trigger.

I think it's time to be honest.

Granted, every post within this blog is painfully open-souled.  My mom says I'm honest to a fault.

As much as I've talked about beauty and loving self, as passionate as I am about helping other girls discover their true beauty, I've left out the most important part:  the trigger.

Recently, someone I care about playfully referred to my waist as a tire.  Of course I still love that person.  Of course I've forgiven that person.  But, I noticed when I next saw myself in a mirror, I looked at myself differently.

That's not ok.

Every comment, tear and scale reading from junior high came flooding back, putting me right back where I was ten years ago.  (Before the trigger triggered, if you will.)

trigger:
In 7th grade, my co-ed PE class was forced to take a physical to see how fit, limber and athletic we were.  Needless to say, a class full of sweaty, awkward kids who only took PE because it was mandatory aren't fit, limber or athletic.

Regardless, I was called to the center of the gym when it was my turn to be weighed.  I waded, toward the scale, through the masses of crew socks and braces being tested on flexibility and jumping jack ability.  It tipped too far.

"175!"

Mortified.  Absolutely mortified that my 80-something male teacher alerted the entire class of more than fifty students (I reiterate - co-ed) of my pre-pubescent obesity. I ran to the bleachers and allowed every molecule of water in my body to escape through my tear ducts while a group of girls pointed and laughed. 

My friends tried to console me.  They told me that I was beautiful.  That I wasn't really that big. 

None of my friends weighed more than 110. 

They didn't understand.  Why couldn't I look like them?

I'd tried dieting before.  I'd tried being active before.  (You've seen in previous posts how well diets and exercise work for me . . .)  I knew they weren't going to work.  I needed something different that would make me lose my dozens of pounds of shame quickly.

So, I stopped eating. 

I lost 25 lbs. within the first month.  Everyone I knew, and many I didn't, told me how great I looked.  I got a "boyfriend."  (As much of a boyfriend as you can have when all you do is hold hands in art class.)  I made the cheerleading squad.

It was working.  But, it wasn't enough.

Because I was pursuing a materialistic beauty and chasing a white rabbit ideal, I was never satisfied.  The more I sought perfection, the emptier I felt.  I hadn't eaten anything but saltines in months and I still wasn't good enough.

Depression seeped in.  I could only see how terrible my life was and how worthless I was.  I wanted to die.  I tried to die.  Something always pulled me back. 

Sometimes, that something was common sense.  Sometimes it was cowardice.  Once it was my dad. 
Every time, it was Christ.

One night, I realized how atypical I'd been feeling.  I knew my life was fantastic, so I didn't understand why I'd let such opposite feelings overtake me.  I cried out to the only one I knew understood and wouldn't judge me.

Jesus and I had a long talk that night.  It was, perhaps, the most vividly I've ever heard God's voice.

He and I renewed our relationship.  Instead of pursuing a cheap idealization of beauty, I pursued Him.  I sought His Glory in everything.  I prayed, I studied my Bible and I ate.

It took time to get over all of those feelings and emotions I'd been harboring, but they steadily became less and less frequent until they were gone completely.  (They resurfaced in college.)



Is this far too honest for a potential audience of the entire world?  Absolutely.  But, I think it's necessary for a full realization of who I am today and the reasons for my passion.

The experience made me a stronger person, but I would never wish for young girls to mutilate their bodies or their minds in pursuit of an impossible standard.

You, dear reader, may share some of these feelings of self-worth, or maybe just a little latent thought that you'll be pretty in a 5-pound-lighter body.  That's why I'm so honest.  You and I can walk this road together.

That night that person talked about my "tire," I took a photo of my tummy.  My overweight, stretchmark-laden, cellulitic tummy. 

This tummy is on a size 18, 225 lb, 5'5, 22-year-old woman who is tired of hating it.  As I said before, I know the importance of losing the tummy, but I need to feel beautiful regardless of it.

I'm actually a little proud of it.  Yes, it's slightly disgusting, but I know that it proves I can be beautiful despite weight or dress size.

For the photo, I had written "Beautiful" backwards across my tummy so that every time I looked in the mirror, I would see that instead of the "grotesque" I usually envision.  I thought that maybe, just maybe, seeing it would help me to believe it.

It kind of has.

But, I know I have a long way to go.

If you're in the same boat, grab an oar, and we'll go there together.

a little love

In October, I said that I was going to love myself. I promised to be ok with my bumps and curves and everything that rolls in between.

I have yet to get there. (Of course, I'm eating an entire box of Samoas as I type this.)

Honestly, getting there is insanely difficult. Every day overwhelms me with a cannonade of ads, movies and magazines full of happy people.

Coincidentally, they're also all skinny.

Where are the big people? On news broadcasts about obesity. On reality shows getting makeovers. On Oprah, crying about how no one will love them.

Being skinny isn't bad. Neither is being fat. (Of course, being healthy is optimal.) And there isn't a single demographic of which all members are happy. Half of the skinny people want to lose weight just as much as the fat people.

For the past few months, I've been trying to find some way of making myself skinny - dieting, giving up certain foods for New Year's, going to the gym every day, extreme home fitness programs . . .

Each one of these has left me feeling worse about myself than the last.

So, I settled on something that makes me happy: running.

No, I can't run very far or very long. I get excited when I can run for six minutes without collapsing.

But, running gives me time to think. It gives me sun on my face and an excuse to not worry about work or school for 30 minutes to an hour every day. When I'm running, I don't care what I look like. I don't care what people think of me. I'm completely happy with myself.

I've also recently realized how awesome I am. My best friend joked yesterday about how much I embrace my awkwardness. I thought for a second before I replied.

"You know, as much as I torment myself about my physical appearance, I think I'm allowed to absolutely love my personality."

And it's true.

I don't think the key to personal happiness is being skinny. I don't even think it's being funny and smart (like I am, of course).

I think the key to personal happiness is finding one thing about yourself that you love, embracing it, then building on it.

Working out shouldn't be a chore. It should be fun and promote confidence.

So, that's what I'm doing. I'm having fun and simultaneously loving myself.

I think that through loving myself a little differently each day, through finding a physical activity that I enjoy, confidence and a supreme respect for myself will follow accordingly.

Heck, I might even get skinny along the way.

gratitude.

I've had quite a few blunders in my life. The great thing about my life, though, is that it resembles an after-school special. I always seem to learn a lesson.

I like to think of these lessons as epiphanies.

My most recent category of blunders includes the incident that led to my last blog post. It also includes my most recent epiphany.

Epiphany:
Through all of my missteps, screw-ups and heartbreaks, I've learned to be extremely thankful of my ex-boyfriend (henceforth referred to as "Boy").

It sounds strange, right?

I've had so many mistakes since him; each time I was a little more intent on finding love; each time I was reminded that it wasn't real.

Boy was my only real relationship: my first date, my first kiss, my first love. I've recently come to be grateful that he taught me how a real relationship looks.

In every blunder I experience, I'm reminded that Christ should be at the center. I'm reminded that I should be respected. That I should respect the guy. That we should help each other grow. That I should get giggly and goofy and walk into doors when I see him. (Yes, I walked into a door on my first date with Boy.)

Of course, none of this exists in a blunder.

So, I'm thankful to Boy for teaching me that I deserve better. I'm thankful for his love, his direction, his compassion, his encouragement, his compliance when tolerating my ridiculous endeavors . . .

To Boy: Thank you. I pray my husband treats me like you did and loves God like you do. Thank you for teaching me what to expect.

worth.

Every time someone says "Beauty comes from within," I want to tell them (and you'll have to excuse my language here) "You're full of crap." Because, honestly, no one believes that. It's nice to hear when you're having a fat day, but they're just fluff words.

I have a friend who is everything "beautiful" is supposed to be - skinny, tan and blond. But she hates herself. She always thinks that she needs to lose just five more pounds and then she'll be happy with herself. Or maybe if she had clearer skin she'd be pretty.

It's ridiculous.

I know from other people's experiences and my own that when you don't feel beautiful, you create victims: boys, food, friends who always have to listen to you complain about yourself . . .

It all comes down to worth. Daddy issues, nicknames from junior high that left scars, relationships that left you jaded - they all tend to make us feel worthless.

So we try to find our worth in guys. "Maybe, if I dress this way, he'll ask me out, and that means I'm pretty."

Or work.

Or school.

Or anywhere else that has never created worth.

And I'm one of those people. I'm currently grasping at straws trying to find my worth. Yes, I know the true source of my worth. But I don't seek it.

I kind of ignore it, actually.

Aesop once said, "Outside show is a poor substitute for inner worth."

I've taken that message to heart. So, after years on a self-esteem roller coaster, after always trying to make myself prettier so boys will like me, after countless self-deprecating conversations with the best friend, after several meltdowns before walking into a gym, and, finally, after a three-hour conversation with a wonderful friend outside Whole Foods (with ice cream, no less), I've decided something: I'm tired of hating myself.

Again, you'll have to excuse my language, but it kind of sucks. There is no true joy when you hate yourself.

Yeah, you can pretend to be happy. And, yeah, I was born and raised Baptist and am world-class at pretending everything is OK. But, what good is fake joy when there's a true, unequivocal joy just a few blocks away?

It doesn't matter how many people tell me I'm beautiful . . . or which people tell me I'm beautiful . . . or amazing, or hilarious, or smart or whatever. Because I don't quite believe it yet.

So, this is my creed, my vow, my commitment, my declaration: I'm going to find inner worth.

I'm going to stop hating myself. I'm going to stop thinking that losing weight will make me a better person. I'm going to stop thinking that not landing that perfect job right after college will be the end of me. I'm going to stop beating myself down.

So, let it be known to the great void of readers: I, Lauren Cathleen Brown, will love myself. It will probably take a while. A long while. But it will happen.

And, when it does . . .

Honestly, I don't quite know.

But, I know it's going to be wonderful.

what a Savior.

"Both the one who makes men holy and those who are made holy are of the same family. So Jesus is not ashamed to call them brothers. He says, 'I will declare your name to my brothers [or sisters]; in the presence of the congregation I will sing your praises.' . . . And again he says, 'Here am I, and the children God has given me [that's me!].' Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might destroy him who holds the power of death - that is, the devil - and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. For surely it is not angels he helps, but Abraham's descendants [us believers in all our imperfections]. For this reason he had to be made like his brothers in every way, in order that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that he might make atonement for the sins of the people. Because he himself suffered when he was tempted, he is able to help those who are being tempted."
-Hebrews 2:11-18

And I sure need some help.

yep.

opening up.

I half-expected the binding to creak and dust to fly from the pages when I opened my Bible a few moments ago. But it didn't. The Word is always good and true, no matter how much I ignore it.

You know, I talk a lot about God. A LOT. Why shouldn't I? I love Him.

But, lately, I've abandoned my God. I'm ashamed to call Him "Father" for fear of my behavior besmirching His wonderful name. I'm shamed knowing I'm a representation of Him.

Sometimes, the inch-long Ichthus on my foot is my only reminder of who I am, how I should behave, who I serve.

I've been like this for more than a year.

It's time to climb out of the pit I've begun to call "home." It's time to stop trying to run from God. It's futile.

I know improving one's life is always easier said than done. But, this time, I've got to get it done. I've got to get something done.

I've got to pursue Him.

Earnestly seek Him.

Pray.

Read my Bible.

I've got to get back to Christ, because, honestly, I don't know who I am without Him.

"When I got tired of running from You, I stopped right there to catch my breath. There Your words caught my ears, You said 'I miss You, Son, come home.' And my sins watched me leave, and in my heart I so believed the love You felt for me was mine (the love I've wished for all this time). And when the doors were closed, I heard no 'I told you so's.' You said the words 'I knew you knew.' Oh God, oh God, I needed You."
-Relient K

mess.

I just read over the first post on this blog.

I talked about inner beauty and loving yourself as God created you. What a conviction.

To be completely honest, I feel a bit hypocritical right now. Lately I have been so down on myself in so many areas - I don't look right. I work too hard. I don't work hard enough. I don't study enough. I study too much. I'll never get an A in that class. I don't show Jesus enough love. I don't give enough of myself to my friends. The self-deprecation goes on and on.

I don't think I'm alone in these feelings, though.

What woman doesn't think she's not good enough at some time or another? I don't look like Jennifer Aniston so I must be ugly. I'll never be as successful as my male coworkers so why even put forth effort? I'm not as spiritual as Beth Moore so Jesus must not love me.

Pack. Of. Lies.

Lies that are constantly fed to us by the enemy through the media, teachers, bosses, friends, family - anyone and everyone who has some kind of influence in our lives.

Why do we feel like we have to look like a celebrity to be pretty? Their job is to be the essence of the world's perception of beauty. So they work out three hours a day, seven days a week, and never eat meat.

I don't know about you, but I can't handle that lifestyle. I have neither the time nor the desire.

Why do I feel like God can't possibly love me because I've messed up His masterpiece so much? This is a thought that plagues me.

I know He loves me. No matter what. His love is unconditional. I've even blogged about it.

Shauna Niequist (again, that fabulous and insightful woman that I would love to meet) talks about such feelings in "Cold Tangerines." She mentions how she and her husband have always lived in new houses, but she's always felt like an old house kind of person. So they get an old house. It has no bells and whistles but is full of bumps and bruises.

She loves their old house and they constantly work to fix it up. One day she visits a friend in her new home and is overcome with jealousy. She's jealous that her friend doesn't have leaky toilets or an infestation. And suddenly she wants a house that's shiny and new.

She realizes that this is a mirror representation of her life.

"On my worst days, I start to believe that what God wants is perfection. That God is a new-house God. That everything has to work just right, with no cracks in the plaster and no loose tiles. That I need to be completely fixed up. . . . On my very best days, as an act of solidarity with my house, since we're both kind of odd, mismatched, screwed-up things, I practice letting it be an old not-fixed-up house, while I practice being a not-fixed-up person. I wear my ugly pants, the saggy yellow terry-cloth ones with the permanently dirty hems, and I walk around my house, looking at all the things that I should fix someday, but I dont' fix them just yet, and I imagine God noticing all the things about me that should get fixed up one day, and loving me anyway and being okay with the mess for the time being."

So, love yourself. Even on your worst days. We all have terrible days when we somehow gained 20 pounds overnight, the humidity makes our hair look like we're headed to the Class of '85 prom, we can't think at school and can't do anything right at work.

Those days happen. Much more often than is comfortable.

Get used to them.

Embrace them.

Embrace you.

Love you.

Just as God loves you . . . even if you are a mess.

"Cause you're amazing. Just the way you are."
-Bruno Mars