I cannot believe my body deserves to be starved anymore.
With this new health comes a vulnerability I sometimes wish to shed.
As if my skin never saw sun, and has no defense against light.
I feel everything, and miss my leather.
Even on the days I wake up and shout, "Enough is enough. No more eating today!"
This resolve melts into the silky under-belly, making me soft.
I don't want to be soft.
But I find it is necessary if I am going to live a life worth living.
I cannot rotate in the same circles maintaining - keeping small - clipping my bonsai.
I am much larger than that and sometimes I get embarrassed by my huge sound and the lengths over which it resonates.
"I've been reading your blog."
I don't want to hide.
Not really.
I can't have both. How can I tell the truth if the truth is a series of lies I chose to believe?
I have a choice now, and I cannot easily forfeit that.
In our photo album is an image of me 6 years ago.
My stomach is a serpent curving up and over my hips pulling tight and refusing to release.
I remember that time.
The days of dating my husband. I was terrified for him to see me gain even one pound.
Tight. The serpent had me convinced. There was no room for one deviant leaf. Not one bite of cake. Not one day of running missed. The bonsai ultimatum.
Today the same training is entrenched and I aspire to outgrow it.
I fear what I will grow into.
Mostly I fear that I will grow too big, and be a slave of a different nature.
A large and grotesque one. I fear I will loose control in the other direction when the pendulum swings.
But my softer voice tells me the truth,
"There is no control. There is only acceptance of your own humanity. You can trust this. You can fall into the arms that have held you."
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