I finally went to the doctor

My relationship with my body over the years hasn’t always been great. When I was younger I wasn’t taught to love my body and I grew to despise it. And going to the doctor was one of the ways this hatred grew. Because every time you go to the doctor they weigh you. And that number went up every time. With every additional pound of physical weight there was the additional weight of shame and hatred. I thought my value was diminished with each pound. I thought my worth decreased as my weight increased. So I hated the doctor too. And the moment I was able to avoid it, I did. For nearly a decade I only went to minute clinics when I was sick. Even then I dreaded it. I didn’t want them to ask about or comment on my weight. I wanted to get antibiotics and leave. Heal my body so I can continue to ignore it.

In college, I studied women who participated in extreme fasting for religious reasons, the holy anorexics. I was so intrigued by these women and their lives, why they made the choices they did, and how it amplified their voices in religious circles. And so began an academic journey, one fueled by personal experience, that would slowly begin to shape my perception of my own body.

I was examining the way these women used food to exert control in their religious lives. It laid a foundation as I began to realize a theology of the body existed. I graduated from college not sure what I would do next with all of this knowledge, but unwilling to simply lay aside all I learned and desired to learn.

Leaving college was difficult, and at times lonely, as I moved states away from my family and a number of my friends. I was forced to sit with myself, my body, and my pain. And I didn’t do it well. I began obsessively counting calories. I carefully tracked my exercise. And I began to love the days I would get the notice that I hadn’t consumed enough calories to maintain a baseline of nutrition. I was proud of it at the time. I remember how carefully I measured and portioned everything I consumed, because I was consumed by the desire to control my body and force it to be something it wasn’t. My heart breaks for myself as I look back on that season of life.

And so many people were thrilled for me. Complimenting my weight loss and appearance. Unknowingly glorifying my meticulous tracking and restricting. We love to praise and glorify the ‘ideal body,’ which more often than not is thin. As I got smaller, the more praise I received. Which led me to think positively of my actions. I kept living this vicious cycle. But it wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t helpful. It was simply fueled by hate, a deep hate of my body.

As I was living it I knew that year after college was difficult. I just didn’t realize how much pain I was in. Counting calories gave me control and gave me a sense of purpose. If I could whip my body into shape perhaps my life would be better. Maybe I’d have an easier time making friends. Maybe I would truly be loved by the people in my life. If I had a better body, maybe I’d have a better life.

In the midst of this difficult year, my pain and discomfort resulted in my applying for seminary. I was looking to resolve my pain (which isn’t why you should get a masters in theology) but found something even better - a journey towards healing.

I went to seminary looking for answers. Did God really care about women? Does God care about our bodies? Am I able to love my body even if it doesn’t fit a certain ideal? Would God call my body good?

It was at seminary I realized a deep passion for theology of the body. I gained a deeper understanding of how the body is good, at first for others and then eventually for myself. I recognized that God doesn’t hate human bodies. I began to realize that if we bear the image of God, then there was hope and good news for our bodies and the ways we treated them.

Suddenly my body, all of our bodies, had value. And that changed how I treated my body. If my body has God given value then conversations around my body would have to change. This meant the way I talked about body image, eating disorders, self-harm, and suicidal ideation all changed.

A change I am deeply grateful for. This season of life gave way to a deep desire to talk about a theology of the body. When I could, it was what I wrote papers on and gave presentations about. I took every opportunity to focus in on this growing passion. And I am incredibly grateful for the opportunities that were presented to me, for the friends who cheered me on, and the professors who pushed me towards excellence.

Academically that time was incredibly valuable, it laid an important foundation for where my life has taken me since. I let all that I learned sink in and take hold in my own life. Quickly it impacted the way I interacted with my students, 8th grade girls in the mess of middle school and puberty. While I didn’t mention faith, I worked to help them see the value their bodies held. Talking about how there was space to love and care for their body. And the more I spoke to them the more it became true for my own life.

Slowly I began to love my body, to care for her in ways I never had before. From this love of my body, for my health and well-being (and the encouragement of my friend) I quit my job. I adored my students, but could no longer cope with the negative impact on my physical and mental health. Love for my body and a desire to care for my mental health paved a way for better days.

After a few months of rest and job-hunting I decided to go to the doctor. I have come to a place where I want to care for my body and her needs. I love her and want what is best for her, because she is me. And this meant going to the doctor. Getting blood work done. As I sat in the doctor’s office I thought about how far I had come. I was hating my body, exercising and calorie counting to restrict and control it. And now I’m in counseling, caring for my heart and mind. Exercising for strength, to help with my asthma, and to better my mental health. Truly, right now, I am at my healthiest in all facets of my life. And it all began with academic study that slowly transformed every aspect of my life.

Welcome to the Floor

To be honest, I didn’t really want to create this blog. It’s something I’ve thought about for a while but never seriously considered. Until I made the mistake (unintentional right choice?) of telling my friend Natalie. Who also told my friend Jessie. And Anna. Each of them being all for it. So then I told my mentor Erin. Which brings me here. Clearly I’ve decided to go for it.

Continuing in honesty, I just wasn’t convinced my voice mattered in the midst of all that already exists. Does the world really need another white, Christian, female blogger? I’m not sure. What I do know, however, is that I’ve got plenty I want to say. Not because I think I have all the answers and certainly not because I have it all together. I have felt a deep stirring within me to write, to speak, to share what is happening in my head and heart. Maybe someone has said it all before. But I have realized that doesn’t make what I am saying any less valuable for this moment and this audience.

I am writing because I want to be faithful to what God has been and is calling me to. For me, right now, that’s kind of scary. But I’m stepping out anyways. So welcome. This will be a journey and I can’t make any promise as to what kind of journey it will be.

But here is what I can promise. That you are seen. You are not alone. You are deeply loved. You are welcome here.

Ellie Holcomb recently released a new album, Canyon. And the last song is by far my favorite. It gets me every dang time (translation: I get a little, or a lot, weepy every time I listen to it). A couple of lines stand out to me, “You’ve already been in this desolate place/ You’ve already been here, and You’ve made a way.” I know Ellie is singing about how God has been in the dark and hard places, making a way for each of us to find our way out. But this is also one of my deepest desires for this digital place. That you, dear hearts, would know that God and maybe even another human has been there. And that there is a way out. Maybe some of the words here will turn into a road map for you. My heart could burst at the thought.

And this is why I’ll write. To bring a bit of light, perhaps like the stars, to guide each of us out of darkness and into light. To provide hope in the midst of the long nights and in the depth of your pain.

I’m writing to remember that I’m not alone. I’m writing to show you that you aren’t alone. And I’m writing from the floor because that’s where I end up when I feel the full weight of emotions. You’re welcome to join me friend, I’ll probably make some coffee for us soon.

Mallory