I’m starting this blog at 10pm. 2 hours before day 3 officially begins. Part of my day was spent sitting in front of my computer at my friend’s house trying to figure out what to write. Part of me regrets not taking the easy road. Another part of me whispers, “dig a little deeper”. The problem with this series is that it’s going to hurt. It’s going to cost me something. 

I wonder if what I write will matter to anyone else. Then my next thought is that it shouldn’t matter. It’s an act of obedience and trust. Yet, do I trust the One I call Savior to rid me of this giant? 

I have a weight issue. Actually, my weight isn’t the issue. The problem is the food that goes into my mouth. You know what? That’s not the problem either. It’s something deeper, I can’t quite pinpoint. 

I have long known that my weight battle is the main thing I need to conquer right now. “Right now” has turned into years. I’m not foolish enough to believe that once I reach my goal fitness level that it’ll be smooth sailing. That’s not how it works in God’s Kingdom. I know that it IS holding me back from some beautiful experiences. 

So then why is that cup of hot chocolate or that Costco muffin so important? Why can’t I resist a pan of brownies? Why am I allowing those things to stand in the way of the life I really want?

Somewhere along the way I started believing that I am not worth it. I do not deserve to enjoy my life or experience great things. I’ve bought into the lie that fat people are dumb and lazy. As I wrote that a memory came to mind. I can hear my dad angrily yelling, “You’re just like your mom!” When he said it in anger he meant that I was like my biological mom. I don’t know what he meant by that, but I remember what I heard. 

She was a drug addicted prostitute when I was born and for a few years after. I don’t know how long she lived that lifestyle. She smelled bad, was loud, lazy, ate a lot, and weighed hundreds of pounds at the time of her death. I think it was 675 pounds. She was also a victim thinker, nothing was her fault, she never admitted to being the reason I was removed from her care.  Mind you, she had many good qualities, too. I just wasn’t familiar with them when I was a kid. Basically, I heard that I was good for nothing. 

[My dad loved me very much and I’m positive his heart would break if he knew the burden his words created.]

Maybe that’s where I start, I address that lie I’ve held onto for so long. 

What lie have you been believing about yourself? What are you doing to change that?