Who wrote down their new year’s resolutions? Don’t be shy now. Raise your hands. Now how many of you wrote down I want to lose weight as one of your goals? Friends, this is a safe place and you’re not alone [she said as she raised both hands].

I debated even writing this post because I feel like Oprah when she announces to the world that she’s fighting the battle of the bulge. Again. [The difference between me and Oprah is that 50 million people care if she loses five pounds and no one will ever clap for me as I hold up my old jeans that no longer fit my svelte body. No one.]

Ordinarily I would just secretly cry about my weight on the floor of my closet with a bag of chips, but something happened today that caused me to be honest. Not only with you, but with myself.

I’m a very open person and there are few things that are solely my own. My weight [and related struggles] are one of the topics that I don’t like to delve into because it’s an abyss of pain, frustration, and secrecy. I’ve written about my struggles before, but something happened recently that has caused me to come clean about how deep my stretch marks—er, I mean, how deep my struggles are.

Since as far back as I can remember, food has been my friend. But the kind of friend that hugs you when your sad then punches you in the face when you walk away. She’s always nice to you as long as you are on her side. She wins you over and gives you gifts like momentary happiness and pleasure, but in the end you’re alone and questioning the validity of her empty promises.

The past year has been beautiful and I’m grateful to have participated in the plan that God has for me. But it was also a very painful 365 days. I’ve lost some great friends, traveled over 700,000 miles, grieved two deaths, fought for justice for 30 million slaves, and gained 13 pounds. As a crazy-emotional-dramatic-ledge-walker, this a recipe for disaster. [Or a recipe for chocolate molten lava cake. Whatevs. It’s all the same.]

On Christmas Eve eve, I sat on the floor of my best friend’s house and openly shared with three of my closest friends that I’m struggling. I tried and failed [and tried and failed] with instituting a healthy lifestyle change [which is crazy talk for diet], but to no avail. The harder I tried to lose weight, the more I gained.

Granted, you may be thinking 13 pounds isn’t a whole lot, but when you’re a 5’1” MexicanRican who sprouts a triple chin just by looking at a Snickers bar, then this is serious trash. More than actual poundage, it metaphorically and physically displays holding on to weight that isn’t mine to carry.

One of my friends told me that for over 23 years I have been popping pills, pushing my body, starving myself, binge eating, hating myself, eating to numb the pain—ad nauseam—and now my body is rejecting my efforts. I tried to control my voice and swallow back the lump forming my throat [all signs that my eyes are about to leak], but aside from embarrassment, I felt relief. For the first time in a long time I admitted to human beings that I’m not healthy and my body is broken.

All this soap opera drama went down before New Year’s so I decided to resolute to some healthy choices and was fine to keep it to me, Matt, and my scale. [Honestly, who likes it when people talk about their gluten-free, Paleo-inspired, SugarBusters Weight Watchers South Beach diet anyway?]

But at church today, I was approached by a dear friend whom I haven’t seen in a while. She excitedly announced that she had lost 50 pounds and wanted to thank me for being so honest about my weight struggles and being an inspiration in humbling admitting the problem I battle. Two years ago, we sat together and prayed for deliverance in her life and now I stood before her and wanted deliverance for my own.

What I said:

  • What?! That’s amazing. But seriously, I’m so proud of you. 

What I wanted to say:

  • Girl, I found the weight you lost! It’s on my saddlebags.

But I realized it was easy to talk about my struggles 20 pounds ago. We as Christians tout being honest and vulnerable with our struggles, but mostly in retrospect. Rarely do we stand up and say, Hey, listen, this is what I’m struggling with right nowSee, it’s easy to talk about our issues once we have victory over them. But what about the pain of being in the middle of it? Shouldn’t we share in our struggles as well as our victory?

This is my achilles heel. This is my stronghold. This is my thorn in the flesh. It’s messy and I’m here and I don’t have a solution. All I know is that I’m committed to being healthy and humble and hungry for change, not hungry for Doritos.

So whisper about me, laugh at me, look at me, but once you’ve done all that, pray for me. And pray that chicken breast and broccoli becomes the new hamburger and fries.

At the very least, know that if you’re struggling with addiction and control, you’re not alone. If there’s one person who understands, it’s Oprah. And me. But she’s rich. So there’s that. 😉

Here’s to a year of health, love, and wholeness!

Love,
Bianca Winfrey

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