What good is my story if not shared?

I hesitate to write this.  I have sat at my computer for nearly an hour deciding whether or not I should write this.  I have debated writing this many times before.  “This” is personal.  But I have chosen to share because I know this is something many of us deal with, whether it is you personally or someone you are closely connected with.  And my hope is these words might help in some way.

I struggle with food.  Growing up, I found food as a comfort and friend.  When I felt like I didn’t fit in, didn’t have friends, or even if I was just plain bored, I often turned to food to “cure” those ailments.  I am sure many of you can relate.  After a bad day what do we want?  Usually we want chocolate, a cookie, a drink, a favorite meal.  Food is powerful.

During my teenage years, food remained my “weapon of choice” against unwanted feelings and insecurities.  Except at some point, I began using food as a “weapon” in a different way: I made better choices.  I decided I would eat less of those foods that I knew weren’t good for me.  I decided I would keep track of what I ate in order to, hopefully, create better eating habits.  Things were going so well.  I was healthier, I had more energy, and (best of all) I received praise from those around me. 

There wasn’t a morning I woke up and decided, “I’m going to become obsessive about this,” but somehow, during the years following this originally healthy choice as an adolescent, things spiraled out of control as my body seemed to melt into a weak and fragile frame consisting mostly of bones, sunken eyes, thinning hair, and yellowish skin. 

Even now, it’s hard for me to speak (or write) the words of what I had become: anorexic. 

As I slowly began to realize the terrifying truth that I was sick with an illness I thought only shallow, ignorant, and selfish people dealt with, I began living in a constant state of panic.  I didn’t want to be “that word.”  But even more, I didn’t want to even think about the idea of gaining weight. My life became an endless cycle of attending therapy sessions (where I knew all the “right” things to say), visiting nutritionists (who told me all the things I already knew… and I believe most people struggling with eating disorders already know far too well), and worst of all, going to “weigh-ins” both at the doctor and at home.

The part of this ordeal I hated the most was the way I was treated.  I felt like a problem.  I felt like I was stupid.  I felt like I was bad.  I felt like people thought I was doing this on purpose.  Looking back now, I realize I was being treated the way I myself had previously thought about people who were anorexic: shallow, ignorant, and selfish.

Why did I ever make that judgment?  Who was I to put a label on a wide and diverse group of people dealing with something so terrible and complex? 

Somewhere between crying silently on the gym floor when we had to do sit-ups because my back bones ached from being on the hardwood floor, and seeing my family cry as they worried about me, and being admitted to the emergency room in need of an IV to keep my body going, I realized I had two choices: continue living like this and risk having life at all, or start dealing with this. 

I chose the latter.  It wasn’t easy.  If you would’ve asked me before all of this if I thought I would ever cry while eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I probably would’ve laughed at you.  The feeling of standing on a bathroom scale and seeing the numbers go up made me cry, but I knew deep down I should be celebrating.  It was the oddest paradox of feeling like I was losing and gaining control all at the same time. 

When we go through difficult times, it’s nearly impossible to see clearly.  I couldn’t see that things would ever get better.  I couldn’t see that 92 pounds didn’t look good on me.  I couldn’t see how I got into this or would ever get out.  But once we reach the other side of hardships, we start to see all the good that was there during the seemingly horrific time and the strength that comes as a result. 

I see clearly now how loved I was; even though I was embarrassed, ashamed, and annoyed by comments made by family and friends, their intentions were good.  …

(**My mom does not know to this day (but she will probably read this and find out), but I found her journal documenting her experience as she watched me struggle (sorry, Mom!).  I found it while I was still seriously disillusioned by the illness and it broke my heart.  My stomach churned as I realized how terrible I had been to my mom while she was fighting so hard for me.  As wrong as it was for me to read something not meant for my eyes, it did two important things for me: helped me realize I was indeed sick and that I was deeply loved by my mom.  Thank you, Mom.)

… I can see clearly now how my time of struggle can be used to relate to other people and help them as they wade through the scary waters of dealing with the “a” word.  I have a new perspective on judgment; after realizing my wrong perception of who “anorexic people” were, I try my best to withhold judgment of other “types of people,” because chances are, they are not a “type,” they are simply people (like me) who are dealing with something far more complex than I can fathom.

My relationship with my mom is stronger than it has ever been, my perspective on mental illness has been radically changed, and my ability to connect with others on a deep level has been widened beyond the narrow-minded blindness I was previously experiencing. 

I have heard it said and been told that one can never fully let go of an eating disorder and the thought patterns that come with it.  Sure, I look in the mirror some days and feel bad about myself.  Unfortunately, this is something I would wager to guess all Americans feel at some time or another due to a false image of “beauty” presented by mass media.  I find myself dancing a fine line between desiring to be healthy and fearing going back to somewhere I know would be even more difficult to come out of a second time.  I’ve recently discovered CrossFit and have found it to be a wonderful atmosphere of strong, healthy, joyful people.  I am learning now what it means to make my body strong, not “thin,” and how to use food as a means of living, not controlling or coping.

If you have known me for some time, you probably watched me go through some of this.  As much as I tried to hide it, you probably had a good idea of what was going on.  Others of you may have never known or have only known me since I have been healthy again.  I’m not entirely sure what my aim in writing this is.  In fact, this has been something I have preferred to keep to myself for fear of being labeled like I labeled others before I realized how damaging and wrong labels can be. 

But what good is my story if not shared?  It doesn’t define who I am, but has brought about undeniable growth in my life.  If my story can help someone in some way, then it’s worth sharing. 

What’s your story?  

The Perfect Substitute

If you have been following this blog at all (or peeking at my facebook wall), you know I have been working as a substitute teacher this year.  It has been the most exciting, eventful, changing, stressful, fun, difficult, challenging, and hilarious job I’ve had.  I have felt like a vagrant teacher; I have felt like a nomadic teacher.  I have no “home” school; I have no consistent schedule.  And the work can be far more difficult than what my paycheck indicates.

Clearly, I have truly enjoyed it, or else I probably wouldn’t force my facebook friends to read daily updates and “moments” from my days in the classroom.  I always have a story to tell by the day’s end. 

But I don’t post everything on facebook.  Like when I line the class up to head to music, only to realize I don’t know where the music room is and I receive 12 different answers from Kindergarteners about where the music room is located.  I don’t tell you about the times I abandon an entire lesson plan because, well, things just aren’t working.  I don’t tell you about the times I can’t find the materials and forgo the science lesson that was supposed to take place at 10:45.  I don’t tell you about the days I end feeling worn out and ineffective.  Simply put, I don’t tell you about my faults as a substitute. 

The definition of substitute is, “one that takes the place of another; a replacement.”  This is precisely what I do on a daily basis.  I take the place of a teacher who is sick, who is out of town, who is at a meeting, or taking care of sick kids at home. Being a “substitute” is difficult due to its own definition; it’s hard to take the place of someone else.  

When I serve as a substitute, I make a lot of mistakes.  I simply cannot be the exact replacement of another teacher.  I can’t count how many times I’ve been told “that’s not how Mrs. So-And-So does it!”  I don’t know how to run each teacher’s “math warm-up.”  I often struggle to figure out the password to the copy machine.  I don’t line up the students like they usually do to go to lunch.  I probably tell too many jokes.  I am an imperfect substitute. 

I was thinking about this the other day: I come into a classroom, do my best to decipher (sometimes seriously lacking) substitute plans, and leave the day not being all too responsible for what happened (or what DIDN’T happen) during the day.  I always end my sub notes with something along the lines of “don’t hesitate to call me with any questions about the day,” but I know they really won’t call because the moment that teacher walks back in the room, they are back to being responsible for their students and I am out of the picture, at least until the next 24 hour flu comes their way.

So what makes a “perfect” substitute?  A perfect substitute is a complete replacement; a perfect substitute wholly takes the place of another; a perfect substitute does not leave any loose ends; a perfect substitute leaves nothing more to be desired.  Sound familiar?  Jesus is our complete replacement, wholly takes our place, does not leave any loose ends, and leaves nothing more to be desired. 

During this Easter holiday, this truth becomes a focus of many.  Rather than give us the punishment due our sins, we are offered the perfect substitute requiring only one thing: saying “OK.”  All we have to do is believe and accept the gift of perfect substitution.  We don’t have to write sub plans (we don’t need to come up with an elaborate way to accept this gift; we can simply say “OK”), don’t have to make copies ahead of time in case the substitute can’t figure out the copy machine (we don’t need to have all our ducks in a row before we are eligible for this gift), and we don’t have to worry about the issues of student problems and unfinished lessons when we come back (this gift will never be revoked, even when we continue to sin). 

Our substitute is complete and enduring.  And the sub notes?  They look something like this:

“I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25, 26)