Addicted to being fat

Starting over means admitting that your last attempt was a failure. That’s a lot harder than you might think, especially when you have tasted some success. So, here goes nothing: I have failed, and I’m going to start over.

This post is very personal. You might say, gosh Anna, all of your posts are personal, they are about you! But this one is different. This one is painful. If you read past this point, please keep in mind how raw this is. If you can’t do raw stop here. If you are thinking about commenting on this post, stop and think it through. Empty “we’re here for you Anna’s” are like tiny little daggers at this point. I know you are here for me if you are my friend. I have amazing friends who never leave me wondering about that. I love you guys for that. This comment section is for those who felt this post personally, who see some of this in their own lives, and who might want to actually hold my hand and walk with me.

Big breath. This is difficult.

From the beginning of 2009 through May of 2012, I lost 100 lbs. At that time I still had almost 100 lbs left to lose, but I was feeling great.

And then I wasn’t. Over the last 3 years all the weight has come back and brought with it so much more than inches and pounds.

So it’s time to start over. It’s BEEN time to start over. But I’ve been dragging my feet. I want to do this again, only this time I want to do a lot more than lose weight and get healthy. I want to learn the underlying reason why I always return to my current state. Why do I eat? Why? Really why? Oh, I can try and justify it. “I’m celebrating, I’m grieving, I’m tired, I’m busy, I deserve it, I’ll do better tomorrow, I’ll start again on Monday, I joined in with the kids, I joined in with my friends…” I’m really good at justifying why I eat. I’m so good at it that at times I even convince myself.

So I’ve been doing a lot of soul-searching. My journal is full of what-if’s. As long as I’m searching I don’t have to really DO anything about it, right? Can’t start til I’m ready, til I know what to do…

The truth is — and here comes the really raw part — I am addicted. Not addicted to food, no, that’s not it. I am addicted to being fat.

As long as I’m fat, I’m safe. As long as I’m fat, no one is going to look up to me. As long as I’m fat, no one will expect any more from me than what I am doing right now. Here, fat, and comfortable in this mediocre existence I am like Jonah. Safe and secure in the belly of a big, fat fish. And as long as I’m here I don’t have to be the person that God has been pleading with me to be.

I have tears flowing down my face as I write this. I’m not dissatisfied with my life. I love my job, I have the best family and friends anyone could ever want. I am blessed. But I know — I have known — that God has something He wants me to do, and I have been running from it. It’s time to lose this protective shell and stop hiding. I am ready.