Words Carry Weight

“Your face is so pretty but” was a mantra echoing in my head. I remember the day these words were spoken over me. Standing in front of the bathroom door in the hallway of my grandparents house. The only house I had ever called home in those years. Spoken by the person that loved and nurtured me. The person who I called my rock in those formative years. Out of concern for my health and with good intentions, no doubt, but to the detriment of my young fragile self esteem. I swallowed those words in my mind. They sunk deep and my future life would evolve around them. I would struggle to accept my body and therefore see only its worthlessness.

These words and many to follow were a catalyst into a trap. Wrongly giving my body away to anyone who would give it attention. Since childhood I have been a fat girl. I prefer to use the word fat because in my opinion it feels more honest. Fat is an adjective described as a person having a large amount of excess flesh. I always cringe at other words used such as obese or overweight, but I digress. I do not own my fatness to excuse my health. Growing up fat has made me hypersensitive to my health. I have learned how to eat healthy and exercise. However, I’ve struggled in maintaining practice after a lifetime of poverty, lack, and familiar dysfunction.

Factors that have imprinted poor eating habits and emotional damage in every area of my life. I’ve lost hundreds of pounds on diet after diet as a teenager and well into my adulthood. Only to find myself running in circles; gaining the weight previously lost and more. I know my journey is similar to others. I’ve learned that only addressing the symptoms never gets to the root. That good intentions aren’t good enough. If not rooted in careful thought of the simple truth. We are all image bearers of God. Size, shape, and color. We are all different and beautiful despite societal ideals.

The idea of my body was formerly the realization of a prison. I could imagine the thoughts people came up with when they saw me. I guess a lifetime of words about my body from others has equipped my imaginations arsenal. I ponder if others have maybe misjudged me or equated my size with a lack of intelligence. My butt, hips, and thighs bear most of my weight. I still carry “baby weight” on my stomach after birthing my children. I know that my size struggle has been my biggest hindrance to forming real lasting friendships. A mind filled with insecurities. I had friends that probably only were so because they looked skinnier standing next to a girl like me.

I had a handful of friends that knew what my tumultuous home life was like. I have friends that I know loved me for me, but time and distance has separated us. Each year the pounds grew in number. I’ve found myself in a lonely season as far as friends are concerned but my renewed faith tells me I will find those for me. This memoir isn’t easy to write and these steamy tears pour out of my eyes. Not because I feel worthless anymore but because I know the depths of pain that girl used to be in. I wonder if somewhere in the past life of my former rock, just maybe, she was hurt by words too. I believe that cycles repeat. I think that if she had known these words would carry such weight. She maybe would have refrained from ever uttering them.

I choose not to blame or hold offense but love her when opportunities arise. I would rather let these tears roll down now and my confession be known so that we both can heal. I’ve learned not to place my hope in other people, even the closest of them. I’ve unlearned the helplessness I felt about my body. My body is worth more than I could ever have known before. Each hair, freckle, blemish, and curve was carefully considered. I have imperfections and scars that remind me of all the battles I’ve fought through and how far I’ve really come. I think of my Savior's body as it was beaten in my place and I cry. I know that my body is one unique part of His larger body. The abundance of his flesh.

Intimately and sacredly, this body is shared with the man that loves every inch but more importantly all that I am inside. This body has carried two living human beings and one that never came to be. This body has a potential to heal and serve others. How I long to explore where it can go and all it can do. One step at a time. I am thankful for this body. I learned my body isn’t my own but a home for God’s spirit. As I type these words He moves in my fingers. My foundation is now on the higher rock. My body was bought with my Savior's blood and freely I gave it to Him.