Just Weight

My husband is in the kitchen baking chocolate chip cookies.

He's been wanting chocolate chip cookies for the past week. He's been after my daughter to make them for him, but she was less than enamored with the idea. He knew I would flat-out refuse to do it, and poor Son has no clue where to even begin.

So as I write, my husband bakes.

Now, y'all may think I'm just the worst wife in the world for not getting up off of my hiney and getting into that kitchen. You may think by refusing to make cookies I'm visiting cruel and unusual punishment on my family. You may even think I should be stripped of my wifely and/or motherly stripes. But before you pass judgement, let me explain.

My family on my father's side has always been heavy. OK, forget the politically correct terminology. My family on my father's side has always been FAT. Not just a little fat, either. They were obese. And it runs in the family, right on down to yours truly.

As a child I was always heavier than the other kids. Not overly so, but enough for the rest of the kids to make fun of me. In junior high I grew into my weight, but I was never small. In high school, at 5' 4", I weighed 135. It was an acceptable weight for me at that time, but it turned out to be the lowest of my adult life.

I gained 30 lbs. with my first pregnancy, and it never came off. I went on every diet imaginable for the next three decades, and managed to gain an additional 60 lbs. Granted, there were two more children born during that time. And at one time I did lose enough to hit the weight I was at after the first pregnancy. And I stayed there.

For a while.

But every time I lost it, I gained it back. Not only did I gain it back, but for every pound I lost, I gained half again as much. I was finding it hard to breathe, hard to walk, and hard to convince myself that nothing was wrong. I couldn't continue living that way.

If I kept going down the road I was on, I couldn't continue living....period.

I had been living in the denial stage we fat people get to when we think there's no use trying anymore. We live with the pain of trying and failing for so long that failure becomes a way of life for us. We accept it. We know that the weight won't stay off no matter what we do, so we just give in and accept ourselves as we are. Don't get me wrong, though. Acceptance in no way means that we LIKE the way we look. It's just a way of dealing with it.

I could look in the mirror and see the reflection of someone slimmer. Oh, it was ME alright, but a me that my mind altered. Because, let's face it, NO ONE wants to see themselves as fat. I could accept the pseudo-me that looked back from the mirror. I could dress her reasonably well, take her out places, even deal with slim and fit friends without comparing myself to them.

And then there were the ugly times. Times when God tore the veil away from my eyes and let me see exactly what a mess I'd become.

One of those times came at church one Sunday.

And I'll tell you more about it tomorrow. You'll just have to "weight" until then.

Psalm 146:8
The Lord opens the eyes of the blind.