With only days left until
graduation, I am in a hurry to check all the final activities off of my Baylor
bucket list, do the dreaded deep cleaning required of moving, and to make sure
that all of my affairs are in order before closing this beautifully challenging
chapter of my life. The good news is that all of these things are going fairly
well, and that I feel relatively at peace about moving from this season to the
next….with the exception of one, long-kept, “secret” that must see the light of
day before my Baylor story ends. I, in no way, want to give the impression that
my experience is generalizable to everyone or that I was made victim to this.
This is the destruction I choose to remain entangled in for far too long.
Truthfully, in an incredibly a sick a twisted way, I liked this way of living
and the illusion of control it offered.
However, I have come to know the freedom that exists outside of anxious
control and perpetual hunger pangs. I mean to be no hero, and I do not have all
the answers, but my plea is that we, college women, would not continuing living
like this cycle of self-deprecation and abuse is okay and even “normal.” We do
not have to hate ourselves, and our bodies, to fit in. We do not have to
shrink, bend and shape shift to fit any mold culture tries to put us in. This
is the truth, and believe me, there is freedom here.
For the
majority of my undergraduate experience I have struggled with an eating
disorder and body dysmorphia (AKA, an incredibly skewed view of what I actually
look like). Over the years it has kind of morphed and changed with me, but I
almost always land somewhere between anorexia
(extremely low calorie intake/starvation), anorexia
athletica (compulsive exercise) and orthorexia
(literally translated to, “fixation on righteous eating”). I have spent
completely unreasonable amounts of time in the gym, eaten the same 5 foods for
weeks on end in fear of change, and skipped out on countless outings with
friends in fear of what food may be available. I remember lying in my bed
freshman year and crying because I was so hungry, but never getting up to grab
the snack that was on the shelf across the room because I knew we had weigh ins
the next morning. *For the sake of clarity, the weigh ins were an aspect of
college athletics, and aren’t a normative part of freshman dorm life. *
Nonetheless, I wish I could tell you that this is the only story of it’s kind,
but it is not. My college years have been riddled with this sort of behavior
and self inflicted pain. Strangely enough, I was almost never motivated solely
by the desire to be thin. There is mounting pressure
in college, and athletics, to succeed, get perfect grades, get a prestigious
job offer or be accepted into an equivalently prestigious graduate program, and have
a social life worth posting about on social media. These behaviors are not
about food, weight, or exercise; those are merely the tools from which I desire
to find control when I feel I have none. Sadly, this performance never
solved a single issue and instead generated addictive patterns of comparison,
starvation, and stair stepping. For a while I believed I was the only person
doing this kind of thing, and that I needed to keep my measuring, weighing, and
counting a secret. I became tangled in a series of
lies and deception. However, I quickly found that there was actually
some perverted kind of comradery in finding other people behaving in the same
manner…and I did not have to look very far to find them. It felt like everyone
I knew was on a “weight loss journey,” puking in the shower, or crying as they
stood in front of their mirror choosing what they would wear in the morning. No
one liked who they were or how they looked, and if they did, they surely did
not feel confident enough to say so. Somehow it was more acceptable to talk
about the measly 400 calories you consumed the day before than it was to talk
about being comfortable in your own skin. And so I bought the lie…this must be
normal and hiding behind a perfect imagine must be what everyone does. So it continued
and continued and before I knew it, was spiraling out of control…and quickly.
Food fear paralyzed me and skipping a day at the gym was the week’s greatest
tragedy. I know this sounds inflammatory, but this is the debauched reality
that I created for myself. I was okay with everyone, who encouraged my
delusional behavior, to know what was going on in my day-to-day, but I hid from
anyone who would speak truth into my life. I hid from my church community, my
best friends, and my family. Around them
I did everything I could to get away with acting on
eating disorder symptoms without being caught, that is, until I could hide no
longer. People obviously began to catch on to what was going on, and over time,
the flames in the hell I created for myself were swiftly getting warmer and
burning me alive. My freshman and sophomore, and half of my junior years of
college were plagued with trickery, obsession, and shame as I tried to keep up
with all of the secrets and compulsive behaviors.
“You
are as sick as your secrets, and your secrets keep you sick”
That is, until a dear friend
pulled me aside and sternly demanded that I get help. Naturally I resisted at
first, but slowly came around to the idea as I realized that this type of nightmare
is not what I wanted to be the marker of my college experience. The change was
slowwwww and hard- harder than anything I have ever done. It required
transparency and vulnerability in areas of my life that I never wanted people
to see. It required being known deeply and intimately by a group of girls who
refused to enable my sin to keep ravaging my life, and it demanded the personal
acceptance that discomfort was okay and even good. The growth and recovery has
not been linear, and it has been less than enjoyable, but it is fruitful and it
is life giving. I have found freedom that I did not know existed, and I have found
rest in an area of my life that was truly characterized by restlessness. In the
love, and tender care, of my friends I have found the joy of being known.
I spent many years of my life held
captive by the lie that if people really knew me than they would never want me.
I believed that I could only be loved in half-truths and stories told in the
most extravagant manner. Unfortunately, I found that college is fertile
breeding ground for this and that I was not the only one trying to put on the
most entertaining show. No one really cared to know who I was, and I was lucky
if someone other than “the weird guy,” asked for my name. For the first time in
my life I was able to establish my own identity outside of my parents, old
friends, or siblings. This is was all fun and exciting until I realized that I
just was not that spectacular. I have never been to the Olympics, written an
article for Time Magazine, illustrated a children’s book, or made a perfect
score on the ACT. Lets be real, there are days it is a struggle to brush my
hair before class and I am not above throwing a sweatshirt over my pajama top as
I head out the door. It was easy to compare myself to all of the other
seemingly put together, and “cool” and “beautiful” people on campus, and feel
like I simply did not measure up. Honestly, based strictly on the basis of
merit, I kind of didn’t. It did not take long until I felt reduced to the idea
that we are loved and valued for what we can bring to the table. It is hard to
stare this reality in the face, and not feel pretty awful about yourself.
However, this is not the truth, and when I finally learned to accept this is,
after years of striving, it became okay to be known because I had nothing to
prove. I could be exposed- all of my flaws, quirks, and personality that
sometimes feels like its nine sizes to big for me. At first, it was awkward and
clumsy and raw. Really raw. It is scary, and unnatural, to be emotionally naked
in front of people, but there is nothing I have ever done that has been more
worth it. Nothing that made me feel more alive and offered such a clear picture
of the Father’s love for me. Now, as I navigate the final days of my
undergraduate career, I grieve the thought of separating from the few that know
me as I am. As I really am. Broken, splintered, and falling apart. We’ve cried
over life, skipped meals, victories, and kitchen spills. We’ve laughed about
total jerks and danced on the coffee table in our living room until the wee
hours of the morning. We have cheered each other on and apologized for the
moments we tore each other down. The once generic conversations that occurred
while awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen are awkward no more. They are
precious memories and stories told. Somewhere along the way, somewhere between
the late night conversations and dumb inside jokes, somewhere squeezed into the
secret weigh ins and yelling at each other only to start ugly crying mid hug,
we are known. Fully known and fully loved. Secure.
This
is the truth. The lie that you must be in control, hide, look a certain way, or
fit a certain mold is life sucking. Please, do not let this be the storyline of
your college career, or life. It will always turn up void. You are not enslaved
to the scale, the mirror, or the gym. You are not valued because of your GPA or
job opportunities. You are loved and valuable because you were bought at the
highest price- the blood of Jesus. Let that be enough.
