COLORS - Kristi Lee

I grew up aware that I was «big boned», but not super bothered by it. I was active, always felt strong and fast, and I wasn’t really attentive enough to compare myself to others or think about what was a «good» or «bad» body shape. My headspace wasn't at all occupied by body image.

It wasn’t until I moved away from home at 18 years old, when I had to be in charge of cooking my own meals that I started even thinking about what I ate. I was a poor student and had never learnt to cook a day in my life. I tried my best to begin with, but my laziness to cook proper meals quickly took over and I would instead eat a whole bag of nuts until I felt so full and borderline sick. Then I’d try not to eat for a while to make up for it, which I thought would save me some money too. Looking back I don't remember making many meals in my first apartment, the kitchen was dingy and dirty, a shared space with some older men that I lived with, so I mostly stayed in my room. I bought a lot of gum, thinking it would trick me to think I was eating and I remember there being some free fruit during the breaks at the bible school I was attending that I would eat. Then it was straight to other jobs or activities after school and I’d eat whatever snacks or crackers were around. Then I would run 10k on the treadmill at the gym, which is what I was used to doing from attending sports all my teenage years and I refused to gain the 20 college pounds everyone talked about, so I would head to bed with an empty stomach knowing that if I just fell asleep I wouldn't feel hungry.

Things spiraled when a classmate attempted suicide. I remember trying to put myself in his shoes, wondering what could make someone jump off a building. And at that very moment, a heaviness that wasn't initially my own, moved in. I felt so tired and worn out, having to sit on the floor during worship time, and going straight home to bed after. This was my new normal, but I still had so many volunteer activities I was doing through church and other organizations, like working with outreach for drug addicts, where I was supposed to be the hopeful and joyful one, but really relating more to them than I admit to the team.

I kept the cycle of first no eating then over eating and eventually would start forcing my fingers down my throat to throw it all up if I felt like I overdid it. I don't remember intentionally committing to an eating disorder, it just slowly happened and caught me by surprise. I had always considered myself a confident person and I knew my family would never expect me to struggle in this way, in any way really, and this made me more ashamed of sharing what was going on. But it wasn't hard to keep it concealed when I kept in touch maybe every 2 weeks. I found comfort in dark and sad music and anyone who shared my views on how difficult life is. I stopped picturing anything but a grey and worthless future.

After over half a year of surviving (I cant call it living because my body, mind and soul was dying) of this, I woke up during class. Sleeping was something I’d do whenever I sat down on the tram, often missing my stop, or at school, getting none of the teaching. But something made me jolt wake, and while everyone was listening to the teacher, I saw many colors swirling in front of me; purple, orange, pink and red, all the warm colors. Then I heard a voice inside my head saying, «If you go to California, I’ll get you out of this». Then nothing. Was this God?!

My mother had mentioned a few times that she thought I should go to another Bible School in California because she loved the down to earth way the pastor spoke. When I heard that inner voice, I knew what it was referring to. And I knew it wasn't my own voice because I had very clearly told anyone that asked me about this school that it was a sect of ignorant, hippie Christians. Not that I had watched any sermons, but I had talked to a few students from there on outreach to Norway, and they just seemed too happy. They couldn’t be sane. Now, I had never heard God speak personally to me, but this must be what everyone is talking about. So, if God is paying attention to me AND He wants to help, it must be my last hope. So I enroll, my parents are thrilled and sponsor my tuition, and I get myself there a few months later.

The very first day after arriving I go for a run. Halfway through I stop and start crying, knowing for the first time in a long time I’m where I’m supposed to be. I decided to never gag myself again, and I never have since.

The biggest turning point for me was when a teacher wanted to take us on «heaven trips». I smirked, feeling a confirmation on how this school was a sect (even though I knew this school was my last hope, doesn’t mean I was gonna accept all the strange things they did). She asked us to close our eyes, I reluctantly did so, and she carries on saying, «now you see God in the distance, what does He look like?» After this I have no recollection of what she is saying or even that I’m in a room with 1,500 students. I see so clearly a male figure walking towards me, taking my hand and then my waist, and leading me into a waltz, my feet dangling on top of His. We twirl and float around what seems like a huge ballroom, and as I’m spinning I see two others laughing and clapping at us. All the while I’m vaguely aware that my tears are flowing down my cheeks. Suddenly the teacher stops speaking and the class is over, students start moving past me in the isle while I come to, incredulous and in awe at what had just happened. And to me! The most unbelieving of them all, I thought. The next few days I had two instances where different people who I’d never talked to, came up to me and said they saw me dancing with God and that I was wearing a white wedding dress. I was stunned, and touched. I didn’t think I deserved a white dress after my actions, but if they saw this, it must have been from God. So I started believing that I was now pure and that I had access to a smiling, dancing, loving God.

This was the start of a long journey of physically recovering, mentally and spiritually healing, sharing my pain with family and friends and becoming a child to my parents again. This all became possible because at this school I was introduced to God as an intimate Father and not a strict master to attempt to please with the good I'm doing.

I finished the school year and traveled back to where my parents were staying in Asia and ended up staying with them for a whole year, learning to be vulnerable. This is also when I met my future husband. After this year, I wasn't sure what God wanted with my life, but I felt him ask instead, «what do you want?» So I dared to ask myself and discovered that I wanted to learn more about the body. To think that something as «worldly» as a personal trainer’s course could be God-given! During that course, I started learning about the importance of proper nutrition for the body to thrive. This knowledge has saved me from ever falling back into the trap of an eating disorder. I honestly think ignorance on this matter can be dangerous. I’ve since been educated as a physical therapist, and have grown to view a functional (not aesthetic) body as the ideal. I now train to learn a skill, not to lose weight, I eat because I know my brain and body needs fuel to function and build the muscles I’m working to grow. If I over eat, I mentally tell myself, it’s ok. If I’m hungry, I try to grab something asap to eat. I rarely think about food these days, and you know what? My metabolism has been stable for years. I don't feel like I’m battling against myself and my weight, that if only I'm strict enough it will obey. No, instead I’ve found, and this will be a lifelong journey, that giving my body/myself affection by telling myself good things about my body and myself, lets me feel at home in my body. Gratitude is also a bonus with my job, seeing how blessed I am to even have a body that works «normally». But mostly I’ve realized that my problems in life are always solved when I find myself comfortable enough to jump on Father God’s lap and tell Him how I feel, and then those things seem less threatening.

If you are struggling with feeling like you’re out of control and maybe try to control your intake of food because that seems to be the only thing you CAN control these days, or you stuff yourself so full to keep from thinking at all: know that God is not judging you and He is not disappointed. He is concerned about what it is you feel like you can’t control, and He wants you to hand it over so He can deal with it for you. I always thought it safer to keep silent about my struggles, not ruining my image, but only the devil wants you to stay silent so he can keep you in the dungeon of self-torment. The second you open your mouth and let it spill (to someone you trust), is the unraveling of the loneliness, and the breath you need to break free. For some it takes years, for others that one conversation is enough. It totally depends on the situation, but it isn’t the amount of time that it takes that matters, but the fact that you have started believing things can change and that this is not how you have to spend the rest of your life. It gets easier with every time you share, and when I write this now to share it with you 8 years later, it feels like it happened to someone else. I want you to know there is ALWAYS a way out, and there is a bright future for yes, YOU, not somebody else. Open your mouth and share, and most importantly, share this with God who has a reserved seat for you on his lap.