Write to Restore: Hungry

Before they were born, I counted down the days until their arrival, imagining their beautiful faces, painting their room, sorting their clothes, and preparing to relieve my rotund belly of their heavy weight. The doctor told me to increase my caloric intake in order that we would all be properly nourished, but I was unable to consume even small portions. Every part of my abdomen was filled with them. My internal organs were pushed higher up, resulting in my inability to eat. I could only handle extremely small amounts of food at a time as everything I ate seemed to lodge in my throat, nowhere to go because of blocking babies.

I had no problem eating when I was pregnant with my son. I had a large appetite and often ate well more than necessary. As a result I gained 40 pounds during my pregnancy. In the weeks following his birth, I lost 20 of those pounds, but the remaining 20 lingered, refusing to fall off as I thought they would. Tall and thin, I had always been able to eat what I wanted without fear of weight gain. Now I was betrayed by my own body, a victim of the changed hormones and sluggish metabolism of motherhood.

Already overweight, I was glad I could not force my body to take in large amounts of food. I knew the babies would get what they needed and if anyone suffered it would be me. And such was the case. Despite the story my corpulent figure told, I was emaciated. Perhaps my need for every kind of nourishment had already begun, but because I did not recognize the gaps in the walls, tiny foxes crept in, stealing sustenance, creating void.

Showing the size of a full-term pregnancy by 20 weeks, I was huge. People literally pointed and stared when I went out in public, and they often made rude comments about my size. I eventually quit going places, except church and the hospital, and by the time I delivered the girls, I was left with only one outfit that still fit. I had only gained 30 pounds, but because the girls were so large, it appeared as if I had gained much more. Within one week of delivery, I lost 35 pounds and could wear all of my pre-pregnancy clothes.

After their birth I felt empty in every sense of the word. The babies were out and could no longer block the lonely inside. I was forced to go beyond myself, my capacity. I had three babies under age two. I was anxious and scared and intimidated. These feelings grew bigger and bigger, so by the time I saw him at the funeral home, watched his motions, heard his words, the seed had already been planted. Appearing too much, I was not enough.

I was so hungry – for strength, for peace, for acceptance, for grace – that I began to starve myself. It sounds crazy, I know, but bulimia gave me a sense of power. In a world in which I had absolutely no control, it gave me a way to dominate. I felt like a failure. This was a way I could prove myself, my worth, my strength. My hunger for  approval was greater than any desire I had for food.

If I had only believed His words:

So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, do not fear; I will help you. (Isaiah 41:10, 13 NIV).