Little did I know, my opinion would soon change. And not because I wanted it to.
I quickly realized he was relentless and my words likely would not change his attitude, but I responded anyway.
If you are a Christian, imagine this: you tell someone you are a Christian and go on to discover later that that person lost respect for you because of your religious beliefs and thinks you’re crazy, evil, and might be better off dead.
”This does not define you.”
“You have so much to be happy about, why can’t you just focus on those things?”
I feel lucky to have married a man who is and has been willing to do this work with me — a man who has chosen to stay when there have been times he could have left, and who has seen me through my absolute worst and never once wavered in his devotion.
Because for a person who has ventured through the dark, deep valleys of the psychological prison of illness, it becomes a whole lot more than just feelings and sadness and “stuff in your head.” It becomes a part of you — or at least, a part of how we identify ourselves.
Most importantly, therapy has shown me that it is okay to be broken. It is okay to not have it all figured out and not understand why our minds work in certain ways.
I cannot tell you how painful it felt to be laughed at by kids in the cafeteria in school for being overweight. Or how worthless I felt when my step-dad compared me to a whale. And then after losing the weight in college, how frustrating it was to be asked if I had an eating disorder.
When a Rod Stewart, Bee-Gees, or Lionel Richie song comes on the radio in the car, I sing along to every word.