I Love Ice-Cream Until I Hate It

When I see ice-cream in the freezer, I get really excited. I probably forgot it was there, and after a day of  school, writing, debate and speech, it looks exceptionally lovely. All sweet and creamy and cold and sometime have cookie dough, and that's even better.

But after a second, the excitement fades. I don't mind going through the trouble of washing a bowl, getting a spoon, and thawing the ice-cream. That's all worth it for the sweetness and general loveliness. But other concerns cross my mind.

I probably shouldn't have any ice-cream, especially after everything else I ate today.

I mean, my hips are big enough already.

And have you seen the way my thighs get all wide when I sit down?

Or the way my legs jiggle so grossly when I run?

Or ... anything else.

Regardless, I find some excuse--I won't have any tomorrow, or I'm going to play Frisbee tomorrow, or whatever--and scoop the ice-cream into the bowl. I pull my laptop up and edit my novel, taking a few bites, keeping my cat's nose out of it.

I finish, and leave the bowl or mug on the coffee table until I go to bed. It's when I'm in bed that my mind goes back to the ice-cream.

The vanilla and cookie dough don't feel as good anymore. The ice-cream doesn't seem as sweet anymore. My excuse isn't as valid anymore.

I don't feel happy anymore. The joy has faded. Instead I feel regret. I feel fat. I feel ashamed. I wish I could throw it up and--

Did I really just think that? Even if I know I would never do that (I would never do that, right?), the thought scares me. 

My excitement over the ice-cream is long gone. Instead, every food I ate over the day is running around in my head, reminding me how I failed to eat healthy like I want to. How I failed to eat less like I want to.

Tears sting my eyes. Another thing I messed up, along with schoolwork, debate research, and speech writing. Not to mention my general awkwardness. And the million other things I messed up.

I shouldn't be thinking like this. And there's another thing I failed at--not thinking about what I think I failed at. How, exactly, can I succeed here?

Can you love something and be afraid of it at the same time? Because food scares me, but I love it too much to quit eating it. Food is good, right? You need food to live and stuff. Plus it's enjoyable.

Until it's not.

Until it becomes a source of shame and self-hate.

Until it makes you want to throw up.

Until it makes you scared to eat.

Food isn't the problem. 

Fear is.

Fear I won't be thin enough. Fear I can't get past this. Fear people would treat me different if they knew I struggled with this stuff. Fear I won't measure up.

But I know now, and I'm learning...

|| "There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love."  -1 John 4:18 ||

There's no pressure, not from the One who matters. No pressure to be perfect. No pressure to measure up. No pressure to be something I am not meant to be. No pressure to be something someone else tells me I should be.

No pressure. That's all that's up.