So I've been home for 8 days. It feels like I never left. Or at least have only been gone for a short vacation. Not a crazy 11 month adventure. I haven't cried. I haven't been sick to my stomach walking into a grocery store or Walmart (though I did almost shed tears of joy when I saw the Crest display–oh how I've missed you!). I feel really great actually. Which then makes me feel weird. Shouldn't I be a mess right now? But more on that later.
It's weird how easily I've walked right back into life. I've seen the same friends. I've had very similar conversations. I've done the same things I did before the race. But now I am uncomfortably aware of everything I say, do, and think. Remember that blog about the mirror? If not it's ok to take a break to read it. But basically I talk about changes that I'm expecting in my life and how even though I almost never had a mirror on the race didn't mean after the race I wouldn't use one but that I would think differently about what I saw in the mirror.
I was clearly disillusioned. On a missionary high.
I lost some weight on the race. Ok, I lost a lot of weight on the race. I've always been a "big" girl so my weight loss was noticeable. And I mean none of my clothes fit. People have been telling me how great I look. And I've loved it!
Pre-race. Look at my cute rosy cheeks!
And so something I've really been looking forward to was going shopping and seeing how great I would look in new clothes. So on Friday afternoon (only 5 short days back in America) I found myself in an Old Navy dressing room. I have just put on a new pair of jeans and tshirt. And instantly I'm sad that the pants aren't a smaller size and that the shirt is pulled tight against my stomach. And I'm instantly sad. Why couldn't I have lost more weight. Why couldn't I have been born smaller. Why will I never be one of those pretty girls.
And yet at the same exact time the other side of my brain is reassuring me how beautiful I am. How my smile has been known to light up a room or two. How my worth is found in Christ and not in the opinions of men. How the American version of beauty is so distorted anyway I don't even want to be a part of it. I was literally judging myself, for judging myself. I got a headache.
The outfit that caused all the hoopla. Come on silly brain, I'm totally cute!
So basically the moral of this blog is I'm home, I'm hoping/praying the changes and freedom I found on the race can happen back in my life, and if you see me and I'm making this really confused/stressed out face and rubbing my forehead don't worry. I'm fine. Just arguing with myself. Re-entry is fun.
