Hungry: Remembering God in the Fat Days

In case you haven't heard, I'm starting a new series on body image and identity called Hungry, based off of the bold and transformational book, Hungry: One Woman's Battle with and Victory over Anorexia and Bulimia.

As a part of this series, today I'd like to share an incredible resource for anyone female out there, or anyone who knows anyone female out there. A few months ago, I stumbled upon this great online community called The Good Women Project. I love this website because they tackle tough issues--like eating disorders, porn, lust, dating, and more--without flinching. They've created a platform "to share stories without judgment, experiences without fear, honesty without condemnation, and questions without embarrassment."

In short, they're awesome.

Today I was caught by the title of their newest post in their Body Image + Beauty section: When it isn't a skinny day.

In the post author Laura Colle writes about what happens when it's NOT a skinny day. When the "skinny high is gone" and anxiety and guilt threaten to seize your day.

"I head to my closet, once again longing for winter so I can hide behind hoodies and scarves. I go for my default and grab the leggings that hold in my tummy and a blouse top so I don’t have to suck in.

Sometimes I wish I didn’t care so much and I could be one of those people who just lets it all hang out anyway. But I care, way too much."

Most days, I care too much, too. I try too hard. I take too much pride in my skinny days, the days the mirror cooperates. And I freeze up in failure on the fat days. This is not a way to live.

On those fat days, like Laura, I need to be snapped out of my pity party and allow God to ask me the question:

"How dare you call what I created not good enough."

How dare I forget that I am beautiful and perfect, fearfully and wonderfully made?

To read more, check out the full article here.

Also, I'd encourage you to check out the Good Women Project through your social medium of choice:

--Cruise around their website: http://goodwomenproject.com/
--Become a fan on Facebook: facebook.com/goodwomenproject
--Follow them on Twitter: @goodwomenproj

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Can you relate to Laura? Do you ever tell God that His work isn't good enough? Challenge: What are three things you love about the way God made you?

A Body Of Lies

If a friend told you she was sick, you’d respond with compassion, right?

I didn’t.

When my friend told me she was struggling with an eating disorder, I didn’t feel compassion or sympathy or concern. Instead, I was angry. Angry that she had cheated to get the body I had always envied. The sleek figure, the toned abs--it was all a lie.

I worked out, I ate healthy, I disciplined my body into shape. She just threw it all up.

As her eyes welled with tears, my stomach churned with the ugly elixir of jealousy. Outwardly, I responded with the compulsory, "I'm so sorry," and "How can I help?" Inside, I raged.

That night I lay in bed and tried to pray for her. I tried to ask God for healing. I tried to envision a picture of her healthy and whole, healed. Every time I closed my eyes, I could only see her sexy, skinny body, her tanned abs and seductive smile. Focused on her perfect body; I was blind to her pain.

I used to think eating disorders were an issue of vanity. The ultimate in first world problems. To me, eating disorders were classified by disordered actions—throwing up or not eating or working out like crazy-- not disordered thoughts.

I’d meticulously track my meals, chart my workouts—the conditioning circuits, the hill sprints, the bike rides—and stare at my stomach in the mirror, waiting for a six-pack to emerge, all the while scoffing at the crazy girls who threw up their food.

I was disciplined; they were disordered.

In the dark of the night I prayed through my anger, asking God to reveal its root. An emotion flashed bright and ugly against the dark: JEALOUSY.

I wanted her body. I wanted her discipline. I wanted the attention. --Even if it took an eating disorder to get there.

I recoiled. Sat straight up in bed.

That's when I first realized I had a disorder, too.

I didn't throw up. I didn't stop eating. I didn't engage in unhealthy behaviors. But I was just as trapped and enslaved to my workout regiment and food rules as she was to her purging. I was a fellow prisoner of comparisons, self-hatred, and the-never-good-enough. I was broken.

I stopped praying for my friend; I started praying for myself. How could I help her on her road to healing when I was so sick myself?

Over the next few months, God transformed my heart. He began to reveal the lies I believed about myself--that I was only as valuable as I was sexy, that I was a fat ugly blob if I didn't work out, that my worth was based on my daily perception of body fat. He began to reveal the lies I believed about my friend--that she was the enemy, the competition, my rival in the contest to be the thinnest, look the hottest.

And He began to replace the lies with truth: I am not my body. Sexiness does not equate value.  My friend is not the enemy.  Eating disorders go beyond vanity; the disordered thoughts and behaviors are symptoms of a greater spiritual battle, a matter of identity, of worth.

So I began to fight--for both of us, my friend and I.

I still have a long way to go. But I've learned that we will never break free from these disordered thoughts if we don't have right relationships. If we aren't honest with ourselves.

I don't want to be the kind of person whose heart doesn't break when a friend tells me she's sick. I don't want to be the kind of person who cares more about working out then spending time with friends. I don't want to believe the lies anymore.

Do you?

I hope you said yes because I want to start a series on this blog devoted to recovering our true identity as God's worthy and beautiful children. In this series, called Hungry, I'll share some of my own struggles and healing in this area and encourage you to do so as well. I hope it will be safe place to be honest about the lies we believe about ourselves and our bodies.  I hope it will be a catalyst for restoration and transformation. I'll provide challenges, activities, prayers, and resources for those who want to join me on this journey to freedom.

I'll start by sharing the best resource I've found. My friend, Jessica Skinner, wrote a book about her victory over anorexia and bulimia. Her book has transformed my life and my relationships and brought healing and light to places of darkness.

For those of you who can relate to these thoughts, I encourage you to buy it. Read it. Share it.

For those of you who can't relate to the eating disorder part, but have ever struggled with self-worth, identity, or addiction. Buy it. Read it. Share it. 

For those of you who know someone or have even the remotest of possibilities of knowing someone someday who is suffering from eating disorders, low self-esteem, or distorted body image and want to learn ways to better care for and support them. Buy it. Read it. Share it.

For those of you who live in Southern California or have a tv or know any one who does--even the men out there. Buy it. Read it. Share it.

And for those of you who can't afford it, email me at lewis.aly@gmail.com and I will buy you a copy myself. I think it's worth it. I think you're worth it.

Let's journey together to denounce the body of lies and walk in His truth and freedom. 

To learn more and buy a copy of Jessica's book, Hungry: One Woman's Battle with and Victory over Anorexia and Bulimia, click here.

Jessica was recently featured in  the Newport Beach Independent! To read more about Jessica's heart and journey and how eating disorders are no game, click here.

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Give me feedback! Do you resonate with this topic? What kind of resources would you like to see? Have you experienced healing in this area? 

Assault of the Suit

This weekend I was assaulted by a suit--a bathing suit that is.

Most people living in landlocked cities with normal seasons can safely tuck away their bathing suits after the first brusque fall day and don't have to dig them out until after spring. They have ample time to whip their bodies into swimsuit shape before exposing their skin to the surf, sun, and scrutiny of their 100 closest beach going friends.

We poor citizens of Southern California have no such luck.

Our bodies must be tanned and primed and ready at all times. EVEN IN MARCH.

This weekend San Diego charmed us with near 80-degree beach weather. For those of you reading who don't live in Southern California, please hear me out before you roll your eyes and stop listening.

It was rough.  Are you ready to sport a swimsuit?  Like right now? I didn't think so. 

I'm pretty good at not being swayed by pop culture. I've never been an impulsive shopper. I'm pretty responsible with my money. I've always been a step behind the latest fashion craze and that suits me fine. It took me three years to even consider wearing skinny jeans.  I'm not vain or particularly shallow. I fall hard for guys with sharp minds, not guys with sharp abs. I don't let culture dictate what I buy or how I spend my money, what type of job I should have, what kind of people are cool enough to be my friends.

But somehow, somewhere, this idea that skinny equals sexy and sexy equals valuable has buried itself deep, deep within my heart and made itself at home.

Jessica Skinner, in her incredible book Hungry: One Woman’sBattle with and Victory over Anorexia and Bulimia, wrote, "Every day messages pour in, telling us that our bodies should always be diligently and aggressively attacked, reduced, slimmed, and chiseled. You should be embarrassed if it's not."

This Saturday at the beach, I was embarrassed.

The "winter" months have meant less daylight, less workout time, less vigilance in the attack on my body (which, one could argue, is a not a bad thing). Nevertheless I felt utterly unprepared for two 5-hour, bathing suit clad beach days in a row.

And I was embarrassed.

It's not a vanity issue. It's an identity issue.

By Sunday I began to believe the lie that if I don't look exactly like the photoshopped cover girls we chuckled at in my post on Friday, I am ugly and worthless and should be embarrassed. Of course when I say it out loud or type it out for this post, it sounds ridiculous. Of course I don't really intellectually consent to this statement. But for all intents and purposes, I believe it. I live it. My mood plummets as my perception of body fat rises.

I let myself be assaulted by the suit. 

The lies creep in when I forget that my identity, my worth, my value, comes from God alone. And that my beauty is found in reflecting Him alone.

One way to remember is to redefine beauty. To rewrite the story of my worth.  

To live a new definition of beauty—true beauty, real beauty, the only beauty that really matters. Beauty that is not contingent on workout regiments, tan skin, or toned abs. Beauty encompassed in the following qualities:

• Confidence--being comfortable in my own skin
• Radiating compassion
• Looking beyond the mirror to the heart
• My heart at rest--not seeking, not striving, just being
• A joyful attitude
• Knowing I'm loved and loving myself
• Freedom from envy and comparisons
• Creativity and worship
• Having a heart that breaks for others
• Allowing the truth that is inside of me to stream out

And so today, safely covered in business casual, I seek to cultivate this beauty and am thankful that my worth is not tied up in the strings of a bikini.

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What about you? Can you relate to bathing suit assault?  How do you define or redefine beauty? What lies do you believe about your worth?