Last year, a young woman from an impoverished country stayed with my husband and me for several weeks. She had no idea the impact she’d have on my relationship with food—as someone who’d struggled with disordered eating for decades as a result of lifelong exposure to diet culture. But nonetheless, God used her to heal my mind and set me free.
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This is the age I was put on my first diet; an age when my brain and organs were still developing. In no way do I fault my mother. She herself was a victim of diet culture.
Several days ago, I knew deep within it was time to remove the Transformation Art Exhibit from my website.
It had been online for sixteen years.
Yesterday, I made this delightful dessert during my breaks from mowing the lawn. I’ll be serving it on Father’s Day, but it’s perfect for any summer occasion. (Always make it by at least the day before, so it has plenty of time to freeze.)
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Initially, in those first hours, the immediate family is in extreme shock.
They are in a perpetual state of not fully comprehending what’s happened; they are feeling detached, confused, and numb—while scrambling to get the news delivered to other members of the family.
Their brains are on overload. It’s like being suddenly tossed into a washing machine on spin cycle.
