I want to first just start out by saying how grateful for I am for my wonderful Patreon supporters. You are the reason why I am still able to do this blog. Even just one or two dollars is so greatly appreciated, and allows me to continue to devote the time and energy into this blog. And to everyone else – thank you for reading, for your prayers and for sharing this blog with your friends – that is so generous. And if you want to join the Patreon family, and get access to my daily podcast, Oh What a Beautiful Morning!, as well as podcast versions of my posts, I ask that you prayerfully consider doing so. That would mean the world.
I mention all of this, because this past weekend, during my Oh What a Beautiful Morning! podcast, I was reminded of a very specific memory from my three month stay at inpatient treatment for my anorexia, ten years ago.
I’m going to be honest, sometimes it blows my mind when I think about the life I’ve lived so far. I mean – the things I gone through are seasons that, I honestly don’t know of many people who have had to endure. And my season of inpatient hospital treatment is one of those times.
I remember it like it was yesterday. I was adamant about not going. I was supposed to graduate high school in 5 days, but a bed had opened up. It was the best inpatient treatment facility in the country. Christian based. Waiting list months long. And they finally had an opening.
I was barely clinging to life, 78 pounds. I didn’t have 5 days to spare. But I refused to go. . .