"i can come as i am

and be changed by the Lamb." ~dave clayton, ethos church, 8-9-15

once again, i've been resisting this seat. this screen. this authenticity. i don't get why. i love writing. always have. and now that i am actually living a life that i can share with the world and not hide in the shadows i don't know why it's still scary to write. the only thing i can really come up with is writing means stopping. it means slowing down. it means thinking. it means unplugging from TV, work, my phone and plug into me. i haven't been very good at that in the last several years. i got really good at existing and not living. and learning to live again hasn't been easy. it hasn't felt safe. for 3 years i wasn't allowed to be me. i didn't allow it and he didn't either. i molded into what didn't cause fights and allowed myself to be trampled. fast forward to now. i am married. to an amazing man who wants me to be me all the time. and yet, i'm still hesitant. granted i know he's stuck with me now :), but i still don't want to disappoint him. and being the whole me all the time isn't the prettiest thing in the world. gah. my pride sucks.

i've realized lately that i am so, so prideful. i never ever thought of myself as a prideful person. i figured to be prideful, you actually had to like yourself and since i didn't then how could i be prideful. but, oh my, i so am. what i've learned is my pride is in my independence. in my "i do it myself" as my mother says i came into this world saying. i view asking for help as weakness. that's crap. asking for help is the strongest thing a person can do. the strongest thing. when i finally admitted i couldn't rid myself of my bulimia on my own, i was strong. i was strong enough to say "help." strong enough to say "save me." and He did to the extent that i let Him. it'll be three years on Monday, the 28th since i purged. i'm not sure i ever really believed i'd be writing those words. years. not hours or days or weeks. years. wow. that is something to celebrate and be "proud" of, but i'm not done. food still isn't just food. it's still my rebellion. it's still my dirty little secrets. now, of the dirty little secrets i've had over the years, food is relatively benign, but still. it's there. it's something i can turn to other than the hubs, this screen, Jesus. it's easy. it doesn't talk bad. i can't disappoint it. i know how it goes. i am comfortable with the process (although i hate it at the same time). it's a weird paradox. and one i don't want anymore. but i haven't been able to let go of my pride long enough to truly ask for help. to allow someone to stand in the gap for me when i want to numb out and want the easy fix. i have to though. i can't do this alone. clearly. my health and heart know that.

i guess by writing this, i'm putting it out there. i'm asking, though somewhat begrudgingly, for accountability. for permission to set my stupid pride aside and ask for help. and to ask Him to save me.