My Big Bottom Blessing Read online

  And we all remember the little saying about how sticks and stones might break our bones, but words…now those can never hurt us. Denial in its earliest stages, don't you agree? I used to stick my little chest out—along with my tongue—while reciting this cheeky mantra in the face of many a bully, hoping it would magically erase my humiliation and fear. But it didn't have the power I'd hoped for. The words just plain hurt. In fact, they stuck to my heart like glue.

  Isn't it sad that the hurtful words of our past are the ones that have the most sticking power? I have several flash-bulb memories of my parents hugging me and telling me how smart and beautiful I was. I have vague memories of teachers telling me what a pleasure I was to have in class. But the memories of what the bullies said…now, those are crystal clear.

  All I need to do is close my eyes for a moment, strap on the seat belt of my mind, and I'm instantly transported back to the fourth grade. I'm doing my best to hold down the position of class caboose as our line makes its way to PE, my all-time least favorite class. Then the sixth graders round the corner heading our way. I can feel my little heartbeat quicken and my palms begin to sweat. I know what is coming. I know who is coming: Johnny. Blonde-haired, freckle-faced, chase-me-off-the-bus Johnny and his hideous sidekicks.

  Now in order for you to fully understand the humiliation that would soon flood my soul, I need to offer a quick pronunciation key. My maiden name is Teasi Gootee, prounounced TeaSee Goaty (like goat). It was not at all easy having a name like this in elementary school, especially because it was almost always pronounced Teeeezee Goooody.

  So out of Johnny's mouth come (at hall-filling volume, of course) the knife-like words with the adhesive power of super glue: “Teeeezee Goooody has a greasy bootie.” Over and over again he'd say it. Every time he saw me, he said it. And others joined in the fun. I can still feel the phantom pains in my stomach.

  Trying to stand up for myself only made me feel even more ridiculous. All I could do was shout, “No I don't. I just took a bath!” That didn't help anything.

  I remember every detail of times like those. Good news is, I survived…and personal hygiene is priority to this day.

  MEET MY TRAINER

  It was during those early school years that I came to know a powerful character who would play a huge role in my life for several years to come. Her name is Trainer. Now, one thing you must know about Trainer is that she is invisible. Even I can't see her, but I can certainly hear her—and I'm the only one who can. In fact, she lives in my head, but that doesn't hinder her one bit. What she lacks in physical existence, she more than makes up for in verbosity. Some of our earliest conversations would go something like this:

  TRAINER: Teasi, sit up straight. The fat roll on your stomach is bulging out like crazy.

  YOUNG FAT GIRL: Oh, okay. (Sits up as straight as humanly possible.)

  TRAINER: Now, look at how wide the expanse of your thigh is on that bench compared to Christina's. Disgusting! Put your feet up on your toes or something to keep those legs from pressing down on the seat.

  YOUNG FAT GIRL: Oh, okay. (Sits in ridiculously uncomfortable position in order to decrease thigh width by an amazing half an inch.)

  I remember getting so fed up with Trainer every now and then that I would humiliate myself just to torture her. This would involve something akin to me being nude in front of a mirror while jumping up and down repeatedly just to watch my rolls bounce. I knew she hated my fat, and in my mind this would really show her. But my antics didn't do anything to help my self-image.

  And of course my best friends in school were always skinny chicks. I may not know you personally, but I bet if you hated your nose as a young girl, your best friend had a perfect one. It's got to be one of those laws of nature: “What-ever a young girl lacks and wants more than anything, her best friend surely has.”

  All through my school years, my closest friends were beautiful (a God-given attribute I can now—finally—applaud in others). This made Trainer even angrier the older I got. Man, she would get really upset with me:

  TRAINER: Oh! My! Gosh! Teasi! No boys are going to like you like they do Michelle if you can't get some fat off that rear end. (Trainer was never one to hold back.)

  TEEN FAT GIRL: I'm trying. I'm doing aerobics every day and running miles.

  TRAINER: Yeah, but you can't get enough of those honey buns, now can you? Just have to keep stuffing that fat face! If you could just stop eating, maybe you could get a boyfriend.

  TEEN FAT GIRL: Well, today all I've had is a half cup of Cheerios with one-fourth cup of skim milk, three M&Ms, a spoonful of peanut butter, three small sips of a grape slushy, a cherry Life Saver, half of a ham sandwich with light mayo on thin bread, and an apple.

  TRAINER: Don't forget the three crackers.

  TEEN FAT GIRL: Oh, yeah. And three crackers. (Hangs head in shame).

  Oh, it was torture. No matter what I did to lose weight, I was always several sizes larger than other girls. It didn't make any difference to me that my body fat percentage was right where it should be. What mattered was the number on the scale.

  And soon the only other thing that mattered was having a boyfriend.

  YES OR NO

  I got my very first boyfriend in seventh grade, and I was elated. I still remember the thud of the tightly folded note as it dropped on my desk. Once I opened it, I could see that my name was fourth in line after three others which had been scribbled out, but that didn't matter to me. I ignored those names and focused on the words, “Will you go with me, check yes or no.” Shaky and giddy with excitement, I checked in the affirmative and tossed the note behind me, trusting it would land in the right place. I felt like I was in a dream. I was now the girlfriend of Kurt, one of the popular kids.

  Our first date was a trip to McDonald's. His dad picked me up in his brown El Camino, and we were off. As soon as his dad pulled out of the parking lot, leaving us for an hour of quality time, Kurt took my hand and asked me if I wanted to take a walk first. How romantic, I thought. Wow, this is better than I could have imagined.

  We walked along the railroad tracks that ran behind McDonald's, talking and laughing about school stuff. Once we rounded the first bend and were sufficiently out of view, Kurt leaned over to kiss me. My first kiss. I was floating. That is, until I felt his hand traveling up my shirt.

  “No, Kurt. Don't do that,” I said. And the kissing continued. Until I felt his hand trying to undo my pants.

  “No, Kurt. Stop. You'll respect me for this when you're older.”

  As you can probably predict, Kurt didn't stop to look at me with deep appreciation for my mature composure, as I was certain he would. He only laughed in my face, told me we were through, and headed back to McDonald's. It was a silent ride home. I didn't even get a cheeseburger.

  MEET MY REFLECTION

  I did a pretty good job protecting my private parts until tenth grade, but by then my self-esteem had plummeted while my pant size continued to rise. My best friend wore a size zero then, and I wore a size 10, which meant I had no chance at all of attracting a boy with my looks. Welcome to my promiscuous years.

  As if Trainer wasn't bad enough, after several years of doing what seemed necessary to get attention from the opposite sex, another prominent character entered my life. Meet Reflection. Like Trainer, she was disgusted with me, but for different reasons. Trainer hated what I looked like, but Reflection hated who I was. And she was very good at bringing up the things I was trying hard to ignore in order to simply live with myself:

  REFLECTION: How could you end up with that guy? You really have become quite the slut.

  YOUNG FAT WOMAN: No I'm not. Please don't say that.

  REFLECTION: I thought you were going to wait until you were married. What happened to that little dream, huh?

  YOUNG FAT WOMAN: It died, I guess. (Wipes away a tear.)

  We all have times in our lives that we regret, but I really feel sad when I look back on those years of my life. The desire to be a v
irgin on my wedding day was always present in my little girl heart. The problem was, that desire did not come with an understanding of why I wanted it. So, when the pressure came to give up that dream, there was no arsenal with which to fight. It took me years to understand purity was a God-given desire—one He puts in all little girls’ hearts, and some girls are strong enough to protect it. But for some of us, the desire gets buried by the lies of this world, and we are tricked into giving ourselves away too soon. Oh, God tries to protect our hearts with His instructions, doesn't He? He knows that sexual intimacy is a gift—a priceless gift meant to be enjoyed by a man and a woman who will never leave each other. It is a deep sharing of oneself, not meant to be experienced with those who do not understand.

  In my ignorance and in my pain, I had given myself away one piece at a time until Reflection couldn't even look at me anymore.

  REFLECTION, MEET JESUS

  Reflection and I hated each other for many years. Then Jesus came. I was twenty-one when He entered my life for keeps, and I will never forget that time.

  For me it happened basically like this: I sank to a new, wretched low. None of my friends wanted anything to do with me—including my heartthrob. Completely alone and crying for days, I finally realized something needed to seriously change. In other words, it finally dawned on me that I was doing a reeheeheally (thank you, Jim Carrey) bad job of directing my life. Miraculously, the Jesus I met casually as a little girl came knocking on the door of my heart again and lovingly asked, “Can I have my throne now?” I couldn't hop down fast enough.

  Once comfortably seated in His rightful spot, Jesus asked me to start going to church. I had never actually attended a real church in my life. Don't get me wrong, my family did believe in God, and we were part of an organized religious group for years. But we left once the leaders started interpreting the Bible in some less-than-orthodox ways. Years later I spotted the group's name on a list of cults to avoid. All I could do was shrug and thank God that at least there hadn't been poisoned Kool-Aid involved.

  Along with giving my Sundays to God, some other serious changes started happening in my life—changes that startled many who knew me. I immediately stopped working in a bar. I immediately stopped partying and sleeping around. I immediately started listening to Amy Grant music (definitely not cool in southern Cal at the time). I was absolutely charged and excited about what Jesus was offering me: forgiveness and unconditional love.

  It took a little while for Reflection to understand that by giving my life to Jesus, my past failures were as good as gone. In God's eyes, it was as if they had never happened, and that was good enough for me. Truth was what the Bible had to say about me, that “Though your sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow….” (Isa. 1:18). I was holding my head up high for the first time in my life.

  Even so, there were several tense conversations:

  REFLECTION: There is no way Jesus loves you. Think about all the filth you've been a part of!

  YOUNG FAT WOMAN: I know. I know, but He really does love me. I can tell…in my heart.

  REFLECTION: You can tell in your heart? Now, isn't that sweet. Priceless! Are you really that stupid?

  YOUNG FAT WOMAN: I'm choosing to believe what God says to me in the Bible. That's final. I get a do-over.

  After seeing my resolve, Reflection lightened up on me a bit. But not for long.

  REFLECTION AND TRAINER CONSPIRE

  Right around my twenty-second birthday, Tennessee called my name. My parents and siblings had moved there a while before me, and I could feel them tugging on my heart. So I loaded up my Toyota Celica (the kind with the cool flip-up headlights) to the brim, and left California behind. It was a grand trip—just Jesus and me. It was an epic adventure.

  But not long after settling in, my adventure took an unexpected turn. At first the turn looked good: I met a cute guy…in church! He had big muscles, a winning smile, and (most importantly, of course) he was an usher. Surprisingly, he started to take an interest in me, and we began spending time together.

  We talked a lot, and day by day I began to see that under those big muscles he was broken. He had issues—big issues—mainly with drugs and alcohol. Some pretty clear signs led me to wonder if I should leave the relationship behind. My parents saw the signs, too, and pleaded with me to get out while there was still a chance. But Trainer and Reflection had another take on the situation:

  REFLECTION: Who is she to expect perfection from anyone? I mean, just think about all those horrible things she did when she was younger. Come on!

  TRAINER: I agree. Plus, look at that rear end. She's lucky this guy even finds her attractive.

  REFLECTION: And, Jesus would want her to sacrifice for this guy. After all, isn't that what Christianity is about? Being willing to give up everything—even if it means being miserable?

  TRAINER: She's only gonna get fatter over the years. She better take this chance while she's got it. There might never be another guy who would find that body attractive.

  REFLECTION: You're right. She should stick with him no matter what!

  So, it was settled. The guy needed to be loved, and the perfect one for the job was me. I chose to stick by my man. And even though he was in drug and alcohol treatment only months before, I walked down the aisle with him and became his wife.

  I knew I'd made a mistake the moment I said “I do.”

  Of course a baby was on the way shortly after the honeymoon. Even though the news sucked the wind out of me initially, my sweet baby Carli saved my life. She's my positive note, my bright spot, my beauty from ashes, and all the other metaphors that represent amazingly sweet things that can come from devastation.

  But my husband only got worse and worse. Oh, he tried to stay sober between bouts of jail and treatment, but he was still broken. His brokenness came out in abuse toward me, and after I could let little Carli see no more, she and I left. It didn't take long for him to start sleeping around, which made it clear to me our relationship was unalterably shattered, and with that another childhood dream died. My story was not going to end with a happily ever after.

  Reflection made sure the scarlet letter “D” was securely fastened to my identity. I was a young, fat, divorced single mom. (Had I been one to use the classified ads to find a date, they could just call me YFDSM. Great. No thanks.)

  REFLECTION: Great! Look what you've done. How do you expect God to ever use you for anything now? You're a…divorced…woman. (Looks away with disgust.)

  YOUNG FAT DIVORCED SINGLE MOM: I don't know. (Tears.)

  REFLECTION: You've really let God down. And no one will ever want you now that you're…you're tainted!

  TRAINER: And look at you! You're even fatter now than ever. And look at all those stretch marks. Now, that's pretty! (Three short, sarcastic grunts.)

  YOUNG FAT DIVORCED SINGLE MOM: I know. I know. Just leave me alone. Please! Leave me alone.

  Failure. My relationship could officially be added to the other one-third of Christian marriages that ended in divorce that year. What an accomplishment!

  There was no getting around it. With all the heart and soul I could muster up, I threw myself into being the best mom possible, going back to school to become a teacher in hopes of becoming an adequate provider for my baby girl. There was a lot of alone time spent with Jesus, since He was the only one who would have me. And after many, many months of Jesus pursuing me, I found out He was the only one I really needed. He loved me desperately, even though I was…fat.

  WHAT ABOUT YOU? NEGATIVE THOUGHTS EXPOSED

  Stand in front of the mirror completely naked (not with your small group, of course). Write exactly what you think about yourself. ________________________________________________________

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  How do you think your answer from questi
on one lines up with what God would say about you? __________________________________

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  A recent Glamour magazine poll revealed that 97 percent of women have negative thoughts about themselves every day. How often do you have negative thoughts about yourself? ________________________

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  If you answered “every day” to question three, about how many times a day do you think something negative of yourself? ________________________________________________________

  Do you remember the time in your life when your negative thoughts about yourself began? If so, when was it? ________________________________________________________

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  Trainer (the one who hates your appearance) might not live in your head, but I'll bet you've heard a voice like hers. What is something typical you remember hearing from her? How did you reply? a. TRAINER:______________________________________________________

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  b. YOU:__________________________________________________________

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