The Truth is Out

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.