by Teasi Cannon
Mark 4:22—For there is nothing hidden which will not be revealed, nor has anything been kept secret but that it should come to light.
John 7:4—For no one does anything in secret while he himself seeks to be known openly. If You do these things, show Yourself to the world.
1 Corinthians 14:25—And thus the secrets of his heart are revealed; and so, falling down on his face, he will worship God and report that God is truly among you.
THREE
THE DIE…IT
As he vowed he would on our wedding day, Bill has loved me through my many ups and downs—ups and downs on the scale, that is. Not long after our honeymoon, those pounds I had so diligently worked to get off started creeping back on. And they stopped sneaking around once I got pregnant again. This is something I never heard: “Wow, Teasi, you don't even look pregnant until you turn to the side.” No, no, no. When I was pregnant, even my eyebrows looked it.
I gained and lost more pounds than I can count in those first few years of our marriage, and Bill never once looked at me with anything but adoration and joy. I really believe he has a superpower—he sees right through my skin and extra cushion and straight into my heart. (I wish more men had that power, don't you?)
From the onlooker's perspective, it would have appeared I had it all. God had given me an amazing new husband who loved me unconditionally, we were both involved actively at our church (he was even asked to be an elder), our children were healthy and beautiful, and all our needs were more than provided for.
But if you could have seen inside my head…what a different story. The atmosphere there was much more chaotic. Despite all the love I had been given by Bill and by God, my thought-life could have been described best as a battlefield.
BATTLEFIELD: GROCERY STORE
Grocery shopping has never really been my thing. However, if a gal wants her children to eat, she must put on her big girl panties, grab a cart, and go for it. And because I personally find it the most challenging section in the place, I always started my shopping trips in the produce department. All the exotic fruits and vegetables—many I could not identify if my life depended on it—would greet me with quite a message:
FRUITS AND VEGGIES: Oh, tsk, tsk. You mustn't look at us. We are only to be purchased by the skinny and the healthy such as…her (points to perfectly built woman in a short tennis skirt just grabbing a healthy cart full of produce after a morning match). See her cart, so full of colorful fiber? She obviously has the superior intellect and good taste it requires to both handle and prepare us befittingly. She would not leave us abandoned in a drawer rotting away to our death. Oh, please! Move along to the bakery!
Pretending to ignore the jeering, I would quickly grab my baggie full of apples, a bunch of bananas, and an onion (the only produce that would be seen with me) before making my escape to the bakery where all my friends were. Nothing to hide from there.
COOKIES AND CAKES: (With embarrassingly loud volume) Girrrrl! Get your fine self on over. We just popped out of the oven. Don't we smell good? Uh-huh. Take a bite. Take another. You come on back around before you leave, now. Ya hear?
Though my trip through the bakery would provide temporary relief, more perils were waiting around every corner. Land mines of confusion and degradation were scattered here and there, mostly via the voices of the products. (Do groceries talk to you?) Well, I would hear things like, “Buy me! I'm fat free,” or “No, buy me. I'm not fat free.” There were products that wanted to jump into my cart and others that turned their faces away at the sight of me.
And of course there were the other shoppers to deal with. Their mouths weren't moving, but boy were they screaming at me.
SKINNY MOM WITH THREE KIDS IN CART: Why, yes, I can eat all of this junk food (pointing to her array of sugary treats and snack items). I have simply been blessed with a high metabolism. It's the best. (Throws head back and lets out an evil, eat-your-heart-out chuckle.)
SKINNY MOM WITH ONE KID IN CART: I only buy organics for my family. And I never eat partially hydrogenated oil. Oh, my gosh! Look at all those by-products in your cart. (Points at my cart with look of horror and hides child's eyes.) And you wonder why you can't keep weight off?
BATTLEFIELD: CHECKOUT LANE
Okay, okay. So that was bad enough, but the worst was always last. My bruised ego and I would eventually make it through the aisles of the store, but waiting in the checkout lane would be the GGGs: Grocery Glamour Girls.
I know you've met them before. They are the women who look so kind from a distance—so well dressed and happy, resting comfortably on the cover of every magazine. They wait until you are adequately trapped in the checkout lane (someone in front of you and someone behind who ain't movin’ for nothin’), and then they hoist out their assault rifles (with silencer, of course).
GGG #1: I just had twins a month ago, and my abs are already smooth and tight. See? Look at them. I said, “Look at them!” How long has it been since you had your babies? Oh, that's right…a couple of years. And your abs? (Sarcastic clap.)
GGG #2: Don't you think your husband would be soooo excited if you looked like me in the bedroom? (Gently caresses her curves.) You know that's right. (Snap, snap, snap.)
GGG #3: Get a clue, lady. I don't understand why you can't take off weight. Everybody knows that a steady diet of water and oxygen is all it takes. You only truly need food every forty days.
The products on the shelves may not talk to you, but I know I'm not alone when it comes to dealing with the GGGs. These gals don't take prisoners. Several studies have been conducted that show a direct relationship between women's (as well as young girls’) body dissatisfaction and magazine reading. And what do you think about this? According to statistics released by the American Society for Aesthetic Plastic Surgery, nearly 11.7 million surgical and nonsurgical cosmetic procedures were performed in the US in 2007, a number that is surely much higher now.4 Do you think that has anything to do with society's readily displayed, unrealistic definition of beauty?
BATTLEFIELD: LIVING ROOM
Close relatives of the GGGs, the TGGs (Television Glamour Girls) waged war against me in my own home. Here's how they roll:
TGG #1: I just lost forty pounds on the Magical System of Wonders. My life is finally worth living! Results may vary, and watch out for the looming possibility of frequent bowel urges that could make everything else in life JUST A BIT awkward.
TGG #2: Thirty pounds ago, my husband was embarrassed to have me on his arm. Now that I've shed those extra pounds with Fat Stalkers, he can't keep his hands off me. I've even seen his friends checking me out! (Giggles flirtatiously in face of drooling man.)
Don't let your guard down around these lovely ladies for even one second. The TGGs have enormous influence. Weight loss is a nearly $55 billion a year business, with Americans spending nearly $40 million of that total.5
BATTLEFIELD: BEDROOM
Those GGGs and TGGs must have had a time-released messaging ability, because any time romance was in the air I could hear them loud and clear. Visions of their perfectly sculpted rear ends clad in patches of fabric held together by slim strings marched right to the forefront of my mind (a reminder of the miracle-working power of yoga). Immediately following would be the vision of my dimpled thighs rubbing together ever so attractively in my grandma-style swimsuit. How sexy can one woman get?
Of course Bill's body hadn't changed a bit since our honeymoon night. Still firm and toned, he would proudly walk around the room torturing me (not intentionally, mind you) with what I didn't feel I deserved. He would climb into bed, where I was safely hidden beneath a layer of covers and my flannel sleep set, and put his arm around me.
“Oh, Bill, please don't touch my fat,” I would say.
“Can't I even hug you?”
Well, okay, I would think. You can touch my wrists and my ankles, and I think my shoulder blades are still firm. You can touch me there.
Sounds like the makings of a great love scene, doesn't it?
BATTLEFIELD: FAMILY GATHERINGS
The torment didn't stay tucked away safely in the privacy of my own home. Getting together with extended family took my anxiety to new heights.
When you think of big family get-togethers you probably imagine a menagerie of people: intoxicated uncles, overly affectionate aunts, cheerful grandmas, and the fat cousin. That last one was me. For both my mom and dad's families, weight was always an important and readily discussed issue. Whoever was thinnest or had lost the most weight recently received quite a bit of positive attention. Though I knew I was loved, I had to battle through feeling like I was a disappointment—the cute face with big bones, the granddaughter who couldn't control her portions, the one who had inherited all the bad genes.
Oh, and it was worse with Bill's family. You see, his family members all look like models. In fact, I'm pretty sure his sisters actually were models. Tall, thin, elegantly light eaters…adjectives wanting nothing to do with me.
BATTLEFIELD: CHURCH
And, no, the battle in my mind did not take Sundays off. In fact, sometimes it got worse. After spending far too much time trying to find a pair of pants that first of all fit me, and then second, didn't accentuate how big my rear end really was, I would put my focus on the Lord and head off to worship. With my heart set on ignoring my own petty frustrations, I would enter the sanctuary with a determined smile.
Then the supernatural would take place: I would somehow be endowed with extra powerful hearing. I'd catch every conversation dealing with weight.
SISTER-IN-CHRIST #1: Oh, my, Gloria. You look amazing! How much weight have you lost? Hey, why don't you sit by me?
SISTER-IN-CHRIST #2: Yeah, Jan, I've found that when I pray over my pantry, I simply lose the desire to overeat. It's that simple. Praise God!
SISTER-IN-CHRIST #3: And, don't forget…our bodies are the temple of the Living God, and God don't want no rundown temple now, right?
I cringe to think of the countless hurting people who sat all around me, many I might have been able to encourage with a simple hello. But because of my preoccupation with the condition of “my temple,” those opportunities passed by completely ignored.
BATTLEFIELD: BATHROOM
I'm sure you know personally how difficult the battle can be in the bathroom. There my biggest enemies converged upon me as a team. Reflection and Trainer spent much of their free time sitting on my vanity, where they kept good company with another character—one who wielded immense power over me: the Scale God. First thing every day, I would pay homage to this powerful being through my morning ritual: pee out every drop of liquid I could possibly squeeze from my body, clip my nails, blow my nose, take off all my clothing and jewelry, exhale, and stand before him.
SCALE GOD: You may approach.
FAT CHRISTIAN WOMAN: Thank you, your majesty.
SCALE GOD: What are you here for today?
FAT CHRISTIAN WOMAN: I would like to find out my worth, your majesty.
SCALE GOD: All right then, you may step up.
FAT CHRISTIAN WOMAN: Thank you, sir. (Holds breath, sucks in stomach, and steps up as lightly as possible.)
SCALE GOD: I'm afraid you aren't worth anything today. You are up two pounds from yesterday. You may step down. Be gone with you.
I lived for the days when Scale God would tell me I had value. Those were the days when the numbers were down a bit. Trainer would lighten up on me, and my entire outlook on life would change. So would my attitude toward my family and friends. I had a bigger smile for the kids (Bill and I had another two by this time) and a friendlier tone for my husband. Birds and deer would gather around my house in song. Those days were few and far between.
Not seeing the insanity of it all, I continued to bow down to the little white square in my bathroom, seeing it as the key to my contentment and significance. Oh, how I prayed that it would one day display the magic number—a number that would tell me I had arrived. One that would say, “You are now one of the beautiful, the worthy, the victorious.”
MEET SABBY
My obvious preoccupation with weight led to another obsession in my life: dieting. Any diet you can think of, I've probably tried. Anything the TGGs recommended, I did. I restricted carbs, and I went all carbs. I did liquids, and I did pills. I even did shots (injections, not tequila). Anything promising me that I could melt off the pounds.
And I wasted so much money. I purchased videos, club memberships, mail-delivery food, motivational books, exercise devices of all kinds—you name it. I was desperate for answers and aching for weight-loss victory.
I'd do okay for a while, even losing a few pounds here and there. But just as soon as my pants were a bit looser, a friend would talk me into “rewarding” myself. This friend's name is Saboteur, but I call her “Sabby.” She lives next door to Reflection and Trainer, and her advice—although sounding so good at first—usually left me defeated.
SABBY: Oh, Teasi, you've had such a stressful day. You really should take the kids for ice cream.
FAT CHRISTIAN WOMAN: But, it's not on my diet. And I've been doing so well.
SABBY: Girl, you know you can get right back on track tomorrow. Just go this time. You deserve it. Plus no one can live on that diet forever.
FAT CHRISTIAN WOMAN: I guess you're right. I can burn it off tomorrow.
Sabby's advice always killed my efforts. The guilt of having blown it just once ignited a full surrender to indulgence. Within days all was lost of my efforts, and the pounds would come back with friends.
NIGHTLY RITUAL
With every failed diet I became more certain that there was something inherently wrong with me. I wondered if there was some sin my ancestors had committed long before that left me cursed. I felt like a fool to my friends and family because I could never seem to follow through on my grand diet plans. And Trainer let me have it just about every night before I fell asleep.
TRAINER: Okay, Teasi, this is ridiculous. You were doing it for three days and then you totally blew it. Your pants are even tighter on you now than they were before.
FAT CHRISTIAN WOMAN: I know. I'm so sorry. I'll do better tomorrow. In fact, I'm not eating at all until I've lost thirty pounds.
This nightly ritual was insanity. Every night I would make aggressive plans to do better in the morning.
THE BIG DISCONNECT
My failure with weight sent me on many biblical searches. I tried so hard to find the hidden key in Scripture that would solve my problems and set me on the path to high metabolism heaven. All the while I couldn't help but notice the parts that didn't seem to be working for me. Romans 8:37 told me that through Christ I was more than a conqueror. Really? I couldn't even conquer a diet. Philippians 4:13 told me that I could do all things because Christ would give me the strength. Well, where was He when the Oreos came calling? How could the Maker of Heaven and Earth part the waters of the Red Sea, push down the walls of Jericho, and raise the dead, yet not help me win my war on fat?
And then there were verses I just wanted to ignore. Like the verse that told me I should rejoice when others rejoice (Rom. 12:15). Well, I was rejoicing when they failed. I couldn't help but secretly celebrate when someone I knew had put on a few pounds. After all, I didn't want to be the only fatty in town. (Misery loves company.)
There was an obvious disconnect between what the Bible promised (and required) and what I was experiencing, and that created an increasing desperation in me. I loved God and wanted to live a life that was pleasing to Him, but it seemed no matter how much I studied, prayed, served…something was desperately missing.
Dramatically, I poured onto the pages of my journals ridiculous (and pain-filled) plans for how to make my life better.
JOURNAL JOURNEY
June 28, 1997
I'm getting ready to go to sleep feeling overweight and defeated again. I am full of the knowledge of how to get my weight off. I know the key to success is giving my pain to God instead of food. I know I will never be skinny, and that's fi
ne. I don't need to be. I do want to be lean—fit. I want to be at a comfortable weight so that it is no longer an issue that keeps me bound in depression or feeling like a failure. I know what size I should be and can be. I want to be there, and I can do it with God's help and my own. I'm weary of the self-defeating cycle. I want off this horrible ride of falling asleep angry at myself and waking up to do what hurts me most: eating too much of the wrong stuff. Lord, Jesus, I need Your strength and mercy. I need Your forgiveness, and most desperately I need to see myself as You see me so that my focus will be healthy and godly. I don't want to be thinner for vain reasons. I want to feel good about my appearance, but mostly I want to be free of this self-mutilating process I'm in. I know I fall short in so many ways, but I come to You begging for mercy and strength.
Doesn't that journal entry make it sound like I was on the right track? Like I simply wanted to be healthy and see myself through God's eyes? I would never want to be skinny for vain reasons.
Who did I think I was kidding? Years later I was still singing the same song.
February 13, 2001
I go to bed most every night regretting the eating choices I've made and feeling angry at myself. Then I make grand plans to do better—plans I don't keep. I'm sick of this insanity, but apparently not enough to change it. I really, really, really want to figure out what the heck keeps me in this horrible, self-defeating, hellish cycle. Why am I doing this? Why? Why? I feel like I'm drowning in the insanity of this. I want to be free.
November 16, 2002
Well, here I am again. I want to develop a plan of attack that will help me lose fifteen pounds. I've lost quite a bit, but I need to lose these last few pounds. I need to continue to run five times a week and follow an eating plan correctly 98 percent of the time.
