I looked down at my boots and thought, “Someone’s gonna think I’m wearing leggings to church.” My jeans tucked into my boots underneath a sweater covering belly and a long cardigan; it occurred to me that my jeans are going to be mistaken for leggings.
For months I’ve been noticing the thickness, that heavy layer around my waist. I decide it’s age, at half way past the in between of 5-0 and 6-0, it must be age. Or, I thought, it’s stress or hormones or maybe something digestive.
I imagined all kinds of reasons and thought of pulling out the thick red reference book; or worse Web MD. In any event, I woke up miserable about my weight for the umpteenth day in a row with blah, defeatist mood.
Then it happened, an awakening thanks to the mirror I turned to notice. I’ll not dare to describe to you what I saw. I’d hate to conjure up the image in your mind, the side view going from laundry room to bedroom having gotten panties from the dryer…
I stopped, stunned into attention and out of the blue as thoughts sometimes pounce and say, “Listen up!” I accepted what I already knew.
There are truths we know of ourselves; yet, we hold out for something or someone begging to differ. We invite platitudes and giggly little assurances of just how okay we are, all the while we are not at all okay. We know what we know to be truth.
Shaken to the surface, the truth of my health and habits came to light yesterday.
My weight gain happened because of figs and cheese and chocolate and wine. It happened because there can never be enough sharp cheddar in the scrambled eggs and the bacon has to be crisp, fig preserves to contrast the salty when spread on buttered toast.
Evenings disengaged all cozy after a warm shower are always better accompanied by a glass of red or a glass of white, creamy milk…fig newtons or PB&J. Chocolate loves a balance of a few salty Ritzs and some peanut butter or some popcorn. Sometimes, breakfast at night with raisin bran, bananas and milk makes sense, feels right.
Last month, we Ladies on a Mission all shared anonymous prayer requests. We told each other what we longed to be free of. I shared my struggles with my weight, telling about my college years of deprivation and denial. I told them how I had been trying to lose fifteen pounds for two ding-dang years…and I need that prayer to be answered!!!
The friend I prayed for and am still praying for had a burden much more meaningful, more lingering and troubling. Still, I requested prayer for being fat for too long.
I was jolted into reality yesterday morning, a glimpse of butt and a looking down over thighs squeezed into “jeggings” that were meant to be jeans.
The prayer group met last night. I told them, “If one of you got my request, then I believe you must have been praying for me because I haven’t lost a pound; but, I finally know why!”
I looked to the left, the right, the semi-circle and I met the eyes of one who said: “I’m not saying a word.” But, I knew it was her.
I knew because she’s told me the truth before even if I didn’t want to hear it. She’s told me the truth about my voice, my insecurities and she’s been bluntly perceptive about my need.
I had good food last night and healthy food today with lots of water in between. It used to be all or nothing or sneaky and secretive. So, sneaky like fig newtons for the sake of the fig, and peanut butter slathered on apples for the sake of a fruit was feeling a bit like nothing at all, countin’ my baby peas and surviving on lettuce.
I knew the truth, just needed to hear it in my own time.
Truth and Figs, good things I know.