When I Am Not Enough.

                                                                                                                                         *Photo by the amazing Erica Bartel

One of the surest ways to cut off your source of strength is to discredit yourself before you even start. 

My life I have known what it is to be shut down, told I’m not good enough, that I should stop.  

I strive to do well.  

And inadequacy haunts my every move.  It’s not that I’m afraid to fall, I’m waiting to plummet.  Movement and failure are inevitably entwined in my life.

I long considered myself a perfectionist.  As that was pointed out to me on a daily basis.  If my house were too clean, it was because I was obsessive.  If I worked hard it was because I was trying to prove something.  

It is only recently that I have fully understood the weight of these words and harsh criticisms.  It’s not because I am trying to be perfect, or even live a life of excellence.  I have become an absolute underachiever.  I am afraid to do anything.  I live in terror of not being good enough and because that’s not something I can change.  I live as less.

As our family has moved recently and we are needing to become a two income family, I have had to find ways to work while still maintaining my role as a full time mama.  This has involved cleaning homes, taking care of extra children, and recently applying for jobs in the restaurant industry.  

Last night as I bent under the weight of my husband’s very mild criticism of my writing, I shook in grief.  Why wasn’t I able to do anything well?  I am striving to work hard, to let go of the voices in my head.  And one repeated itself over and over.  “Who are you Cherylyn, what are you good at?”

As I erupted in broken grief.  I realized that all of my life, I have been less.  I have been wrong at every turn.  And now as my options are work in a servant role or put my children in daycare, I find that this has been my broken self image.  This has been the role I’ve claimed.  

It’s not my identity, who I am.  Serving is a beautiful grace.  Loving my family and giving outside of what I long to do, is a heartfelt sacrifice.  It is not wrong, ugly, or less.  It is only what I make of it.  

I woke this morning, still weary from my emotional meltdown.  Eyes swollen from endless wells of sorrow.

And I lay my head on the chest of papa God.  Who am I, Jesus?

And words like oil run over my head and seep into my bones.  You are beloved, you are destined, called.  Do not be ashamed or afraid.  Move forward and rest in my presence, come into my excellence.  Let me train your hands, strengthen your arms.  You are my daughter.  Do not look at today or tomorrow, keep your eyes on mine and I will take you forward in peace.

Our identity is constantly attacked.  Who we are is shaped and defined by the careless words of those around.  Arrows can get through even the strongest armor.

When you find yourself repeating a phrase, a heartless word, strip it down.  Find the source, what it connected too.  Then repent for allowing yourself to believe lies.  Forgive those who cast words like stones, unaware of how they break against you.  Then ask Jesus what he says.  

Let truth be your guide.  Walk in what you know, not what you feel.  

You are worthy, you are good enough.  You are exactly who you are supposed to be.  The painful lies and shame that have come against you are not who you are.  They do not define you.  Papa God has your identity, your role, your existence written in his hand.  When you forget he whispers it over you.  Just listen to His words and walk faithfully in his presence.  Break off the chains and broken illusions.  

This has been incredibly raw for me.  I hope it encourages you.  Strengthens you.  And pushes you to the excellence that is in you.  You are so much more than what has shaped or defined you.

Grace in the journey, peace in the storm, and hope in the morning.

An Honest Revealing of Self.

Hi, thanks for stopping by my blog.  I’m wild, passionate, spontaneous, and I’m pensive, poetic, and emotional.  It depends on the day, the level of quality time I’ve shared with friends, and the weather, and probably the food I’ve eaten.

I am a mom.  A wife.  A daughter.  A friend.  

My life has been a mix of pain and joy.  There have been seasons of perfection and times of tragic pain.  I come from a long line of women with eating disorders.  Women who, while amazing, strong, and vibrant, couldn’t seem to find peace with food.

I have been afraid of food since I was 12.  I was in seventh grade when I first learned that girls were supposed to diet, eat less, take diet pills, anything to be thin.  I tried to stop eating so much.  Not easy for a farm girl raised on horses, constant activity, and huge platters of steak, with apple pie for dessert.  I didn’t make it a constant focus, I was just aware that I should always be skinny.  

My weight would go back and forth, but not too much.  I had this friend and every time we were together she would tell me we should exercise so we could lose 15 pounds.  I learned there is always weight to be lost.

My sister dabbled in bulimia.  She tried, it wasn’t for her and she continued life, tall, thin, and model perfect.  At 5 inches shorter, you see a bit more of what I eat on my body.  When I tried, I didn’t just dabble.  I went at it like I do life, full throttle.  

In my early twenties, I was in a painful relationship that dragged on for too many years, I just stopped eating.  I was trying desperately to control a world that had me trapped between my first love and family and friends who couldn’t stand him.  I lied, I was ashamed, and I avoided food like the plague.  

When the relationship finally ended and I found myself in a small midwest town, alone.  I ate and I purged.  It felt so good to let my world slip wildly out of control in boxes of donuts, tubs of ice cream, and mounds of chocolate, then right itself again head down, over the toilet, puking my guts out.

Figuring I needed a break, I went home for a few months, to heal, to find balance.  Because of a painful childhood I had spent most of my life in counseling, I knew all the tools I needed to work through what I was struggling, but I couldn’t quite find my way.  I went to a woman who terrified the life out of me and she walked me through the emotional side.  I read Geneen Roth’s books.  I gobbled up everything I could to try and find freedom.  My sister wanted to institutionalize me.  She’s a little short on compassion and because she is in total control of herself had no concept for my needing to work it out.  She wanted me better right then.  So, I stopped throwing up.  I would eat as much as I could hold and punish myself with fasting the next day, barely any food the next few, and as much exercise as I could handle.  I still started to gain weight.  I also slowly started to stop punishing myself quite so extensively.  I started to look a bit like a chipmunk.  I was a little okay with that.  I just desperately wanted to be okay with food.  To not fear every time dinner was served.  

A good friend of mine had been a raw foodist at that time, for a few years.  I remember being overwhelmed by the idea of eating breakfast, lunch, and dinner.  I usually ate one big meal and a party size bag of m&ms.  I started experimenting more with food.  Trying out flavors and combinations.  For a born baker whose family hails from the south this was definitely new ground for me.  Though my mom has always been on the forefront of nutrition and the health movement, this was taking it to new heights.

Really I just started eating raw cookies.

I found a job back in my hometown and I started to find freedom.  I was at my heaviest weight.  I met the man who in a few months would be my husband.  There is something precious for a girl who fears fat like the plague to meet a guy who thinks she’s beautiful when she’s at her highest weight.  

Nine months later we were married and living in Madison, WI.  I had managed to find a sort of peace with my weight and was focused on life in a new city married to an amazing man.  Then I got pregnant.  It wasn’t the plan and it took me a while to reconcile to this new turn that life had taken.  I gained weight.  I was pregnant with an amazing boy and he just turned my narrow hips to thunder thighs, gave me a triple chin, and had me looking a bit like an oompa loompa.  When he was born I was determined to be the best mom I could be.  Part of that was not being overweight.  

I monitored what I ate.  I focused on small servings and because I was constantly attending to my baby, food became a very small thing in my world.  I rarely finished meals because I would need to nurse or change a diaper.  There was always something and I threw myself in to being a mom.  I got thin.  Very, very thin.  We moved back to California and life was full and beautiful.  I was thin because I nursed, because everything was so good I didn’t need food to fill any voids.  I was happy and part of a sweet little life.

When I got pregnant with my daughter, I grew a big belly and kept my skinny arms and legs.  I looked like a spider.  Food wasn’t an issue for me.  I lost my baby weight in the first month of having my daughter.  She nursed, I shrank and it was good.

Then we sold our first house at a loss and bought a second older home, needing quite a bit of work. I started to stress a little.  Eat a little more.  My son was 2 1/2 and a handful.  I had well meaning individuals telling me I needed to have him tested, he could be on the spectrum.  I was panicked that I was doing something wrong.  We cut out gluten, dairy, and sugar.  It felt incredible.  Our lives were calm and peaceful.  We were figuring things out.  I was highly controlled by our diet, but there was a visible change I could see so we kept going.  Then we went on vacation and we cheated.  I would try to get us back to our ‘healthy’ ways of eating, but it felt like constant try and fail.  

We moved, again.  To the northern California coast.  It was 55 dgerees and grey all the time.  I had a three year old and a one year old.  I needed family, friends, and lots of support and I lost them all.  I was lonely and struggling.  So, I turned to food.  I would try to restrict everything we ate to find some control, only to fall back in to popcorn and wine the moment the kids were in bed.  I’d go gluten free, until I didn’t.  It was constant back and forth.  Which was a lot like my childhood.  I was allergic to everything, so my mom would restrict me for a week and then she wouldn’t.  So I would learn to not eat pie or eat the whole pie.  I had lost all boundaries and connections with food except as a means to fill my lonely life.  We moved two years later to the bay area and the cycles I had begun to overcome came right back.  I eat when I’m lonely, when life gets too quiet, when I feel lost.  

It’s taken a while, but I’ve found a measure of peace with food.  I know that when I’m lonely I want to eat.  I know that if I try to restrict myself, I will binge.  It is best for me to avoid any and all dieting.  I’m working out my food allergies and finding what works and what doesn’t.  I did the whole 30 diet for a little over a week and I felt amazing.  Diet’s however aren’t sustainable for me and are mostly a chance to binge the day before.  I’ve had to make them off limits.  I simply try to eat the best I can.  Without fear.  

I am doing my best  as a wife, a mother, a friend, a woman.  There is so much that I have learned on this life journey.  I hope that through my successes and failures I can encourage you.  I will be sharing more about my relationship with food and I hope that you find encouragement.

T

 The bottom picture was taken by Kara Stewart.  It is our most recent family picture.  I am 31.
The top was taken by my husband on our journey across the country.  I was 24.

So much life has happened in between.

Living with sugar. or without.

We all know that I love sugar.  I do, I do, I do.  

I wish my husband shared my addiction.  

I wish I could eat one cupcake.  (not all the cupcakes)

I wish vanilla cream and chocolate did not have a voice.

I wish that snickers were health food.

I wish that donuts grew on trees.  I would be sure to eat only the organic ones. 

I wish that sugar didn't override my 'off' switch.

I wish that sugar could be banned, not sold at stores, not sitting in my pantry, not wafting through the air at the fair.

If only my wishes could be reality.

Unfortunately, I am one of millions of people who live fully addicted to sugar and sweets.

About a year ago I wrote a post, confessions of a sugar addict.  I have to admit I've been shocked at the amount of views that one post gets.  Since so many of us seem to struggle with this, I thought I'd share more about what I am doing to free myself of this addiction.

Last year, I tried ridding my diet of all sugars/sweets.  I managed to do so for about 2-3 weeks, but then fell into a bowl of ice cream and just had to take a bite.

After being off of sugar, reintroducing it to my diet, at first, is met with complete rejection.  I usually can't eat much and it makes me feel pretty sick.  Then, slowly it begins to build -  the need for more.  Until I'm once more groaning on the floor, pulling one more powdered sugar coated eclair into my mouth, barely finding the strength to chew.  Not even tasting it's delicious sweetness.

Have you seen Something About Mary?  No?  Well, I won't recommend it, but there's a sub story about a guy who was off of coke and his friend gets him to take a drink of a beer, telling him of course this won't restart your addiction.  Which it does, because we are all just a moment away from being coke heads - duh!  (Don't do drugs - you will be addicted to heroin if you smoke pot!  yes, I believe this.  It's kept me drug free.)  

Anyway, back to the coke guy - who is also one of my favorite actors - he eventually gets eaten by his python.  

And that, folks, is what sugar will do to you.  It's just one bite between you and python crushing death.

I'd rather live! and be beautiful while doing it.  There is nothing more toxic for my complexion than sweets.  Even knowing this and just imagining what it must be doing on a cellular level, it's been incredibly difficult to keep away from them.

As of today I have been off of refined sugar for 5 days.  Yay for me!!  However, unlike last year I am not doing a complete ban of all sweets.  I will happily indulge in any treat made with honey, grade B maple syrup, molasses, sucanot, rhapadura, or agave.   (I am careful with agave and maple syrup, because both of these tend to cause me to overeat - just not quite to the caramel dripping off my chin - eyes glazed over - state.)

I think we need treats.  They're like medicine to a long day or a special splurge for a job well done.  However, choosing to eat only the best sweets helps hold them in higher regard and keeps us from those very embarrassing moments, such as when you're husband comes downstairs at 2am only to find you in the middle of the kitchen, pie tin in hand with the whole carton of ice cream in the middle.  Oh, that hasn't happened to you?  

Here's to my quest for a healthy body, beautiful skin, organic energy, and invitations to more events - now that everyone knows I won't be writhing ecstatically in the middle of the dessert table.  It's always a little awkward when that happens.

And. . . yesterday at our small group get together - I didn't eat a brownie or lick the pan or sneak one when no one was looking or come home and have a giant bowl of ice cream or take a bite of the whipped cream and chocolate on my husband's frappaccino.  Can you believe my level of self control?!  I am amazing.   If only I knew I were invincible.  But I know I'm really just a sip away from that python's stomach.