what happened on friday

Since arriving back on campus, I've been more joyful, more thankful, more full than ever. The days and weeks have flown by since January 11th - between Illini Life, Stratford, the Daily Illini and every other aspect of my U of I life, my time here has been almost surreal.

And so when I binged on Friday night, I was completely and utterly blindsided.
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It began with dinner. The girls in this house don't always prepare the healthiest food, and Friday was no exception: fruit pizzas and honey BBQ wings. Essentially, I ate frosted sugar cookie with berries piled on top for my main course. I knew I might be triggered by all of the decadence, but I wanted to eat what everyone else was having. I wanted to be normal. 

What will they think if I refuse a fruit pizza? I thought to myself as I stood in the kitchen. 

My worries propelled me toward the tray of treats. I ate one, then I ate another. And somehow, I found myself having cookie after cookie after cookie. 

Somewhere between six and seven fruit pizzas, I stopped, turned on my heel, and went upstairs to brush my teeth. I promised myself that the eating would end for the evening. It did - for a little while, at least. But then, I snapped, scouring the house for treats and stuffing myself with anything I could find. It was 8:30 when I called my mom and told her about the binge, holding back tears. Privacy on a Friday night in this house is difficult to find; I resorted to sitting in the stairwell as I poured out the story of how one innocent fruit pizza led to a few thousand extra calories. 

In my mind, Satan's lies took control: You're a failure. You will never get past this. Food will hurt you forever. You're disgusting. This semester will be no different than your previous ones. 

And I felt weak, bloated, too tired to fight back. All I wanted was solitude, but there were people in every room. I had no place to go, no hiding spot to cry in. I was trapped.
It's funny how the worst things can turn into blessings.
On Friday night, I thought I needed to be alone. My routine after a binge had always been the same: I crumble, I shut down, I choose loneliness. But this was the first time I couldn't do that.
After I hung up with my mom, I stood in the stairwell for a moment, thinking. And then, God nudged me: Go. Talk to someone. Don't be alone.
So I did.
I allowed myself to be vulnerable as I told two of my good friends what happened. I buried my face in my hands and listened to their words of encouragement, of love, of support. Before I went to bed, they prayed for me. It was right then and there that I felt peace wash over me.
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When I woke up the next morning, my heart was still full. I had a normal breakfast, then sipped coffee and spent an hour in the Word.
I began to draw a few conclusions:
1. In the aftermath of the binge, I felt crushed. I was believing those lies - the devil's lies - and stumbling over the fact that I had fallen prey to the very thing that drove me from U of I last September. My initial desire was for Stratford to be a binge-free place. A fresh start. A new chapter. I put myself under pressure, under the law, in the hopes of paving a different road. Well, as it turns out, food is still a temptation for me; it is the craving of my flesh. This is where I'm at right now.
2. My mind was overloaded with anxious thoughts last week. I was crazy worried about finding the perfect summer internship; my mom told me she could hear the stress in my voice every time we talked. I believed her. Media internships competitive, and I feel an immense need to compete. (Prayer request: That I may remember the importance of my identity in Christ instead of focusing on my achievements and résumé.)
3. This binge was different from any other binge before. I was able to tell my friends immediately after it happened, which is huge for me. And then, the very next day, I told my roommates. In the past, I probably wouldn't have ever confessed my slip-up to these people. I kept my shame, wrestled with it, until it slowly began to bury me. After I binged on Friday night, there was no shame.
There. Was. No. Shame.
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At Saturday Night Grace that evening, I stood in awe of God's unbelievable plan. He was able to take my binge and use it for good, reminding me of my great need for Him. He used my dear friends to lift me up. He showed me that one mistake doesn't have to destroy me.
He gave me joy in the midst of my trial, when I least expected it.
For these things, I am thankful.
Ephesians 3:20-21: Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than we ask or imagine, according to the power that is at work within us, to him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen.