It’s right to hate my anger. My desire to be in control of everyone and everything.
It’s right to hate the depression that makes it difficult to get out of bed. The self-righteousness that means I can’t admit I’m wrong. The fears that stop me loving others and living as I want. The eating disorder that nearly killed me and wrecked the lives of those I love.
What’s not right is thinking that my battles are actually me.
It’s tempting to wear these tags. But here’s what happens when I do:
I allow my struggles to define me
and instead of hating them, I start to hate myself.
Instead of saying:
‘I’ve had an eating disorder. It’s a horrible and ugly thing and I hate it’
‘I am anorexic. I am horrible and ugly and I hate myself’.
Separating out the truth is difficult. You see, I want to be all good – or all bad. Saint – or sinner.
But the truth is – I’m both.
Before I married Glen, I met someone else. A prince, who saw me in my mess and my filth and lifted me out of the gutter and washed me and put a crown on my head and pledged Himself to me.
On that day, I became a princess.
But even though I was given a new name, sometimes I forget. Sometimes, I still sign things with my old names. ‘Fat’. ‘Stupid’. ‘Useless’. ‘Frightened’. ‘Anorexic’.
That’s not who I am. But it takes time to feel like a princess and it takes time to act like one too.
My struggles aren’t me.
And your struggles aren’t you either.
No matter how long they’ve been going on.
No matter how impossible it seems to move forward.
No matter what other people say or think.
Hate your struggles.
But don’t hate yourself.
You are so much more – because He says so.