A Good Gift

Great with Child: My Body at its Finest

My body is a gift, a good gift. Though not a gift I’ve taken care of and treasured. Rather, I’ve neglected and mistreated it, then cursed the gift giver. As though it was God’s fault.

My word for 2014 is FREEDOM! God has helped me break free of many chains: guilt, shame, perfectionism. I knew this one was coming. It’s been a prison of my own making, going on 20 years.

Growing up, I was active and athletic (though not terribly coordinated). I valued my body and took care of it. I appreciated it for what it could do, much more than how it looked. I even enjoyed bathing suit shopping! Not because I was a waif. I’ve always had a sturdy frame. God blessed me with fleshy arms and generous thighs. Perfect for staying grounded, and hugging wholeheartedly.

When I went to college, my own apartment felt like freedom. When it came to food, it was really bondage, in disguise. I ate nothing but junk: cheesy doritos, frozen pizza, macaroni and cheese, french fries, Ben & Jerry’s. There wasn’t a single fruit or vegetable in my shopping cart. I gained at least 15 pounds that first summer. Which is a lot on my little 5’ frame.

As I gained weight, I felt less than. Old messages that fat was bad, ugly, and shameful, danced in my mind. Rather than losing the weight I’d put on, I became indignant and gained even more.

The rejection I experienced while overweight fueled my deep seeded fear: I’m not enough. Not worthy of love and affection. The worse I felt about myself, the more I ate. The more I ate, the worse I felt. It’s a toxic cycle.

Through the years, I’ve played with getting healthy. I’ve lost a lot of weight. But taking up less space on this earth doesn’t automatically heal the hurts. Flogging myself and shaming my back fat doesn’t inspire lasting change.

Eventually, life happens. When you seek comfort in food, there’s always a reason to eat: deployments, special needs, PCS moves, loss and grief. Life’s too hard. I’m too sad. Before I know it, a DQ Blizzard for dinner seems like an acceptable choice. The weight returns, with shame in tow.

Fast forward to this past weekend. I had an incredible day with my family. Then saw photos of myself. From behind, no less. As I looked at myself, all the joy drained out of me. Harsh, judgmental thoughts rushed into my mind.

Rather than camping there, I let the grace of God wash over me. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I had a pity party first. Then I picked myself up and remembered that my size is a reflection of my choices, not my worth.

God loves me exactly as I am. He also loves me too much to leave me in bondage. I am choosing to believe that I am who He says I am, and that through Him all things are possible. Old baggage and excess weight don’t serve me anymore. I have a race to run!

So, I’m grabbing this bull by the horns. I’m embracing my I-can-do-anything-I-put-my-mind-to attitude. It’s not about skinny. It’s about healthy and strong. It’s about conquering fears and dismantling lies. It’s about taking care of, and treasuring, the gift. 

Please visit me at my new blog, www.ericaaklan.com 

End of My Rope- My Messy Beautiful

I feel like a horrible mom. It’s only 7:20am, and I am quickly approaching my wit’s end. After a long week of interrupted sleep, sick kids, and plans thrown out the window, I am desperate for some peace. Instead, I lie in bed and listen to brothers bickering in the playroom across the hall. 

When they awoke at 6:00am, bright eyed and bushy tailed, I set them up with cartoons and climbed back into bed, hoping for a little more rest. No such luck! Now they’re climbing all over me and what is precious and heart-warming most days is grating on my last nerve.

I adore these children. But seven days of constant interaction and neediness has taken its toll. As I sit in my bedroom chair reading my devotional, Little Man climbs into my lap with a steady stream of questions, and Big Guy laughs and squeals in the chair across from me. I can’t even read my bible in peace! Let alone, use the toilet or change my clothes or speak to their father. I escape to the front porch to pray, and have a 5 year old in my lap within 90 seconds. I lie down on my bedroom floor to cry, and my 7 year old finds me hiding between my dresser and my bed. His daddy invited him to help in the garage, and, even with tools in-hand, he ditches guy time to find me. I’m about to lose my ever-loving mind.

My husband sees the desperation in my face and lovingly instructs me to shower and then leave. It’s clear I’ve reached the end of my rope. “Just please call me if you start thinking you don’t ever want to return,” he said. “That would be a problem!” I laugh and assure him, I’ll be back…eventually.

I have a horrible habit of neglecting myself in service to those around me. I pour myself out, caring for my family, at the expense of myself. I put my needs on the back burner and before I know it, my tone becomes harsh and I feel like I’m suffocating under the weight of my life.

What’s more, I have a hard time asking for help. The self-sufficient, over-achiever in me rears her ugly head and I buy into the lie that a “good mom” could handle my life. I fear I’m being selfish if I take time to myself, outside of the acceptable outings: church, bible study, an occasional date night. It’s crazy talk!

The challenges of motherhood are great. The never-ending, thankless tasks of laundry, cooking, and dishes are enough to suck the life right out of me. There are no year-end bonuses or accolades for keeping my family alive and loving them well. No atta-girls for tirelessly wiping bottoms and sweeping crumbs. 

Usually, the joys of motherhood outweigh the challenges. Until I drain myself dry. My kids don’t need a martyr. They need a mom who takes care of herself, so she has something to give. 

As I step into the shower, I remember that even Jesus needed time away from the masses: from those he loved and instructed, healed and restored.  He prayed and sought God and was refreshed and renewed. The mommy guilt washes away with the water, and I thank God that my hubby is here to help. I leave our children in his very capable hands.

As I stroll through Williams Sonoma, soaking in the grown-up surroundings, I feel tension leaving my body. I browse cookbooks, delight in beautiful table settings, and bask in the luxury of an unhurried pace. As I quiet my mind, I make room for God to speak.

When I try on clothes at the store next door, He reminds me that I am wholly and dearly loved: exactly as I am, today. He fills my cup with His truth and the lies lose their power.

I fill my shopping cart with ripe produce and revel in the goodness of dinner from the deli case. Only a mom of little ones is this excited about grocery shopping alone.

By the time I return home, I am at peace and my heart overflows with love. I’m greeted with great enthusiasm and return love to them in equal measure. This is the mom I want to be. This is who I am, when I take time for myself. I am a mom with untiring patience and determined perseverance. I am a mom who delights in my children, who shares adoring glances with my husband, wondering how we got so lucky.

I am a mom who takes care of myself, so that I have more than enough to give.

Please visit me at my new blog, www.ericaaklan.com

This essay and I are part of the Messy, Beautiful Warrior Project — To learn more and join us, CLICK HERE! And to learn about the New York Times Bestselling Memoir Carry On Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, just released in paperback, CLICK HERE!