Love over Shame, Everyday

I woke up Sunday morning and thought thoughts I’d rather not think. My emotions started to run down a mud path as my mind rummaged for answers. How do I make them see me? Value me? How do I make it happen? It’s a bullshit trap, where the true answer is to stop asking the questions. The premise is wrong. 

Still I tried to give myself permission to stay under the covers rather than start my day the healthy way. It’s Sunday. Take the day off. Your legs are sore. You’ve been good. But I didn’t listen. I battled back. It’s just walking Nik. A few miles. You can walk a few miles. It won’t be hard. You’ll be proud of yourself tomorrow.

I flung my comforter against the wall as I swung my feet to the ground. If I lay here I’m going to sink. And I love myself, so I refuse to sink. I need time with Jesus. I’m going for a walk. 

I didn’t know how twisted my motivations were until this year. I didn’t understand how much anxiety and shame played into my decision making. (Not in every decision. Some decisions I made because I thought it was the right thing to do, and some because it’s what I truly wanted. Earlier this year I dated a woman for the mere fact that I liked her and really enjoyed being with her- no fear or shame present in that moment.)

One area of life long contention is my body image. More aptly said, I worried about what some think my body said about me when they met me. Obese people are often seen as lazy or unable to control their habits- any number of undesirable judgements. I often saw myself in those terms: lazy, unambitious, undisciplined. When an interview went poorly or a woman gave me the cold shoulder I’d instantly begin to hate myself for being fat.   

Consequently, every diet I tried was motivated by my attempt to transform myself into a more acceptable human. I’m not good enough for the job or the girl, but I could be in 50 pounds. And so I would lose weight for a while. Then hit a stall. The pounds would stop dropping, and I didn’t love myself enough to say no to lasagna and a beer and slice of pie. The pounds start to come back like old friends, and the stigma is reinforced. I am lazy and undisciplined. I don’t deserve better.

What I’ve finally discovered in 2020 is I was never going to be a healthy me from a place of shame and self-pity. But if I actively choose to love and affirm myself, I create room for imperfection and lags. When I believe and trust the Lord, it’s ok when I get my heart broken, because I believe the best is yet to come. It’s self-fulfilling prophecy. 

I find self care and love is much more affective form of motivation. It doesn’t allow my feelings or internal narrative to make decisions. It looks for creative answers and hopes all things. It’s patient and kind, always gracious and loving. 

New habits are still forming, but I’m excited by the results. I’m worth loving. My body isn’t a shack. It’s a testimony to the Lord’s faithfulness and endurance. 

Thank you Lord for teaching me to love myself. 

Amen.