My Beauty Brings Life

I used to think I belonged in a mental institution. Well, actually, I just wanted to be in one. The thought of being strapped down rang heavenly in my head. O, what bliss it would be to live in a mental institution—scheduled meals, no responsibility, people fixing you, nurturing you . . . keeping you from you. I would imagine myself in a bed, being brought meals in healthy, small proportions. No grocery stores to haunt me. No difficult choices to make. I’d be analyzed, figured out—problems solved. Then maybe that voice would shut up. Man, can you hear that? Shut up! You hear me, voice? I’m sick of you. Shuuut uuuuup!

I hear this voice, you see. Well, it’s quieter now, but I used to hear it all the time, and a lot louder. It told me to do things I didn’t want to do. It told me I was crazy. And I agreed. Its voice became mine. “Jessica, you’re crazy.” I’d say it out loud. “Dang it! What are you doing? You’re crazy!”

I’d think, Can’t someone just check me in? I need a doctor. O, God, I need someone to take care of me! I can’t do this!

I did things I thought no one else did. I hid. I’d lock the door and stuff obscenely large quantities of food into my mouth. Then puke it all back up.

It didn’t make sense. But I couldn’t stop. I was crazy.

I didn’t think I was crazy at first. At first I thought I had discovered the best diet ever. Overeat? No problem. Now you can binge without losing the thinness you achieved through anorexia. Just get rid of the extra calories by shoving your fingers down your throat until all your worries come rushing out of your body and into the toilet. I thought it was a phase. But it got worse. Then when I wanted to stop, I was powerless to change.

So what made me fight anorexia and bulimia? The realization that I was alone. I was all alone because I had built walls to protect me from pain, and those walls were keeping love out. I was starving for love.

I was ashamed. I realized how often I had to lie to keep my secret safe and that during all these episodes I was creating a deep chasm between the rest of the world and me. I knew I wanted deep friendships, but I didn’t know how to get them.

The reason was simple: You will only ever be able to love others to the extent you love yourself. And you can’t love yourself if you have no idea who you are.

I had lost sight of my identity. I had become whom I thought the world wanted. The voice in my head kept me believing that I was a failure, fat, rejected, and misunderstood, and that without my unhealthy coping mechanisms of bulimia and shopping, I would be nobody. But they were lies. In recovery, I learned that those voices weren’t my identity, and I began to fight back, to discover the real me.

In recovery, I learned a lot about myself. I learned what I liked and what I didn’t like, what I was good at and what I wasn’t so good at. In recovery, I learned who I was.

Before the healing, my identity was my body: the calories I put into it, how it looked in all the pictures I scrutinized, the number on the scale, the shape of my legs. I believed I was crazy. But as I sit here now on the other end of the battle, I know who I really am – a beautiful daughter who was created to bring life to this world. I see that true beauty comes from being vulnerable – from knowing who I am and becoming brave enough to share me with the world.

My beauty comes out when I realize I don’t have to be flawless, when I can walk out of the house filled with so much joy that I could care less if my outfit isn’t perfect. My beauty comes out when I realize that I am a powerful woman and that smiling at a stranger and really loving them through my eyes could change the course of their day. My beauty brings life.

My beauty comes out when I’m not ashamed of all my quirks, opinions or dreams. My beauty comes out when I share with a friend that I’ve been believing a lie about my identity and ask her to help me see the truth. My beauty comes out when I, instead of joining in with the other girls and complaining about my body, choose to speak life over the parts of me that aren’t perfect and call them beautiful. My beauty brings life.

My beauty brings life when I walk into a room, confident in who I am, but am willing to admit when I need to be held. My beauty brings life when I am free to laugh without restraint and cry without shame. My beauty brings life when others around me feel at peace with who they are because I’m at peace with who I am. My beauty brings life.

There is so much beauty in vulnerability. One of the most raw displays of a woman’s vulnerability is in giving birth: You’re stuck on a table, half naked, knees in the air, with sweat pouring down your face and sounds coming out of you that you would never dream of making in public. You’re powerless to do anything but focus on getting that baby out. Yet what comes out of such raw vulnerability? Life. Beautiful, living, breathing life.

In the same way, when we are vulnerable about who we really are, when we choose to share that shameful secret or fear with a friend or dare to state an unpopular opinion, when we’re free to expose the person we are when no one else is looking, we bring life. We bring life because we reveal the fact that deep down we all have the same basic needs for love and for friendship and that we are not alone. We all long for deep connections with each other and the only way we’re going to get them is by showing each other who we really are.

Today I am free to share deep friendship with people because I began the journey of learning who I am. I am not just my body, hair and clothes. I am a soul and I am a spirit, and I was created to bring life to this world.

And I learned that I really love who I am! I love the way my legs are shaped. I love the way I interact with people. I love the way my smile fills up my whole face when I laugh and the way my eyes and nose crinkle. I love the silly way I walk. I love the curve of my hips and the shape of my butt. I love the way I can dream about something for hours. I love that I am a pioneer and a visionary. I love that I am an activator and am good at getting things done. I love that I need help researching things thoroughly before making decisions. I love that I have trouble understanding business concepts and that my mind grasps abstract terms much more readily. I love who I am and because of that I am free to love others and let them love me – all of me, not just the parts I want them to see and not the me I made up to earn love. I let love in.

In learning to let love in, I have made it a point to take my thoughts captive – to catch them when they try to run down trails of negativity, fear, or anxiety. I choose to think about how beautifully God made me and that I am a success and people like me. The negative voice is not me, and I will not let her lie to me anymore!

I have made peace with food and refuse to complain about how “bad” I’ve been this weekend or how I need to make up for it by running extra long. I refuse to feel guilty about eating and because of that, I no longer give food power to affect whether I am a success or a failure. I am free to be me with all my quirks, opinions, desires, strengths and imperfections.

I no longer think I belong in a mental institution because the lies have stopped hounding me. The fear of rejection does not control me. I no longer feel fear breathing down my neck when I think about my imperfect body being exposed at the beach. I am not motivated by other people’s opinions about my body or outfit. I am motivated by the desire to feel connected to people, and that means being comfortable in my own skin no matter what shape it’s in.

I am Jessica and my beauty brings life.

Begin the journey of loving who you are. You will find the life-giving beauty you’ve always desired to possess.

If you’d like to read more about how I conquered the lies of eating disorders, please visit www.burningonebooks.com.