Thank You, Greg

Greg and I just celebrated our second wedding anniversary.

I remember thinking this time last year that I had grown to love him so much more than before we married. Similarly, this year I feel like our love and commitment to each other has continued to bless our lives with more and more happiness. This year we were blessed with an amazing baby boy that has brought unparalleled joy to our home.

Greg is and always has been an anchor of support to me through hard times--always patient, kind, and an unfailingly good listener. He supported me through Charlie's birth, for which I will always be grateful. He has cried with me and held me close in those dark days of my postpartum depression, allowing me to feel of my Savior's love for me. Most recently he has helped me gain a better appreciation of my own worth.

I have struggled with body image problems for almost as long as I can remember. For example, I am famous in my family for exclaiming, "Are you saying I'm fat!?" I have also always compared myself to other women as soon as I walk into a room--am I as pretty or skinny as she is? My pregnancy helped me realize that since high school I have purposely worn clothes that were too loose so that I could "hide my fat". These realizations are sad for me. I would never wish these thoughts on my worst enemy, so why do I subject myself to them?

After much introspection, I think part of these mental patterns come from the home I was raised in. I don't mean this to blame my parents AT ALL. I just think that both of my parents struggle with their own body image problems, and despite their efforts to the contrary, I think they have passed those problems on to their children.

For years I have watched my parents try a new diet or a new workout regimen that promises to keep them skinny. Both of them are in fairly good health, but they admit that their weight fluctuates a lot between diets. In addition, I have heard my mom say for years that she wants a tummy tuck because she hates the way her stretched-out skin looks.

As a teenager, whenever I voiced my feelings of insecurity to my parents, they would always tell me that I was beautiful no matter what. When I started high school I was a little overweight. I asked my mom for diet advice, and she gave me her method: low-calorie eating plus running six days a week. I lost 20 lbs in three months and kept it off, for the most part. I know that my mom taught me this diet with only the best intentions. I know that she meant only to help me, but for years after that, I thought that any straying from that plan was BAD and that I was BAD for it. Despite my parents telling me that I was beautiful, from their examples I learned that to be thin was more desirable, no matter the cost.

Most of my siblings (myself definitely included) have struggled with disordered eating. All seven of us have admitted to "caring too much" about the way that we look. (Sidenote: I definitely think that health, fitness, and personal grooming are important, I'm merely saying that, like everything in life, moderation is key.)

My body image problems reached a tipping point after giving birth to Charlie. I was in an alien body, and unlike pregnancy and labor, I was completely unprepared for the feelings of shame and inadequacy that this new body produced. I began to fantasize about plastic surgery. I began to wish that I could stop breastfeeding so that I could go on a starvation diet. I began to feel myself withdrawing from Greg and Charlie. I realized that thinking these thoughts all the time was too hard on me, and I decided that  something needed to change--for my own mental health, and especially for the mental health of my own children. The thought of my own children thinking these same things on such a regular basis chilled me to the core. I didn't know how to progress from the point that I was at, though. I felt like I was painted into a corner.

One day while Charlie napped, with worry and love in his eyes, Greg asked me what was wrong. I finally told him all of the things that I was feeling, ashamed to be so vulnerable. I then saw a look of utter disbelief on Greg's face. Brimming with compassion and sincerity, he explained to me that he didn't see any of these imagined failings when he looked at me. I remember in that moment that with Greg's help, I saw myself the way that my Heavenly Father saw me. This body that Heavenly Father blessed me with had made a strong, healthy, and happy baby. That body was continuing to nourish my baby in a way that only my body could. My body was getting stronger every day, and I was using it to give my mind and spirit their oh-so-needed energy to help me grow and thrive as a new mother. Since that day, I have started on a path to higher self-worth, and whenever I feel down, I look back and try to remember how I felt in that moment. When I remember that, I am buoyed up.

One of the things that has always made Greg so attractive to me was that he didn't care what other people thought of him. He didn't buy into the latest clothing trends or any other trend, really. He spent his time trying to make himself a better person. I think that this indifference to trends comes from (in part) the way he was raised. I have never heard Greg's mom or dad disparage their own bodies--or anyone's, for that matter. I have never heard them talk about the latest diet or workout craze to stay thin. As far as I know, none of their children has suffered from disordered eating, including one sister that is a dancer. The Billings family seems to understand what I'm only starting to see: our bodies are truly wonderful things, and we should never treat them otherwise.

Ever since we met, Greg has always been a powerful force for good in my life. I married him, in part, because I knew that he would help me to be a better person. I didn't know, though, how profoundly Greg would help me see my potential as a daughter of God, and how that knowledge would change my life. I hope and pray that I can continue on this path and that maybe someday, like Greg, I can help my children see their true worth.

Thank you, Greg. I love you.