Overcoming My Obsession
I looked down at the scale. It said 84. My eyes saw the number, but as it computed into my brain the number only represented a hurdle—a hurdle I had to conquer.
My stomach felt hollow as I sipped a glass of water. It no longer growled because my stomach knew it would get nothing to eat, just like a child who no longer cries when they know no one will reach down to pick them up. Though I was one breath away from dying, I reveled in my accomplishment remembering all the kids who had made fun of me in elementary school and junior high when I was chubby, clumsy and unattractive. No one could laugh now.
In my right mind, skeleton-like features were not pretty. But, to the mind of a teenage girl obsessed with looking pretty like the popular girls and wanting to get attention for her good looks instead of her large stature, weight loss became my number one priority.
It all began several months before when I opened the newspaper at home and saw an ad for the Miss Teen Ohio USA Pageant. I was sixteen years old and still trying to run off the extra fat from my puberty years. I was greatly liked for my fun personality at school, but I was never categorized as a beauty queen. I always thought pageants were for rich, skinny cheerleaders. But, a new level of determination surged in my veins as I saw the prize money you could win and also thought of how it could help me win the approval of others. I decided it was a contest I needed to conquer.
I signed up for the pageant and worked tirelessly to raise money to pay for the entry fees and wardrobe. Though my parents were not happy about the idea, they thought one pageant probably wouldn’t hurt. Unfortunately, my pride and competitive nature began to take over my mind and everything in my life. Everything centered on me trying to win this pageant. I would use my lunch break from school to go raise support from local businesses and eating became my last priority.
After one month of going full force in pageant fundraising, I had raised over $5,000 for my wardrobe and the level of self-confidence mixed with arrogance and pride began to skyrocket as I prepared for the pageant. Each day I cut my calories and ran one more mile bringing me one step closer towards my goal of being the slender beauty queen.
My parents went with me to the pageant weekend and congratulated me when I placed as a finalist in the Top 15, but I was not happy. I had failed to reach my goal and win.
As soon as we got home from the pageant, I made a vow to myself that I would never go back to being the girl no guy wanted to date or the chubby girl ignored in the crowd. I now understood that I had the power to change my status by controlling the food that went into my mouth.
After another month of getting praised from kids for competing in the pageant and getting extra long looks from guys as I passed them in the hall at school, my puffed up pride confirmed to me that every pound lost was worth it and needed to maintain my "new image" and popularity status.
Little did I know that each calorie missed or lost through exercise was one day closer to my death? Two months later, I sat in my kitchen wearing my basketball warm-ups that used to be tight on me and now were hanging on me like window drapes. I sipped a hot cup of tea with no sugar and savored the flavor knowing it would be one of the few things I allowed into my stomach for the day.
I mustered all the energy I could find and added three more layers of clothing to head outside to shovel the snow in the driveway. My parents were working and I was enjoying the five snow days that I had already received following Christmas break. The most difficult thing was being home and knowing there was a kitchen full of food enticing me each day. I had to keep my mind preoccupied.
Halfway down the driveway, I lifted a heavy shovel of snow and a sharp, excruciating pain raced through my chest and arms. The shovel dropped to the ground. I fell on my side into the snow.
I don’t know how long I was in the snow, but when I awoke I hoisted myself to all fours and crawled to my front door. I finally made it inside and lay for a while in the entryway. My heart still hurt and my chest felt like it was going to explode.
Several hours later, the doorbell rang and I lumbered from the couch to see who it was. Panting to catch my breath, I opened the door to see my mom’s friend and her teenage daughter. They asked to come inside and I led them to the kitchen. We sat in silence for a few awkward moments and the mom finally cleared her throat and said that they were concerned about my health. I thanked them and tried to pretend that nothing was wrong, but I could no longer hide my secret.
Months went by filled with heated arguments with my parents trying to get me to eat and increased concern from teachers and people at my church. Everyone knew I had an eating disorder, but I thought I was exactly how society wanted me to be—thin and beautiful.
No one knew the countless hours I spent analyzing every page of VOGUE magazine. The images had become idols in my mind and the only thing I worshiped.
One Sunday night, I sat in the last pew at church during an evening service. My dad was preaching, but I don’t remember much of his message because my thoughts were ravenously consumed by my obsession. One line from a song at the end of the service resonated in my ears as it said, “And I will give you all my worship and I will give you all my praise. For you alone I long to worship. You alone are worthy of my praise.”
The simple chorus that I had heard thousands of times growing up as a pastor’s kid took on a whole new meaning as I sensed God say to me, “Jennifer, you will never be happy or satisfied if something else, even yourself, comes before Me. You can’t keep this up or you’ll die.”
Tears poured down my cheeks as I melted into my seat. The game was over. I could no longer fool myself, others or God. I had become obsessed with thinness and even more obsessed with myself. My body had become my idol; I was destroying the gift of life that God had given me. I was telling God that the body He had given me just wasn’t good enough.
After that eye-opening moment, I talked with my parents and confessed my obsession to them openly and honestly. I humbled myself and asked for their help. Things didn’t change overnight. For the next year I went to counseling and read many books helping me to gain a healthier view of myself and my idea of beauty.
My obsession with thinness has not completely disappeared, but I am proud to say that I can now sit down and eat a whole bowl of ice cream in one sitting without feeling extremely guilty or wanting to vomit. My viewpoint has changed with God’s help and the help of others; I have learned to love myself regardless of how I look. I still have difficult days where I am too critical of the girl in the mirror, but that’s when I stop and thank God for the life He has given me—the life I almost took because of my obsession.
