Learning To Accept Myself

News is important. I like to read both the local newspaper and USA Today frequently to make sure I'm all caught up with what's going on. It surprises people at my work sometimes when I'm reading the newspaper during my lunch break. However, when it comes to random stuff and little tidbits on celebrity info, MSN.com is my place to be. One of my favorite articles is called "Celebrity Undressed" - which features different celebrities and their major fashion flubs. It's amusing to see what kind of stuff celebrities think they can get away with just because they're celebrities - especially certain ones that repeatedly make article after article. While browsing through the new update, Lindsay Lohan was featured - and I had to do a double take to make sure I wasn't seeing things wrong. It wasn't necessarily because of what she was wearing; it was her extreme thinness that struck me. It almost didn't look real. It disgusted me, really.

Which is something I'm proud to say. About this time last year, if I would've seen that picture of her, I would have thought, "I wish I were that thin."

I don't really recall how it happened in the first place, but I know it was around my 15th birthday that I started perceiving myself as fat. I was a perfectly healthy weight, but I certainly wasn't happy with it. I didn't look as good as the stick-thin celebrity girls with the amazing bods - I didn't even look as good as most of my friends. They were beautiful and thin, and they didn't even put any effort into it. Thin = beautiful. That mindset got hammered into my head.

I have always been a very logical girl. If something hasn't been proven, I stay pretty skeptical about it. I had read hundreds of stories and books about how dieting does not work, so I knew I wasn't going to go with any organized diet. I was going to go with my own. Logically, if you severely lower your calorie intake, your body has to lose weight. Even if it's only temporarily, that's the way it works. So that's what I did. Almost immediately I cut myself down to one small meal a day. Of course I was absolutely starving at first, but my willpower was pretty strong. I wanted to be thin so I was going to be thin.

(That's another thing about me, by the way - when I'm determined to do something, I do it.)

I was absolutely thrilled when, in the first 3 days, I lost 5 lbs from my efforts. That gave me all the fuel I needed to keep up my habits. I began to keep track of my caloric intake, praising myself if it was 800 and under, and criticising myself if it were over 1,000. Foods, especially desserts, became my enemy. If I accidentally ate a "bad" food, or if somebody made me eat something, I sometimes got so upset that I would hide in the bathroom and shed a few tears. I remember my parents, especially my Dad, becoming concerned about my eating patterns. I always just claimed I wasn't hungry - which, after my body got used to my eating habits, became entirely true. My stomach shrunk, and I was happy with it. Dad would tell me I "had to eat something," to which I believed in my heart that I really didn't. Whenever both parents were gone for the day, sometimes a pretzel and a box of raisins would be my only meal for the entire day.

I lost fifteen pounds in a very short amount of time, and afterwards didn't seem to lose anymore, but I didn't gain any of it back either. I still wasn't completely satisfied with my body, but I liked it better. Exercising - sometimes to the point of exhaustion - was something I did everyday. I would smile with pride as I looked at myself in the mirror and saw my ribs showing more each week, my hip bones protruding, my shoulders bony. My face took on an angular shape and for the first time in my teenage years, I really thought I was somewhat pretty. When I smiled, there was no fat around my face. It felt great. My diary is filled with pages of those days, ecstatic when I would go 24 hours without eating and enraged when I broke down and had a cookie when I told myself I wouldn't have one.

I kept it downplayed pretty well. My parents would get concerned, but my laidback, nonchalant responses kept the matter from being serious. By the time I was 5 months in, I couldn't imagine living any other way. The thought of eating 3 meals a day disgusted me. I shuddered when I thought of my old days and how "fat" I was. I still didn't think I had an "eating disorder" or "anorexia." I was just becoming "extremely healthy." I remember clearly one of my diary pages, towards the end, sealed in ink: "I'm not anorexic...at least I don't think I'm anorexic. If I am, I don't mind."

After 8 months of living with my extreme diet, I began to read all sorts of stuff about eating disorders. One book listed 14 signs of anorexia and I displayed 10 of those signs. I refused to think about it at first. I still prayed to God about other things. Don't get me wrong, I didn't reject God during those months - I simply didn't bring up my eating habits in my prayers. I knew He knew about them. I also knew He probably wasn't happy about them. For both mission trips I've been on, 1st John 1:9 has been a required memory verse: "If you confess your sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive you your sins and purify you from all unrighteousness." The very last part is the reason I refused to confess my sin (yes, I now admit that it's a sin, even though it's still hard): I didn't want to be purified from it. I liked how my body looked and I liked how I went about doing it. If I faced God with my issue, I knew He'd want me to turn away from it, and I didn't want to turn away. Simple as that.

Finally I pushed myself to confess. I knew I had to, as much as I didn't want to. Like I suspected, He convicted me to start eating more healthfully. It was hard. It was very hard. I failed quite a few times, wanting so badly to go right back to ignoring food. When I started putting weight back on, I felt so ashamed and miserable. The new fat felt so uncomfortable and so disgusting. There was no "Hallelujah, the Lord has cleansed my soul and made me see I'm beautiful!" I hated the new fat on my body. Hated it. Yet I tried my hardest to keep eating healthfully, eating 3 meals a day because it's supposed to be the right thing to do.

Nowadays, I've come a long way. I've gotten over my habits. I eat 3 meals a day and sometimes snack in between as well. I've accepted food as good for me. Still, I am only starting to accept my body. I will be 100% honest - I liked my thinner body better. I felt healthier, I looked great, my self-esteem was higher, and I felt perkier. Having the body I always wanted energized me. Now I have to revamp my mind and tell myself that I am at a healthy weight and these curves on me are beautiful. It's not easy. I don't like taking pictures as much anymore because my face and smile aren't as beautiful as they once were. Back then, I used to look in the mirror and smile at my progress. Now I find it harder to accept that I'm 130 lbs.

It's hard, but I'm just learning to accept myself. This is what's right, isn't it? Eating disorders aren't right no matter how they feel - if I did have an eating disorder. Maybe.

Just had to get that off my chest. That's all for now.