Your Royal Highness,
I'm writing to tell you I think you're pretty fab. Always nice to get fan mail I'm sure. (Well, for me it is). I'm also writing to ask you if I can interview you for my blog; One Pink Toothbrush?
The blog is about being a mum; the fun and frustration involved, and how our mothering journeys are all different, but as mums, we can relate to one another and cheer each other along.
The title would be 'Mothering a Royal'. And that's where you come in, as not many of my other friends are members of the Royal Family.
I have so far interviewed a Mother of Many, a Mother of a Special Needs Child, and a Young Mother, to name a few. I'd love to hear how similar and how different it is, to mother a Royal.
Now, I'm also aware that you're busy, very busy. Not only are you a mum, but also a public figure, and a member of the Royal Family, so it may not be the done thing to be interviewed for a blog. However, there is also no harm in asking. So this is my ask.
The reason behind OnePinkToothbrush, (which has no sponsorship or advertising), was that I used to just be a mum of four boys, so mine was the only pink toothbrush. However, I have now added two princesses into the mix. (Princess in the loosest term of course).
My questions would be;
* What is the best bit about being a mum?
* And the hardest?
* What does it take to raise a Royal? A Prince? A Princess?
* And what colour is your toothbrush?
I hope you'll consider it. You seem such fun. I understand you may not be able to, and that is fine too. Of course I'd be sad for a week or two, and would write a blog post about it. I would carry on mothering mine, and you will carry on mothering yours. I'd see you in 'Hello' magazine from time to time, and no doubt you'd follow my blog.
Biggest thanks to you or your staff for reading this. I'm looking forward to hearing from you or them. Keep loving your man and your beautiful children, in the private places of home, as well as in the public arena.
Yours Sincerely.....
One Pink Toothbrush
Welcome to One Pink Toothbrush, where I will be posting moments from my days as a mum and as a wife. Funny moments, messy moments, thoughtful moments, teary moments.... and hopefully using each moment to see what God might be saying.
Monday 9 November 2015
Monday 2 November 2015
Spilt Milk
It was inset day today, which means a whole extra day of fun, added onto the end of half term, with my favourite little people. Sometimes, I genuinely mean that and sometimes I'm just being sarcastic. I'm not sure which one today was. I know inset days are special days for teachers; they get to be in their classrooms, with it all neat and tidy, in complete silence.
I secretly hope they run down the corridors and jump off the house in the middle of the playground, just because they can.
For me, I had some stuff to do. I wasn't going for neat and tidy. Let's not break the habit of a lifetime. But I was hoping for some space; some quiet undisturbed time to get a talk written.
So, one was allowed on his brother's Kindle from very early, while the other three had a movie on at 7am. The baby seemed quiet in her room, so no need to disturb her. I ignored the fact that the one who has a dummy for sleeps, still had it safely plugged in. I may have even got her a blanket and her Woof Woof so she remained in that sleepy snuggled up mode. I put the toaster to good use, and served up everyone's favourite spread of choice, enough to not be asked for more. And I gave everyone a cup of milk with those famous, yet foolish mummy words, "Don't put the milk on the floor. It will get spilt, and spilt milk on a carpet has to be cleaned well, so it doesn't stink". (Why would I say that? I've been a mum for years...I know they only hear the last bit...something about putting milk on the floor...)
I closed the door to the lounge and sat at the kitchen table, and I breathed in the silence. In through the nose, out through the mouth.... And of course the kitchen door flung open and a boy walked in to get a tea towel, with the look of sheer unbelief, and even a shake of his head. I asked what might possibly have happened, and he explained how his brother had spilt his milk. The brother hadn't spilt their own cup of milk, no the brother had spilt the tea towel bearer's milk. Ah the 'whodunnit', the 'wasntme' syndrome which some of mine suffer from. I asked the boy with the tea towel in his hand, if he had indeed placed his own cup of milk on the floor. Yes he had, only for his brother to go and spill said milk. Ah how I love these little fun conversations. Eventually he conceded that even though his brother was the one to spill the milk, the milk may not have got spilt at all, if he had just listened to dear old mum and done what she had said, in the first place.
That's a tricky one to learn though isn't it? I remember my mum saying to me that if I did pinch my brother, I was highly likely to get the whip of a wet tea towel across my legs in return. And even though I knew she was probably right, I still tempted fate many a time. She was right. Us mothers often are, when it comes to these things.
I got up, got the wet dish cloth and the washing up liquid, and proceeded to wash the spilt milk out of carpet. My son said that he was going to do that, that's why he got the tea towel. I told him that it needed cleaning in a different way, to make sure there was no stench. And then that beautiful teaching moment came...
We know God's advice, His perfect way of doing things, is right and good, but we want to try our own way first, and then hardly surprisingly, we get it wrong. We may even blame someone else for our mistake, our failing, our sin. Next we try and clean up our own mess; masking it, trying to do better, hoping to be good. But if we just do this, the stench of sin remains. We can't clean ourselves up. We can't be good in our own strength. Instead we need to be cleaned properly, not by Fairy Liquid, but by Jesus' blood. We need Jesus to forgive us and purify us, when we say sorry for going our own way again. He lovingly chose to do this for us at the cross, and continues to teach us about His righteousness, His goodness, on a daily basis.
"We have much to say about this, but it is hard to make it clear to you because you no longer try to understand. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil."
Hebrews 5v13
I secretly hope they run down the corridors and jump off the house in the middle of the playground, just because they can.
For me, I had some stuff to do. I wasn't going for neat and tidy. Let's not break the habit of a lifetime. But I was hoping for some space; some quiet undisturbed time to get a talk written.
So, one was allowed on his brother's Kindle from very early, while the other three had a movie on at 7am. The baby seemed quiet in her room, so no need to disturb her. I ignored the fact that the one who has a dummy for sleeps, still had it safely plugged in. I may have even got her a blanket and her Woof Woof so she remained in that sleepy snuggled up mode. I put the toaster to good use, and served up everyone's favourite spread of choice, enough to not be asked for more. And I gave everyone a cup of milk with those famous, yet foolish mummy words, "Don't put the milk on the floor. It will get spilt, and spilt milk on a carpet has to be cleaned well, so it doesn't stink". (Why would I say that? I've been a mum for years...I know they only hear the last bit...something about putting milk on the floor...)
I closed the door to the lounge and sat at the kitchen table, and I breathed in the silence. In through the nose, out through the mouth.... And of course the kitchen door flung open and a boy walked in to get a tea towel, with the look of sheer unbelief, and even a shake of his head. I asked what might possibly have happened, and he explained how his brother had spilt his milk. The brother hadn't spilt their own cup of milk, no the brother had spilt the tea towel bearer's milk. Ah the 'whodunnit', the 'wasntme' syndrome which some of mine suffer from. I asked the boy with the tea towel in his hand, if he had indeed placed his own cup of milk on the floor. Yes he had, only for his brother to go and spill said milk. Ah how I love these little fun conversations. Eventually he conceded that even though his brother was the one to spill the milk, the milk may not have got spilt at all, if he had just listened to dear old mum and done what she had said, in the first place.
That's a tricky one to learn though isn't it? I remember my mum saying to me that if I did pinch my brother, I was highly likely to get the whip of a wet tea towel across my legs in return. And even though I knew she was probably right, I still tempted fate many a time. She was right. Us mothers often are, when it comes to these things.
I got up, got the wet dish cloth and the washing up liquid, and proceeded to wash the spilt milk out of carpet. My son said that he was going to do that, that's why he got the tea towel. I told him that it needed cleaning in a different way, to make sure there was no stench. And then that beautiful teaching moment came...
We know God's advice, His perfect way of doing things, is right and good, but we want to try our own way first, and then hardly surprisingly, we get it wrong. We may even blame someone else for our mistake, our failing, our sin. Next we try and clean up our own mess; masking it, trying to do better, hoping to be good. But if we just do this, the stench of sin remains. We can't clean ourselves up. We can't be good in our own strength. Instead we need to be cleaned properly, not by Fairy Liquid, but by Jesus' blood. We need Jesus to forgive us and purify us, when we say sorry for going our own way again. He lovingly chose to do this for us at the cross, and continues to teach us about His righteousness, His goodness, on a daily basis.
"We have much to say about this, but it is hard to make it clear to you because you no longer try to understand. In fact, though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again. You need milk, not solid food! Anyone who lives on milk, being still an infant, is not acquainted with the teaching about righteousness. But solid food is for the mature, who by constant use have trained themselves to distinguish good from evil."
Hebrews 5v13
Monday 5 October 2015
Left a Bit, Right a Bit.
My children try to balance on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes it's on big bits of wood in the garden, or on their dad's shoulders in the swimming pool, or it's on a spinny thing in the park, or maybe standing on top of something smaller than their foot, as high up as they can get. And sometimes it's just simply standing on one foot. The risk is usually increased if their dad or an uncle gets involved.
They like to push themselves a bit; can they keep upright rather than fall to the right or the left, the front or the back? Arms out to the side, with the crucial element to any balance attempt - the sticking out of the tongue!
Sometimes they get it right first time, and perfectly balance with a quick shout of "Muuuuum, look at me". And sometimes they get water up their nose or a scab on their face. Somehow mine have yet to break a bone or even an uncle. And as we know, there are always lessons to learn from the little people in our lives.
T
Last Monday, I had one of those non-stop days. It started off like any other day, getting six kids up and fed and dressed, wishing I was one of those mums who did the lunches the night before. Sent the biggest off on the bus, then it was the school run. Home to put the dishwasher and the washing machine on. A quick dash to the dentist for a crown, followed by the weekly Asda shop, and after that some heart wrenching baby immunisations, with a nearly three year old who had A LOT of questions for the nurse. Home to unpack the Asda shop, while giving the girls some lunch. Cleaning the kitchen, while pureeing a vegetable for the baby, putting the washed dishes away and the wet clothes on the dryer. Then it was the school run, and from that point on, the day is filled with listening to, feeding and separating the six little people as necessary. Oh and a dishwasher to re load, with the decision of whether or not to make sandwiches for the next day. I went to bed, under a pile of dry washing and felt satisfied but exhausted.
Then it was Tuesday. Same start; six little people to get up and feed and get to school. And that was where the similarity ended. I built a pink den for my little bundle of stereotypical pinkness, and we drank tea and ate snacks. I was going to put my two favourite machines on, but didn't quite get round to it. I did fill up the tea bag jar, and that's about it. We watched far too many episodes about a pig called Peppa. Then we all had a nap, watched an explorer called Dora and then did the school run. We had a pizza tea in front of the tele, and the baby tried Quavers for the first time.
The two days were rather contrasting. The Monday looked pretty successful; clean dishes, clean sides, clean clothes, an immunised child, no spare minutes; busy, busy, busy. Tuesday looked like a bit of a fail in some senses; far too much tele, not the healthiest dinner, bowls of dried Weetabix still by the sink. (And once that stuff dries, you know you've had it!) And nothing greatly achieved.
What's the lesson to learn from the little people? Life requires balance. Maybe not the 'take a risk on a tall piece of wood' kind of balance. But some level of risk nonetheless. For some of us, we quite like the pink den days maybe a bit too much. Maybe it requires quite a push to not be lazy, and to aim for more productive days. For others, they may be all about the achieving and filling of every minute, and may not quite know how to have a slower paced or even restful day. And for most of us we have that 'Mother Guilt' whatever we're doing, or not doing...
My Monday, although successful in some ways, also left me feeling a bit bewildered and out of breath, frazzled and in need of space. My Tuesday was lovely; chilled time with the girls under a blanket of pink, but nothing got done which ultimately doesn't serve this family as yesterday's breakfast dishes become tomorrow's added chore! If all my days were Mondays, life wouldn't work for me. I'd be quite anxious and stressed to be honest. And as much as I hate to admit it, if all my days were Tuesdays, it just wouldn't work either. The house wouldn't get cleaned and therefore I'd probably be quite anxious and stressed, or maybe my family would instead. I need the balance in my life. I need the days when I get stuff done, including serving the husband and the kids. And I need the chilled days of rest, and time with my kids. Or I need both in the same day.
Thankfully God designed us in His image. He is perfectly ordered and pro active. He also knows what it means to be rested. When He created the world, He had days of purpose and achieving, and He had a day to rest and look at the world around Him. Not only do I topple and fall if my week doesn't have balance, but my kids are looking on. Do they see laziness, or overworking? Do they see me striving to achieve, or not that bothered? And more importantly do they see me leaning on God on both my Mondays and my Tuesdays? Thankfully He is available to me everyday of the week. And He has great grace for me, whether I fall to the right or the left, the back or the front.
So it's time to stick my tongue out and either go for a nap or bleach the loos.
"But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them—yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me."
1 Corinthians 15v10
"By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work."
Genesis 2v2
They like to push themselves a bit; can they keep upright rather than fall to the right or the left, the front or the back? Arms out to the side, with the crucial element to any balance attempt - the sticking out of the tongue!
Sometimes they get it right first time, and perfectly balance with a quick shout of "Muuuuum, look at me". And sometimes they get water up their nose or a scab on their face. Somehow mine have yet to break a bone or even an uncle. And as we know, there are always lessons to learn from the little people in our lives.
T
Last Monday, I had one of those non-stop days. It started off like any other day, getting six kids up and fed and dressed, wishing I was one of those mums who did the lunches the night before. Sent the biggest off on the bus, then it was the school run. Home to put the dishwasher and the washing machine on. A quick dash to the dentist for a crown, followed by the weekly Asda shop, and after that some heart wrenching baby immunisations, with a nearly three year old who had A LOT of questions for the nurse. Home to unpack the Asda shop, while giving the girls some lunch. Cleaning the kitchen, while pureeing a vegetable for the baby, putting the washed dishes away and the wet clothes on the dryer. Then it was the school run, and from that point on, the day is filled with listening to, feeding and separating the six little people as necessary. Oh and a dishwasher to re load, with the decision of whether or not to make sandwiches for the next day. I went to bed, under a pile of dry washing and felt satisfied but exhausted.
Then it was Tuesday. Same start; six little people to get up and feed and get to school. And that was where the similarity ended. I built a pink den for my little bundle of stereotypical pinkness, and we drank tea and ate snacks. I was going to put my two favourite machines on, but didn't quite get round to it. I did fill up the tea bag jar, and that's about it. We watched far too many episodes about a pig called Peppa. Then we all had a nap, watched an explorer called Dora and then did the school run. We had a pizza tea in front of the tele, and the baby tried Quavers for the first time.
The two days were rather contrasting. The Monday looked pretty successful; clean dishes, clean sides, clean clothes, an immunised child, no spare minutes; busy, busy, busy. Tuesday looked like a bit of a fail in some senses; far too much tele, not the healthiest dinner, bowls of dried Weetabix still by the sink. (And once that stuff dries, you know you've had it!) And nothing greatly achieved.
What's the lesson to learn from the little people? Life requires balance. Maybe not the 'take a risk on a tall piece of wood' kind of balance. But some level of risk nonetheless. For some of us, we quite like the pink den days maybe a bit too much. Maybe it requires quite a push to not be lazy, and to aim for more productive days. For others, they may be all about the achieving and filling of every minute, and may not quite know how to have a slower paced or even restful day. And for most of us we have that 'Mother Guilt' whatever we're doing, or not doing...
My Monday, although successful in some ways, also left me feeling a bit bewildered and out of breath, frazzled and in need of space. My Tuesday was lovely; chilled time with the girls under a blanket of pink, but nothing got done which ultimately doesn't serve this family as yesterday's breakfast dishes become tomorrow's added chore! If all my days were Mondays, life wouldn't work for me. I'd be quite anxious and stressed to be honest. And as much as I hate to admit it, if all my days were Tuesdays, it just wouldn't work either. The house wouldn't get cleaned and therefore I'd probably be quite anxious and stressed, or maybe my family would instead. I need the balance in my life. I need the days when I get stuff done, including serving the husband and the kids. And I need the chilled days of rest, and time with my kids. Or I need both in the same day.
Thankfully God designed us in His image. He is perfectly ordered and pro active. He also knows what it means to be rested. When He created the world, He had days of purpose and achieving, and He had a day to rest and look at the world around Him. Not only do I topple and fall if my week doesn't have balance, but my kids are looking on. Do they see laziness, or overworking? Do they see me striving to achieve, or not that bothered? And more importantly do they see me leaning on God on both my Mondays and my Tuesdays? Thankfully He is available to me everyday of the week. And He has great grace for me, whether I fall to the right or the left, the back or the front.
So it's time to stick my tongue out and either go for a nap or bleach the loos.
"But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace to me was not without effect. No, I worked harder than all of them—yet not I, but the grace of God that was with me."
1 Corinthians 15v10
"By the seventh day God had finished the work he had been doing; so on the seventh day he rested from all his work."
Genesis 2v2
Friday 11 September 2015
Mothering Anorexia - A Daughter's Story (Part Two)
I never intended to be Anorexic - I was a Christian, in a loving Christian family, happy with myself. My Dad leads Gateway church, in Poole. I never doubted that God was real, my childhood was happy. I knew my family loved me and life was very free. No food was banned and my parents were always encouraging me, in my endeavours and in my appearance. But Anorexia sprang up in disguise, due to some unresolved insecurities in my heart.
I started at an all girls grammar school and was cycling to school. I quickly got involved with many sporting clubs, which meant that my fitness levels went up. I went on a run with my dad and found it was fun whereas before I had found it really difficult; I had found my passion and soon it would be my downfall. As I grew better at running, I joined a club and increased the amount of times I ran. I read a book, which looked to find the answer to why Kenyans are such good runners. One of the theories was their simple diets, so I decided in order to be the best runner possible, I needed to cut out all ‘unhealthy’ foods, essentially snacks. But this quickly spiralled out of control with my fierce determination.
Food became the centre; it changed what I did, what I said. The Bible warns against idolatry, as it can crop up from seemingly good things. But when anything takes God’s place it will only end in disaster. I’m not saying that running isn’t good, but when it became more important than God, I had a problem.
I cut
out all snacks and continued to improve in running. I thought this new
‘healthiness’ was the answer. I was eating 3 meals a day and
replacing snacks with dried fruit. In reality, I was only improving
because I was pushing myself really hard and still had some energy stores left.
I was finding my whole purpose and identity in running and as I improved I kept
restricting myself more. I thought this new diet was the answer. I
took sandwich fillings out, had no snacks and stopped having
anything like pudding. I used to lie in bed starving hungry, but not let myself
eat, as I thought it would ruin my running ability, which was fast fading
anyway.
One day, my running stopped improving. Without realising, I had been losing
weight and Anorexic patterns were taking over my mind. My body was just too
weak to function let alone run. A thing about Anorexia is that you want to do better, or equal, what you did last time, so when I couldn’t complete a run, I
grew really angry and confused and punished myself by eating less.
All this
time I had been eating 3 meals, so had managed to deceive my parents, but they
were tiny and my daily intake totalled about 700 calories, (which is less than
your body needs to live). I was running 4 times a week and cycling to school.
During this time, I was still attending church and reading my Bible, but my ill-functioning
brain had become oblivious to the fact that my love for God had been replaced
by an idol. With no energy, I withdrew from my friends and literally became a
shadow of my former self; Anorexia had come upon me without me realising and it
had me in its grip.
Throughout my whole battle with the illness I knew in
theory that I was doing something wrong and I prayed that God would give me
wisdom, but getting an Anorexic to eat is like telling a smoker to quit; it’s
not that easy. My worst time came in the Easter of 2013. My Dad went to America for 3
weeks and with my running not improving I grew more frustrated, cut out even
more food and was exercising ridiculously. On an average day I was walking 8
miles, rollerblading 4 miles, cycling or running instead of walking. It is
evident looking back that my running ability was not going to come back without
enough fuel, but at that time I just couldn’t see it. My toes were constantly
numb and I was entirely sapped of energy.
My parents had obviously realised something was wrong
(school and church friends had been expressing their concern) and my parents
had contacted loads of people asking them to pray for me. They gave me
scriptures, one of which was; “Once you were dead because of your disobedience
and many sins. But God so rich in mercy, loved us so much, that even
though we were dead in our sin he raised Christ from the dead” Ephesians 2.
That really broke me and I felt God’s love in a really powerful way. Later, I
was at a running session with my friends and I was talking to them about what
they ate before a session and got answers like pork pies and ice cream. Even
with my brain locked into Anorexia I could see the stupidity of my actions and
God broke in. I phoned my mum and she picked me up and took me to a prayer
meeting that was happening at our church.
I really felt God connect with me and I went home determined to eat something. I had yoghurt and this was a huge step; usually I would have punished myself for not doing a running session.
I really felt God connect with me and I went home determined to eat something. I had yoghurt and this was a huge step; usually I would have punished myself for not doing a running session.
From that break through moment, I began to eat more
normally again and had the energy to run. I became much happier, but my brain
was still confused. I was maintaining weight because I was eating, but because
I was running, I was not putting weight on. This meant that my body stood still
at a very low weight and was putting strain on key organs. To cut many months
short, we decided I should see an eating disorders nurse. It was upsetting me
that my eating was very chaotic. Now I was allowing myself to
eat, my starving body was going crazy, craving everything! We got a massive
shock; I was so light I was literally a heart attack waiting to happen and my
heart rate and blood pressure were sickeningly low. I was told I was not
allowed to do any sport, let alone run. I was really upset, as I had just
started to find joy in running again, rather than seeing it as a ritual. This
is where God showed his hand straight away. Anorexics do not want to put
weight on, but my goal had never been to lose weight and I knew I was ill, so I agreed and submitted to their eating plan. However it was far from plain
sailing from there.
Although I wanted to get better, my learned default
was to eat less when I didn’t run; the plan we had been given wasn’t very
clear, so I lost more weight despite not running. This carried on for many
weeks, until finally, the plan was clarified and I managed to put on some
weight. I was ecstatic, which was definitely God again, as a typical Anorexic
would have done anything to make sure the weight didn’t go on. Puffed up by the
weight gain, we went on holiday and I did way more than
I should have. I lost what I had put on and more, making me lighter than when I
had first sought help.
At this time, a deep sadness filled me and I felt so
helpless; I really had been trying, but it was evident I was still not wise
enough to know when I needed more. I was prescribed a wheel chair and was not
even allowed to stand up to get a glass of water. As someone who has always
loved to be outdoors, having all aspects of freedom stripped away was
indescribable; watching my family go to school and play in the garden while I sat in my bedroom day in day out.
My family went to a Bible weekend but I
couldn’t go, so my mum had to stay at home with me. I saw the tension this put
on my family and hated myself for what I had done to make them so unhappy. I
wanted to eat for enjoyment, because I was hungry, but to put weight on I had
to eat a staggering amount on a full stomach. By this point my hair had begun
falling out in great sheets and I was covered in a coating of hair, trying to
counteract my internal cold. I had stopped reading by Bible after the holiday,
as I couldn’t be bothered and (at my lowest week) thought it would be better to
be dead. But God had not forgotten me. He kept me safe and stopped me from doing
anything. When you are very underweight, your brain does not work
properly and this meant, despite my drive to get better I did some stupid
things like skipping snacks. I had forgotten Him, but he was there supporting and helping me.
Through God’s grace I started to put on weight
consecutively (after my plan was upped again) and from then ‘til the end of my
treatment I did not have another weight loss. This was definitely through God’s
help; most anorexics fluctuate around weights and do not reach their goal
weight for many years, if at all. I had managed to do it in less than a year! A
turning point was October half term when I thought why prolong it?! I decided
to do all I could from there. But it wasn’t easy- I still had some things to
tackle in my mind and my family had to deal with my constant outbursts and
questions. I had to conquer the associations of exercise with food and my fears
about certain foods and I was only able to do this with the knowledge that
opposing it would be sinful.
I missed half a term of school, then I was allowed
back for 3 days, then all week, then I did PE and then slowly started to run. My Nana
had a word for me that God would restore everything and this really kept me
going through the toughest times. A verse that I love from
1 peter 5, says “and after you have suffered a little while the God of all grace who
has called you to his glory in Christ, will HIMSELF restore, confirm, strengthen and establish you.” All I can say is
that He has been true to His word, every thing that was taken has been restored:
my friends, health, joy, running and faith.
Anorexia is a selfish illness. It causes irrationality
and the people you are closest to are pushed away. When I was in the thick of
it, my non-existent energy was dedicated to running, so I completely withdrew
from my friends and family. My sisters were pushed aside, as my parents concern
completely centred on me. I know this must have been so hard on them and there
have been resulting consequences, but God is good and He is healing the bonds
that were broken.
My friends have been fantastic. My quick recovery has meant
that God has helped me to re-initiate friendships and I have been able to help
others in similar situations. My parents have been brilliant; they have placed
so much trust in me and life has largely returned to normal. I don’t feel watched. I have been allowed to resume every
activity I once did without my motives being doubted. There are still moments when
we are fearful and it causes tension, however God is working through them.
Getting back into normal life was quite difficult and in places like church,
where people know what happened, I do feel embarrassed and guilty at times with
particular people. Yet I know God is bigger than guilt and that definitely
helps!
Anorexia is a life long illness and the consequences
will be with me forever, however I know they don’t have to have a hold on me
anymore. Like a baby, I had to learn how to live again. Anorexia is completely
contradictory to what God wants; HE wants to be guiding you and controlling
every aspect of your life and running had taken that place. Now, I am running
again and truly love it. I am so grateful that I really am healthy enough to do
it, that I do it right and that I have been allowed to do it. I have been shown
immense grace and I want to encourage people that recovery is possible; God pursued me, even when I was far away.
His love is not
dependant on performance and He is ready to embrace us, if we will
turn to Him. Anorexia is a binding disease, but, through God, I can have
complete freedom and need not fear. There are times when I mess up, but God is
bigger and He has not let me down so far. This is one of my favourite verses;
“For I know the plans I have for you, says the lord,
plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you a hope and a
future.” Jeremiah 29:11
Read Suzi's mum's story here; Mothering Anorexia (Part One)
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