I used to love cooking. I'm not half bad at it either. During my time in New Zealand (one for the bingo card), we were free to spice & season dishes as we wanted, and I found enjoyment and a creative outlet in creating meals for our twenty-strong group of Christians. When we began the Alpha course at Christ Church, I spent the first year as "head chef". I enjoyed the responsibility of shopping and creating a new meal each week, in the hope it would be enough of an incentive to walk through the church doors, potentially for someone's first time. My macaroni cheese and vegan Dahl recipes were some of the favourites, which meant we cooked them at least once in a term. Recently I met up with friends that had been team leaders at Alpha, and they shared they still rave about my Dahl to this day.

This year I began CBT-T, which is ten weeks of cognitive behavioural therapy, aimed at supporting me through my non-purging bulimia nervosa, or in short, bulimia. It's said that ten weeks' worth of CBT will be enough for me to not only develop the skills and perspectives to repair my relationship with food, but also the skills so I don't relapse after my treatment. It's a strange thought that just two years ago I loved food, cooking and sharing meals. Don't get me wrong, I still enjoy particular foods, but the overwhelming feeling towards meal times is apathy and indifference. I'm not excited about sharing meals with people. 

I'm not sure what I find most challenging about my relationship with food. Perhaps it's how much it has changed over time, how isolating it feels, or maybe it's that it's taken stronghold of my views on exercise and my body image. I shouldn't dwell on the past, but historically, I was athletic and enjoyed exercise in virtually any form. I think the desperation of wanting to look a different way (go pubescent me) clouded over the joy and passion I had for sports, which has resulted in an almost-burnout feeling towards exercise. It feels like a weight I can't shake.

This post marks an entire year since I regularly attended church. Whilst there is an argument you don't need to go to church to be a Christian, I do. The church is a gift from God, where you don't have to face the journey of sanctification alone. But honestly, thinking about going to church, I feel fatigued. I never knew that it would be the church that I loved and sacrificed so much for, would be the reason I felt pain and shame for so long. It's likely I feel more wounded than I am, but I feel apprehensive. I would stretch as far to say I fear rejection, which could be a reason I haven't stepped into a church this past year.

In every other version of this story, where the protagonist battles for a decade against untrue beliefs, depression and shame, I imagine hopelessness is the end. There is no future. The enemy has won. Yet God has remained steadfast, despite my faithlessness. Despite not actively pursuing God for the best part of twelve months, he continues to pour out hope. And in abundance.

As we begin a new year, I decided against setting myself resolutions, although I would commit to growth. And that’s growth in any sense (minus my waistline, preferably) and to celebrate it. As I’ve subconsciously trained myself into critical self-talk, it is time to celebrate the small and the large, much like the heavens do on my behalf. The upcoming year is all about honouring the hope that Jesus Christ has given me and growing with it.

Only God knows how this year will pan out, but for the hope He continues to pour out, I can worship God louder, give out of my pocket more generously, and grow closer to Him. I can give God the glory as I triumph over my bulimia and use my testimony for the kingdom. I can forgive and love myself as I would my neighbour. This year is about removing the labels of the world and the enemy give myself and others.

Jeremiah 29:11 For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.