The Day I Wore A Belt

When we were in Flagstaff this summer, I did something I never thought I’d do again.  I wore a belt. 

The “belt-wearing experience” was one of the many celebrations I’ve had on my journey of intermittent fasting.  It’s symbolic of a much greater blessing. 

In my book Starving Girl – my 30-day experience with the miracle of intermittent fasting and prayer, I write about the moment I realized my belly fat was taking over my life. 

My baby was about six months old and I was in the place where I could still make excuses to myself.  Yes, I was unhappy, unhealthy and living in denial, but I’d just had a baby.  Deep down, I knew there was nothing I could or would ever do about my belly fat.  Nothing in my closet fit, except if it was stretchy.  I sang praises to the yoga waistband, the clothing that made me feel like I was going to work out at any minute, even if I didn’t. 

It was during this time I had an encounter with my belly fat.  It was heartbreaking to realize how out of control I was.  It’s no surprise this experience started at Goodwill.  I wrote: 

At Goodwill, I walked over to the jeans rack.  With high hopes, I scanned through the jeans.  I was looking for specific qualities.  The jeans had to be stretchy, low rise and fabulously trendy.  I found three pair that looked like they should fit, and purchased them.  Later that night when everyone had gone to bed, I went into the bathroom and tried on the jeans.  In the mirror I stared, horrified the first pair didn’t even fit over my hips.  It was like my stomach and rear end were having a battle of the bulge contest.  Sure, I was aware my stomach had issues but my backside too?  Ok, I could handle this.  Sometimes sizes ran small, and I convinced myself this was the problem.  I tried on the second pair and wiggled, stretching and pulling, until they barely moved past my hips.  The button and buttonhole were nearly a foot apart.  I thought of the construction equipment that dug up and rebuilt roads.  It would take the chains and hook of such equipment to bring the zipper and button together.  Another hit and miss, but the last pair, the biggest pair I’d found, had the best stretch in the fabric. I pulled the tight material up my thighs.  I sucked in air and postured my body straight and stiff, pulling at the zipper as it reluctantly inched up.  Although I felt my back jar out of alignment, I continued.  I was going to win this battle or lose my mind.  The button dug into my thumb and forefinger as I manipulated it into the buttonhole. I’d done it.  The jeans fit.  Never mind the enormous fat and skin from my belly that hung over the jeans like an udder from under a cow’s belly.  With the jeans forcing my belly fat “up and out,” I lifted it with my hands, amazed it moved, pliable like stretched taffy.  My belly fat—why was it there?  Why did it need to be there?  How had I acquired it?  Should I name it?  Was it always going to be there?  Every other part of my body had purpose, but the belly fat had absolutely no purpose.  Yet there it sat, overflowing out of my hands like an Italian chef kneading pizza dough.  How many shabby chic dressers would I need to sell to pay for a tummy tuck?  Out of my peripheral vision, my rear end waved. “What about me?” it seemed to say.      

These were the three jeans that had been taunting me ever since.  Of course I’d never worn them, and I was too unorganized to take them back to Goodwill, but it was more than that.  I wasn’t going to let them win.  I had not known how or when, but the jeans were going down, so I’d kept them.   

I’m happy to say after just a couple of weeks of intermittent fasting, all the jeans from this horrible experience fit. After three months of intermittent fasting, the same jeans (and many more) were donated to the thrift store because they were too big. 

Donated jeans.

Going through my closet, giving away clothes that don't fit anymore.

Now, every time I wear a belt, I feel an enormous amount of gratitude.  

Well, there's that belt again!

My journey with intermittent fasting is far from over. but this small victory means my belly fat didn't win.

Here's my before and after picture of my journey, so far.

What Type of Body Did God Want Me to Have

While fasting, the following thought ran through my mind:  I've always desired the type of body the world told me to have.  I never considered the type of body God wanted me to have. 

Canyon 

I started thinking about the messages the world teaches a woman about her body.  Distorted female body images were everywhere from airbrushing models to anorexia.  If a woman didn’t look a certain way she was deemed not beautiful.  Funny thing was many of the women who were models had been open about their own body image issues.  Despite their beauty, they struggle with accepting their body as well. 

Several years ago, I was talking with my thin and physically-fit sister-in-law.  I shared my frustration with my body and my inability to maintain a healthy weight. 

“I have the worst genes,” I said.  “My metabolism sucks.” 

I told her a bit more about my body image, how I could hardly look in the mirror without having an inner dialogue of shame and hurt.  This sister-in-law, in her state of almost perfect physical appearance mentioned she suffered with the same trial.  She had the same inability to appreciate the physical perceptions of her body.  As a teenager, she’d struggled with an eating disorder and spent most of her time in a state of anxiety about how her body looked.  I was shocked.  With her outward physical beauty, why would she struggle? 

What type of body would God want me to have? 

Chandler in January 2000

I thought of what my body had accomplished.  I’d given birth to six beautiful strong children.  I’d nursed them each through the first year of their life.  I’d ran ½ marathons and 10K’s.  Every day I lifted furniture and held babies.  I’d done flips on the trampoline and dove into the refreshing waters of my backyard swimming pool.  I’d taught my children to swim and how to ride a bike.  With my fingers I’d pulled the stinger of a wasp out of Payson’s foot. I had the knowledge to make a paste out of baking soda.  After applying it to his skin the pain subsided.  How did I know that?  When Mayer, at the age of 14 months fractured his leg, I knew it was so.  How?  The fracture was so small only an x-ray could detect it, but I knew by the sounds of his cry something was seriously wrong.  I’d wrapped him up in my arms and rushed him the emergency room.  I painted dresser after dresser to help pay for Chandler’s braces.  It only took 3 months to earn the money and I’d marveled God provided me a job with such immediate financial results.  Because of my body I rocked sick babies to sleep and pushed babies in a double stroller up the giant hills of Seattle.  On my wedding day, when my husband insisted carrying me in his arms, I stated “We have an equal-opportunity marriage” and I did the same to him.  Although he weighed 40 pounds more than me, I wrapped my arms around him and with all the strength I could muster carried him over the threshold into our new home.  I could giggle like a crazy bird and leap like a gazelle.  That was the type of body the Lord wanted me to have; a body that allowed me to live and feel and love. 

God didn’t care if I looked good in a bikini or wore a size six – I cared about those things.  The world told me a bikini body was the ideal.  The focus on my body had been for my own gain, for attention and beauty.  No wonder I felt uncomfortable when other men looked at me.  No wonder I felt little control about setting boundaries with men when the focus on my body was how the world wanted me to look.  Every image of women from billboards to magazines was screaming “Look at me, lust after me, desire me.”  Now longer did I want a body that desired to be “looked” at in such a way. 

When I thought of the body God wanted me to have I was a mom in a comfortable pair of jeans on a Saturday morning mowing the lawn.  I mean really, what use did I have for a body that froze-framed in poses of enticement and seduction.  These images of women forced sexuality down society’s throat.  It all made sense.  The devil was a liar.  He’d convinced my body wasn’t worth much if it didn’t look like the false images of woman all around me, but I had the wool pulled off my eyes.  I wasn’t falling for the lies anymore.  I only wanted what God wanted.  He wanted me healthy, strong and vibrant.  My body was perfect how it was for He had created it.

Come see me speak on intermittent fasting tomorrow Saturday March 12, 2016 at 2:30 at the Christ-centered Energy Healing Conference in Mesa AZ.  More information here.

Dieting? I try to forget.

My first pregnancy totally freaked me out.

freak-out: verb- overwhelmed, scared, overjoyed, in love, concerned, anxiety, hopeful, tearful, out of control, submissiveness, getting fat

Yeah, it’s that last part that threw me for a loop.

Before I had children, I was an active runner, hiker, diver, tennis player, swimmer and overall hyper person.

I was a nanny for ten years before I had children. I was the nanny who jumped on the trampoline, chased and was chased, played horse, climbed trees, pulled wagons, played tag and roller-bladed. I loved it all and never for a moment thought “Hey, I’m in great shape.” I just played with all my heart. I loved my little chick-a-dee assignments.

So, when the counselor and I married and decided to have our first baby, I didn’t think how pregnancy would affect me physically. I wanted a baby more then anything.

I found out I was pregnant with my first child on Earth Day 1999. This date was a sign to me that I was having a very special child, a child that would love the earth.

I threw up the first 4 months. I didn’t run, hike, dive, pick up a tennis racket, swim or do anything hyper. I couldn’t. My body forced me to slow down.

This “slowing down” is still one of the biggest challenges of pregnancy, but somehow, I’ve adjusted. I’ve learned what my body can handle and what pushes it say; into pre-term labor.

This right here is a questionable, but necessary.

The ceiling fan was literally dropping dust every time I turn it on. How can I live like that?

Last night I read the sweetest and most sincere blog about this very topic. My friend, Angela Henrie, mother of 8, is taking charge of the last part of my “freak out” definition. She wants to take off the weight of having all her babies.

I am so impressed.

The thing is, she isn’t trying to impress anyone. She is so real and down to earth it leaves me feeling like I’ve just read my own journal entry about my own weight loss goals. She’s doing her best to slim down & get back to her dream of being a ballerina. You can read her darling blog, The Ballerina Project here.

It’s so wonderful and I am cheering for her ultimate success.

I was at Walgreens last night buying jelly beans (hey, I don’t have to diet just yet) and I purchased the latest SELF magazine.

Why?

Because the cover features Hayden Panettiere.

This girl has sweet significance to me because if I were to cast an actress to play the lead role in my novel Colors of the Sea, it would be her.

She’s darling, famous and a major ocean lover.

She’d do justice for my character, Winona Ray.

It’s funny though, because with all this young lady has accomplished, the interview is on dieting.

UGH!

Are you kidding me? I know as a nation we are obsessed with this our bodies, but somehow it doesn’t seem to do her and her cause of saving the sea justice.

So, I open my bag of jelly beans and read through Hayden’s diet tips. I’ll be applying them soon enough, just not today.