Last week, I had one of those
moments that always stirs a whirlwind of emotions in me. A young girl sat
forking a salad while everyone around her enjoyed pizza and chicken wings. As
her best friend drank soda, she opted for water. Some might say, “Good for her!
She’s making healthy choices,” but I sensed there was more to it than a sudden
health kick. I knew this girl just well enough to know she loved pizza and
soda. Besides that, it was a party and who passes over pizza for salad at a
party?
I comforted myself with the
knowledge that at least she wasn’t picking at the salad, or that she didn’t
claim to be full half-way through it.
The next night at a
basketball game, she was the only kid who didn’t run to the snack bar for candy,
and it made me sad.
Today, a conversation with
another concerned adult confirmed my guess that she might be treading on the
dangerous ground of an eating disorder. And she’s only in middle school.
Why did I immediately jump to
this conclusion when I heard her say, “No thank you” to pizza? Because when you’ve
been there, you know the signs—you know that tone, that look, that sideways
glance at what looks and smells so much tastier than what you’ve limited
yourself to. This is one of those areas where it takes one to know one.
My prayer today is that God
will open up a door for me to tell her why I know she doesn’t want to go there.
That once you get into a
habit of obsessing about your weight and going to extremes to lose it, it’s very hard to stop. “Five more pounds” never seems to be
enough.
That the average girl is not
created to be stick-skinny.
That she will feel like
garbage all the time.
That depriving yourself eventually feels
like a form of self-inflicted torture.
That our bodies need food to
function well.
That no matter how much
weight you lose, it doesn’t make you feel any better about yourself, because when
you’re doing something like this, how you feel isn’t really about your weight.
That these patterns can stay
with you long into adulthood.
That girls die from eating disorders.
That women are much prettier
when they are healthy.
At the same time, I know she
could respond to all these warnings with, “I’m not doing that. I’m just trying
to lose a few pounds.” She might just get better at hiding it. That’s what I
would’ve said and done. But I still want to speak up. At least I can say I
tried.
As frustrated, grieved, and
helpless as I feel over this, I am also thankful. While I am in no way proud of
those years of abusing the body that God created, and the lies and driving
loved ones crazy that went along with it, I thank Him for bringing me to a
place where I never want to see another young woman live like that. I thank Him
for giving me compassion that only someone who has struggled in the same way
can have.
What has God rescued you
from? How has He used it to offer hope, or a gentle word of caution, to others?
