Eating with Humanity

Lately my soul has been craving adventure, a change from the norm. There is a part of me that needs the adventure of experiencing other cultures, learning from other people and other ways of life. Being a single waitressing/bartending grad student, funds limit my ability to do this as often as I would like. Let's be real. If I could travel as a professional lifestyle, I would.

Simultaneously, my soul has been craving solidarity with the poor. I miss the slums of Cambodia. I miss the streets of Thailand. I miss the barefooted children I meet in dumps and play soccer with in garbage settlements. I love their little feet, their little smiles, the simple delight in their eyes when they play. I love what they teach me about life and love.

I've also been wanting to get into a healthy rhythm of eating lately. Working in a bar/restaurant has NOT helped the weight goals. And while I want to say me and my health is enough to keep my from snacking on messed up orders, potato chips, fries and other health hazards conveniently within arms reach, its not. I need a purpose beyond myself. Or rather, a purpose deeper within myself.

And I've been missing my spiritual rhythms...things that tie me to humanity and the common human experience. Things that keep me mindful of the world around me that looks so different than the world in front of me. Things that keep me rooted in love and God and compassion and justice and mercy on a daily basis. Things that feed my soul, my spirit, my heart, and my mind. I need a deepening to occur in my life.

All of this has been stewing in me for at least a year, if not longer. And tonight it came to a solution. A four year solution. A four year journey. A four year adventure.

I'm going to dedicate each week to a different country in the world (40/52 weeks that is. I'm realistic and am leaving room for travel and life to occur....they say 80/20 is the goal with clean eating... so I stuck with those numbers for this adventure).

One day a week I'm going to eat only what the poor eat in that country, and spend time as I do praying for solutions to global poverty and hunger and other issues that plague the country. For the rest of the week, I will set aside one meal a day to eat a traditional, common dish of the country (probably the same dish every day....cook enough of the common dish to last five meals throughout the week), thanking God for the people and culture that provide the dish. One day a week I rest/have a free day. During the week I will research that country and learn more about my global family. I even plan to eat the foreign dish like the locals do (country #1 is Afghanistan and they eat with their fingers... not going to lie... super looking forward to doing this).

This may not seem exciting to you, but I am so looking forward to this rhythm and discipline. I'm excited to learn and explore other cultures, learn more about global issues that face these cultures, and grow intellectually and spiritually through this. I plan to post regularly about my experiences, the dishes I'm eating, and the things I'm learning. I'm excited to see how this develops and plays out over the years to come. I'm so excited for this rhythm and the richness I can already feel it holds.

I know it's going to wreck me. How do you read stories of children dying from malnutrition and not be effected? How do you invite the stories of injustice into your heart and not be changed? Especially living in an environment fueled by consumption and waste? Sure, there will be weeks that are less heart breaking food wise than others... but there will be some that are absolutely heartbreaking. It'll be a journey. It'll be a ride.

But I'm ready. I'm ready to discover. To learn. To grow.

Unapologetically Me: The Wrestle

Unapologetically me.

I don't even know what that means.  My entire life I've felt like who I am is a need to apologize. People love me in spite of weirdness; in spite of my harshness; in spite of my weight; in spite of my ideologies and theologies; in spite of my crazy; in spite of my depression and anxiety; in spite of my lack to be the perfect person that I think I need to be. (this is my perception, not actual truth. I know my friends well enough to know this is not actually how they feel).

My voice scares me. Not my literal voice that's louder than a herd of elephants in distress (I actually enjoy my physical voice). I'm talking about me. My voice; that thing that represents my inner most thoughts, emotions, feelings, vulnerabilities, perceptions, story, ideology, theology. It scares me because I'm not sure it fits.

Like many of my fellow midwestern born compadres, I grew up in a world where the relative norms and boundaries were pretty clear to me. Be this. Do that. Don't be this. Don't do that. Don't associate with this. Make sure you look like that. Be unique, but only as long as that uniqueness doesn't disappoint those you look up to....as long as that uniqueness still fits the acceptable social norms and stereotypes.

As a teenager I lashed out against these norms and stereotypes. As a young adult I came back to them. Now, in my late twenties, I find I'm in an interesting spot for a lack of better terminology. I find I still don't fit the norms around me. I don't agree with the norms and expectations I see enforced in the world that surrounds me. But this time it's not from a place of rebellion.

Truth be told, all I really want is to fit. To be accepted. To be valued. To be normal. To feel like my voice is something that is accepted for what it is, no expectations to change or be changed. And yet I am ever so aware that this is not the case. As a Christian woman, I don't fit. And I don't know if I agree with everything I am taught and told, but to disagree is communicated to me to not belong; to be rebellious; to be sinful, justifying my "flesh" and denying God; to be displeasing to God; to be a disappointment and failure to my leaders and elders.

I don't fit in the system. And this truth terrifies me. To not be acceptable/accepted by God is my deepest fear, and the worst thing that could happen. Because the truth of my story is I was once deeply lost, shattered, alone, broken, without home, without place, without value, without purpose, without voice.

Now my fear is that the voice I have begun to develop is completely unacceptable to the One who has holistically loved me since day one. I think the feeling I'm describing is shame. To the world around me, I think, "of course God loves you. why wouldn't God love you, no matter what." But to apply this to myself seems almost impossible. Why can't I see myself the way I see others? As beautiful, perfect beings worthy of love regardless of any "social taboos"?                                                                        

My dilemma is this: I don't know how to exist apart from my identity in God. And I don't want to. My journey with God is what has taught me to be compassionate, to see the unseen, to value people, to engage health and restoration, to seek peace and justice, to fall in love with slum children and trafficked victims. I no longer know who I am outside of God. And I don't want to know that person again. That person was selfish, mean, destructive, abusive. I love who I am right now, and I love this person because God has taught me to love. To accept the parts of me that I once saw unacceptable; to embrace the parts of me I once found unembracable; to share the parts of me I once found unshareable, to live life in such a way that without God I could not live.

My struggle is not in my relationship with God. It's not even with my relationship to the world around me. My struggle is with the community of faith, the Christians and believers in this world. Because my sin, my life, in many ways is unacceptable...condemnable... enough to make me unworthy and question if this God--who when I sit here and type I know loves me and only longs to love me--actually can in fact love me because I don't measure up to the social norms and laws conjured by the institution of this God.

And I don't know what to do with that, with this. I don't know how to live and breathe in this institution and not feel like who I am somehow doesn't measure up, isn't worthy. I have to become this perfect person, and then, when all of the imposed standards are met, I will be loved.

The problem is, I tried. I tried to live up to and be these standards. And they don't work for me. I can't live under the weight they impose. I can't thrive, breathe, or be.

And yet I love God. Love God. LOVE GOD.

Can I go to God in my sin and be fully loved and restored?

What does restoration mean?

What is the purpose of restoration?

What is the purpose of this life?

Is it to not drink, not smoke, not swear, not have sex, and to do everything right as defined by a group of people as being right? (I mean seriously, what the hell is right? And was the purpose ever "right or wrong"? Or is that something we discovered only after the fall?)

Or is it perhaps to love unconditionally and be unconditionally loved, regardless of everything else in life?

I meet and interact with God in places that would be taboo in church circles. God meets me in the place that I am.

I want to live. I want to be fully alive. I want to fully experience life and all that it holds. I don't want to feel limited or inhibited by these rules. I don't want to die someday and realize I never lived... that I did these amazing things but never let my story and my voice come to life.

What does it mean to be human and to follow God?

I remember when I was fighting high-risk pre cancerous cervical cells, someone said to me that the reason this all happened was because I had sinned (lived a life of sin aka was having sex outside of marriage). And at the time it stuck with me. If I could just live according to God's law and do everything right, everything would be ok. So I tried that. And you know what? Things still fell apart. Shit still happened. Bad things didn't disappear.. I just became an arrogant, self-righteous person with an answer for everything. Life was simple, but oppressive.

Now? Now I'm not so sure. Now I wrestle. I wrestle with what it means to follow Jesus in this world we live in. I wrestle with what it means to have hope and restoration. I know beyond a doubt that beauty for ashes exists.... but I am so tired of that meaning we sweep our ashes under the rug or outside and create our own definitions of beauty.

Maybe the true beauty is that beyond every reason I could give God not to love me, this God in fact does love me.

A friend and I converse often about reading what we call the red letters, the words recorded as having been spoken by Jesus during his time on this earth. In those red letters it's written that he said "All of the laws can be summed up as this. Love the Lord your God, and love your neighbor as yourself." "Seek and ye shall find."

I'm seeking. I'm seeking to find what it means to love God and love self and love neighbors and love creation.

I think it's funny that the response of the religious leaders at the time was to ask Jesus who our neighbors are. Given a simple instruction to love, we still sought to find some boundary, some out, some reason to complicate a simple command.

I don't know what it means to love, but it's what I seek.

And I don't know what it means to be unapologetically me, but it is the journey I am embracing and beginning to walk. And if you don't like it, that's ok. But don't be an asshole and hinder my walk. Don't be an asshole and judge it. Because my reality is this: I know what life outside of God looks like, and I want no part of it. And I know what life inside the institution and rules looks like, and I want no part of it. But I do want a life where I walk with God, where I come to life, and where those around me come to life as well.

I'm going to find my voice. I'm going to share my story. I'm going to be me. And I'm going to do it unapologetically. Not from a place of rebellion, but from a place rooted deeply in love, grace, kindness, acceptance, beauty and truth. And my hope is that this humble little offering of a life and voice is in fact pleasing to the One who gave me this life.

it scares me. But it's mine.

A Mess and Collection of Thoughts and Reflections this Snowy Morning

I have sat here staring at this blank page for the better part of thirty minutes, trying to gather and collect my thoughts, trying to come up with something cohesive to write that adds to the beauty not the static in life. Words were scarce, not because there is nothing to write about, but because I now realize how different the things that fill my heart are... there is no cohesive way to write all of the things I want to write; at least if there is, the picture of how they come together is yet to be made clear. So for lack of better ties and transitions, I present each piece as a separate, and perhaps in the end they will tie together as so many pieces of my life tend to do as I simply step out (in this case type out) in faith. I call this collection "Morning Reflections"

I. Ferguson, MO

My heart is burdened this mourning, heavily. Grief consumes me in many parts as I think about the reality of events unfolding in our streets. While Michael Brown may be what sparked these reckless acts of violence and demonstration, the actual cry of the situation runs much deeper; the roots stretch deeper and bring forth pain known for generations. It is the voice of the oppressed crying out for justice. I pray my brothers and sisters would hear me when I say the point of these cries and outbreaks, the restorative peace and healing has very little to do with Wilson and Brown (though hear me that that does matter as well). No. This is about a deeper need for systematic restoration. These cries are deeper than one instance. They are about a system of oppression that has existed for generations; a system in which if you are a young black man you are 21 times more likely to be shot than your white counterpart; a system in which 1/3 black men can expect to go to jail in their lifetime;  a system in which a rich CEO can smuggle millions and get a slap on the wrist and some fines, but a young person born on the streets selling drugs is sentenced 5-10 years; a system in which abortion clinics target lower income and minority based neighborhoods; a system that continuously breaks treaties with our indigenous populations when it proves lucrative for our business, wants, and desires.  Regardless of what you believe justice to be in the case of Brown vs. Wilson, the fact is indisputable that there is in existence systemic injustice that needs to be addressed. I believe if we are wise, these tragic, horrific, awful events (from the bloodshed of this young man and thousands unnamed just like him to the rioting and violence and damage) will lead to deeper conversations around the actual issues. Perhaps we will learn to sit with the other, with those not like us, with those holding a different perspective and reality. Perhaps we will seek to understand each other, the plight of those different than us and, as the proverbial saying goes, learn to walk in their shoes...and deeper still learn to walk with them. 

II. Keystone Pipeline

I learned last night that the Rosebud tribe wasn't even notified when this was happened--they learned from it on the the news. I want to be sarcastic and hide my pain, saying "just another broken treaty for the US government, right?" but the cry runs deeper. I will not allow that statement to be made in a dismissive manner. It is 2014 and the oppression that we put on our indigenous populations when we first moved to this land CONTINUES TODAY. And you know what breaks my heart? No one seems to care. It has become normal. 

In both of I and II as I pray the verse that continually comes to me is Ecclesiastes 4:1 

Again I looked and saw all the oppression that was taking place under the sun:

I saw the tears of the oppressed—
    and they have no comforter;
power was on the side of their oppressors—
    and they have no comforter.

The grief that consumes my heart today in these matters is overwhelming. Already in this coffeeshop I have shed tears, and will continue to as I pray and intercede for justice, restoration, and hope to fill our land. 

Nope. Deeper truth exists in me. While the above is true, deeper still this is what I want. I want my brothers and sisters to give a damn. That's what I want. And I know there are those that do. I know I am not alone in this. I have talked with churches, with organizations, and with individuals who care and are doing something. But what saddens me is it is not the majority, because if it was these things would cease to happen, or at least lessen. And that angers me. In life coaching I learned that anger is a demand for something, and my anger a demand for justice and action, and true brotherhood. 

And as I type I am convicted. Of the ways I have not loved, not advocated, not stood with. I am reminded of a Maya Angelou Quotation "I did then what I knew how to do. Now that I know better I do better." This is all we can do. As we encounter truth and learn, we can do better. Today I know better, so I am doing better. Tomorrow I pray will be better still, and so forth. 

III. I have a lot of really good things happening in life. 

In the midst of this grief over world events, I am reminded of the good things in my life. I spent last night loving on a sweet baby girl that is the offspring of two of my very favorite people. I just moved into a beautiful rental home with two dear friends. I have amazing friends supporting me on this journey of restoration and recovery. I have a job that pays the bills and I enjoy. I am 18 months out from graduating with my doctorate (that is... if the dissertation goes smoothly ;). I have the most beautiful nieces and nephews.  I get to spend my New Years in Cambodia loving on children coming out of trafficking and prostitution, loving on the slums, loving on women coming out of the industry, and being loved on by those I love--all with one of my best friends. I am in recovery and daily being transformed--while I encounter my own personal grief, I find that grief is leading me to joy and wholeness. 

And so it comes together in the end. The reality of this walk with Christ is that it is a path filled with suffering, with heartache, with mourning, with aching and crying out for what could be, for what went wrong, for what is wrong. And yet it is also a path marked with joy... joy abundant, filled with good, good things and smothered in love. 

Oh you guys, I mean it when I say I am the least likely to be chosen as a follower of Christ, and yet he called me. He asked me and I said yes. I am messy and covered in mud and dirt, yet I bathe in the river of the one who can wash me clean. Until the day I die, I will remain a shitty prophet--encountering God in the places shit covers, and watching him plant gardens, turning that shit into fertilizer that springs forth growth. I will rejoice in slums, in brothels, in ghettos, in recovery houses because God is there. As Bono put it: 

"God is in the slums,in the cardboard boxes where the poor play house.God is in the silence of a mother who has infected her child with a virus that will end both their lives.God is in the cries heard under the rubble of war.God is in the debris of wasted opportunity and lives. And God is with us if we are with them."

 

I hope somewhere in these ramblings you found something to dust off and take with you. For today, this is my heart. This is what I have. This is who I am. 

If you read this, leave a comment. Would love to know you, where you are (physically, spiritually, emotionally...however you want to answer that) and who you are. 

In the meantime, may your journey, while laden with grief (because lets be real... thats the reality of this world) be filled with joy and hope, and above all love. 

I love you. 

AZ

Beauty For Ashes

I started counseling last week.

Years have been building to this moment in life; preparation for this season began years ago. Three to be exact. When I returned from Los Angeles the first time is when this season began; this season of deep restorative healing. I remember after nights of binge drinking I would awaken to hear the Lord speak "My mercies are new every morning." I would cry out in anger, wanting to take control, to fix the devastation and mess, to prove myself worthy of something beyond what I was living. In the midst of my broken, angry, hurting, un-understanding cries the Lord broke through to me and firmly whispered to my heart "I want you to sit in your mess and allow me to heal you."

That was my first step of surrender. I surrendered, on some level, that I was powerless to fix or heal myself. And so I resigned to the binges and to drinking, trusting that God would heal me; trusting that I didn't have to heal or fix myself, but that God would be faithful to see me through. I began to engage the faulty foundations that existed in my life, the faulty patterns, etc. I began to reconstruct my frame. I regained my voice and learned to stand up for myself. I learned that I have value and worth; that my viewpoint and perspective indeed do matter and are valuable gifts I offer to the world.

And then the time came when I was ready to confront my crutch, my rock and pillar that destroyed me, my love, my beloved…alcohol. And that revealed an even deeper lesson that I needed to learn.

17 years ago a reoccurring event began in my life that started a ticking time bomb within me. 14 years ago that bomb exploded. The best image I can use to describe my internal reality is this: Imagine a city, quaint and lovely. In the middle of that city a bomb goes off, creating a deep crater and covering the city in ash, paralyzing it from moving, from growing, from breathing, from living. This has been my life. This has been my living reality. Remnants of the beauty remain, but the people live among a sea of ashes.

I have this new theory in life. What is destroyed through relationship can only be restored through relationship.

My bomb was planted and detonated through relationship, a horrifically violating relationship. Rather than invite people into that crater, I blocked the world out and that part of me became ashes.

In my short three weeks on this journey of deep healing, I have learned that if I am going to heal, I have to let people into that ash covered city. I need people to come in, to sit, to touch, to experience, to explore, to help pull forth beauty from the wreckage.  14 years ago when that bomb went off I built a wall around that city; an impenetrable wall to keep anyone from getting in and any emotion from the wreckage from getting out. Thankfully addressing the foundations and starting to remove them has left those walls crumbling down.

It is the scariest thing I have ever done, inviting people into the wreckage of my life to sit, to touch, to speak, to love, to explore, to hold my hand, to meet my needs. There are days I want to bolt back into hiding, rebuild the wall, chuck the phone across the room, pull my hand away (and to be sure there are moments that I do). But that place inside of me is coming to life again. Through their love, their investment, my vulnerability and their fierce love in response, that crater is becoming a garden, and the city is beginning to be restored. There is a journey ahead to be sure, but my heart is coming back to life. I am coming back to life. I am beginning to experience life again. Emotions, feelings, colors, hopes, dreams, butterflies, all of the above. I am encountering deeper levels of who I am and finding that I actually quite enjoy myself. And I am risking everything in love, choosing love and willingly being vulnerable, knowing it may cost me everything, but choosing it none the less.

I am beginning to experience beauty for ashes. And its wonderful. Scary, dangerous, risky, exposed.  Wonderful. Joyous. Beautiful. Adventuresome. Delighting.

Today, I am alive, and awakening to deeper life. Absolutely stunningly breathtakingly wonderful.

Strings of Beauty in Being an Addict

I am an addict. For so long I hated that term, that reality. It's one of the reasons I have refused to go to AA. I hated the fact that every meeting started with "Hi, my name is Annie and I'm an alcoholic." I thought "that's not my identity. I am not an alcoholic. I am not an addict." But I am. And in my short six days of sobriety I have found such beauty in learning to understand what that means.

1. I have limits. 
2. I have flaws. 
3. I am not perfect and that is ok. 
4. I am beautiful in the midst of my flaws. 
5. Scars can be a beautiful and valuable reminders. 
6. I have something that keeps me constantly humble and aware of my brokenness.
7. I have the best, most forgiving, loving and supportive group of friends. Seriously. The best. 
8. I'm stronger than I think I am. 
9. I am braver than I know to be. 
10. While perplexing to my mind, the paradoxical state of our human nature being encountered by the unconditional, never failing/ending/ceasing love of God overwhelms my soul and brings me joy and peace and healing and comfort. 
11. When I give myself to something, I give all of me. 
12. I'm an all or nothing person. 
13. I like what I like when I like it, how I like it. 
14. I need to daily encounter the source of healing. 
15. I need healthy rhythms in my life. 
16. I need the love and support of my friends and family.
17. I am human; fully human. 

The list could go on, and one day probably will. The point is this: I am no longer afraid of the reality that I am an addict. In fact, I have embraced the beauty in it and find life in acknowledging the truth of my human state. It's amazing the life that comes when we stop denying and come out of hiding. It's amazing the strength that can be found in our weakness and embracing our weakness. The fragrance of God is so near as I type this today. 

Breath in deep friends. It smells so good. 

With love,

My name is Annie and I'm an alcoholic. 

The Long Journey Home

I am an addict. Through and through it rings in my personality... in my DNA...in the core of who I am. Before you jump down my throat with the "that's your fallen identity and not who you are", please join me in holding tight that until the time comes for me to cross on over to the other side, I live in the fallen world, and while I am a new creation and daily being transformed, I am also very much living in the reality of my fallen self.

As Christians, we tend to live in one camp or the other. "I am a new creation, being made new, perfected in Christ. The old is gone, the new has come. Healing is possible. Heaven on earth is possible." OR "I am a dirty rotten sinner, no good apart from the love and salvation of God. I am horrible, sinful, deceitful, devious, covered in muck and junk in desperate need of someone or something to save me." Both of these hold truth. Both of these can be argued and supported thoroughly with Scripture. But neither is complete. Even when put together these camps hold flaws and beg for deeper revelation. Life isn't that black and white. It's messy...horribly gloriously messy. And it's full of color.

I am an addict. While deep in the recesses of my soul I have known this for almost 10 years, somewhere during the past few years I forgot the implications of what that means. I forgot that "social drinking" isn't really a term that works in my vocabulary. One leads to two leads to ten. Drinking once a month slips into twice a month into once a week into twice a week into daily. As strong as I am, alcohol is stronger. It outsmarts me. "I'm not drinking alone. I'm not out of control." But the truth is with each drink I slip further out of control. And I violate myself when drinking. I do things that, when in my sober mind, devastate me and crush me.

I quit drinking six days ago. It's amazing the clarity that has come in the past six days. My fellow addicts will feel me when I say these statements: "I had no idea how much I wasn't myself when I drank; how far removed from me I actually was. And in six days, while my physical body is somewhat on edge, I haven't felt more like myself in a long time."

I'm an addict. Through and through. And it's not just alcohol. I shared with one of my friends the other day that I haven't done cocaine or snorted a pill in nine-ish years. It is not a thought in my daily life. But if you left me alone in a room with cocaine and/or other pills and a dollar bill for 24 hours, I would be seriously tempted, if not blitzed out of my mind when you returned. I can't change that. I can't change the fact that I haven't been a smoker for 7+ years and in the last week I have had to seriously talk myself through why I don't smoke twice (It came down to my why for sobriety and health: because no matter how much my body screams for the substance, deeper still, at the core of who I am, I do not want to smoke. Or drink. Or do drugs. Or have meaningless sexual encounters. I do not want to throw myself away or dismiss myself in any way, shape or form). Which leads me to the biggy. Food. I quit drinking six days ago. The amount of sugar and fried food I have ingested in that time is, well, more than I quite honestly want to confess or deal with right now. And yet, it's time. It's time to boldly look at and face these areas of hiding, of running, of not dealing in my life.

I was sexually abused as a child. And since I was 14 I have spent my emotional energy building a system of life in which I would never have to confront the emotional terrors with which that reality threatens me. I felt out of control and powerless and so I became out of control and powerless since I wouldn't/couldn't/didn't know how to listen to my feelings. I felt abused and violated and so I became self-abusive and violating. It's time for these patterns to stop. And while I am scared shitless, deeper still  I am ready because I have discovered that at the core of my soul I do no want to live the life I have been living. I want to live a life in harmony with myself; in wholeness with my self; at peace with myself; marked by happiness and health and joy in all circumstances. Gone are the days of choosing despair. I choose joy. I choose life. I choose health.

I bought a journal yesterday to record meal and workout plans as well as dialogue with myself about emotions surrounding or appearing during workouts and meals. I have entitled it "The Long Journey Home." Because it is a journey. It is long. And it's all about finding/going home.

Whoever you are today reading this, you're beautiful. Thanks for taking the time to read my heart, share in my story, and engage my journey. Know you are loved, prayed for, cared for and thought of; wanted and desired. I appreciate you and your love.

From the depths of soul and love,
AZ

A Time to Listen.....

For those of you reading this blog that know me or follow me on social media,  you're already aware that I have spent the last five to six years with an intensity increasing during the last three years on weight loss. I have tried schedules, meal plans, work out plans, a nutritionist, diet, exercise, fasting, cleansing... you name it, I've done it. And it hasn't worked. Not because I don't have will power or determination or the power to see it through or stick it through (a generalized reason given by many health care professionals as to why people don't lose weight). Will power and determination are not really issues for me or areas in which I am lacking. Neither is persistence. I'm what you would call an all or nothing person, and once my mind is made up, I'm all in. My mind has been made up on wanting to address my weight for quite a while now. But what I've tried HAS. NOT. WORKED.  Today, I discovered why.

I've been approaching weight loss one dimensionally--focusing on the physical. Calories in vs calories out. Weight training, cardio, etc. Which is good. But the reason I'm heavy isn't physical (at least solely physical...not even the majority of the reason), it's psychological. I grew up in a co-dependent home and was sexually violated at a young age. Both of these contributed to the loss and suppression of my voice, of my ability to speak for myself, my thoughts, my wants, my feelings, my desires, my needs, my boundaries. And so weight became a way to meet my needs.  Distort my body and make it as undesirable as I could. Destroy it. Make sure no body wants it or you. Then everyone will leave you alone and you'll be safe and no one will ever hurt you again. It's the only way I knew how to protect myself as a child--suppress who I am, disappear and become undesirable. But, as I've come to learn, this is all one big bullshit filled lie. (Thank God shit is fertilizer right? Hallelujah for hope). Weight for me is essentially my F You to the world and my invitation for the world to stay as far away from me as possibly. And by world I mean men, specifically men to whom I am attracted or who find me attractive.  Don't touch me, don't even want to touch me.  Because I don't trust you or your touch and I don't want to be touched until I trust you.  My weight issue isn't really about weight. It's about a deep violation that occurred in my life and distorted my relationship with God, food, self, others, etc. And while calories in vs. calories out can address the physicality of it, it does NOTHING to address the emotional realities swimming inside me. Welcome to why I have dropped weight only to gain it back. Until I address the emotional, holistic realities of my weight, the weight lost will not be sustainable for me.

Calories in vs Calories out does nothing to address that being desirable to someone scares the shit out of me. A good workout doesn't address or restore the violation that occurred in my life. My burst training, while bringing me immense joy because I enjoy it (yes, I said it. I enjoy it!) doesn't cultivate my voice in this broken area of my life. It empowers me one dimensionally, but I need to be holistically empowered in this area if the results are going to last. I need to be holistically restored in this area.

I've spent the majority of my adult life working with people who have been deeply devastated and violated in life. And one of the most important lessons I have learned in the process is the power of listening, the restoration of listening. In listening we give the voiceless a chance to take their voice back, to have a voice, to discover their voice and tell their story and in telling their story discover their story and themselves. <------I think this is why I love story (ies) so much.

I'm going to keep working out. And I'm going to keep making healthy choices. But more importantly, I'm going to begin to deeply listen to myself. To create space for the areas of my life that have been devastated, that have been suppressed and oppressed and violated. I'm going to stop denying them their rights and start hearing their stories and learn the wisdom these devastations and violations have to teach me. It's going to be glorious. It's going to be messy. It's going to be difficult. F it. I'm all in. And I'm all in with a God whose promise is to not cause pain without allowing something new to be born. (Isaiah 66:9).

I've spent my whole life scared of this story, of the pain held in these stories of childhood devastation. But I believe too greatly in my right now and future to let my fear of the pain held in these stories to hold me back. It's time for the pain in my life to teach me, and to be restored and healed, and grow and learn. It's time to listen. To not be afraid to hear the ugly lies I believe, or the beautiful truths I've learned. To cry with me, love me, embrace me for who I am today and to hold the parts of me that have been so devastated. It's time to have empathy with myself--to kick perfectionism to the curb and allow myself to be human. It's time to holistically develop my voice and story, and holistically face the day. My story is my story and it's absolutely beautiful and I love it. It's messy. It's unconventional. It's fascinating. And it's mine. Who knows? Maybe one day it will be a best seller. ;)