Where Does My Weight Come From? Part 2

Despite the fact that I am a total right-brain-make-a-list-for-everything-type-A-kind of gal, I was never great at following plans.  No, correction.  I was never great at following plans other people made for me, mostly because my pride would get in the way.

For example, when I decided to do my first marathon in Walt Disney World many moons ago, I signed up with Team in Training, an organization that provides athletes with a group and coach to work out with.  Participants raise funds for cancer research throughout the course of the 3 month long training, and I quickly joined the team because my mom had recently passed away from the dreaded illness and I wanted to do SOMETHING grand in her memory.  After the introductory group meeting when the coach described the set up of the running program, I soon realized that I was one of the faster runners (even though I’d never run more than 8 miles), the youngest person there by far, and could probably fare pretty well in the 26.2 mile race.  But then I looked at the weekly training schedule, and internally scoffed at it.

Run only 3-4 times a week?

What is this “deload” thing for?  Why do I need to let my body “rest”?

Why don’t we ever run a full 26.2?  How will only going 20 miles prepare me for this monstrous race?

When the coach asked if I had any questions, I politely shook my head no, but inside I knew that an extra 20 minutes on the “easy” recovery run day or another extra 5 miler thrown in after the long run day probably wouldn’t hurt me.  OF COURSE I knew better than the professional in charge of the training.

I soon realized how little I knew about running, and that my pride would get the best of me.

True to form, throughout the course of the three month training, I logged in a few more miles on Mondays and Wednesdays, re-ran the previous week’s mileage when I was supposed to deload, and added another mile to the long runs as a cool down.  Flying to Florida for the race, I was a bit tired, but chalked it up to waking early to catch a long flight and the pre-race jitters that raged through my body.  The marathon began on a Sunday at 6am, so I showed up to the start line at 5am.  Just walking to the start, my legs felt like lead.  I tried pushing the gnawing voice of “OH MY GOD YOU ARE GOING TO DIE!” out of my brain, and when the race began, I started out at a conservative pace, shuffling along with the other 10-minute milers.  It was deathly cold (50 degrees for this Hawaii gal is freezing), and when mile three and four ticked by, my calves started to cramp a little.  Mile ten came and went, and my knees ached.  Mile fifteen signaled the point when I knew I had made a mistake adding in those extra miles:  my feet were flat, my thighs felt jello-y, and I saw Jeff Galloway cruise right past me with a smile on his face like he had just started the race.  Oof.  The one positive take away from the marathon was that I accomplished my goal and finished in under five hours–sadly, the last 10k felt like it lasted forever and I mentally counted every step from mile 20 until the end, telling myself I could lay in a tub of bubbles after the ordeal was over.  Thank goodness for the men and women dressed in Disney character costumes cheering us runners on towards the end, otherwise I probably would have dropped out.

I thought I knew better than the coach, who to his credit, was quite an accomplished long distance runner with numerous marathon and local race wins under his belt, and so did what I thought was best.  Adding additional miles onto an already strenuous training regimen along with skipping rest weeks did not equate to marathon success.  In my case, it resulted in marathon pain.

My pride got to me then, and as a result I’m always quite vigilant about my pride getting the best of me now.  For example, take this last period when I saw a dietitian to help me gain weight.  From the onset, this professional gave me a very regimented meal plan to follow which included daily Haagen Daas desserts, fries everyday if I wanted it, and full fat milk with every meal.  I tried to push aside my “I think I know better” thoughts and followed her plan, yet as I documented in my previous post, there came a point when the structure of the meal plan left me feeling down right miserable.  That feeling plus being away from my family to attend groups left me struggling with the prospect of stopping seeing her and finding guidance elsewhere.  My biggest concern, however, was that I didn’t want my decision to leave be one sourced in pride.

Did I really not agree with her meal plan structure?  Or was it that I thought I knew better than her and was projecting my own prideful views on her methods?  After much prayer, deliberation, and talking it over with my husband, I realized that my desire to gain weight did not have to leave me feeling physically, emotionally, and psychologically drained.  There are other options out there, and so I made the decision to find guidance with food and exercise elsewhere.  I knew I needed someone to hold me accountable to gaining weight, and that same person also needed to be educated in nutrition so as to help me tinker with my food intake if I wasn’t gaining or, Heaven forbid, lost weight.  On the flip side, what if I saw another professional for guidance and she gave me a lovely meal plan to follow, but I once again took the same “I know better” route and merely tinkered with the template until it was unrecognizable to the original?

That was where RP stepped in.

RP, or Renaissance Periodization, is a program I discovered while scouring Instagram about a year and a half ago.  At the time, I was wanting to make gains with my weightlifting, and it seemed like EVERY SINGLE WEIGHTLIFTER was adhering to this company’s protocols of pre/post training eating.  I hate to say that RP is a “program”  because the facets of their approach to health, eating, and performance are purposeful and thoughtful lifestyle changes that many individuals need to make regardless if they are athletes or not.  Some of the tenants most RP folks adhere to are as follows:

Eating every 3-4 hours so the body doesn’t go too long without fuel.

Eating whole foods whenever possible.

Including vegetables at (almost) every meal.

Making sure to include all three vital macronutrients throughout the day.

Eating/drinking carbohydrates and protein around training time so muscles are adequately fueled.

Making sure the body gets enough rest and deloads (ha ha, there’s that word again!) so it doesn’t stress itself out.

Eating/drinking casein before bed to help muscle repair.

These statements may seem like standard and common sense approaches to nutrition (well, maybe you may not have known the thing about casein), but with the onslaught of Atkins-Keto-Low Carb-Paleo-and-the-list-goes-on-diets, these aims of RP are (sadly) NOT the norm for some folks.

In my last foray with RP, I followed their massing template and put on around 10 pounds over the span of 3 weeks.  I also PRd many of my lifts and felt energetic and fulfilled.  After my 12 week massing season ended, however, I didn’t follow the RP maintenance protocol as I should have (once again, pride got in the way and I thought I knew how to handle weight maintenance, ha ha), and ended up losing the hard earned weight I had gained.  Thus, months later, I ended up ten pounds down, staring at an Easter picture of a skinny-me, wondering what went wrong.

Ahh, that pride got in the way.

And so my journey to weight gain (which you are probably familiar with now after reading my posts) took a detour from RP as I started seeing my old eating disorder-specialized dietitian.  After following her structure for a little less than a month, I regained all ten pounds.  Wonderful, right?  Well, in actuality I felt awfully lethargic and was on a constant diet of highly processed food and caffeine, which I knew was contributing to me feeling physically BLAH. I didn’t have energy or a spring in my step, even with the additional weight on my body–and sadly, these first ten pounds were only the starting point as I actually wanted to gain beyond that in order to help me increase my lifts in the gym.  I was quite lost at this point as I couldn’t forsee myself following this dietitian’s structure for the next month or two or three.  It wasn’t until talking to a gal from an RP online group about my situation that she suggested I go back to the templates, start off maintaining on those, and then attempt another weight gain cycle once my body was adjusted to eating more whole foods.  My online friend is quite knowledgeable on the subject of weight gain and RP had worked in my situation before, so I dusted off the old templates I purchased almost a year ago and started once again at square 1.  After a week or so of eating on the massing template, I found myself feeling a whole lot more energized–my lifts didn’t feel monstrously heavy like in the previous weeks, and I was able to go through a busy day on only 2 cups of coffee a day.  My weight was stable, and eating peanut butter daily, making my own chicken for dinner, and preparing vegetables for our family felt exciting and new.

But like anything “new”, I anticipated the honeymoon phase to end.  Because there was no person I could check in with like I did with my old dietitian, I COULD follow the template one day, I COULD NOT follow it another day.  There was no person to hold me accountable and slap my hand to say, “No, you need 1/2 cup more of rice with that meal.”  More importantly, I was afraid my pride would get to me, and that the massing diet would morph into a juggling of macronutrients so that my meals could fit what I thought was best for me at the time.  James 4:10 says to “Humble yourself before the Lord, and He will lift you up.”  Well, I needed that humility in me.  I needed to give the reigns over to someone else totally, a professional who could help me gain weight healthfully and with great intention.

And then the day came.  I was browsing through Facebook one afternoon, thinking about my lack of humility and how I really needed outside help to get me where I wanted to go, when an ad for someone called the Nutrition Tactician popped up on my feed.  I didn’t think much of his smiling face and was about to continue scrolling when I caught one of my friend’s comments under his photo.

“Paul is awesome.  Listen to this video he just made.”

Maybe it was divine intervention–maybe Jesus knew I needed an answer to pop up right in front of me.  Either way, I clicked on his video about dieting myths, and it was then that I knew.  Paul Salter, a RP dietitian and founder of The Nutrition Tactician, was the professional I wanted to guide me in gaining weight.  Needless to say, within minutes of messaging him, I was sent forms to fill out, and just like that, Paul became my accountability partner, the person who I trusted (and am still trusting) to get me where I want to be with my weight and lifting.  What was it about Paul that I was drawn to?  Well, despite the fact that he is a friendly and energetic person in general, I appreciated the way he was able to explain complex nutritional advice in an understandable way.  Plus, when I initially talked with him about my history with anorexia, he immediately said that I wouldn’t have to weigh-in if I didn’t want to as seeing numbers on a scale may be triggering–for me, seeing how much pounds I am isn’t a source of negativity so I do weigh myself with Paul, but I appreciated that he was cognizant of the fact that seeing a number on a scale may cause unnecessary mental anguish.  Furthermore, he laid out a plan that lasted beyond just a month–he took into consideration my goals and timed out appropriate massing and maintenance weight phases for the next year or so.

Awesome.

Paul prescribes a very detailed meal plan for me to follow–daily eating times are broken down according to what kind of training I’m doing when, and I email him my weights twice a week along with any other questions I may have.  Here’s the thing though:  it would be very easy for me to alter the templates he created for me or sub in this protein for this carb or not eat a fat serving now and save it for later.  I could let my pride or “I know better” thinking affect my daily eating.  But for what purpose?  I’m investing in a professional’s guidance in helping me gain weight, and so far I have been faring well in following his plan and seeing results in the gym and out.  The proof of his expertise (I am making personal bests in all my lifts, have increased energy so I’m only drinking 1/3 cup of coffee in the morning to wake up instead of multiple energy drinks throughout the day, and eating for a mass cycle that has me gaining steadily each week) makes it easy to know that the plan he has me on is GOLD.  I don’t need to change anything because the results speak for themselves.

My decision to work with Paul, however, is quite individualized according to my physical and emotional needs.  Would I have made the same choice if I were hovering at 90 pounds and running everyday?  Probably not.  Would I have made the same choice if I were at a similar weight to what I am now but mentally fearful of eating avocados and nuts and putting Vitargo in my intra-training shake?  Probably not.  The thing is, Paul gives me a plan and it is then up to me to follow through on it.  Everyday when I wake up, I know that there is a template to adhere to, and so I push aside my pride and make my breakfast, prepare my after training meal, and devour my nighttime casein because I know that these actions are healthy for me.

I have goals to attain, and I’m not only referring to powerlifting totals.  I want to be able to fuel myself throughout the day in a way that allows me the most flexibility to be a mom, teacher and wife.  I want to be able to fuel myself so that I am able to get my kids ready for the school day, lecture to all my classes on Walden, and prepare dinner for my family without feeling physically spent.  I want to live the life God intended me to live, and the only way to do that is if I’m physically, emotionally, and spiritually strong.

Some may say that following a regimented eating schedule like what I follow is no different than when I was restricting myself to one Subway sandwich a day or subsisting on vegetables and diet soda.  There may be some truth in that both styles of eating require a person to have a certain type of meal at a certain time, but here’s the catch:  the plan Paul has laid out for me was made with the intention to help me thrive in all of my daily activities.  Unlike the rigid veggie-Subway-diet soda diet I adhered to for many years while in the thick of anorexia, there is no condemnation or feelings of dread if I eat more than prescribed.  I know that I can go out with my family for dinner and the anxious pangs of “Oh no, what do I eat?!” are not ruminating in my thoughts like they would have many years ago.  Paul and RP have given me accountability to maintain my health, a mindset of moderation in what to eat and how to train, and most importantly, a lifestyle change that has awarded me more freedom to live an energetic and freeing life in and out of the gym.

As always, I will keep you all updated on my progress with Paul and RP.  For the first time in a long time, I feel comfortable with the weight I gained and HOW I gained said pounds.  Rather than feel lethargic and conflicted about getting bigger legs and beefier arms, I am actually looking forward to making additional gains in the upcoming weeks.  I am constantly reminded that like everything in life, there is a season for all things.  Right now is the time for me to make strides in my physical strength and use those external gains to encourage and propel me to continue to improve my emotional and spiritual well being–and I couldn’t be more excited to see what transpires in the following weeks.

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Where Does My Weight Come From? Part 1

Disclaimer:  Everyone’s needs are different, and seeking help for eating disorders is unique to each individual.  What I did to be on the road to and find recovery from anorexia worked for me, but my actions may not work for another person in a similar situation.  Always consult with professionals when determining what course of action to take with eating disorder recovery.

 

In three months, I’ve gained ten pounds.

And I couldn’t be happier.

But I still want more.  A higher number on the scale.  Meatier thighs so I can squat more weight and run faster with my daughter.  Thicker arms so I can juggle the toddler, grocery bags, and my purse up the two flights of stairs to get from our garage to the kitchen.  I want to take up more room, more space.  It sounds cliched, but I want to be the healthiest version of myself possible–body, mind, spirit, and soul.

I was strategically aiming to reach the bodyweight number I am at now waaaay back in April when I saw a picture of myself at a wedding and internally cringed at how skinny my arms looked and how tired my face was.  Ten pounds seemed like a doable goal in three months, but I knew I needed a plan of attack and a person to hold me accountable to the weight I wanted to put on my body.  It was at that point when I sought out professional help to push me towards regaining those pounds.  I went back to seeing the dietitian I used when I was first diagnosed with an eating disorder, and immediately started attending twice weekly food groups and individual sessions.  Spending two nights aways from my family was very tough, as our dinnertime-bath-bed ritual was relegated to my husband, and I cried a little inside whenever I thought of my little toddler not getting his good night kiss from mommy.

But I stuck it out–being away from my family for three hours twice a week, getting substitutes to cover my classes when I had to go to appointments–because that was what I assumed needed to be done in order to gain weight and be at a healthy place physically and mentally.  I enjoyed eating whatever food whenever I wanted to (Pick the highest calorie option!!!  More cake!!!  More ice cream!!!), but then there were the side effects.

I would get immediately drowsy after eating, which was a problem considering I was eating three meals and three snacks daily.  The only time I ever felt alert was after a morning cup of coffee (Deathwish coffee, mind you), but then breakfast would happen, and I’d immediately want to curl up in bed for the remainder of the day.

I was still lifting weights, albeit not as intensely as before, yet every time I went to squat, bench, or deadlift, I felt physically weak.  The weight on the barbell wasn’t increasing, and in fact, I strategically lowered the weight so as not to drain myself that much more.  I assumed this action would help with my energy levels, yet I’d enter the gym feeling depleted, and leave even more drained.  Ironically, I assumed that the body weight I was gaining would help me feel stronger when I trained.  N-O.  The fatigue I felt after eating gargantuan meals every 2-3 hours was impacting the time I spent trying to increase my Big 3.

I was getting less sleep at night because the food groups lasted until after the time I normally went to bed.  Lack of sleep plus drowsiness after eating made me a walking zombie throughout the day.  After my morning cup of joe, I’d sip on soda on the way to school, chug more coffee at work, down an energy drink before training, and inhale more soda after that to be awake so I could attend a food group at night.  My blood flowed with caffeine.

I was missing instructing my students so I could meet with the dietitian during the week.  This made me my heart break, as my English classes were wrapping up learning about the different American eras.  I thoroughly enjoyed the unit we were on–Modernism and Contemporary literature–and I would normally pace around the room, reading Eliot and Hughes aloud to the class.  Sadly, since I had to miss some instructional time due to individual dietitian appointments, my normal lesson plans had to be altered so it was sub-ready, which meant the usual interactive lecture-discussions were nixed.

I was beginning to feel like a failure in all areas of my life.

After a few weeks of this group-appointment-group cycle and enduring these side effects, I realized that the help I was seeking from this dietitian (while it may be good for those individuals who need a lot of structure and planning because they are at an extremely low weight and need constant monitoring) was in fact debilitating my REAL LIFE.  I couldn’t be a mother because I was constantly tired from lack of sleep.  I couldn’t teach because, well, I physically wasn’t in the classroom.  I couldn’t be a wife because I wasn’t at home.

To give my former dietitian some credit, she is quite successful at helping adolescent gals and guys find a place of weight stability.  Since there are not many eating disorder specialists in the state, she is one whom many turn to for advice and help, and during monthly family support groups I routinely hear parents say she was THE REASON their child was able to find a place of recovery.  I know that what the dietitian does with her clients–twice weekly food groups, close monitoring of food logs, hour long individual appointments once (or maybe twice or three times) a week–produces results, namely weight gain.  Her approach to how to handle eating disorder recovery is aggressive but is one widely accepted method of healing.

Although I was in need of some weight gain, I was in a different space mentally and emotionally than many of her adolescent patients.  Yes, I still battled the eating disorder voice when the rules I had about food and exercise regurgitated itself through my consciousness, yet I was in a much more reasonable and sane place than in years past and could actually pinpoint that sinister voice and eradicate it from my thoughts through the power of prayer.  Similarly, my outward actions were much different than the warped behavior patterns I participated in while at an extremely low weight.  Case in point: prior to undergoing the barrage of food groups and individual appointments, I broke up with a weightlifting coach and his programming because the intensity of his training was wrecking havoc on my body.  On the food front, I would buy for myself my favorite cookie from the Cookie Corner because I wanted to.  Just because.  And then I ate it.  I knew that rest was just as important as work, and so I made myself a bedtime, and even if I had stairs to vacuum or papers to grade, I put everything aside to get in bed.  Since healthy relationships are also key in helping a person be connected to others, I scheduled date nights with my husband so that we could bond without the children.  Spiritually, I knew that Jesus was the one true healer and Lord of my life, and so I sought Him out daily in prayer.

I did all of these things prior to seeing the dietitian, and basically looked to her as another means of support in my weight gain journey.  Physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually I was in a much better place than when I had majorly relapsed years and years ago.  Was I perfect?  No.  But I was definitely in need of a different type of support than what the dietitian I was seeing offered.  But then the bigger question remained:  Where would I find this support?  I still wanted to be bigger and gain more weight, but I needed someone to point me in the right direction so that when I did put more pounds on my body, I could do so without hampering my quality of life.

Low and behold, I eventually DID find that support.  In my next post, I’ll share more about the steps I took to find that support, and how my life has positively changed as a result.

 

The Meeting

Aside from teaching driver’s education or being a stray dog wrangler for the Human Society, I can imagine that being a dietitian and working with eating disorder patients must be one of the most stressful and demanding jobs. Ever. Sure, talking to people about food all day may seem like loads of fun for some, but try coercing a malnourished, defiant teenager to have a glass of milk with her lunch, only to be met with screaming, crying, yelling, and (possibly) threats of bodily harm. All over one tall glass of milk.

Thankfully I never verbally or physically threatened my dietitian (or myself for that matter) when faced with having to eat a double scoop ice cream sundae or an additional serving of meat loaf because my weight was down. I was always
a pretty compliant patient, most likely because God had given me an internal feeling of freedom and faith, so I felt relief and joy at the prospect of having to eat bacon and eggs for breakfast. I had been starved for so long that giving myself permission to enjoy meals with family and friends again felt like a little slice of heaven.

God’s faith has been at the core of my recovery, but full health cannot be achieved without a great support system, and the professionals I saw were just that. Interestingly enough, considering all of the years I’ve known the members of my treatment team, I still vividly remember the first day I met my nutritionist. After that initial appointment I had upon returning home from college, my doctor referred me to a special trio of professionals that specialized in recovery from eating disorders. My pediatrician warned me about “Kailey”, the dietitian he wanted me to see, but even with his forewarnings (and they were positive, mind you), I never expected Kailey to be as fiery and passionate about eating disorder recovery as she portrayed on that fateful summer morning.

I had a mid-morning appointment, right about snack time, and given the breakfast of cereal I had three hours earlier, my stomach was making obscene noises by the time our family stepped into her office. The space emitted an auburn hue, probably because of the orange-yellow painted walls, and I recall thinking she should throw some leaves in the corner and put a pumpkin near the door, and THEN it would feel like autumn, not sweltering hot like the beginning of June.

“HELLO there, you must be Lauren!” Kailey boomed as she stepped into the waiting room to face my parents and I. I was perched surreptitiously on the edge of a cushioned sofa, back rigid, fingers already cold from the air-conditioning. My parents automatically stood up with hands extended, and I almost laughed. Kailey towered over my father, and at almost six feet tall, she eclipsed my dad’s small frame and most definitely loomed over my five foot high mother. Intimidating in deed. As I eased myself up off the seat and held my hand out, I realized how warm and enveloping her shake was. Veins criss-crossed around my bony wrists and the backs of my hands, whereas Kailey’s were a smooth almond cookie hue. Although her large stature would lead even the strongest of men to shrink back in trepidation and cautiousness, I wasn’t in fear of her. Wait, let me correct that. My rational mind wasn’t scared–the eating disorder part of my brain, however, was shaking in its’ boots. Yes, even with God’s peace and prayer, the enemy was trying to find a loophole, a small entryway to worm back into my mind. That’s the interesting thing about freedom. After a wonderful prayer session with my mom, I had discovered what it felt like to have the shackles removed from my thoughts. Romans 12:12 says to be to be diligent in prayer, and just like any kind of relationship where communication is key for it to prosper and flourish, I needed to continue to seek His face daily. Hourly. Whenever I felt over-the-moon with joy or deep in the depths of despair. The relapse rate for eating disorder recovery is tremendously high, and I can only assume that part of the reason why is because patients and supporters see a physical weight gain, but fail to acknowledge that the mental, emotional, and spiritual person needs to be completely whole as well–and one key component in reaching that aim is consistently rejoicing in the pounds gained and food eaten and asking God for help when the eating disorder voice wants one to go for a ten mile run or only eat a bowl of cereal all day.

I never used to like to say that I was in treatment for an eating disorder because most people automatically assumed that I restricted food or exercised for hours on end because I was vain and just wanted to be “skinny.” Yes, I did care about my appearance to a degree, but doesn’t everyone? Don’t we all brush our teeth, buy nice clothes, cut our hair, and clip our nails so that we are seen as responsible and respectable individuals that can function in society? What the majority of the population doesn’t understand is that anorexia, bulimia, or any type of eating disorder for that matter is an actual mental illness, and patients dealing with it are not solely focused on appearance. How humbling it is to say that I have issues with my brain chemistry, and seeing along legged model on a magazine cover would not only lead me to compare my thicker thighs to hers, but to then become obsessed with that fact and strategize ways to whittle away said leg fat.

So when I actually met Kailey for the first time, the healthy part of me was ecstatic because NOW I could finally find hope and recovery from an eating disorder voice that would have tormented me for eating a cookie or berated me for missing a day running. The part of my brain, however, that was fixated on the miles I logged and the calories I ate knew that soon it would no longer have control over my actions, and like a toddler throwing a tantrum because he couldn’t get its’ way, it wanted to toss itself on the ground and have a screaming meltdown.

But the power of God is awesome. I felt that urge to run, the urge to turn right around and bolt out the door, but instead I just prayed.

“Lord Jesus, help me. Help me please. I’m incredibly frightened, but I trust that the person before me, Kailey, was put into my life by you to help me. Please help me.”

And wouldn’t you know, the apprehension, the turning in my gut, the anxiousness in my legs, they all vanished in an instant. And so the four of us–mom, dad, dietitian and me–began treatment.

“Well, why are you here?”

Such a loaded question, one with so many possible answers. Because I’m scared to eat. Because I can’t make myself stop running. Because I may die soon if I don’t gain weight. Because I don’t know how to deal with all the hard issues in my life.

“Um, I need to gain weight.”

“Well, that’s true. You do. And you will. And probably, you won’t like it very much. But first, let me tell you about my approach to recover.”

Boom. Right off the bat, Kailey confirmed to me the truth I knew I’d have to hear: I would gain weight, I may not like it, but it was inevitable. For the next thirty minutes or so Kailey discussed why weight restoration was important and some of the effects of malnourishment on the body. I was briefly entertained by her words, but my stomach was REALLY starting to gurgle by that point, and that gnawing pit of hunger was eating a larger and larger hole in my gut.

“Right. So, now here is the meal plan.”

Meal plan?! My ears perked up with that phrase. I had been on a meal plan too, but I highly doubted Kailey’s diet would be anything like mine.

“These are the requirements for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Plus there will be snacks in between, so we’re aiming for close to 3000 calories a day.”

Here is where I know God’s faithfulness and freedom are true. Give me that meal plan a month ago, I would have balked at the notion of eating that much. When Kailey handed me that sheet with the pre-approved foods listed on it, I was like a child at Christmas. What?! I’d be able to eat Ben and Jerry’s and it was ok? I could have hamburgers and fries everyday if I wanted?

“What do you think?” Kailey asked after my eyes glazed over the list of peanut butter crackers and Pop-tarts that constituted appropriate afternoon snacks.
“It looks fine!” I said enthusiastically. Maybe it was a bit too enthusiastic because I saw Kailey raise her eye at my grin.

“Ok, well, there’s a food group tonight I expect you to be at. So get lunch. From the list. Get a snack. From the list. And we’ll see you at Hungry Lion at 5:30.”

Hungry Lion. It was serendipitous that the first experience I’d have with group treatment would be at a restaurant named after what I felt most of the day (hungry) and an animal that represented the God I knew that would quench said hunger.

“Thank you, thank you.” My mother was beside herself with gratitude, a tear starting to form at the corner of her eye.

Group. Food group.  I smiled a true honest to goodness smile of relief and joy as my parents and I stood to leave. Besides the fact that I had a great sense of physical hunger–by that point my stomach was ready to eat itself I was so starved–I was ready. Like a runner, cued in the blocks waiting for the gun to go off, I was ready to start running this race, this road to recovery