I was 19 when my husband and I got married. I was 20 when we had our first child. We weren’t even married a complete 2 years before my husband deployed for the first time and my baby was less than a year old.

Emotionally, I found myself at a place I had never known before. I was away from home for the first time ever, with a new baby in tow, with a husband that was at war. And to make matters worse, the night my husband deployed, I fell and broke my leg. Crutches plus a baby does not work, so I went back home.

And this is where it began. I was hungry. Everything back home tastes better. I had nothing else to do, so I ate. I didn’t exercise–never had to before and I knew nothing of it. And it didn’t matter anyway, I was on crutches. I ate. I was never full.

I had a void. I was trying to fill it up. Not with Him, with food.

My husband returned to a bigger wife and a much older son. He never said a word. He loved me anyway.

I ate some more. My whole world revolved around my home, my family, and the commissary. I meal planned with fury. Food was my outlet. We were on an enlisted salary, so food was my only shopping experience.

I ate and my self-esteem kicked the bucket. I was constantly comparing myself to other women and my husband, who literally has 9% body fat. He’s pure muscle–very intimidating for a fat girl…

Yet, my sweet husband never said anything about my weight. He would only ever encourage me to work out, but in such a nonchalant way that it would never offend.

Five years later, I weighed more when I got pregnant with our daughter than I did the day I gave birth to our son.

Two years after that, I was still on the same track with food. It was my idol. I would lie down at night and think about what I was going to eat for breakfast. At breakfast, I was thinking of lunch. I craved it. I wanted it. I was depressed. I was sad. I was fat. I was sick. I was emotional. I was out of control. I couldn’t walk a mile without getting tired, out of breath, and profusely sweating. And here in the South–fat and hot DO NOT mix well!

At 5’5″ and 181 pounds, my BMI was 30.1.

I was obese.

Now here’s where I’m gonna get spiritual with you: My obesity was a spiritual war. I still fight that war. It was about more than food. My hunger void was a spiritual void. My need to be full, was a need to be full of Him. My obesity held me back. It kept me from Him (because I let it and that was the enemy’s plan). It changed who I was in Him.

Food controlled me.

I realized this while standing on the scale at the doctor’s office with tears streaming down my face.

I needed to break free.

I tried for a while to do it on my own, but I needed Him to be involved in it with me.

He cares about you–even your weight issue. He wants you to be healthy. He wants you to be satisfied in Him.

It took me a while to realize that.

And thus began my LONG journey of doing so and sometimes it sucks and sometimes I fail, but I am convinced that we are to be both spiritually and physically fit. And so I repent, I move forward.

I run. I walk. I work-out. I read. I study. I meal plan, only better:). I make better choices.

You can too.


2 thoughts on “Obese

  1. He does care, about even the weight … He does want us healthy and He has shown me in many stages of weight and emotional upheaval and in deployments how to get back on track with Him. Listening is the key… You’ve got good ears Lila… You make Him smile!

  2. Thank you!
    My ears need to be cleaned out a lot though!!! 🙂
    And I never thought to include God in my diet plan, until I was to the point of desperation. I’m glad that I serve a God that is concerned with every area of my life—even the little things:)

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