Anyone who has healed from/grieved through something significant can attest to anger's place in the process. Anger has its healthy place. Give it a rightful space to process through, not sit in.
As a young, outgoing, fluffy girl- there was no shortage in my confidence. I was smart, bright, and creative. Straight A's. Friendly, and delightfully awkward. As I grew, the confidence stayed because I was still crushing it in school, organized, talented, friendly and assertive. Fully me. I noticed that other girls were more slender and got positive attention for it. I, however, received negative attention for my appearance. The nicknames flowed in, and the self conscious period of my life began. I began paying attention to what Iate and exercised- very healthy habits. They became extreme, but not dangerous. I began getting positive attention from my body change, but the negative nicknames still hung as identity in my mind. The obsession began to gain momentum. I severely restricted my food, but could never get to the anorexic level so I tried bulimia. And for reasons that I can only say are God-driven, I could not make myself throw up no matter how hard I tried. I say this is God-driven because my nausea/gag reflex game is on point. Even to this day, they are easily triggered. Because of this blessing, I settled into actual healthy habits. Nothing extreme.... But still craving for someone to tell me I wasn't those nicknames the cruel children told me I was.
Then... fast forward a few years....came a boy.... I had met a couple before that, but there was a rule in my house that I couldn't date until I was 18.... Being the peacemaker child in a house of rebellion, I complied. Until 2 weeks after my 18th birthday. Because the nicknames left me hungry for affection and attention from "the one," I ignored so many warning signs that this was likely not the best path forward, or at least not at the pace that I was taking it. When I got engaged 5 months later, I assured my parents "I knew what I was doing," and "I had my eyes wide open." Huberus that can only come from youth. The man I married was spontaneous and had an affinity for flying by the seat of his pants. Throughout time together, those flighty habits began to become the norm in our lives, but I could still maintain some semblance of organization and control because I had the energy to do so. Graduating college, husband losing his job in the economic depression of 2009, adding child after child to our beautiful family... After the birth of our 3rd kiddo, the trauma from my husband's past burst forth like drainage from a wound that was never treated. His sexual addiction reared its beastly head and threatened to destroy every bit of what I thought was my reality. The lies began unwinding. The consequences for actions came for judgment, and the person who I had relied on for validation of who I was- inside and out- became a detestable creature to me.
To his great credit, he committed to the process of fighting the addiction. It wasn't a straight line or a smooth operation by any means. During this time, the insecure voice began to speak up. If only you were prettier, skinnier, etc. - this wouldn't have happened. Throughout the healing/grieving process, the untruth of this became clear. Sexual addiction in many forms and severity is everywhere, affecting people no matter how magazine model their significant other can be defined.
Anyone who has healed from/grieved through something significant can attest to anger's place in the process. Anger has its healthy place. Give it a rightful space to process through, not sit in. My anger fed my ability to see myself through a different set of eyes- inside and out. I became very conscious of loving the body I am in, and recognizing that others' actions are untied to how thin/fit I am.
Through a lot of hard work and counseling, there was redemption of that story, and my husband now runs a group dedicated to addressing and breaking the chains of sexual addiction in other men. For my healing... I had to let go of a lot of process... Expectations.... Organization.... Because those things required energy. I needed every bit of energy I had to draw in my next breath. If I had not surrendered them, they would have been the weights noosed around my neck as I drowned.
Then COVID hit... our family and relationship had healed by God's grace, yet the damage from the trauma wasn't completely worked through. Household disorganization, as well as healthy eating/active habits were not regained. The strategies that were helpful to me for surviving trauma are no longer serving me. It is time to cut off the weight of excuses, the weight of easy routes, the weight of lack of household accountability, the weight of the past. That is the weight to lose. Those are what make you heavy. It is not and never should be about the numbers on a scale, the size of a dress, that measure your worth. You have intrinsic value and beauty that are beyond definition and calculation. They are untouched by the decisions made by other people and really by even the decisions you make. Your value and beauty cannot be lessened. Know this as the story continues to unfold. Lose the weight of things that don't serve you. Give space for healthy anger, but don't sit in it. Take in wise counsel, and lean into the pain that serves your betterment. Let the unsolicited words of internal and external negativity fall to the ground as seed on rock, not growing any roots. Be every bit the you God has created you to be.