I spent many years of my life trying to be small.
In middle school, I would try and hide behind my hair or disappear into the back corner of class. I’d sit on the very edge of a crowded cafeteria lunch table, close enough to others not to be a target for bullying, yet distant enough to not be expected to participate in any conversation.
That desire to disappear turned my inward focus into obsession. I started hiding food at dinner, started replacing the typical kid-approved food offered up at breakfasts and lunches with a singular rice cake and carrot sticks. I would return home from school to run up and down the stairs, lightly and in socked feet so my mom wouldn’t hear, followed by miles on the treadmill. I imagined if I only ran far enough, there wouldn’t be enough left of me for anyone to pay any notice. As my body shrank, so did my world. Tiny and dark, the planet I inhabited did not extend beyond the body I loathed. I was ghost-like, saying nothing, consuming next to nothing, feeling nothing.
It’s taken me many years and countless backslides, but the thing that always pulls me out from that darkness is relearning how Jesus calls us to be small. It’s such a wildly different definition than what the world gives. While the world measures small by the size of your waist or the number on your jeans, Jesus calls us to a smallness that allows us to bear witness to the glory of his creation, putting our worries and fears into perspective. It’s a revelation that draws me out of my own isolated world where I am the center of my own universe into a world full of beauty and hungry for love.
I’m not suggesting people struggling with eating disorders, or any other mental health issue for that matter, are selfish. Selfishness is not a cause of mental health issues. These are illnesses; life-altering, sometimes life-shattering illnesses. My protagonist in my novel, All That Fills Us, struggles with this. She sees her anorexia as abhorrently selfish, yet she feels incapable of breaking free of it, which makes her loathe herself even more. It’s a terrible cycle that I can imagine many of us are familiar with, even if the details of your struggles differ.
But then she steps outside. She embarks on a cross-country trek where she is forced to step outside herself. She must see others as more than people to compete with for the smallest waistline. She is confronted with the pain and the joy and the persistence that those around her feel every day. The world is bigger than me, she’s forced to realize, and the truth of that finally starts to make her feel less alone.
And then there’s the sweeping grandeur of the Montana sky at sunset. The sway of the cedars as the rustle and whisper above her. The path beneath her feet that has seen thousands of souls and holds their memories forever in the compact dirt. It’s impossible to stay trapped in that dark, lonely hole of self-hatred when you’re constantly surrounded by such powerful examples of God’s majesty. Like my protagonist, surrounding myself in nature always makes me wonder: “How could the same God who created something this breathtaking, this beloved, have made me as well?”
The answer is always the same. Whether it is heard in the laughter of stream or echoing back from the mountains: You are beloved as well.
That’s one of the things I loved most about writing All That Fills Us. I had to look back at all the ways God worked to remind me that this world is big and beautiful and hurting, and I am not alone in it. He showed me through my mother, who time after time braved the depths of my cold, lonely, and incredibly small world to pull me back into the light. He showed me through organized sports, where running can be so much bigger than a form of self-punishment. It can be something that builds teamwork, friendships, dedication, and strength. He showed me through countless Thanksgiving dinners and backyard barbecues that He intended food to be so much for than sustenance. There is joy and tradition and love in a meal.
Going over these memories weren’t always easy. I’d end a writing session feeling drained, feeling like I was one step away from falling back into that whole. But God walked with me through it. Through his big, beautiful plan for healing my small life that I could only guess at while it was happening. And what a glorious walk it was.
