I well remember the day I was at my lowest weight. Perhaps I should rephrase that; I well remember how I felt the day I was at my lowest weight. I was not yet to my first goal, but closer than I’d ever been before. I remember feeling as if I had finally achieved something, and that it was so good to see progress in some area of my life. Losing weight was (and is, I still have to admit) an accomplishment. I felt so light and as if I could just walk right into the air. It was an incredible feeling.
And then, before I ever reached my goal, I lost it. Over Thanksgiving the gauge swung abruptly to the other side. I couldn’t stop eating, and nothing in the world felt worse then losing control and gaining all my weight back, plus some. It’s almost too painful to remember.
My family misunderstood so many things about my disorder. It hurt so badly. I felt so lost. No one caught me as I fell, and fell, and fell… I know they tried, I know they cared, but they couldn’t find me because I was lost even to myself.
I still hurt, but God has found me and He is healing me from my fall.
I will get stronger.
And someday I’ll be completely whole again.