"What are you proving?" My husband asked recently. "That you're good at being sick? Well, way to go. What an accomplishment." He was challenging my anorexia, forcing me to view it from the outside. He was harsh, but he was honest.
Flash back twenty years. My eating disorder developed as a result of sexual abuse, chaos, insecurity, and pain. It sprouted when I was very young and presented itself as a cure for everything that hurt. It worked. So I kept doing it. Much like the drink that makes the introvert a social butterfly, or the hit that makes the addict forget the anguish, losing weight imprinted on my brain as the cure to what ailed me. I was young. I was scared and confused and lonely. I took the bait and held onto it. Nothing felt so good as those first pounds lost. I was numb. It was blissful. I was hooked.
Flash forward. I reread the Biblical story of Samson and Delilah a couple days ago. If you're unfamiliar, here's a recap: Samson was a super strong dude. He fell in love with Delilah, who was a double agent. She was sent to figure out Samson's weakness so his enemies could take him out. He was suspicious, so he fed her a fake line about tying him with strings to make him weak, and she told her bosses and they did it. But it was a ruse and Samson prevailed. So Delilah went back and had another go at it. Samson said if he were tied with fresh ropes, it would really work. The enemy attacked and Samson again prevailed. Amazingly, the whole cycle repeated for a third time, with the same result. At this point I thought, "Really Samson? What sort of colossal idiot are you?" Finally he told Delilah the truth - despite obviously knowing she had it out for his destruction - and he perished. I was pissed. I put down my Bible, looked at my husband, and said, "Samson asked for it, the moron. What the hell was he thinking?" Then it hit me.
I am Samson. I invited anorexia into my life. Despite two decades of broken promises and countless sacrifices and dances with death itself, I kept going back. My ability to disregard the threat of my disease allowed immeasurable damage to every area of my life. I am Samson. My eating disorder is my Delilah.
I am struggling right now. Life got stressful, as it always does; and as I always do, I retreated to anorexia for comfort and protection. "If I just lose a little weight, if I just get a little thinner, everything will be okay." No matter that the result of my relapses are never, ever good. I was still chasing that high, believing that lie.
Back to my husband's point. Is being sick the only legacy I want to leave in this world? Do I want my children to remember me as thin but scared and on edge and irritable and unpredictable? Do I want my friends to remember me with pity? NO FUCKING WAY. I want to leave this world - many decades from now - after showing my love for humanity. After getting my hands dirty to fight for the oppressed. After cradling and spoiling and cheering on my grandchildren. After traveling the world to do good and spread kindness. I can't do any of those things if I'm sick. I won't have the chance. And if I do survive to live out my future, it won't matter if I'm 100 lbs. or 250 lbs., as long as I'm driven by the passion that burns in my heart.
So no. I don't want to prove that I'm good at being sick. I've already done that, and the universe isn't impressed. I want to prove that I faced down my most insidious, cruel, terrorizing adversary because there is more to this life than the security blankets we pull over our heads when things get tough. I don't want to kill my body to save my soul. My soul has already been saved. Now it's time to pick up my crown and blaze a trail my children can be proud of. It's time to give up the lie that what's killing me will save me in the end. It's time to do hard things and be brave and give to the world what my God put inside me.
This post is meant to be shared with anyone and everyone who may be struggling with eating disorders, addictions, or anything else pulling them away from their purpose. We don't have to do this anymore. We can change direction no matter how far we've strayed or how deep we've fallen or how blind we've become. Spread the word. We're rising to take our place at the table.
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Another flashback: When I was a teenager, I was obsessed with Tori Amos, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, and Anne Sexton. I had a poster of Ophelia's drowning scene from Hamlet. Melodramatic? Maybe. Real? Absolutely. My anthem at the time was Tori Amos's song "Crucify." Its lyrics spoke to the very core of my struggle. Once I hit adulthood I couldn't listen to the song anymore. It reminded me too much of the gritty, ugly, bloody life I wanted to leave behind. Tonight the song popped up on Pandora, and I let it play out. "Why do we crucify ourselves, every day?" The words hit in a whole new way. Here's the song.
"Every finger in the room
is pointing at me
I wanna spit in their faces
Then I get afraid of what that could bring
I got a bowling ball in my stomach
I got a desert in my mouth
Figures that my courage would choose to sell out now
I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
I've been raising up my hands
Drive another nail in
Just what God needs
One more victim
Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Every day
I crucify myself
Nothing I do is good enough for you
Crucify myself
Every day
And my heart is sick of being in chains
Got a kick for a dog
Beggin' for Love
I gotta have my suffering
So that I can have my cross
I know a cat named Easter
He says will you ever learn
You're just an empty cage girl
If you kill the bird
I've been looking for a savior in these dirty streets
looking for a savior beneath these dirty sheets
I've been raising up my hands
Drive another nail in
Got enough guilt to start
my own religion
Please be
Save me
I cry
Why do we
Crucify ourselves
Every day
I crucify myself
Nothing I do is good enough for you
Crucify myself
Every day
And my heart is sick of being in chains"
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