This is 200.

This is what four kids in seven years, COVID, seven months of high dose prednisone, and life, in general, has done to my body.

This is me without shapewear, without sucking in, just being. Right now, this is me. I’ve never weighed more than 165, even while pregnant. Even with diet and exercise, this is STILL me.

And this is what 200 does to me.

It makes me feel shame.
Unworthy.
Unloveable.
Alone.
And sad.

It makes me embarrassed.

I get anxiety about going places, especially when other people have to watch me eat.

I have so many clothes in my closet, but none of them seem to fit the way I want them to unless they are oversized and loose.

I wonder if people see me out in public and feel sorry for my husband, who’s totally in shape, wondering why he is with someone who looks like me.

At church last Sunday, an older woman asked me who I was. When I told her, she said, “I’m sorry I didn’t know you, I’ve just always thought that Eric’s wife was so much smaller!” Old people, they tell it like it is. (I’m going to blame that one on her bad eyesight!)

I look in the mirror each morning and wonder who this woman is and where the normal “140 me” has gone to.

I know I’m not the only one like this. I know there are so many other women who just plain struggle with their bodies. Whether it’s medication induced like mine or not, the weight of our weight can be so consuming and steal our joy in an instant. And most of these shaming thoughts run through my mind by 8 a.m. every morning.

It all just feels so . . . heavy. And it makes me so tired.

But can I tell you what isn’t heavy or hard?

God’s yoke and burden.

He longs for us to come to him so we can lay this heavy burden on him. It isn’t too much for him to handle or redeem. As a follower of Christ, he doesn’t just want to take the burden for us, but to lead it as we carry it as one. It makes it so that the weight of my weight and insecurities isn’t unbearable, and I’m able to find rest in his gentle arms.

He sees me and loves me, so much more than any number on the scale or shape of my body.

To the rest of the world, I’m too heavy. But I’m not for him.

So today, l’ll eat my salad for lunch, take my meds, and hop on the treadmill in my basement, knowing that even if the scale doesn’t budge, I’m never carrying the weight of my weight alone.

Originally published on From Blacktop to Dirt Road

Lauren Eberspacher

I'm Lauren and I'm a work-in-progress farmer's wife, coffee addict, follower of Jesus and a recovering perfectionist. When I don't have my three kids attached at my hip, you can find me bringing meals into the fields, dancing in my kitchen, making our house a home, and chatting over a piece of pie with my girl friends. I'm doing my best to live my life intentionally seeking all that God has for me and my family. Follow me at: www.fromblacktoptodirtroad.com From Blacktop to Dirt Road on Facebook laurenspach on Instagram