A sad soul can kill you quicker than a germ. ~ John Steinbeck

I have had a lifelong struggle with my weight.  All-out war with my scale.  I don't weigh myself anymore, and when I go to the doctor I shut my eyes when I stand on the scale there and I tell -- not ask -- the nurse not to let me know how much I weigh.  I know if I'm not happy with the numbers I could easily go off on some kind of crazy trip down old paths I'd rather leave in the past.

I am almost 64 years old and I am never again going to be one of the most stunning women my husband's eyes ever beheld in a tiny bikini. (That is his description, not mine.)  You'd look at me now and say, "You?!  Stunning?  In an eensy weensy bikini?"

Yeah.

Once upon a million years ago.  I sneaked a look at my medical chart when I visited an allergist when I was maybe 19 or 20 and he'd written, "Very slender young woman..."  as he described me.  Not just slender, but very slender.  That shocked me.

You see, I've always had a very bad body image of myself.  I have struggled...oh my, how I've struggled.  One of my young nicknames in my family was "Moose".  How mortifying it was when I would get a phone call and one of my brothers or Dad would yell out, "Moose!  Telephone!" My dad would pinch my thigh and tell me, "You're as solid as the Rock of Gibraltar!"  To give him credit, I think he was referring to how fit I was because I was always extremely active...but to the ears of a 9 year old girl the image that comes into mind when you hear that is you must look like some kind of steroid-gobbling body builder.

Around 17 I began to naturally slim down and I stayed that way until my first baby.  Then along came my second baby, a 12 pound boy, and I gained 60 pounds while pregnant with him.  I thought, "60 pounds?!  I'll NEVER lose that!"

And I gave up.

I ate my way up to 220 pounds.  I was bigger than a lot of NFL players.

So, in 1980 I believe it was, I joined Weight Watchers and became the 'poster child' for our class because I lost around 80 pounds in something like 6 months.  Once I cut out all the bad food, was careful with portions, and walked, the weight just seemed to melt off me.  I got down to my goal weight, thinking, "Finally!" only to find out keeping it off was way way way harder than taking it off.  I became mentally/emotionally addicted to laxatives and I began to purge.  A lot.  Doing it all in secret because I was so ashamed of myself.

The weight began coming on again.  I panicked and left Weight Watchers....I couldn't bear to see the disappointment in the eyes of my lecturer every week as the scale crept up.  Embarrassed doesn't even begin to describe my real feeling. Ashamed.

Then began my roller coaster ride.  Up, down, up, up, up, down, up, down....You get the picture.  This went on for years.  Years.

Then, in 1999, I became desperately ill one morning.  My husband rushed me to the Emergency Room.  The medical staff had no idea what was wrong.  I had my stomach pumped to see if I had some kind of obstruction.  They kicked around the idea I'd had a pulmonary embolism...that I'd had a heart attack.  I was in the hospital for 4 days while they scanned and poked and peered at me.  It was a gastroenterologist who finally came up with a diagnosis:  severe esophageal erosion caused by the years of purging.  I was told if I didn't change my way of eating and living I wasn't going to live to see very many more tomorrows.  I had also completely 'burned up' my taste buds and it has affected my saliva glands as well...I have a very dry mouth most of the time.

Did I change my life pattern after that?  Yeah, to a degree.  I'm still here, aren't I?

But I can't say there isn't a daily struggle going on most of the time.  I no longer purge.  I no longer abuse laxatives.  Sometimes I eat way too much...then try to be 'good' again.  My weight still yoyo's but never to the extremes anymore.  I think I've got as comfortable in my skin that I ever will be.  Right now, as we're getting close to Medicare and old age, both my husband and I are becoming more careful with our diet.  I wrote the other day about getting out and walking and that is helping a lot.  I had to go buy new smaller jeans the other day because my old ones were almost falling off my hips.

Is there a lesson in all this?

Of course.

Do you have a child on the cusp of adulthood with a little 'baby fat'?  Even a younger one who might be a bit 'pudgy'?  Be careful what you say.  Very very careful. Anything you say can affect that child's emotional well-being for the rest of their lives.  Any word that spills out of your mouth can never ever ever be taken back.  I don't dwell on it, but when I feel the resentment well up when I do think about it, it takes everything in me to push it back down.  I have to ask the Lord to take it away from me, to keep it under the Blood of forgiveness.  My dad and brothers probably thought they were being 'funny' but those words wounded me deeply. 

Believe me, I'm not telling you this for sympathy.  I'm telling you this to make you aware of what damage you can be doing to your child.  To weigh your words oh-so-carefully. This world is hard enough for a child to grow up in without love and encouragement coming from those who should love them the most.

Be careful, little mouth, what you say....