Forever Beloved

Faith, Love & Truth

An Open Letter to My Body

Dear body,

Remember when we were little and we were friends?  You weren’t good or bad, fat or skinny, ugly or beautiful.  You were just me.  You were the vehicle I rolled down grassy hills in, screaming with laughter.  I wrapped myself in you to swim in the ocean with my Grandma.  You were the cocoon I snuggled in to sleep at night.

We’ve walked the streets of Mexico, the shorelines of beaches and endless miles on dirt roads.  We’ve birthed two perfect, extremely large babies and we’ve fed them with milk we made from pizza, steak salads and cold cereal. We’ve walked endless miles with my Mama shopping.  We’ve danced for hours upon hours, all sweat and motion.

We’ve been through a lot together and we survived!

Despite everything that I’ve put you through, you’re still carrying me through this life.

I’ve tried to change you more times than I can count—perming your naturally straight hair, starving you to fit into a smaller size, spending early morning hours at the gym trying to make you more toned and laying in the sun for endless hours to make you darker.

I’ve pierced you and permanently tattooed you.  I’ve dyed your hair more colors than I can count.

I’ve allowed what other people think change my thoughts of you.

I’ve abused you verbally.  I belittled you.  I called you fat.  I complained about you.  I compared you to every single woman that walks past me.  I talked to you worse than I ever would speak to anyone else.

I’ve abused you physically.  You have endured multiple displays of my clumsiness, bad luck, horrible aim and dumb-flat-feet-make-me-trip.  And by multiple I really mean uncountable…but yet, you kept going.  You didn’t throw your hands up in the air and say that’s IT, this girl is unreal…how can she fall UP the stairs and DOWN them?

I’ve had one simple surgery somehow turn into 17.  Through it all, you never gave up or gave in.  Not even in ICU where you were so, so very tired.

You are an amazing creation that God designed specifically for me.  You have carried me through 42 years of playing + walking + moving + learning + thinking + creating + loving + living.  We may have had good times and bad times, but trust me when I tell you that I really do love you.

I love your lips and eyes that show my heritage, the skin that has allowed me to age gracefully and that tans oh so easily.

I love the stretch marks that show you carried and fed two healthy babies.

I love that you have arms that have allowed me to hold my sweet Grandma as she passed into the arms of Jesus, to hold and twirl my babies around the living room while the music was too loud and to wrap around my husbands shoulders during every hug.

I love your laughter, even though it’s loud and obnoxious.  I love that we can find humor every day, and laugh so hard we can’t catch our breath.  And I love that you passed that exact same laugh to my daughter.

I love that you’ve always had a bit of booty.  I may have tried to hide that part of you when I was younger, but just know that I appreciate those humps now.

I love your dark brown eyes, though I spent many days when I was younger wishing they weren’t so boring.  They show me beauty and allow me to capture it with my camera.  They allow me to experience all the beautiful creations of God displayed around me daily.

I love your ability to sing and how much pure joy it’s brought me throughout the years.  From harmonizing beside my Dad in church to car dance parties with my littles.

I love the multiple scars we have, they show we persevered and we’re alive!  It’s because of you that this Mama can see her kids grow up.

I promise to try harder at accepting and embracing you for what you are instead of harshly judging you and holding you to an impossible standard of perfection.  God gave me a perfect gift when He gave me you.

Shame and Humiliation

As we were on our way to the doctors office, I couldn’t help but smile.  I had checked my test results online, done lots of research on the results and knew that they were off.  I was confident this appointment would end with me being prescribed a medication that would make me feel better.  I was so excited, and felt this appointment was the first step I needed to take to feel myself again.

I walked into the office, checked myself in and settled into a chair in the waiting room.  I glanced around the waiting room, wondering if anyone else was having a life-changing appointment like I was about to experience.

My dreaming was interrupted by my name being called.

On the agenda first was an ultrasound.  During the ultrasound the doctor told me the abnormality that would cause my numbers to be askew, and cause my symptoms, was indeed there.  I breathed a sigh of relief, knowing my research had been on point.  I gathered my things and went to the room, waiting for the doctor.

She walked in, shook my hand and began looking at my chart and my test results.  She turned to speak to me and I was ready for this discussion.

What are you doing about your weight?

My mind began to spin.  I was seeing her about something completely unrelated to my body weight and I hadn’t even raised the subject.  I wasn’t even sure of what to say.  She continued on, without awaiting my answer.

You are much too beautiful of a woman to walk around in a body like that daily.

My mind was spinning so quickly, I couldn’t even grasp a single thought.  I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.  I tried to gather some type of composure and I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind.

I just…I don’t think I should have to look a certain way to love myself.

I could feel my breath quickening and my heart was pounding out of my chest.

I could recommend you for gastric bypass.  I could write the script out today if you’d like.

I felt as if I was dreaming.  How did this appointment get so out of control?

No.  I…I don’t think I want that.

Honestly, the remainder of the appointment was a blur.  I held it together enough to get to my car.

Once I was inside, I couldn’t hold it in any longer. Being fat shamed by my doctor cut so deeply that I sat in my car and cried for half an hour. I didn’t just cry, I ugly cried. I had never felt so shamed and humiliated in my life.

Why did that happen? Why did she say that? Why did she feel that was appropriate? Why was she so blatant? Why didn’t she care? Was that her attempt at motivation?  Question after question replayed in my mind.

And with those questions, came the all-too-familiar feelings I had been working so hard to push out of my mind. Not enough. Nothing special. Ordinary. Fat. Not pretty. Worthless.

Thankfully, my husband was waiting in the car for me. As I cried inconsolably, I slipped my hand inside his. His strength far outweighs mine. No matter what news we’re given, he always resounds with a hand squeeze and it will all be okay babe. This visit was no different,he still found the right words to comfort me.

I’ve experienced fat-shaming before, but never at the hands of a medical professional. Why doesn’t their oath included kindness and compassion?

And before you say ‘Your doctor was just doing her job promoting good health’, think again.

She made her unsolicited and day-ruining diagnosis on the basis of looks alone. When she saw my weight, she had only one thing on her mind.  The initial reason for my visit was instantly dismissed and not discussed again.

This happened three months ago.

The appointment was so hurtful, so humiliating and so shaming that it’s been very difficult to even talk about. Only a handful of people closest to my heart know about it.

But today, it was time to share it.

If you know me, you know what comes after my sadness.  Anger.  I licked my wounds for a few days, and then I made a decision.  Someone who doesn’t know me, know what my journey has included, know what pain and sadness I’ve endured and know my body like I do is not going to dictate my happiness.  And that anger motivated and drove me more than anything.  
Since that appointment, I’ve lost 34 pounds and 12 inches.  When she recommended gastric bypass, she instantly assumed I couldn’t do it on my own.  And she assumed wrong.  If I am anything, it’s a fighter.  And when my fight is fueled by anger, watch out world.    

One of the most crucial decisions I ever made in my weight loss journey was learning to love myself regardless of my size. Thankfully, I had made this decision before this appointment.

If you have never been overweight, you don’t know. If you have not sat in a doctors office and listened to their diagnosis, you don’t know. If you have never been fat shamed (which, by the way, IS a real thing), you don’t know. If you have never had that daily battle in your own mind, you don’t know. If you have never been made fun of, you don’t know.

We are all women struggling with some type of body image in this media-forced mean girl world. And it’s time we start building each other up rather than tearing each other down for our differences. All bodies are good bodies. All bodies are real bodies. All bodies are worthy of love and respect.

Honestly y’all, just love on others. Remember that every single person you run into is fighting some type of battle that you can’t see. We are told in Mark 12: 30-31 Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.”

The Day The Numbers Started To Matter

As I’m going on my journey, I’m going to be reposting some of my past posts…not only for you to read but because this girl needs to read them as well. So many things I need reminded of on a daily basis! This is one of my favorites…

I was the girl in high school who wore a size 12 but had curves…curves that I hated, curves that caused me quite a few problems and curves that I wished so hard I could change. I was made fun of for any small flaw they could find…lips, booty, thighs. I spent my entire teen years wishing I was thinner. Oh, the years I wasted not appreciating what I had.

I remember one day in particular like it was yesterday. It was one of those spring days that make your soul happy…the birds were chirping so loudly, the sun was shining bright and the flowers were in bloom. And I was having a “thin day”. We all know what those are, right? My hair was amazing, my outfit was cute and I was feeling good. It was the only day I ever felt comfortable enough to wear shorts to school. I walked out of the door to head to the bus and the sun was shining warmly on my face.  I couldn’t get the smile off my face, I knew today was going to be a good day.

I got on the bus and sat in the seat with my best friend. She looked at me, skipped hello and how are you, and immediately asked a question. 

How much do you weigh? 
A question I had never been directly asked before. But she was my best friend, someone I trusted, so I told her. The look on her face said it all, she was horrified by my answer.  Her immediate response was saying she MUST go on a diet because she nearly weighs what I do. And THAT is not possible.

And in that moment, the numbers started to matter.

From that moment on, I’ve hidden that number deep in my heart. The only people that know it is God, myself and my doctor {who I’ve sworn to ultimate secrecy}. I could tell you story after story of people piercing my heart with their careless words about my weight…friends, relatives, boyfriends and even strangers.

I am one of those girls that likes to pretend that words don’t hurt my feelings. I like to pretend I can just brush them off, smile and go on about my day. I take the hurtful words, cram them deep down inside and save them for another day. A day that I’m by myself and can pull those words back out and stress over them all by myself. Hurt doesn’t have a time limit y’all. Words that were spoken 20 years ago still hurt just as much as if they were spoken yesterday.

But I’ve let those words, and that number, rule me for long enough.

There has been one common thread woven throughout all my weight loss ventures…scale obsession. Those numbers mattered to me so much that I had to see them daily. I just HAD to. My daily mood would then hinge on what that number on the scale was. So many days I would see a bad number then rush to the kitchen to eat out of frustration and disappointment, horrible self-talk in tow. This was a pattern that had to be broken this time.

I eventually cut it down to once a week, but I would still sneak on it two or three times throughout the week. I would tell myself I was “just checking” on how I was doing. Playing the same pattern I had when weighing daily. This, my friends, wore me out. My worth became what those numbers revealed.

A few months back, I was having some God-talk-time. Read this as a girl crying her eyes out at her Fathers feet, begging for help. He revealed to me to weigh once a month. And this girl sat up and listened.

One quote from the book Made to Crave really jumped out at me.

I am a Jesus girl who can step on the scale and see the numbers as an indication of how much my body weighs and not as an indication of my worth.

Wow. Powerful, huh? Actually reading that made my eyes overflow with tears. That number had held me captive for so many years, feeling free of it was emotionally overwhelming.  We are all so much more than a number!  And I refuse to let that number hold me captive anymore.

I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.
Philippians 4:13