One year ago, February 15, 2016, I clicked "publish" on a story about my own struggles with disordered eating. And it was terrifying.
363 days later, I'm so thankful I did it anyway.
Re-sharing it today, not because it's so much easier (it's not) and not because I've now so perfectly, wholly conquered it (I haven't); but because telling the story and telling the truth has been so freeing for me and — it still stuns me — others.
There is almost nothing I love more than getting to enter into the lives of other women and battle the lies they believe. I get kind of jacked up about it, honestly. I might even get kind of weird. But the fact that God, through the ugliest part of my story, carries grace and truth in power to others is maybe the most humbling and most beautiful thing I get to be a part of.
If this is a part of your story, too, I wish I could sit across a table from you and look you in the eyes and name the lies I know you believe, and tell you how wrong they are. I wish I could tell you that your struggle does not disqualify your faith. I wish we could swap eyeballs and you could see yourself the way I see you.
I wish I could tell you in person that what God says about you — that you are worthy, and beautiful, and good, and loved — is not an opinion, but truth. And that no one, not even you, has the authority to say otherwise.
I'm still learning it right there with you, sister. Or brother. We're in this together. And while I can't physically be with you, across from a table, I hope you'll give my story a read and know that it's just for you.