that you can get tackled in the safety zone and that was yesterday.

Yesterday yelled at me from the time I woke up, looked on Facebook and saw the most careless of memes. In a very poor quality meme – I mean they should have consulted with me, I could have made that thing look stellar with a little Canva action, but anyway – it said “People swear they fighting demons. When the whole time they’re fighting the consequences of their actions and decisions.”

DANG, I let that make a little hole within me. Yeah, girl, I’m fighting the enemy and some days he tries to devour me, just like it says in the Bible, sister. I got sassy angry, then I consulted my team – yes I have a team and they’re the bomb. They agreed, garbage. But that little hole was there.

Next was lunch with a new friend that is nothing but kind. Going in with that little hole, ED, my enemy, talked to me the entire time. (I’m calling the enemy ED because, as advised in that first book “Life Without ED,” the idea is to separate that sucker from you by giving him his own name and identity – so that’s who the enemy in this journey will be from now on.) I knew this friend was reading my blog so ED taunted me like a beast – “she’s evaluating what you are eating,” he said 100 times. “She thinks you are a hot mess,” he whispered in my ear. Over and over he tried to make me believe that I shouldn’t even be writing this because I had to “face” people who were reading it. ED worked me over and I left lunch unsettled.

I drove around a while, filling myself with my Soul Food playlist, headed home, and then ED began his work again. He used one of my most trusted and caring friends. While this friend and I were talking, ED jumped in to use loneliness to crush my spirit again. In the course of the conversation my friend said to me, “God gave me a spouse because He knew I would take a long walk off a short bridge.” His words jabbed into me like a hot dagger, literally wrecking me at my core. He has never had anything but good intentions for me and I know without doubt he would never say something to hurt me. But it did – it hurt deeply.

Today, I am working through this. I am trying to understand, connect and correct the loneliness and binge eating relationship. And it’s brutal. Last night I was done, had no intention of going to the gym today, toyed with the idea of a binge, and this morning I felt every self destructive thought and wanted to go into full self sabotage mode. Not with just food – actually not with food at all – with anything that would make me feel better. I’m sure you can list the top three in your mind.

BUT, I’m no quitter and I’m NOT quitting. Those replacement comforts will be squashed by making sure I stay in the safety zone right now. I know I won’t have to stay here forever. I know I have something good to give and I also know ED the Enemy wants to take it all away. I believe in my mind, and am waiting for my heart to catch up, that I’m worth more than “feel better” moments that would only temporarily replace the comfort of binge eating and cause more hurt.

I want one day to know and FEEL my validation come from Him alone. That currently sounds like a lofty goal, but I know it’s achievable.

This is my “therapy” song for helping work through those lonely moments. I may or may not bawl EVERY time I hear it, but it’s a tool I’m using to fight this battle so that at some point I see a VICTORY.

A New Thing

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace

“With your history,” ML is telling me one day, “there was a very low chance that you wouldn’t have developed some form of an eating disorder.”


Each term she used felt like a dagger, partly because putting definitions to each thing I had done connected me to the reality of having an eating disorder and I was struggling to accept that. Again, my sick thoughts were (and still are, at times) so comfortable accepting and believing the lies of the enemy, that trying to peel that away felt impossible at the time.

Here is a breakdown and, in parentheses, what I had been calling each of these.

Binging : (emotional eating) A period of excessive or uncontrolled indulgence, especially in food or drink.

Purging: (getting rid of something I shouldn’t have eaten) behavior to induce weight loss or manipulate body shape and can mean a number of things, including self-induced vomiting.

Restricting: (starvation diet) Limiting food intake to a certain number of calories or to certain foods or food groups.

I had used each of these to varying degrees, and in combination with each other, over the years and had fallen into binge eating, which was my ‘official’ diagnosis (with a slight twist, of course).

Binge Eating Disorder defined: When you have binge-eating disorder, you regularly eat too much food (binge) and feel a lack of control over your eating. You may eat quickly or eat more food than intended, even when you’re not hungry, and you may continue eating even long after you’re uncomfortably full. After a binge, you may feel guilty, disgusted or ashamed by your behavior and the amount of food eaten. But you don’t try to compensate for this behavior with excessive exercise or purging, as someone with bulimia or anorexia might. Embarrassment can lead to eating alone to hide your bingeing. A new round of bingeing usually occurs at least once a week. You may be normal weight, overweight or obese.

The twist on this was that I would go through periods where I ‘punished’ myself with hard exercise. I was pissed off that I couldn’t get addicted enough to the hard exercising in order to offset the ‘emotional eating.’

The other disorders – anorexia and bulimia – were the only ‘real’ eating disorders I knew of prior to all of this. I had to continue consulting the Google to verify in my mind that this was a ‘real’ thing. During an extremely emotional conversation with ML, while I was in a particularly dark state of self-hatred, I said to her “well, I SURE WISH, mine would have “manifested itself” (using sharp air quotes to emphasize how truly angry this made me) as anorexia.” “Being skinny would be far more accepted by others than what I am,” I said as anger turned to sadness and tears started rolling. Again.

I shocked even myself when I verbalized this tightly guarded feeling. I knew that the bodies I considered goals were unhealthy. Correction. I didn’t REALLY know this, but had been told over and over by others when I would point out one of the rail-thin figures that I thought would be ideal to look like.

ML, again, ever-so-kindly pointed me back to reality. “Melissa, you do not REALLY wish that. I promise you that rehabilitation for anorexia is far more complicated than what you face.”

We spent much time discussing the reality of all the dieting that I had done. Diets, as we know them, are set up to fail and the failure rate is something like 98%. That stung, but certainly made sense. Of all the hundreds of diets I had been on, my failure rate was 100%. Additionally, the residual damage was harsh. My body had no trust in me. Was I going to starve it, over feed it, “intermittently” feed it, use the ‘good foods’ or ‘bad foods’ list to nourish it?

Worse was the emotional damage. I felt like a complete failure and my perfectionism was raging. I needed others to see that my world was controlled because I was deeply out of control inside. This was where I learned that my perfectionism was related to my eating disorder. Remember how I ‘simply’ wanted to maintain a 4.0 in college, graduate Summa Cum Laude? That was to the detriment of my own sanity as well as others. I had just discovered that was my way of attempting to control the chaos and failure I felt in the area of food and health. I NEEDED to get other things right. There was no balance.

My mind was ALWAYS in some state of dieting – either planning the next one, thinking about how I needed to, or ALL IN on one. With a simple exercise on paper, ML had me draw a pie chart and fill in how often I was in ED mode and how often not. 85/15 and part of the 15 was probably when I was asleep. I was so sad looking at that, knowing there were hundreds of better ways to use my mind.

Even more harmful was how I spoke to myself and the self-hatred within me. Maybe I had the I’ll-get-myself-before-you-can-get-me mentality? What I am now blogging about in full was formed in my mind as just one post titled “I’ve Always Been A But” where I intended to basically share all of the hurtful comments I’ve heard over the years and that I believed were a huge source of my struggles. “Melissa, you are so pretty, but (insert a variety of weight-related comments).” “Melissa, you would be this, but just if you were this.” Yes, people do this more than is believable. However, in an attempt to now STOP reliving that garbage, and having people in my life that are helping repair the damage, that post may never happen. TBD.

In the past few weeks, a year and a half after this journey began, I have realized that I never want to comment on anyone’s weight, ever again. I’ve never negatively commented to someone directly, but even acknowledging a weight loss – an intended positive, may not be what someone needs. Someone like myself, who’s still recovering from a disorder, may perceive a slight look, a tone, or at the very least it will set those wheels of negative thinking in motion. The enemy can take even a nicely intended comment and start his devouring. TRUST ME on this.

At any rate, it was all a tenacious, soul destroying mess that, to be honest, I often felt hopeless by.

“Can you think of anyone else that you would talk about the way you talk about yourself,” ML asked me one day. Eyes as wide as those previous air quotes had been, “Nooooo,” I said.

Sobering.

I spoke to myself worse than I would ever speak about anyone else. Sadder, I couldn’t help it.

Plenty of times I felt, and at times still do, that this battle will always be within me. Fear drives me on some days, fear of failure, fear that this painful recovery process will not result in full healing, fear of judgement, fear I will always look in the mirror with disgust, even if I achieve a certain weight, as I have done in the past. So many fears that the enemy wants me to believe.

BUT – and I’ve always been a but, I invited God along with me on this journey. Yes, I fully believe He has been here all along, but I asked Him to join me in an assignment from ML – a letter to myself that quickly became a letter talking to God. As It turns out, this is less about a weight battle and more about a spiritual battle that is going on and, with extreme vulnerability, I will share parts next time.

One of my God-given cheerleaders told me last week when I was on a “Worst” level day, when I could feel the enemy ripping at me with reckless abandon and a vengeance, “that just means you have something good worth taking.” I keep on and keep on thinking about that. I, Melissa Vance, have something good worth taking. That one positive comment, genuinely given, probably burned at least five bad files with fire.

“Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭43:19‬


Meet ED

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace and tagged with ,

So many things happened when scheduling that first appointment that if I had allowed them, they would have prevented me from beginning. There were two big ones that came close to doing me in.

First, before I made this appointment, I looked through the website and discovered there was more information than not about eating disorders. I didn’t have an eating disorder and this immediately threw me off. People with eating disorders, in my opinion, had anorexia, were extremely thin, etc. Thinness equaled eating disorder in my (lack of) knowledge.

Next, the original Registered Dietician (RD) that ‘M’ suggested wasn’t taking new patients, but they had another RD that was. I am someone that needs a basis for trust, it isn’t an automatic with me. That may come in the form of a referral via someone that I respect, from my own assessment, or another source, but if I don’t have it I feel a loss of control. This whole process was breaching my control issues anyway, so I wanted to throw in the towel at this news. As is obvious, I hadn’t invited God into this mess.

After some coaxing and grumbling, I made the appointment with the available RD and, surprise, God knew who I needed on this journey. He knew then and He knows now.

While waiting for my first session, a very underweight young lady came out. “See,” my twisty, messy thoughts began, “you don’t need to be here.” “These people are even wondering why you are here.” “You don’t belong here.” On and on my thoughts were trying to coax me to leave but I had already made eye contact with too many employees. How could I jump up and leave?

Appointment started, and I recounted the cupcake story that led me here. We tried to untangle some of the past diet failures. (I have been on so many “diets,” that to this day – a year-and-a-half later, I remember ones I forgot to tell her.) She jotted as I talked. I cautiously opened up to her that I felt I was an overachiever and a perfectionist and it made no sense that I could not achieve and maintain weight loss. She just nodded.

In the next few sessions, she approached the eating disorder issue, which I very quickly dismissed. “Eating disorders are anorexia, bulimia, things like that,” I quickly told her. She just nodded more. We talked about some family history, some patterns of eating, the starvation, the fact that I binged, and purged, on and on. I was so ashamed every week that I think I cried every session. I would resolve myself as I went in that I wouldn’t cry, but I felt so exposed and vulnerable and she hadn’t achieved pedestal status with me yet so I would just cry out of anxiety and fear.

At one of the sessions, she suggested I get the book “Life Without ED,” begin reading, and we would discuss. She warned me that this particular girl that wrote the book DID have anorexia, but I needed to read for content, that the anorexia wasn’t her main focus. She went up the ladder of the pedestal a little more each week as I could feel her “getting” me – she knew that the anorexia factor would be a stumbling block for me in this book.

I thought ED was a person when ‘ML’ first mentioned the book – Life Without “ED” – some jerk that had wrecked this girls life and now he was gone and this was her life. Okay, I could relate to that – I had a list of jerks that had wreaked havoc on my life. “None of them had been named ED, but I can maybe relate to this book after all,” I thought.

The first few pages in and it was perfectly clear ED was not a jerk ex that had caused chaos in this woman’s life. ED was her eating disorder – anorexia – that she cleverly named ED.

I got a pen and started circling, starring, underlining, exclamation pointing, WOWing, and more. As I read, it was as if this girl was, well, me. I was confused how we could be so similar – the same story, the same feelings, the same voices in our heads telling us we were worthless and worse, yet we were so different.

During our next session, ‘ML’ asked me what I thought about the book. “Well,” I said, “her and I have much in common.” Yes and what specifically? I start telling her things that I can relate to – “well I can relate to it all,” I say. “Outside of her eating disorder, we are the same person.”

She hints at the idea oh-so-gently that I do have an eating disorder. She makes more steps up on the pedestal because of her gentle approach. She knows this is brutal for me to digest and she makes the suggestion that at my next appointment, I see ‘C’, the “expert”, for an actual eating disorder evaluation. SIIIIGHHH. More unknown people to try and bring into this circle of chaos. “I don’t have an eating disorder, but Ok, whatever you think is best.”

This next visit was the absolute worst. ‘C’ was all that you envision a therapist being. Sitting crossed legged in the chair, fast-ish talking, holding a thick booklet on a clipboard of what I quickly learned were questions that would, in essence, slice me open and leave me exposed and vulnerable. It was like being asked to the “second” part of a bad date – no get-to-know-you or dinner, just the . . . second part.

As she rapid-fired questions and flipped pages, I was trying to explain some of my answers and she was having none of it. I’m an explainer to a fault, I wanted her to understand the answers I was giving her. Or possibly, I was attempting to explain away the truth.

I had never met her, after all, and she was asking me the most personal and painful questions one could be asked. Early family history? Early sexual abuse? How I used food? Was I a perfectionist? How I felt about myself? How I saw myself? On and on she pecked and pecked at me. My mounting anxiety was crippling me more and more with each painful question, which she appeared to be annoyed with because she kept glancing abruptly at my tapping fingers and legs. Nightmare. I was in a nightmare of pain where each thing that hurt me since forever was pulled out of it’s file, all of them at once, and were whirling around in a tiny room with a woman I had never met.

After the evaluation torture ended, she sat for a few minutes, jotting notes and then spoke. “This test is the (I can’t even begin to remember the name) test and it calculates the likelihood of you having an eating disorder,” she began. “On the scale of all the factors involved, you scored 8 out of 10,” the word EIGHT emphasized just a little much for my liking.

It possibly makes no sense, but it was hard to hear and even harder to believe. It was easier to believe the convincing lies of the enemy that had tainted my thinking for so long. That I was just a weak, out of control, failure. Those things were easier to believe than to think that all of my past had led to coping mechanisms that involved food.

The next visit with “ML,” and I expressed my struggles with “C.” “She’s just not for me, that was all too much,” I told her. She convinced me to just “try” to see her again, to discuss test results and work through some of the issues. The plan was to alternate weeks with “ML” and “C.” I reluctantly agreed to this plan, and seeing “C” the next week. In summary, “C”, sitting there in her chair crossed legged and sassy, asked me abruptly, “So, what do you want to discuss today?”

HARD. STOP.

What? You just ripped out most every piece of pain from me, things that I had no desire or emotion to deal with and then you sit here and ask flippantly what I want to discuss. I can’t recall what we even discussed that day, but “C” was so far from the pedestal that there was no going back now.

I let “ML” know in as kind of a way as possible that this relationship with “C” was irreparable and I wouldn’t be seeing her any longer.

There are some important things I want to mention here. There are people that God has put in this part of my life for a season, that served their purpose and I am now, after more than a year, okay with saying that they served (insert specific purpose) and they may or may not still be apart of this story.

“C” served her purpose of making this diagnosis and I am okay with that being her only role. I am in no way discouraging anyone that thinks they need a clinical evaluation to avoid it because of this particular disaster. Just the opposite actually. I would greatly encourage doing what needs to be done to better your life.

The long journey of work with “ML” and all that I discovered about eating disorders will be coming in hot in the next few days. Obvious plot twist. Anorexia isn’t the only eating disorder.

The Good, The Bad & The Worst

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace and tagged with , ,

Jumping forward, I have been in the process of addressing these issues – full details on the next blog – from the time the cupcake incidence happened in Spring of 2019. There have been varying stages of work involved.

Currently, the stage of work is that I am actively trying to better my health, working out, correcting my eating habits, etc. With this has come an absolute roller coaster of emotions, feelings and struggles. On the good days I feel like the baddest ass in the bad ass society. On the bad days, I question if I have it in me to do this and make it last, then take my thoughts captive and move forward. Then there are the today’s – the worst days.

On these worst days, the enemy pulls out all the old files still residing in my mind, then sits directly beside me taking them out and tossing them around flippantly and carelessly, berating me and toying with my every weakness. It’s ironic when you think about it, how we get devoured by the enemy when we are trying so hard for something we want so desperately. In reality, it isn’t ironic at all, it’s scriptural.

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. 1 Peter 5:8

On these days, the trigger can be so random, that most wouldn’t even recognize it – a certain look, a word that hits harder than it should, a situation, or a difficult person. The Enemy, as crafty as he is in his workings, sees it and runs rampant with it, knowing that he can pull me down with the slightest effort. “Melissa you aren’t worthy, you aren’t lovable and never will be, you aren’t wanted or valuable, go ahead and hate yourself like you do,” he SCREAMS in my ear. Loud and brash and believable.

The connection this attack has with eating is harsh – the next thought after all of the garbage dropped in my ear is “starve yourself, you don’t need to eat.” Starvation is powerful for control, but destroys the bodies ability to trust itself – and ultimately ends in bingeing. A viscous cycle happens with the tiniest of tiny holes formed in my thoughts. It is an exhausting and soul wrecking battle.

BUT. There was a point early on when I DID invite God into this mess. So with Him by my side, I am tackling all of these “WORST” days piece by piece. And let me tell you, it ain’t pretty much of the time – it’s incredibly ugly and exhausting and WORTH IT.

Yes, it’s WORTH IT. Can I say I’m ready to be on the other side of some of these things, to have some of these files destroyed with fire? Yes, I’m ready for that. In the meantime, I will keep working because I refuse to allow the Enemy to have any glory from what good God wants for me.

I’m stopping here and sharing the playlist I turn up as loud as possible and let it feed my soul and drown out that ugly mess trying to take control.

The Light Shines

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace

“In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭5:16

It was a gorgeous, sunny day in March 2019. I had a friend over working with me at my business. When I left to take her home, I realized that I need to stop and help someone that I have known all of my adult life and has actually been a horrifically negative force on my struggles. To classify this relationship as dysfunctional is weak. 

This day, as most days in the past, several comments and stressors happened. When we got in the car to leave, a sigh left the deepest part of me. It had just become more exhausting and overwhelming as the years had gone on. 

I began to vent about it all and at some point I say – very much in passing and not really meaning it – “I want to stick my face into a box of cupcakes.”  

Rant over, nothing said about the cupcakes and I drop her off at her house.

I head directly to the cupcake shop that is around the corner from her home and make the purchase.

As I’m driving home I feel the familiar jittery, uncontrollable feeling start. Part of me wants to stop on the side of the road and eat them. The other part of me is battling a raging and deep self hatred, coupled with a sadness I can’t explain. Its what I’ve called “emotional eating” for years and I can imagine it’s what a drug addict feels like. 

My cell phone rings and it’s her.

“Hey, what’s going on” I say in a little-bit-too-chipper, nonchalant voice. 

•I can still visualize the section of road I’m on when this call happens•

“Listen, I heard you when you said you wanted to stick your face in a box of cupcakes while you were talking earlier” she says. “Please don’t do that to yourself. I know you are upset and that was all a lot to take but you will only feel worse if you eat a bunch of cupcakes.  I know, I’ve done things like that. It’s not the answer”

I can’t recall if she verbally said “I care about you” but she was SAYING I care about you.  Her voice was kind and and I could feel the genuineness and lack of judgement.

“Oh I was just saying that,” I begin. I woul . . . I’m not going to. . .” I try to say.

I am in no way a liar. I just can’t do it, not then, not ever. If I were to ever need a polygraph, they wouldn’t even need the electrodes. They could just look at me and listen to my voice.

“I have the cupcakes sitting in the seat beside me. I already have them” I tell her as the tears start. 

We continued to talk and I tell her I had to stop for gas on my way home and I would throw them away. She stayed on the phone with me as I tossed that box of cupcakes in the gas station garbage.

Oddly, there was no relief in the cupcake trashing. What I thought would have been resolution left me emotionally worn down.  Later, I would discover why but at the time, I needed to toss them and go on as usual, feeling I had accomplished something or even just dodged a bullet. Instead, I was left unsettled and had trouble shaking it. 

Some days later I was talking to my son, now living a beautiful life and past his younger ordeal. I still felt emotionally wrecked and I was telling him what happened. I expressed all of my frustrations and sadness over all of the wasted years that this “emotional eating” had plagued me. 

My son is incredibly wise and eloquent with his words.

“Mom have you talked to ‘M’ about this?”

“Well” I say, telling him about the Nutritionist ‘M’ spoke about and my checking into it. 

“Well? Do it” he says.

I try to say a few things but land on the real reason I haven’t.  “It’s a fairly expensive  process and I just can’t swing it right now, but I may look into it again later.” The file cabinet inside my head pulls out the list of past diet failures and is also thinking “what a waste of your time.” I don’t say that to him.

He begins telling me how he knew I had struggled over the years and he would love to see me overcome this battle, that I deserve that. I deserve freedom from what he eloquently related to drug addiction.  ••Don’t overthink this. Some people seem to be deeply passionate about this topic. I’m not relating the severity of the two, it’s just an analogy. Additionally, I have had so many discussions about this and so many opinions and my final conclusion came a few weeks ago from my trainer and I’m sticking with his wisdom and won’t think about it again.••

My son continues, telling me that I have always cared for him and others and that I needed to do something for myself.

Tears start. So. Many. Tears. In. This. Journey.

He goes on. “Mom” – I can’t even write this without bawling, again – “you were the one that was steadfastly there for me during my entire ordeal. You have cared for me my entire life, never giving up on me.  You were the only one that never left.” There was more said about who didn’t stay steadfast, who did what, etc. but that I was the ever present one that helped him live. ••For the record, I’m not playing God. I have an entire blog on the journey that led him to recovery and redemption and God alone saved my son.••

Passion is rising in his voice paralleled with the amount of tears that are falling from my eyes. He is acknowledging something that I never knew I needed acknowledged. In what is about to become the frontlines of my war with what I think is emotional eating, a battle is won.

As a Christian and a mom, I need no affirmation for what I’ve sacrificed for him. I love him with the deepest kind of love – I mean God even gave birds the instinct to try to kick ass over THEIR babies. Of course I did every single thing in my power to help keep him alive.  I need no accolades over the God-given instinct to protect my child.

With one-hundred percent honesty, however, I needed to hear the words he said that day, that hadn’t been said before. It was deeply healing. 

“Mom, I will pay for this for you. I would love to do that.”

I am one stubbornly independent person, and allowing my son to do this was tough, but in the end I agreed to it.

I did the next hard thing and with trembly hands, I made the call.

Deep Darkness

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Journey to Peace and tagged with ,

“He uncovers the deeps out of darkness and brings deep darkness to light.

Job‬ ‭12:22‬ ‭ 

Approximately 523 years ago I began counseling. 

Okay, maybe more like 10 ish years ago but the novel that was – and still is –  being written has many chapters and FEELS like it should have been 523 years.

I was referred to a God-given gift of a counselor during the most painful season of my life. My father was in the end stages of cancer during which time, my only son was going off the proverbial deep end of his young life.

Not handling any of this in any sense of a healthy manner, a friend told me about a Christian counselor that became my lifeline.

In the years during and since that time of crisis, where she has walked with me through what seems to be endless “you can’t make this ish up” seasons of life,  I have posed a painful and baffling question to her. 

“‘M’, I am a person that can achieve anything I set my mind to. I have had a baby as a terrified single 20 year old with little emotional support, gone to college – twice, bought and built homes, raised a child, college for a third time in my 40’s to achieve my goal of having a bachelors degree – maintaining a 4.0 GPA ‘simply’ because I wanted to (I will come to realize there was absolutely no ‘simply’ about it later), gotten jobs, started a business, etc. etc.”

“Why can’t I achieve and maintain a healthy weight? What is wrong with me?”

You didn’t see that coming, did you?

If you just said to yourself, “Melissa why don’t you JUST (fill in the blank with workout, eat right, get on x plan, I sell xx that changed my life, do so and so diet”) or any other ‘JUST’ that you perceive would solve my problem, I graciously ask you NOT to share that with me but to open your mind WIDE to something that you may not and probably won’t understand. Someone will understand this, however, and need to hear this. God has been working on my heart to document this journey because I KNOW I’m not alone in this struggle. 

Back to ‘M’s office where, when I have asked this question over the years, we would have a brief discussion before anxiety would creep in. I’m a specialist at diversions when I’m uncomfortable. 

BUT. One time, basically in passing, she mentioned that she knew of a Nutritionist that “worked with people” but she didn’t have much feedback on the program.

Feeling desperate and thinking it might be worth checking on, I researched and discovered this was a fairly expensive process. Computer closed. Info stored in the back recesses of my mind. Continue on with. All THE things. 

What are all THE things? 

All the things began when I was in Middle school, earlier if I were being honest. I’ll get to most of those later, but one of them was COUNTLESS diets over the years. 

COUNT. LESS. 

One of the first, and what I believe to be the most destructive on my body AND my psyche, was starvation. The amount of calories I was consuming was so low that I was living in a fog, passing out occasionally, and blaming it on a variety of things when others were present. I got labeled with an “allergy” to a common antibiotic that stuck with me for years  because I used that as an excuse for one of my episodes.

Mentally, the damage was deepening. I was the lowest weight i had ever been, others noticed and commented, but what •I• saw in the mirror was still just “fat.”

There will be an entire post on the F word and it’s role in this journey that will come later. 

For now, fast forward to 2019 and there are hundreds of gaps to be filled in, but what was in the dark came out into the (dim) light.  

What I will say to create some understanding of what was going on those years is that I was compiling lists in my mind. There were lists of ALL those diets and their subsequent failures, lists that kept track of “good” and “bad” foods, lists of the hurtful words of others, lists of every weight I had been and what year and how I felt at the time, a list of ways to ‘emotionally eat’ or, conversely, not eat, to cope with anxiety, lists that included how I felt about myself – unworthy, unlovable, not valuable, self hatred, and on and on. It was an enormous nuclear bomb of things that were one good crisis away from an explosion.

As it turns out, the crisis came in the form of a cupcake.

Easy Cowboy Cookies

Posted by justthegoodstuff in RECIPES and tagged with , ,

cowboy cookies

1 – 17.5 oz. pkg. Betty Crocker Oatmeal Cookie Mix

3/4 C  Cocunut

3/4 C Coarsely Chopped Pecans

1/2 C Semi Sweet Chocolate Chips (more if you want)

2/3 C Real Salted Butter, softened (real butter makes these taste the best)

1 Egg, lightly whisked

1 TBSP Water

Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.

In a large bowl, with a spoon, mix the cookie mix, coconut, chopped pecans, and chocolate chips until well combined.

Add the butter, egg, and water to the dry mix and combine well.  You may need to add a little more water, but dough will be fairly stiff.

Drop HEAPING tablespoons onto cookie sheet, about 2″ apart.

Bake for about 11 minutes, being sure not to over bake so they stay nice and soft and chewy.

Allow to cool about 1 minute and the cool completely on a cooling rack.

 

NOTE:  I have made Cowboy cookies from scratch (without the packaged mix) and these are even more delicious than those were and so very easy with is always the goal!!

 

Eight is a Perfect Number . . .

Posted by justthegoodstuff in Deep Thoughts with Melissa and tagged with , , ,

Several weeks ago, over a delicious “catching-up” meal with a lovely friend, I shared a part of my life, my testimony, that I hadn’t previously shared with her.  As I spoke to her about this, the most horrific night of my life, I realized some of the events of the night had faded.  I could still recall the details but I had to dig deep and take a pause to check my facts. In my mind, the images were blurry, not vivid and harsh with reality.

As I spoke and attempted to place the happenings in their original order, it just wasn’t there like it once was.  Neither was the sting.  I quickly realized that my emotions didn’t swell, fear didn’t enter my heart, and anxiety didn’t consume me.  I didn’t FEEL the catastrophe like I had so many times over the last eight years.

Here is the thing that DID hit me hard and that I was actually unaware of prior to talking to her. What I CAN still feel, what does evoke a powerful physical response, is God’s presence that was there then and still remains with me.

As I processed through this, I said to her, “this seems like a life time ago and it has  been eight years this month.”  I felt a sense of shock as I realized it seemed so far gone that it didn’t feel like a part of my life.  Yet it is.  She simply said the words, “this is redemption, restoration.”

res·to·ra·tion
/ˌrestəˈrāSH(ə)n/
noun
noun: restoration
  1. the action of returning something to a former owner, place, or condition.

In 2010, after almost fifteen years living with cancer, my dad began a long, difficult battle.  His body had given all it could to this ugly disease.  Lengthy hospital stays, surgeries, treatments, and many other things I’ve chosen to forget only landed him in hospice care.  In May of 2011, he lost his battle.

During this same time, my beautiful, tender-hearted, only son began a descent into a life that I never saw coming.  There were drugs, rebellion, friends that made no sense, irrational behavior, and then worse drugs.

The speed of his fall into darkness, coupled with my father’s worsening condition, left me struggling to understand and keep up with what was going on.  Each time I thought I had caught up with what was happening, things seemed to take a deeper dive into the pits of despair.

It’s important to note that I tried EVERYTHING that I thought I should or was told I should.  I prayed and prayed and prayed some more. I listened to one encouraging sermon someone sent me about handling young adults countless times, looking for the answer to this problem that I was determined to solve.  I offered help.  I let him come home.  I made him stay away.  I sought counseling for him and myself.  I cried and wondered where I went wrong.  I got mad and bold.  I got sad and weak.  I took middle of the night calls and made middle of the night pickups in sketchy places, just hoping this was “the” time when things would turn around. I kept trying and trying and trying.  The glimmers of hope I would see that things were getting better would quickly fade into the darkness.  Our home, our first “real” home and one that we had once been so thrilled to have, turned into a battle ground.  More ugly, angry, painful times happened during those few years than I care to ever again speak about.

At the end, I was holding my resolve that he could not live with me under these circumstances.  I was attempting to hold my job in the medical field seeing many patients each day, while falling apart on the inside.  The anxiety and stress had taken their toll on me.  I was having panic attacks and ringing in my ears and insomnia and was cleaning and organizing deep into sleepless nights just trying to control SOMETHING in my life and and and.  I felt like me and my life were falling apart and I just couldn’t do it any more.

Then THAT Saturday happened and God spoke to my heart and said it’s time.  I’m saying this in retrospect because at the time, that Saturday, I only knew that I needed to find my son.  I hadn’t heard from him in several days and I was staying strong.  This day was different, however.  I was strong, not in my resolve to keep him out of our home, but more like mama-bear-protecting-her-cub strong.

I was in full PI mode, making calls, Facebook stalking and messaging, talking to people, asking questions.  After hours of relentless attempts, I got in touch with someone who was able to tell me where he was and she let me know things were not good.  I was somewhat hysterical by this point and only remember one small stretch of the drive to go get him, where I spoke to my niece.  The rest is a blur.

It was true, things were not good.  The only thing I will say here is that he had overdosed.  There is SO MUCH about all that happened over the next however many hours but it is long, deep and really a post in and of itself.  I haven’t yet felt any calling to recount all the ugly that is the time period prior to him ending up in ICU on Saturday, March 24, 2012.  I honestly don’t think I ever will because it is not the important part of this story and quite frankly, I don’t want to dig it up.

Here is the important part.

There is a prayer garden out the door of the hospital ICU.  One of the days after my son entered the ICU, I went into this garden.  There is a brick wall surround, concrete benches, greenery, I seem to remember a water feature of some sort, statues of Mary, things like that.

I sat down on a concrete bench, and began speaking to God.  Then I began crying and speaking.  Then sobbing and speaking.  Through a million tears I told Him that I had tried everything, that I didn’t know what else to do, that I was a broken single mama who had given every single thing she could and I had not one more thing to give to this.  I prayed and asked and begged Him to take this situation from me, to heal and care for my son.

See, here is the thing. Everything I was doing, I was doing.  Yes, I prayed about the situation over and over.  I tried hard to give it to God and maybe even thought I had.  The truth is, however, that even while praying, I kept a tight hold on the situation.  This was my one and only son who I treasured more than I can explain. How could I fully let him go?  To be honest, I, sinfully, worshipped him.  I know this, I admit this, and I know it was wrong.

Back to the garden and back to where the only vivid and emotion-filled part of this story remains in me.  With my eyes closed, tears streaming down my face, and a heart so broken I didn’t know if it could ever be repaired, I stepped into the presence of God and asked with full humbleness for Him to take this situation, take my son,  that I could do no more.

Right there, in that garden outside the door of the ICU where my son lay incoherent, I saw, yes SAW, God open His arms and take my son from me.  God didn’t take my son as a 21 year old young man, He took him as a baby.  God did not speak, He just acted.  He outstretched His loving arms and took him to care for and protect better than I ever could begin to.

In my own thoughts I would question why it took me so long to get to this place where I fully submitted this to God.  I would wonder if I had let go sooner, would things have gotten as bad as they were.  I would beat myself up for all of the mistakes I made.  Over and over I would question and doubt myself.

The TRUTH however, is that God was there, He SAW ME (read John 1:43-50).  He knew that I would get to this astonishingly fragile place where there was no other way but to  FULLY and COMPLETELY rely on Him.  He knew how it would all play out from the beginning of that Saturday when He gave me the instinct to find my son.  He knew it was time to REALLY shake up what was, to me, already so shattered, I didn’t think it could be restored.

Still in awe and to be frank, asking myself if what just happened actually did happen, I stepped back into the ICU and my son and I went on a journey where we have each been redeemed and restored.  His sins were no greater than mine.  They looked greater to humans because our nature is to judge others and look for ways to be superior.  The truth is, I had been worshipping my son for years under the cover of being a good mother.  We both needed redemption and restoration.

Every detail past the encounter with God in that garden was so perfectly executed  that there is no other explanation than He had, indeed, taken my son from me.  I can assure you that the tired, overwhelmed, broken mama that was planning things could have NEVER worked them out so well.  She couldn’t have, in the most vulnerable time, told her son “no” when he said he would just come home and “be fine.”

We found a place in an excellent rehab facility that began the life-saving restoration of my son.  He is now, in only eight short years, a fully functioning man with a wife and four children, a job, and a relationship with The God that saved his life.

In the last eight years, the trauma of all that happened has slowly and progressively been removed from my thoughts.   I continuously see God’s restoration, piece by piece.  I can pass sheriffs vehicles and not panic, thinking they are coming to find me and give me terrible news.  A phone can ring, with any number, day or night, and I won’t freeze with fear.  I can sit down to a meal and not wonder, while breaking into sobs, whether my child has been able to eat.  On and on the list goes of things that have been restored, to now, eight years later, sitting and having dinner with a friend and realizing with awe that I can scarcely remember details, and what I do remember does not cause me to FEEL . . . anything really.

Except what happened in the prayer garden.

God has allowed me to forget so much of this time, He has wiped the slate clean.  He didn’t, however, wipe away the good, important parts where He was there, He saw me, He heard me, He answered my prayer in a much more extravagent way than I ever dreamed possible.

One final thing. When we were in the ER that terrible night, the sweetest nurse pulled me aside and gave me a set of small prayer beads with a tiny cross on the end and a little prayer card in a small zip lock package.  I put these in my purse and held them for years.  The package became so worn that the beads would slide out the bottom but I would just fold it up and place it back into the side pocket of whatever purse I was carrying.  They were a representation of where we had been, how far we had come.  

One day, about a year ago, I realized that I had lost the entire package – it apparently slipped out of my purse.  My first instinct was to be upset and then I realized that it was time to let those go as part of healing, and I like to think that someone found those beads and they were some part of some other story that had a beautiful ending.

 

. . . for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by His grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus          Romans 3:23-24blake