Personal Waste

This evening I was reading an essay called "To Be Fat and Recovered" by Marcia Germaine Hutchinson. It was written from the perspective of a woman who after recovering from a lifelong history of disordered eating accepted that she would never be thin. In fact, she describes herself as fat despite eating healthy and exercising regularly. Her metabolism, she suspects, is a train wreck because she spent over three decades of her life either on a diet, failing a diet, rebounding from a diet, or planning another diet.

The entire essay was worth the read, but there was one particular passage that really jumped out at me:

"Reflect on how many minutes and hours you spend obsessing about your body in the course of a day. How much time do you spend worrying about food? How much over what to wear? How much about how others are judging you? How much in judging yourself? Multiply this amount by 365 and you have some sense of the magnitude of your personal waste."

Just last week I spent way too much time obsessing over one, now that I've had more time to think about it, fairly innocuous comment in response to a pregnancy photo I posted and how people were judging me. I invested all of this precious energy - and all my energy is precious right now, given how tired I've felt in my eighth month of pregnancy - on worrying about not only how I look to myself (do I look too pregnant or pregnant enough?) but also worrying about what judgments others make based upon one isolated photo my preschooler happened to take.

How narcissistic is that?

Thankfully, Lent is right around the corner and fasting on food isn't going to be half as cleansing for me as fasting on my own personal waste. Any time I'm tempted to think about my weight or what I'm supposed to look like or what others think I'm supposed to look like, I'm going to instead turn my thoughts heavenward.

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat (or drink), or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds in the sky; they do not sow or reap, they gather nothing into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are not you more important than they? Can any of you by worrying add a single moment to your life-span?"

-Matthew 6: 25-27

Were You Listening on Sunday?

I happened to be at Mass alone on Sunday sans my preschooler and an antsy and very vocal toddler, so I was really able to listen to the readings. I immediately thought of what we talk about here at In God's Image during the second reading when I heard:

"Do you not know that your bodies are members of Christ?
But whoever is joined to the Lord becomes one Spirit with him.
Avoid immorality.
Every other sin a person commits is outside the body,
but the immoral person sins against his own body.
Do you not know that your body
is a temple of the Holy Spirit within you,
whom you have from God, and that you are not your own?
For you have been purchased at a price.
Therefore glorify God in your body."

1 Corinthians 6: 17-20

What are you doing to glorify God with your body? I've, at times in my life, dishonored God with my body. In my past attempts to live up to a certain physical ideal, I abused my body. I certainly didn't treat it with the respect it deserves.

Think if God came down right now and handed you a beautiful, tangible gift. Let's say a lovely crystal vase. Would you not do everything you could to keep it clean, untarnished, and sparkling? Would you not add sprigs of greenery and budding blossoms to make it even more magnificent? You'd surely place it in a prominent place and every time you saw it, you would be reminded of its beauty and that it was a gift from your Heavenly Father.

Our bodies should be treated with the same care and admiration. They are God-given temples where the Holy Spirit dwells. They are vessels for our immortal souls. They do not deserve to be punished or poisoned.

Love God? Then love your body. Give it the attention it deserves. Fuel it with healthy food. Move it because you can. Don't let anyone else or any thing take it for granted or abuse it. Because it's not really yours at all. It's on loan from your Father.

Cheers! Here's to a Healthy Soul!

Chances are, St. Nick isn’t the only one carrying around a few extra pounds this time of year. With the feeding frenzy that begins by way of Thanksgiving and doesn’t taper off until the bubbles in our New Year’s champagne stop fizzing, some of us get more than we wish for over the Yuletide season.

Is it any wonder so many folks make losing weight a priority come the New Year?

God certainly wants us to take care of our body. Getting enough sleep, exercising, fueling ourselves with healthy food are ways to honor our bodies, which God has given us as “temple[s] of the Holy Spirit” (1 Corinthians 6:19).

Yet, while focusing on healthy lifestyle changes is important and certainly never hurt anyone, the way we look, the number on the scale and our physical health aren’t the only things we should be resolving to improve.

This New Year, as I did last year, I find myself asking, “How is the health of my soul?” (Besides as a woman who is in her sixth month of pregnancy, I certainly don't want to add "lose five pounds" to my list of resolutions when my goal is to grow a healthy baby and subsequently grow my waistline!)

Anyone who’s jumped on the weight loss bandwagon knows that shedding pounds requires discipline. Having a strong spiritual life really is no different. Our faith is a gift of God, but it’s not something we can ignore or get lazy about and then just expect to flourish. Christ is always with us, but we have to put forth some effort to develop a more intimate relationship with him.

An athlete’s muscles get bigger and more sculpted when he or she spends more time in the gym. So, too, must we “pump up” our souls and give them what they need to be healthy and strong.

How? By regularly participating in the sacraments, engaging in daily prayer, reflecting on scripture, spending time with the Lord in the Adoration Chapel, and showing love to our family and our neighbors are a few ideas for specific faith resolutions that first popped into my mind. (We'd love to hear your own spiritual goals for 2009!)

So this New Year, won't you join me and instead of emphasizing only exercise and healthy noshing (you can go ahead and stop obsessing over having scarfed down way too many Christmas cookies now), why not make the commitment to train yourself in godliness and to be extra aware of not only the health of your body, but also of your soul?

Happy New Year! May 2009 bring all of you many blessings!

“Train yourself in godliness, for, while physical training is of some value, godliness is valuable in every way, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come.” (1 Timothy 4:7-8)

Book Meme

I am a Meme slacker and rule-breaker. My apologies. But this one from Ebeth (thanks for thinking of me!) was intriguing to a bibliophile like myself. It's just too bad I'm not reading something really profound like St. Augustine's Confessions like I and surely most moms of young kids, of course, usually do.

Anyhow, I've decided to post this book Meme over here first even though it was directed at my other blog because my chosen book pertains to exercise and body image. I'm juggling several books right now, but I decided to feature a book that's on my nightstand that I actually first read in college and have revisited several times since. It's Making Peace with Food by Susan Kano and out of the slew of books on eating disorders and body image I've read I found it to be one of the most helpful.

Now without further ado, I'm supposed to turn to page 56 and write down the fifth sentence as well as a few sentences following it, so here goes:

"You can decide when to exercise in advance, put that time aside in your schedule, and avoid constantly asking yourself, 'Shall I exercise today or not?'

If you stop exercising for a long period of time, there is no need to feel guilty. It happens to everyone, and feeling bad about it is unproductive. Remember that you are still the same person you were while exercising - lack of exercise has made you less fit, not less worthy. Just as eating poorly does not make you a 'bad' person. Ideally, you should handle it in the same way most people who love to be active handle it: mildly regret that you haven't been enjoying the fun and mental relaxation you had been enjoying and go back to it as soon as you can."

Now I'm going to cheat and include a passage I highlighted way down on this page just because it's something competitive, little me needs to be reminded of (yes, I admit I have been that crazy preggo lady on the elliptical trainer at the gym who's racing the dude in the spandex shorts next to me to see who can pump their arms and move their legs the fastest):

"Do not fall into the trap of pushing yourself so hard that you push yourself away from the fun of exercise."

Just in case you're wondering: Maniacal elliptical training doesn't really fall into the fun category.

Growing Pains

I'm almost 20-weeks pregnant with my third child (that's me pregnant with my second bambino), so I'm supposed to be gaining weight. This is the sign of a healthy baby. I know all this, but it doesn't mean it's easy-peasy for me to watch my waistline disappear and to see that number on the scale steadily rise every couple of weeks.

I wish I were one of those preggos who felt like a hot mama during pregnancy. When I became pregnant with my first, I eagerly stocked up on black Lycra tops that would hug my bump. (Think Angelina Joile.) I envisioned myself embracing the whole fertile goddess image. But eight months into my pregnancy I felt like I looked more like a Killer Whale than Angelina in my slinky, black tops (even though others said I looked small; like most women, I'm my own worst critic). While I'm always certainly thankful to be pregnant (or at least to be having another baby), I often find myself mourning my old body at some point during the nine-month journey.

I doubt I'm alone in my feelings of body angst during pregnancy. Even though many women don't share my eating disorder history, it's not most women's idea of fun to pack on the pounds.

For me, seeing my body give way to a softer, fuller form really is a constant struggle. I do have days where I find respite from my body hatred. I'm more focused on growing this beautiful baby (as I always should be), but I've admittedly found that this pregnancy has been tougher than my others and that I've had more bad days than good.

Maybe it's because God was the only one who planned this pregnancy (whereas my first two I'd been eager to conceive and was using natural family planning to do just that). I suppose I wasn't ready to relinquish control, and that's what it's really about for me: Control. When I'm not pregnant, I know - as unhealthy as this sounds - that I can skip a meal or push myself hard during a workout and make that scale budge in the direction I want it to (not that I act on these impulses since being "recovered," but it's in the knowing that I can that somehow makes me feel less anxious).

But when I'm pregnant, I have a baby depending on me. I have a growing little one who needs nourishment and needs me to fuel my body with healthy food, even when I'm feeling nauseous or gross. I have to surrender to the scale and allow that number to climb.

This is why, I've realized, that pregnancy is so good for me. It's always a challenge, but it forces me to stop focusing on my weight, the way I look in my jeans (there's no such thing as skinny jeans when you're a preggo), and to stop being such an idiotic control freak.

I have also found that there are certain measures I can take to help me to better appreciate my new bod. (And, whether you're pregnant or not, I think some of these tips can be helpful for anyone hoping to overcome body image problems.)

So, my friends, here are some simple ways to help you love your preggo bod and to get over those growing pains:

• Get moving. I've made an effort to exercise throughout all of my pregnancies (except, of course, when I was on bedrest for three weeks with my second). I've found that exercising – moving a little bit every day despite the fatigue or nausea – makes me feel not only healthier but also more comfortable with my new shape. Aside from those exercise endorphins, maybe my elevated self-esteem has to do with the fact that I'm doing something healthy for my baby and for me. Plus, regular prenatal exercise has been shown to boost energy levels, help prepare moms-to-be for childbirth (the biggest "workout" of your life!), relieve stress, and may even help women bounce back to their pre-pregnancy figure. I do a lot of walking and also try to do some prenatal yoga and Pilates. Just be sure to get the green light from your OB/GYN or midwife before you start (or even continue) a prenatal fitness routine.
  
  
• Shun the scale. My current midwife is amazing. I was very upfront with her when I was pregnant with my second. I explained that I struggle with gaining weight during pregnancy and that it's not even really about what the scale says. I divulged my eating disorder history, and I asked her if we could just not make my weight an issue unless it was posing a risk for my baby because I was gaining too much or too little. She has been so sensitive with my previous and current pregnancy. At some appointments, she tells me I don't even have to step on the scale. Not knowing an exact number has been very liberating for me. Instead of fretting over my weight, I can just enjoy being pregnant and focus on taking care of my growing baby.
  
  Whether you're pregnant or not, try freeing yourself from the scale. Weighing yourself once a week is reasonable, but don't make it an everyday thing and, never forget that your self-worth is so much more than a number on a scale or a clothing size.
  
  
• Accentuate the positive. Sure, varicose veins, puffy ankles and a behemoth bottom (I always get a bigger bum than tummy) are no fun, but what about the positive changes pregnancy brings like a curvier bod? Why not embrace your femininity? Don’t go for the frumpy look, and avoid anything that looks remotely like a tent. Go for modest but chic looks. I’m very thankful that maternity clothing is so cute and fashionable these days, and I try to not “hide” the fact that I’ve been blessed with another baby.
  
  
• Celebrate your pregnancy. Okay, I’m really not the artsy-fartsy type, but I did something really cool during my first pregnancy after I wrote an article about an artist who transforms women’s fertile forms into pieces of art. This was completely out of character and frankly, it made me nervous, but I agreed to have a cast done of my torso when I was eight months pregnant. Elizabeth Barnes of Artful Expectations was the artist who cast my belly and then painted it to look like Ivy, my parents’ yellow Lab. (Sounds a little strange, I know, but this pup-belly ended up being the perfect artwork for my daughter’s room since she's crazy about Ivy.)
  
  When I saw what my body actually looked like housing a baby (rather than scrutinizing it using the carnival mirror in my head that has a tendency to distort how I see my body), I realized that my pregnant form was absolutely beautiful and that my baby, as cheesy as this may sound, was a piece of art my husband and I had co-created with God. If that doesn’t break the funny mirror in my mind, I don’t know what will.
  
  If a belly cast isn’t an option, why not ask your husband to take photos of your pregnant bod? I've always been envious of women who showcase their belly shots throughout pregnancy; I've never been brave enough to do that, but maybe someday I'll get to that place. As it stands, I too often avoid the camera when I’m pregnant; yet, I know that down the road I’m going to want to see pictures of me carrying my children. In fact, I didn’t like the photo above when it was taken when I was about seven months pregnant, but now it’s one of my favorite snapshots. I love how my older daughter's hand is on my belly and how I’m not recoiling from her touch. We both look so content, and it's clear we were celebrating a new life together. The bottom line is having a baby – accommodating not one but two souls in the temple of your body – is always worth celebrating.
  
  
• Forget about those pre-baby jeans. After giving birth, you’ll be slightly thinner, but don’t expect to look like Heidi Klum. Most normal women – as in all of us who don’t have the luxury of personal trainers, nutritionists and chefs at our service – should expect to look about five months pregnant after delivery. Cut yourself some slack and focus on motherhood.
  
  Besides, even if you never fit into those skinny jeans again, who really cares? As moms, we should have a whole new appreciation for our bodies after we deliver and often nurse a baby. I know I did. I never feel as amazing or empowered as I do after I give birth and when my milk first comes in. I’m lucky because I haven’t yet experienced baby blues in my early postpartum days. It’s more like baby mania. I feel so gloriously happy to have a new child and also in awe of my body that not only grew a baby but was also able to get the child out on its own and then feed it. I am Mommy. Hear me roar!
  
  
• Pray. I have some really tough days when I’m pregnant, days when I hate my body, days when I’m tempted to take drastic, unhealthy measures to be in control of the scale. There are days when I take my baby and my body for granted. When I’m feeling particularly vulnerable, I meditate on Jesus’ words: “This is my body and it has been given up for you.” And isn’t that really what we do as moms whether we're ever blessed enough to physically carry and/or nurse a child or not? Every time we embrace another pregnancy, nurse a child, hold a toddler until our arms ache, drag ourselves out of bed to comfort a frightened child, or even play a game of catch with our kids, we’re employing our bodies to be mothers. Really, how can we not love our bodies, knowing that we're using them in exactly the way God intended?
  
  

Wisdom from Yoda

Okay, so you're probably thinking: "What could George Lucas's great Jedi Master possibly have to do with faith, body image, or fitness?"

More than you might think.

No, I'm not a Star Wars junkie (I did not dress up like Princess Leia to go see any of the movies nor do I own a lightsaber), but I've always liked Yoda and the wisdom he imparts. Plus, who doesn't like to see a little guy use some serious Force to kick the tails of some pretty big and fierce enemies?

Recently, I stumbled across a Yodaism that immediately made me think of how we place far too much emphasis on appearance. Yoda wisely says, "Judge me by my size do you? And well you should not!"

Looking at this little green, old guy with pointy ears and wiry white hair springing from his wrinkled head, you wouldn't immediately think, "Now there's a great warrior!" But that's exactly what Yoda is.

Society has taught us to assume so much based on appearance. It's easy to "size people up" just by looking at them. We assume beautiful people are happy. We assume tall, lean people are athletes. We give meaning to fat and thin people. Slender, attractive men and women are always successful and popular. Whereas too often people conclude that overweight people lack confidence or perhaps self-control.

What we're doing even more than jumping to unfair conclusions is seeing people not as human beings but as objects. The Catholic Church is very clear about the dignity of the human person and that we must recognize each person's worth - from the unborn child to the disabled adult.

It would be unwise for any enemy to see Yoda as old and weak and to judge him by his small stature. Likewise, we must not turn people into objects; we must "see" beyond appearance and not draw conclusions based on how a person looks or dresses.

Judge others by their appearance? Well we should not. Instead, we must look at people through Christ's eyes, a lens of love. Then and only then will we begin to recognize that everyone has worth and everyone is beautiful.

Finding Peace in the Eucharist

When my oldest was 2, each time I would prepare myself to receive the Eucharist, I'd hear a little voice, whispering, "Peace." As soon as she would see the Eucharistic ministers take their positions throughout the church, she'd vibrate with excitement, her little body twisting and twitching like a dragonfly's wings, and would whisper over and over, "Peace!" Going up with Mommy to receive a blessing and watching me eat this mysterious piece of food was one of her favorite parts of Mass (it still is, although she no longer calls it peace; I miss that.).

I'm not exactly sure why she started referring to Communion as peace, but every time I'd hear her whisper that word, I'd think my child was on to something when she likened receiving the Body of Christ with a word that evokes inner tranquility.

By nature, I'm not someone who easily attains inner peace. Okay, so that's an understatement. I have to really work at it. I'm too often consumed by anxiety and worry. Some of my worries are trivial like when will I find the time to take a shower, or will both my girls ever sleep through the night on the same night? Or, does this [insert article of clothing] make me look fat?

Sometimes I worry about the big picture. How are we going to get through these years of residency (my husband is a radiology resident) on such a tight budget? Is my growing baby okay (our third child is in utero)? Is my mom okay (she deals with myriad health problems, although you wouldn't know it by her trusting and sunny disposition)? I seek solitude to work on cultivating trust, but when things get quiet, my mind starts racing. Too often these worries (most of them unfounded) take their grip on me even though I know that this kind of fear is an absence of faith. Which leads me to another worry: Why can't I be more faithful? What's wrong with me?

God, I know, would probably say nothing other than the fact that I am human. However, I know that one of my problems in my endless quest for inner peace is that I want something dramatic to happen in my faith life. A dove to descend upon me while I am praying. A vision of Mary to appear before my eyes. A moment when I literally feel Jesus' embrace. A clear voice to speak to me and to tell what I need to do to follow Him. A real, tangible sign as clear as a billboard on the highway so that I can't miss what God's trying to say to me.

But that's not how it works for most of us. There are no lightening bolts. There are no opportunities to place our hands in Jesus' wounds as Thomas did. There are no saintly apparitions to guide us in our decisions. Yet, that doesn't mean God isn't speaking to us. We may just have to look a little harder, pray a little more often and seek out the Eucharist as much as possible.

Too often I am waiting for this profound moment when Christ comes to me and rids me of my fears and anxieties. In my waiting, I grow more anxious, all the while forgetting that there's a simple yet deep-seated way to feel Christ's presence in my life. Each time I receive the Eucharist, I am inviting Christ into my heart and taking him with me. I am getting a taste of peace.

Recently, I was at daily Mass. I didn't hear Madeline whisper, "Peace," but I felt it nonetheless. I was glancing up at the Crucifix hanging above the priest's head as he doled out our daily bread, and I felt a warm rush inside of me. I've experienced it before, and it is just what Madeline used to call it - peace washing over me. I want to bottle up the indescribable feeling that seems to come from nothing (there are no flashing lights or booming voices speaking to me), but it's fleeting. I can't quite wrap myself around it, but I know that in that brief yet profound moment, I am drawn closer to Christ and experience true peace. And what's amazing is that God does speak to me - sometimes through my children and on this day through the symbol of the Crucifix. If only I listened and paid more attention to what he has to say to me every day.

What's keeping you from inner peace? Whether it's body angst, worries about money, or some other concern, why not offer it up to Jesus? Nourish your soul with the Eucharist and allow His peace to settle in your bones.

Achieving Real Beauty

I recently wrote about my reluctance with having my daughters grow up to be beautiful women.

Then, later in the week, I was perusing an old prayer journal where I’d scribbled down “Canticle of Mary” and beside it the words “achieving real beauty.” This intrigued me. I read the Canticle of Mary or Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55), and the first and perhaps most famous lines jumped out at me: “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord, my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”

I’ve always thought of Mary as beautiful. But it’s not because she wears flashy clothes, has lustrous hair and flawless skin, or a perfect body. It’s because her soul – her entire being – proclaims the greatness of the Lord. She is what every woman should strive to be: pious, humble, gentle but strong, feminine and blessed.

Once my preschooler was gazing up at a statue of Our Lady when she said, “Mommy, isn’t she pretty?”

“Yes,” I said. She’s the most beautiful woman in the world.

So I stand corrected. I do want my girls to be beautiful. As beautiful and lovely and worthy of roses as Mary.

And They Lived Miserably Ever After...

Cathy's insightful post on the Cinderella Syndrome really hit home with me. When I started high school, I had braces and a round face. I had no curves and when I smiled, my eyes disappeared into my chubby cheeks. I was not fat, but I certainly didn't have a face or a body that would draw attention. I was also one of the "smart" girls. I took all the AP and honors courses and participated in activities like mock trial (that's actually where I met the boy who would become my husband!), Beta Club, and the Thespian Society. But you know what? I was happy.

Then over one summer I blossomed. I went from a chubby, awkward, brace-faced girl to a curvy, young woman whose smile now revealed pearly whites. I went to school that year and some of my peers did not recognize me. The same boys who had never looked twice at me started asking me out on dates.

My parents allowed me to date when I was 16 and I couldn't wait. I thought it would be magical. It wasn't.

I remember my first "boyfriend." He was a nice enough guy and the first guy I went on a few consecutive dates with and the boy who walked me to class even though I felt really cheesy when he did it. I remember how he reeked of cologne and always wanted to hold my hand and put his arm around me and how uncomfortable I felt, but I acted like I liked it. All my friends thought he was cute, after all. Plus, I was a people-pleaser. A lot of girls are. We do what we think others want.

Speaking of friends, a lot of them were asking how I did it. By did it, they meant how did I transform myself? How I did "it" was simply physically mature and let nature take its course. It just happened overnight for me. It was like my fairy godmother paid me a visit and worked her magic on me. What really happened was I got my braces off, grew a few inches, started my period (finally!), grew some breasts, and thinned down (without dieting, just naturally).

I remember that school year well. Everyone was always complimenting me. I got invited to more social events and was asked to sit at a "cool" table in the cafeteria (even though I was still a geek). But here's the kicker: With this newfound popularity and attention came a lot of pressure - pressure to be perfect, pressure to be beautiful, pressure to be smart but not too smart. Even though I was the same girl on the inside - a goofy, drama queen who loved horses, singing, and reading - how I looked on the outside had somehow made me more important (at least in the ridiculous hierarchy of teenagers).

But was I happier? No. On the contrary, I was the swan who was constantly worried that I was going to change back into my old, ugly duckling self. I never meant for it to happen, but I was suddenly thrust into a competition to be one of the pretty girls, the fairest of the fair.

Truth is, one of the reasons I started dieting and resorting to eating disordered behavior was because of my fear. I had it in my mind that the thinner I got, the better person I'd be. However, if I gained weight, I'd lose myself in all the fat and lose my friends at the same time.

For me the message was clear: I was easier to like being pretty.

Thinking back on those tough teenage years, I've said to my husband that I hope our girls are plain or even cute but not beautiful. I've seen too many unhappy, beautiful girls to think it's something we should want (just think of so many of the Hollywood starlets who seem to have it all and end up in drug rehab programs or in an endless game of marriage roulette or with eating disorders). It's too exhausting to maintain beauty. Once you have it (or society says you do), you cling to it, thinking it's all you've got. Once you hit a size 0, you think that's what you have to stay to be anything (ironic isn't it that a size 0 used to be my favorite size because it made me feel like I was important when that number means an absence of anything).

I'm not saying pretty girls have a right to feel miserable. I'm not condoning vanity either. I've had beautiful friends complain about their looks, and it's frustrated me. "Can't you see how pretty you are? Can't you see how lucky you are?"

Funny, I think my mom and dad, my brothers, and husband have all asked similar questions of me more times than I'd like to count.

Recently, my daughter whipped this up in her toy kitchen:

She called it Cinderella stew. I thought it was hilarious. There was also something comforting in thinking about boiling Cinderella and all she stands for - beautiful perfection - along with some carrots and potatoes.

I'm not sure they have to go as far as poaching Cinderella, but I don't want my daughters idolizing beauty. I want them to pursue health, not flawless looks or a perfect body. If God blesses them with loveliness, I want them to be grateful but to remember that it's what's beyond that skin that's really important - their passions, their brains, their sensitivity, and most importantly, their souls. I want them to not be like the person their mom can sometimes be.

What's really sad to me about all of us who are relentlessly striving to be the fairest of the fair is that physical beauty, especially as it is defined by society, isn't something you can hold onto for forever. It eventually fades. Botox won't save you. Neither will face lifts. Smooth skin becomes wrinkled with time and splattered with age spots. Even the firmest of bums eventually head south. Hair of all shades will all end up gray or silver. In time, our faces and bodies won't seem like our own, but what's on the inside will remain constant.

My mom is someone who has grown old gracefully. Now, I will say she is blessed with looking younger than her age and being petite, but she's never let her looks be her focus.

Just recently, she did admit that aging has been tougher than she thought it would be. I had no idea she felt this way. But the reason aging has been challenging, she said, isn't because she wants to look a certain way. It's just that she'll see a picture of herself and think, "I don't feel that old." How she feels doesn't always match with how her body looks, she says. She still feels like a 30-year-old sometimes, but her body's saying she's in her mid-fifties. I think that's the same way it is for pretty girls. They look beautiful on the outside, and we think that that's how they should feel. Yet, so many of them have some ugly demons - from crippling perfectionism to an obsession with looking a certain way - to contend with on the inside.

My mom also told me she's decided to concentrate more on how she feels than how she looks. Who cares if her body is telling her something differently? If she feels like a young grandma, then that's what she is. We don't have to listen to that mirror, mirror on the wall (or that scale on the bathroom floor). It's up to us on whether we want to exude beauty or not at any age or at any weight.

For today do something that makes you feel beautiful. For me this often means getting dressed up for my husband. He thinks I'm attractive when my hair is streaked with diaper ointment, so you can imagine how we both feel if I slip into a black dress and some heels.

After you're feeling beautiful, why not cook up some Cinderella stew and then just make the decision to live happily ever after...

Porcelain God

I once worshipped a porcelain god. Throughout the day I bowed down to my god in addictive reverence.

During high school, I secretly grappled with bulimia. On the outside, I was a straight-A student who was always smiling and laughing.

On the inside a demon was taking over, eroding my teeth and gums, leaving my throat raw and transforming me from a happy young woman to someone sad, shameful and scared.

Even as I forced fingers down my throat and watched my sustenance and my health and my faith swirl down, down, down, down, I wondered why I wasn’t stronger. I didn’t have the “better” eating disorder. I wasn’t anorexic. In my twisted mind, I was weak because I was unable to completely deprive myself of food.

I did give anorexia a shot and ate only shards of lettuce for several months. I lost weight – a lot of it. People noticed. (I loved the attention. It gave me a sense of accomplishment when people asked me how much weight I’d dropped.)

Then my parents become aware of my problem. “You’re too thin, Katie. Please eat,” my mom begged.

Never one to disappoint my parents, I answered my mother’s plea. I started eating again. Food tasted so good, but when I saw that little red line on the scale climbing, I panicked. I felt out of control. When I was losing weight, the scale was my cheerleader, applauding me for being “strong.” Now suddenly it reared its ugly head, revealing its superego. It was screaming at me, berating me for letting myself go. The barometer of my self-worth was betraying me.

Then I read about a girl who suffered from bulimia and how easy it was to purge herself of the demons that haunted her. Extra calories. Fat. She would gorge on cream-filled donuts, greasy pizza and cookies, only to regurgitate the meal and watch it disappear down the toilet. This unknown woman became my mentor.

I was never gluttonous. No eating frenzies for me. I only used bulimia as a way to hide my eating disorder. My parents wanted me to eat, and so I did. But I couldn’t stand the feeling of food swimming in my stomach. I had to get it out. I had to purge myself and stay thin.

Interestingly enough, today I’d probably be diagnosed with purging disorder, a new eating disorder doctors are beginning to recognize that’s characterized by women of normal or thin weight who purge themselves after eating even small amounts of food by vomiting, taking laxatives or some other purging method.

But back then I was given another label – bulimia nervosa. I was told I had a “full-blown eating disorder” when I finally sought counseling in college. Because I met the puking quota – I had self-induced vomiting more than two times a week for longer than three months – I was seen as someone who needed help.

Amazingly, (I credit my parents’ support and my Catholic faith) I recovered fairly quickly. Although an eating disorder is an obstinate companion that never completely goes away. I still have days when I’m too consumed by my weight. I constantly have to fight impulses to engage in unhealthy behavior – whether it’s fasting or throwing up after eating two cookies – but I have come a long way from those dark days when I worshipped a god that did nothing but hurt me.

In some ways, I was fortunate; I was classified as an “eating disordered patient.” People were trained and available to help me.

Other women aren’t so lucky.

A friend once tearfully recounted an experience she had while trying to seek treatment.

“I wasn’t dangerously thin,” she told me after she learned I had struggled with an eating disorder, “but thoughts of food and diet were controlling my life. I wanted help, but I was terrified the therapists would laugh at me and tell me I wasn’t thin enough to have an eating disorder.”

She said she role-played her counseling session over and over in her mind:

“Do you starve yourself?”

“No.”

“Do you binge and purge?”

“Sometimes.”

“Have you lost more than 15 percent of your body weight?”

“Well, no but…”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t help you. You’re not skinny enough.”

Her premonition wasn’t too far off: She took a slew of psychological tests, briefly talked to a therapist and was then told she was not sick enough to get help. I wasn’t surprised. Insurance often won’t cover therapy for patients who don’t meet certain requirements the Diagnostic Statistical Manual (psychiatry’s bible) outlines for eating disorders.

One in five women is purported to have a clinically diagnosed eating disorder. They’re the ones everyone wants to help. But what about the millions of women who feel like failures because they eat bread (and other “bad” carbs) and aren’t Auschwitz-thin? Or all the prepubescent girls who are on a diet right now? What about the college student who lives off beer, cigarettes and laxatives interspersed with an occasional meal? Are they not sick as well?

We’re all in denial if we think any woman who is preoccupied with diet, fitness or whether or not her thighs touch needs doesn’t help.

Frankly, I’m tired of the term “eating disorder." Many women will never vomit every day (or ever) or starve themselves to the point of emaciation. But that doesn’t mean they don’t have a problem. The obsession with all the media figures who have personal trainers, cooks and their share of eating problems is taking its toll most women. It’s rare to find a woman who loves her body (all the time, not just when she’s on a diet), unless perhaps she’s sucked out the fat, tucked the tummy and taken a knife to her breasts to boost her cup size. (Research suggests that media idealize a female body that only one percent of woman can hope to biologically attain.)

It’s time all women – mothers, sisters, grandmothers, wives, girlfriends – take it upon themselves to stop the self-loathing and the “lookism” permeating in our culture. It’s time we remember we are made in the image of God and that our bodies truly are temples that deserve our respect. It’s time we help our children develop positive body images and not support media that perpetuate unhealthy and unnatural bodies. What’s important is being healthy and knowing our worth is much deeper than our dress size.

As a woman who once was at war with her body, trust me on this one. A fixation with weight only robs you of your inner peace and health. And even when the scale is cheering you on to lose more weight - it is only a hollow, ephemeral espousal that knows nothing of true happiness

Soul Food

“My Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” (John 6:32-33, 35)

If we really are what we eat, then I guess that makes me a chocolate-spinach truffle. My diet is rich in whole grains, fruits and veggies. But I’m no saint. I have a sweet tooth that would give Willy Wonka a run for his money.

My husband, on the other hand, doesn’t think chocolate is the sixth food group. Nor does he devour a heaping helping of leafy greens every day. It’s everything in moderation for him.

As Catholics, whether we’re health nuts, self-proclaimed junk addicts or something in between, there’s one food none of us can live without: The Eucharist. God sent us his only Son to make us stronger. This is the divine food that nourishes our souls. It’s the one meal we should never skip. And when it comes to Jesus, there’s no such thing as moderation. He’s there for the taking.

Lord Jesus, help me to never be hungry again. Fill me with your love through the power of the Eucharist.

Mirror Image

My 14-month-old loves to kiss her image staring back at her in my bedroom’s full-length mirror. I watched her the other day smiling and waving at herself and then leaning in for a wet kiss, and I found myself wondering if I’ve ever felt like kissing the reflection that stares back at me when I give myself the once over in a mirror.

Truth is, I’m often not happy with what I see. That big pimple on my chin sure isn’t pretty. (Someone please tell me why I am still getting pimples anyway. I’m nearly 30 for goodness’ sake!) My arms aren’t toned enough. My bum looks bigger today than it did yesterday.

You get the picture.

But God doesn’t. He can’t understand why I don’t love myself more because He doesn’t see what I see at all.

God loves what He created. We can be curvy, rifle-thin, disabled, disfigured, and it doesn’t matter. He looks past our corporeal qualities and sees our souls.

When we criticize our reflections, we’re not seeing clearly. We’re blind to the kind of pure, unconditional love that God has for each of us.

For today, why not try to look at your reflection in the mirror through God’s eyes? Look past whatever perceived imperfection you think you have and don’t question God’s taste. He made you and He loves what He sees with a love no one else can ever offer you.

Silencing Cookie Monster

I found something the other day scribbled down in an old notebook. I vaguely remember it being a draft for a characterization exercise for one of my theatre classes in college. The scary thing is, I can recall times in my life when I shared a similar thought pattern over what I should or shouldn’t be eating.

Oh, that cookie looks so good. Just look at the chocolate chunks in that sucker. Mmmmmm…. But I can’t eat that cookie. It’s huge. I bet it’s at least 500 calories. Maybe more. I don’t want to even think about how many fat grams are probably crammed into that circle of deliciousness. It looks so chewy and gooey and good. I wish I had a super fast mutant metabolism. Then I could eat it and not have to worry about it showing up later in the form of cellulite on my thighs or as a soft pooch on my belly. At least I can suck in my stomach. Why can’t we suck in our butt or thighs?

I have been good today though. All I had for lunch was a big salad. I did use some dressing though, but it was the light stuff. I’ve been exercising every day, too. Don’t I deserve a little treat? I mean, it’s just a cookie. I could skip a meal tomorrow to compensate for the extra calories. Or I could workout twice in one day.

Maybe I should try on my jeans first. If they feel big, then I should definitely just eat the cookie. Or, I could weigh myself. Or better yet, why don’t I just have one bite? I don’t have to eat the whole thing. One tiny morsel won’t hurt me. That’s the perfect solution. Here, I’ll break off this tiny piece and put it in my mouth….

Oh, my goodness. That is so good. It tastes even better than it looks. Maybe I’ll have just one more bite. Besides, the chocolate taste like dark chocolate, and dark chocolate is good for you. I mean, I’ll be fighting cancer if I eat some more of this cookie. Just one more tiny bite… Oh, so yummy. Well, gee. Now I’ve already messed up. What’s the point of leaving half a cookie? I might as well go ahead and eat the rest of it. Yummy! That was so good.

Wait a minute. What did I just do? I can’t believe I just ate that entire cookie! It’s the size of a freakin’ plate. I swear, I’ll never do that again. I need to go to the gym…right now. I’ve got to burn off some extra calories. I’m so weak. Geez…the stupid cookie wasn’t even that good. It tasted kind of artificial, really. It was too chewy, too gooey.

No more cookies for me…ever. Except maybe at Christmas. And I can have some cookie cake on my birthday. But that’s it. I’m detoxing my body of all processed food starting tomorrow. What’s wrong with me? I feel fat already. I bet I’ve already gained a pound, and my jeans will definitely be tighter. I’m going to go try them on now…

A little funny? Yes. And a bit sad, too? Definitely.

Perhaps you’re wondering who really spends that much time thinking about a stupid cookie besides that furry blue monster that entertains preschoolers. I’d bet more people than you’d think.

And even if most of us don’t agonize that much over one cookie, I’ve heard plenty of people talk about their constant struggles with food choices.

Now let’s think about all that cookie and body angst this way: Just consider for a moment what would happen if we took all the time we spend obsessing about what we eat or how we look and used it instead to pray. We may not look like Heidi Klum (or Brad Pitt for you men out there), but we’d surely be more at peace.

I admit I sometimes still categorize food into good and bad categories, but as my husband reminds me: There is no good or bad food. It’s just food – fuel for your body. Some of it’s better for your body, of course. Whole grains, lean protein, and fruits and veggies are the premium fuel. But consuming the other stuff – cookies, salty chips, butter and fried food – in moderation won’t sabotage our health.

Most of the time when I start obsessing about ice cream or a piece of chocolate, I just allow myself a small indulgence and I really savor its taste. If I start to feel guilty about noshing on something that’s less than nutritious, then I remind myself that the virtues of prudence and temperance are helpful in achieving balance when it comes to healthy eating and living. When we apply the order of reason, enjoying an occasional ice cream sundae or full-bodied glass of wine won’t kill us, and indulging in them every once in awhile does not make us bad or weak.

So, here’s my advice for today: Give in to a craving. Enjoy it. Eat it slowly, and savor the taste, the texture, everything you love about it. And when you’re finished, do not feel guilty. I repeat: DO NOT FEEL GUILTY. If you start to, go on a walk and thank God for your taste buds and everything else he’s given you. And the next time you’re tempted to start obsessing about what you eat or don’t eat, try praying instead.

Breaking a Sweat

Today I had the rare opportunity to hit the pavement sans the kiddos. Without my sidekicks, I could focus on my running/walking rhythm, the beat of my heart, and the sweat beads forming all over my body. It was hot – an oppressive kind of hot that only comes when you live in a city that shares roughly the same latitude as Beirut and Casablanca. But I was happy to be alone in the elements, moving my body, even if I could no longer physically cover as much ground as I once did.

Just three years ago, I was what you'd call an avid runner. I’d easily log in 20-plus miles a week. Sometimes I’d run with friends, but mostly I liked to run alone. This was my time to think without any distractions. I’d fall into the rhythm of running and my thoughts somehow became looser and more free-flowing. It was during my runs when I problem-solved, made goals that had nothing to do with fitness, and often prayed.

I don’t run much these days. A chronic injury has sidelined me for a few years now. However, I do make an effort to exercise consistently. Of course, I no longer find much time for what I refer to as contemplative exercise. I take regular walks, but my little ones are usually with me. I’m not complaining; our walks together are fun. In fact, I realized that even today I was staring at a puffy cloud and seeing the profile of a triceratops since Madeline and I try to find objects floating in the sky. I also saw some bright pink blossoms and imagined Madeline saying, “Can we plant some flowers like ‘dat’ someday?” When I’m with my kids, I notice things my adult senses gloss over – the neighborhood dog barking (“Can we have a dog like ‘dat’ someday, Mommy?”), the sunny daffodils, the airplane in the sky, or even the dried, dead worm on the sidewalk. Kids’ perpetual wonderment is such a gift!

Still, it was nice to be alone today with no distractions. I picked up the pace and ran for a mile or so before my hip started screaming at me. My lungs were slightly burning. Sweat was starting to slide down my body. I felt the sun’s heat burn on my skin. I was thankful for my body’s response to the exercise. It reminded me of all that I’m capable of and of my strength. I realized that this is why I regularly break a sweat – whether with my kids or solo. It’s not really because I want to look a certain way or be swimsuit-ready. It’s because it reminds me that my body is a gift from God and that I am healthy and alive. I often find that exercise it as good for the soul as it is for the body.

Welcome, Kate!

I'm so excited and honored to have my cyber-friend Kate Wicker join me here!

We met through our blogs and have so much in common. I've coined a phrase to describe it -- we're "kindernet" friends -- kindred spirits brought together through the wonders of the worldwide web!

Kate has much to offer with her personal experience, sense of humor, authentic faith, and wonderful writing. Be sure to visit her at Momopoly as well!

Some Body to Love

I am honored and thrilled to be a new contributor to this blog (thanks, Cathy!). I regret to admit that body image problems have been a stubborn companion of mine for as long as I can remember. Even as a child, I can recall thinking I was "gross" or "fat" despite growing up in a loving, faith-filled family. I was clinically diagnosed with an eating disorder in high school, was "recovered" only to suffer a severe relapse during my senior year of college. Almost daily I have to fight the funny mirror inside my head that distorts who I am and what I look like. I have all the risk factors: perfectionism, a desire for control, a few obsessive-compulsive tendencies (yes, I click the lock button on my car key chain at least three or four times just to make sure the doors are really locked).

But I also have my faith and I've found this is the best armor around at deflecting unhealthy thoughts and behaviors pertaining to weight. I plan on sharing more of my personal story down the road, but I want all of you to know that this blog isn't just for eating disorder patients - it's for anyone who has at one time or another struggled with their appearance, wondered if they'd be happier if they could just lose that last five pounds, or sworn off carbs for three months in an attempt to squeeze in to that old pair of "skinny" jeans.

It's also for people who are blessed to have a perfectly healthy body image but who may have a loved one - a spouse, a child, a friend - who is struggling. Something I discovered in my own journey is that having a loved one with an eating disorder is very difficult. People get frustrated and can't figure out why a person just won't eat or why he or she doesn't recognize their inner and outer beauty. But it's not about beauty or even thinness. It runs much, much deeper. I look forward to sharing my story in hopes that it might help someone out there. Finally, this blog is for anyone who is trying to be healthy and to respect the bodies that God has loaned to us.

Now the real reason I wanted to mosey on over here today is to do what Cathy did and to give my body some love. Without further ado:

Five things I like about my body:
1. My legs. They're muscular and toned. People have asked if I'm a gymnast, which always makes me laugh. I may be a bubbly blond, but folks, I can't even do a cartwheel. Will someone please come teach my poor daughter how to do one?
2. My eyes. They change colors. Sometimes they're blue; other times they're more of a green. My pupils have a golden ring around them. I never noticed that until my husband pointed it out. Awwwww....isn't that sweet?
3. Hmmmm...Okay, there's got to be other things about this body of mine that I love...Oh, my feet. They're very tiny. I can fit into kids' shoes.
4. Just thought of something else, but it may get me into trouble considering all the fuss I seem to cause when I mention the word "breast." I don't care about the way they look and I'm certainly not talking about cleavage or anything sexy at all, but I am in awe of my breasts and the fact that they can feed my children.
5. My smile. Little Orphan Annie was right: You're never fully dressed without one.

Five things I like about my body that have nothing to do with its appearance:
1. My womb. I know I'm being unoriginal and stealing Cathy's idea, but I am so thankful for my womb and the two children it's cocooned so far.
2. My voice. I'm no future American Idol, but I can carry a tune and I've always loved what St. Augustine said about singing: "To sing is to pray twice."
3. My brain. Again, I'm stealing from Cathy. Although mental gaffes have become a little more regular since becoming a mom of little ones who don't seem to grasp that whole "sleeping through the night" idea, my mind is very important to me and I'm thankful it sometimes allows me to string together coherent thoughts.
4. My hair. I guess this does have to do with my appearance, but I've always liked my hair and have never really understood the whole "bad hair day" phenomenon. Plus, it's natural blond and changes colors with the seasons (light blond in the summer and strawberry blond in the winter) and now its color seems to change with my babies. When I'm nursing, it's much darker. Must be a hormone thing.
5. My legs. Yes, I like their appearance, but I also love how strong they are and that I can run and walk with them. These legs have chased after toddlers, ran 26.2 miles in a row, and walked all over Europe during a backpacking trip.

Now, c'mon, what do you love about your body?