The words are not coming to me, and the inspired feelings that usually flow naturally do not as easily flow from within me this day, but yet I feel called to write, gathered and entranced by the longing to share.

He carried my pizza. My pizza. Stringy cheese and naughtiness, the associations that flooded my mind as we sat in a restaurant eating pizza. A seemingly simple scene. The place bustling with noises and eager stomachs awaiting to be filled, but mine whispered a different thought. You can’t eat that, whispers ed. Or maybe you can. The thoughts beckon and confuse my weary mind. On the one hand, it meets my requirement for getting better, on the other hand it is scary to give into the fears and to wrestle in the quick and fast paced moments. And so, he carried my pizza. Around the town of Boston, because I just couldn’t. And then I held it in my hands with every ability to say yes to recovery, to gratitude, to thanks, and I dumped it down with fear. I let the fear win and my body suffer from not meeting its needs. And I wonder, how did all of this anxiety come from a simple piece of pizza.

Eating disorders don’t really make much sense to me, and yet I have one. It doesn’t make sense to be so very disconnected from oneself, as I have been told, and to feel something and ignore it. And so I look for the root of it and wonder; where is this disconnection from myself stemming and flowing from? And I think to my immediate feelings post-eating. The unsettling feelings of sitting with my seemingly immoral choices and how uncomfortable it is, the feeling that I cannot go back from what I have put in my body, and I think to myself of a similar circumstance, of messing up and not wanting to sit with those feelings, and so I binge the food, I gorge myself on activities and organizations and commitments so that I don’t really have to think about the deep pain and emptiness, and longings that I deeply have for balance and for enough-ness. And then I purge because I have done too much, throwing up the food and trying to restrict and push away the wrongs I have done by counting grams and numbers to keep my head busy from the real problems that I face, the deep brokenness that is always around me, and the weight that is too much for me to carry both physically and in every other aspect as well

And why would one choose to keep drowning in this cycle of ups and downs, binges and purges and restriction, and not enough-ness, well, because it takes tears and fighting, and being counter-cultural to have wholeness in a world like this. It takes being vulnerable and bringing our not enough-ness to the table that may look like saints, but may only be because we see through a distorted lens, and not the reflective one of our Father. And then I smile, somehow happiness fills me nonetheless, the moments of laughter, the streets of Boston, the giggles of enthusiasm, and I remember, that there is a hope. There is a joy of abundance and wholeness, but it will not come without the tears, and how can we expect it to; for salvation and relationships restored did not come without the greatest breaking of all time in Jesus Christ. Maybe when we bring ourselves just the way that we are, we may just be met with grace and compassion that abounds, I sincerely hope so.

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