A Sacred Story

A Sacred Story by Laura Gray

In my early 20’s, I was bulimic. From work, I would drive home 35 minutes to scarf down some lunch to then throw it up in the comfort of my own bathroom. If I was unable to make it home, my good friend and co-worker would serve as a lookout so I could do the deed in the office restroom. Early in my career, during a business trip to Chicago, our group had dined at a white tablecloth restaurant. Fear ran through my veins as we sat and ate. I felt trapped, and the food seemed to choke me with each chew and swallow. Eventually, I excused myself from the table and proceeded to violently vomit the pre-digested filet and then returned to the table with a polite smile. I had mastered this game of dine/ dash/discard.

Both my boss and my mother began to express deep concern over my physical condition. It was certainly different back then when your older, male boss could call you into his office and genuinely inquire about your health and wellbeing. With the support of my mom, I received counseling and began a “healthier” relationship with food.

After the birth of my first son at the age of 31, it was imperative to lose the pregnancy pounds and I successfully was able to zip my size 6 jeans in time for my 6-week postpartum checkup. Returning to work, I slid into old patterns. The dynamic between myself and food was very contentious. I viewed it both as means to live and as a pawn in a game I could control. One day, a colleague commented, “Laura, you are getting so thin.”

Instantly, my mind converted her words to mean, I am not thin enough if you can still see me.

Soon after, I was back in therapy. Through several sessions and quiet reflection, Irealized the food and weight game was collateral damage from my childhood trauma. I had been packing pounds on top of the excruciating physical and emotional pain from the sexual abuse by a family friend for many years. Since my body was the scene of the “repeated” crime, I began to fight for control, tear down the invisible yellow tape surrounding my body and ultimately find peace.

Putting it together made sense. The chewing, swallowing followed by an extreme sense of panic was consistent with the memory from the oral sexual abuse of gagging and not being able to breathe. The intense task of keeping the bulimia a secret mirrored the devastating and dark game of the abuse. In the same way, I successfully functioned as a child, I conquered the ability to return to many dinner tables and carry on the conversation.

As a result of childhood sexual abuse, many survivors put on weight to “hide” in their bodies and not appear “attractive” to a potential perpetrator1. However, as in my case, one could go the opposite way,

wanting to become so thin and “disappear”, so the predator can no longer find you.

After years of therapy, I decided to obtain certifications in multiple areas and began teaching fitness classes. My objective was never about a number on a scale or the size of your thighs but rather to get healthy and have fun doing it. Time moved on, my kids’ schedules became more hectic, and after 10 years, I made the decision to stop teaching fitness classes.

In March of last year, I was blessed to be able to donate one of my kidneys. Two months prior, I had numerous pre-op medical appointments and for the first time in a long time, stepped on a scale. The “number” was quite high, and in an instant, I became reacquainted with my past beast of burden.

With the surgery a success, I purchased a scale and weighed myself every morning. I increased my daily exercise routine and decreased my food intake. Magically, the number on the scale started to go down. I began to assert and establish a real sense of control over my body, and I liked it. Each point, regardless of the amount lower, was a victory and inevitably set the tone for my day.

A co-worker expressed concern over my weight loss and unknowingly triggered the “he can still see me” effect. I worked out twice a day and punished myself by eating less. So eager to hit a number, I would even remove a necklace or hair barrette before weigh-ins.

Each morning I behaved like a wrestler anxious to make weight before a match. The routine became both challenging and draining. I knew what I had weighed at my wedding 27 years ago, and once I reached that number, I decided to see how low I could go. That new number became my benchmark. In the seemingly never-ending cycle of weigh, work out, work, work out and eat a little along the way, old patterns repeated themselves as they often do until we learn the lesson.

And so, this morning, 50 years after the abuse stopped and growing weary of the game, I woke and chose not to disrobe and place my value on a carnival contest. Rather, instead, I made a conscious decision to go within, bare myself and write a piece reflecting on and respecting my journey with weight. Although it has felt very much like a game, I have discovered there is no win nor lose, only life. No more weight-ing… only living.

Laura Gray is the Founder/Executive Director of IPride, a self-esteem empowerment program for youth that she created in 2015. A published author, her story is in the recently released Amazon bestseller Mayhem to Miracles. A living kidney donor and a fervent advocate for sexual assault victims, Laura is a proud mother of three sons and three dogs. She strives to live each day with a grateful heart and feels especially connected to herself and God when she is in nature. ipride.net.

[1] https://www.weightwatchers.com/us/article/ connection-between-trauma-and-body-image