Hi. I’m Teresa, and I’m a
food addict. Yep, that pretty much sums it up. I’ve loved to eat for as long as
I can remember. Having an overweight mom who struggled with her weight most of
her life (due largely to a thyroid condition) might have affected my perceptions of my own body. But I also picked
up her habit of turning to food in times of worry or stress.
In school, I always felt “different,”
but at lunchtime I could retreat into whatever I was eating and just enjoy. Tuna
sandwich, ravioli, and always some sort of Hostess item. I would talk to others
at times, but I definitely took comfort in my food. I wasn’t fat as a first,
second, or third-grader, but I definitely was bigger than the majority of my classmates,
and I was super-conscious of it.
In fourth grade, my
weight was noticeably increasing to an unhealthy point. And my body began going
through other awkward changes as well. I didn’t particularly like myself, and I
felt like even more of an outsider.
 |
| Me at age 10 |
By the time I got to
junior high, I was hyper-sensitive about how I looked to others. I’m sure I
exuded a lack of confidence that made me an easy target. I must have worn my
moccasins or an Indian necklace one day, because I earned the title “Sitting
Lard.” Fortunately, that one didn’t stick. But there were other comments and
regular unkind teasing. Really, there were only a few kids who poked fun at me,
but it was enough to make me depressed—and so I ate more.
My freshman year in high
school, I weighed 175 pounds. I wanted to be smaller…but I also finished my
friends’ lunches for them. I lost weight at times, but I’d always gain it back.
My sophomore and junior
years, I went out for track. I was far
from an athlete, but I thought I’d at least make an attempt at being active. I
didn’t help my team much. I so wished I could run like some of my classmates
could. I participated (lamely) in a few events, but mostly I think I was my Cousin
Tricia’s comic relief (we were in the same grade, and she was the one who’d
encouraged me to do track). I felt inadequate at track and was always comparing
my body to others’, but I could crack a string of jokes or tell events in such
a way that my cousin would crack up. So I felt I had a place—a sense of
belonging on some small scale.
Speaking of “scale,” the
summer after my junior year, I had a breakthrough. I dropped thirty pounds—very
quickly. I pretty much starved myself, consuming only 500 calories a day. And I
exercised…all the time. I rode my bike, did calisthenics at home—or even at
other people’s houses. I jogged, and I went to aerobics classes—I was the most uncoordinated person in the
class, but with my sleek purple tights on a now much smaller figure I was
beginning to enjoy the way I looked.
Unfortunately, I was becoming
a bit obsessed. I never crossed the line into full-scale bulimia, but it’s
possible I was headed there. I had a pair of blue parachute pants—they never
did fit quite right because my thighs were too big. I remember trying them on
in the middle of the night to see if any change had occurred. I looked really
good! I stood in front of the mirror admiring my figure, hungry as all get-out,
but as long as I stood there gazing I just couldn’t
eat another bite and risk gaining any weight. I went to bed with my stomach
growling and hurting.
I met Byron Kephart at my
lowest ever adult weight of 140 pounds. I was able to wear attractive things. I
still wasn’t sure I was exactly “pretty,” but as long as I could stay thin life
would be good.
While dating, I got up to
about 160 and panicked just a bit. By the time we married, in August of 1987, I
was back down to about 150.
Then we went away to
college—we worked in a pizza restaurant, then at a dining hall. Food seemed to
be everywhere, and at the dining hall there was no limit. Chocolate milk
galore. Sandwiches, cake, lasagna. Like Templeton the rat in Charlotte’s Web, I was faced with the
gloriousness of “a veritable smorgasbord.” And I took advantage of it,
developing a bit of a muffin top—before it was called a muffin top. I knew I was in trouble when one of the cooks
asked one day if I was expecting.
I was up in the 170s now
and feeling rather chunky and unattractive. I started wearing baggier clothes.
But I seemed to maintain, as I walked a lot on campus and ate salads quite a
bit for lunch.
In October, 1991, I
learned that I was pregnant. I loved the idea immediately and became quite fond
of the idea of “eating for two.” I gained forty pounds during the pregnancy.
About fifteen of it hung around afterward.
With each subsequent
pregnancy I reached new “records” on the scale, but I seemed to lose quite a
bit of weight after Josiah was born. Maybe it’s because I was always looking
after him so conscientiously—sometimes I forgot to eat. He wasn’t particularly
fussy, but he was a light sleeper. I became pretty exhausted for a while. Then,
before I knew it, he was mobile. After that, I couldn’t keep up with him. But as
he got older and my days got less demanding with Josiah in school, I packed on
more weight.
Multiple diets ensued
over the next several years—but I’d always revert back to the same old habits.
Sweets were a major culprit. Invariably, I’d decide to “cheat” just a little.
After all, I’d been doing so well—I deserved a little treat. But that treat
would always lead to another and another, until I was completely off the wagon.
It’s hard to say no to
something you love. It’s hard to walk past something that makes your mouth
water. It’s hard to keep working toward a goal that seems so far away.
Today, I’m once again
setting food boundaries for myself and exercising. I can’t help but wonder if
the Apostle Paul struggled with some sort of nagging temptation that kept
trying to derail him. “Therefore, in
order to keep me from becoming conceited, I was given a thorn in my flesh, a
messenger of Satan, to torment me” (II Cor. 12:7). I certainly feel tormented at times. With all his demanding
travels, a gluttony problem seems unlikely, but whatever his “thorn” was, I can
identify with his assertion, “…I buffet my body, and bring it into bondage…” (I
Cor. 9:27a, ASV).
Paul didn’t want anything within himself to
get in the way of serving God wholeheartedly. How we see ourselves affects our
effectiveness for the Kingdom—a negative self-image can hold us back. Once we
realize how God sees us and how enthusiastically He is rooting for us, we are
able to receive peace in the midst of our weaknesses. And we can minister
effectively to those who have similar struggles because we are no longer bound
by them. Though Paul’s history made him a “chief of sinners,” he knew how to
walk in the righteousness of Christ and how to humbly extend the grace of God
to others—because of where he’d been.
Some days are harder than others. And of course,
it would be easier to just give up—to
binge, become a couch potato, and disqualify myself once again. But if “all
things are possible” (Matthew 19:26), my food obsession is just one of many possible things, and His grace is
sufficient for me (II Cor. 12:9).
