THE GLUE FACTORY

When I was a little girl, I lived for a time in a farming community and often associated with other little girls who collected hideous plastic horses. I always found those cringe-worthy. To this day, I don't understand the fascination but farm girls seemed to love horses - even plastic ones. I was never a farm girl and I have a near aversion to horses which makes them the perfect allegorical character to represent the stages of my life to this point. No, I don't see myself as an old nag, but I have come to feel like my life went from show pony, to pack mule, to work horse and I have to find a way to recover some dignity and send my sagging self-image to the glue factory. I remember the first time a stranger flirted with me in the drug store. I was so clueless and actually turned red with embarrassment. He was mid-20s to my mid-teens and he obviously had no idea how young I was. He was very apologetic when he saw my reaction. That kicked off a phase in my life where I realized that I had some physical attributes that could attract attention. I was never glamorous or gorgeous but I was tall and thin and blonde and that was enough to turn a few heads. I developed a look that worked well in the culture in which I lived. It got me invitations to sit opposite the college president in promotional photos, and even a chance to hold a dead mic on a 3 month, 40 city singing tour because the same president thought the ensemble needed another blonde to round out the look. These were my show pony years and they were a blast. By my mid-30s, I was still young enough, tall enough, and blonde enough to feel pretty good about myself and by that time, I had developed quite a following. Everywhere I went, I had three little people in tow and with them came stuff. Lots of stuff. I attended the first ladies tea hosted by my new church and the women's ministries director commented from the platform that it was the first time she had seen me when I didn't remind her of a pack mule. She meant well as it was very unusual for me to be out without an infant carrier in one hand, the diaper bag flung over my shoulder, and a toddler and preschooler firmly attached somewhere. The pack mule era ended in my late 30s and that is around the time things really went down hill. My goal as I was counting down the months to my 40th birthday was to lose 40 lbs and get back to my pre-baby weight. Sadly, within just a few years, the opposite happened. Life seemed to go out of control. I was juggling preschoolers, homeschooling, and volunteer work and I was sure I was failing at the one thing that mattered most to me. I was failing one of my children academically. I felt terrible about myself and that launched a cyclone of self-loathing, self-sabotage and self-destruction that still sucks me into a vortex that will spin me out of control for periods and then spit me out only to eventually suck me back in again. I become consumed with my weight, feel completely worthless, and then start self-destructing with food until I feel even more disgusted and more hopeless than before. This can last for weeks or months but usually I manage to break free for a few months now and then and I get back in control. As soon as I regain control, the self-loathing stops and then the self-destruction isn't an issue but it never seems to last for more than a few months. Today, I am a work horse. The only positive identity I can find is in my accomplishments so I devote a great deal of time and effort to people pleasing and empire building. I have found some success but it does absolutely nothing for my self-image. The weight issues rob me of my dignity, confidence, and self-worth. My purpose is completely utilitarian. I am more accomplished and more insecure than I have been at any other time in my life. Things I've done for more than 30 years now make me cry because they require me to be visible and I am so painfully aware of how I look. I can't imagine spending the rest of my life hating myself for what I have done but the hate makes me self-destruct even more. I've tried counseling, diet programs, reading books, and pressing into God through hours of meditation, Biblical instruction, and worship, but any fix only proves to be temporary. This has all stacked up behind a wall of shame that has imprisoned me for nearly a decade. I have spent many sleepless nights trying to fight the voices of self-hate with the truth of God's love but love doesn't always win. I often feel defeated and

desperate.