Fraternizing with Food

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).