Victory and Embarrassment

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I’m Annie and I am a compulsive overeater.

This weekend, I was feeling pretty good.  I had to testify in a custody hearing on Friday, which stressed me out enough to make me want to eat.  Saturday was my 11th wedding anniversary, something that my hubby and I like to celebrate with a big, fancy meal.  Oh, and also on Friday, my second grader brought home a note about the school accepting registrations for preschool starting this week; my youngest son meets the age requirement and is BEGGING to be allowed to go to school.  All of these things were chances for me to indulge the emotional eater in me and scarf down everything in sight.

BUT I DIDN’T!!!!

No, I didn’t starve myself.  And I am sure some of my food choices were not the healthiest.  But I avoided soda pop (except for the last drink in the bottle that my two oldest sons were fighting over) and I avoided overeating.  I ate enough to satisfy me and nothing more.  That is a victory.

But it is a victory that meant very little to me yesterday morning in church.  About three years ago, the church changed from traditional wooden pews to padded pew chairs.  There wasn’t money in the budget for wide, comfortable chairs, but the ones that were purchased were very nice and very deeply padded.  And they don’t have arms, which is a major plus in my eyes.  We choose seats yesterday morning in the center section, second row.  My husband sat on one end, then our 7-year-old, our 9-year-old, and me, with an empty chair beside me.  I like to have an empty chair where I can place my purse and Bible for the praise and worship portion of the service.  It’s easier to grab them off that chair than to bend over and retrieve them from the floor.  My weight just makes that bending difficult.

Well, something even worse happened yesterday.  When the singing ended and I took my seat, I realized I was really taking my seats—my butt was on both chairs.  I don’t know if anyone else noticed it.  Likely they didn’t (at least they didn’t if they were paying attention to the sermon).  But I noticed it.  I felt so humiliated.  Every time the pastor looked in my direction as he spoke (which seemed to happen quite often because my family was sitting so close to the front) I was almost positive that he could see the way I was sitting on two chairs.  I didn’t tell anyone about it, not even my husband.  Yet I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.  When I tried to take a nap after Sunday dinner, I kept thinking about my butt spanning two chairs.  I dreamed that I was too large to fit into my queen size bed and needed to have a second one set up in my room in order for me to sleep.

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