I’ve always been some degree of overweight as an adult. To be honest, sometimes it bothered me and sometimes it didn’t. When those degrees notched up a bit I’d try some diet or another, lose maybe 15 pounds and then get bored or overwhelmed and give up. But in 2013, I was catapulted into the most difficult time of my life, and everything took on new shape and form, including myself.

Completely and totally overwhelmed by becoming a new mom at 41, my husband’s job loss, the devastation of our finances, and the stress that accompanied a job change of my own, I turned to food. I was too embarrassed by the turmoil in my life, by my own lack of perfection to reach out for help for a very long time. Over those months I ate my stress, my sorrow, my embarrassment, and my confusion. I knew I was gaining weight but I just didn’t have any emotional resources left to deal with it. I was outraged at how hard my life was and instead of turning to Jesus as I knew to do, I feared what He might show me about my own weaknesses so I gave in to my anger instead and used food to try to numb it. I gained somewhere around 70 pounds in a little more than a year.

Weight is such a complex subject, perhaps especially for women. For me, it was a barrier between my private hell and the world I was sure was judging me; a literal insulation from activities and people around me. It was also a punishment I inflicted on myself for being so angry and having such ugly thoughts.

Once we started doing the hard work of restoring the right order of our lives (a story of grace for another day), I made a decision I hadn’t anticipated. I gave myself permission to stay fat while I dealt with the state of my heart first. I don’t believe there’s a diet plan in the world that would have worked for me until I could forgive myself for my failings. This was a challenging line to walk. I was becoming lighter and freer on the inside and painfully aware my outside did not match. Although no one said anything unkind to me, I imagined a thousand unspoken comments from those around me of, “poor Heidi, if she could just get a grip on her weight.” I did my best to hold my head up and carry on, wanting desperately to shout from the rooftops that these pounds weren’t the real me, that people had no idea of what I’d been through, what I’d almost lost,  what kind of miracles were going on in my spirit and my home. And that I wasn’t undisciplined or out of control as they may have believed.

Finally, last Spring, I knew I was ready to physically take care of myself like I’d been doing emotionally and spiritually. I signed up for Weight Watchers as a 45th birthday present to myself and the pounds started falling off. Eventually, people started to notice, and the compliments started coming. I am thankful for them. They are flattering, and sincere, and appreciated. But sometimes I hear “You look great, you must feel so much better now” and it stops me in my tracks.

They are not wrong. I do, in fact, feel better. I’m stronger, and faster, and lighter. But I can’t help wishing they knew that what makes me feel better is the lightness of heart, the joy, the peace in my home that came before the pounds started to go. That I was ok before I looked like it on the surface. That I was worth complimenting for honoring my marriage vows, for choosing a forgiving spirit, for simply living my life and not giving up. But I can’t ask from people what I haven’t done well myself.

So I think I’m finding my voice now to say this: I was worth it. God says if He cares for even the sparrows my worth is infinitely greater. Who was I to pour hatred over myself and suffocate myself in the walls I thought were shutting everyone else out. And you are worth it too. If you struggle with extra weight, you might choose to lose it, and I will cheer you on.

But first I’ll tell you that you are a priceless treasure. That we are all an amalgamation of strengths and weaknesses, and no one kind is more valuable than the other. I told myself for so long that my capacity to gain weight made me worthless, diminished my value in this world, was a character flaw. I was wrong. The flaws were the destructive attitudes I chose, and as I constantly tell my preschooler, you can choose a new attitude any time. I believe this for me, and I will believe it for you, until you can choose to believe it for yourself.