Cheers.

They say old habits die hard.

Perhaps it is not so much the habits themselves which bind us to them, but the familiarity and comfort we find there which makes us run back to them, no matter if they are good for us or not. Very often, they aren’t anyway.

Like a child running back to his mother’s arms, what feels familiar always feels good. But there comes a time where doing so may no longer be appropriate, and running to the right place, back to God, will require new courage, new trust and new faith. Just like how it takes a great deal of commitment and faith for an alcoholic to find his solace elsewhere, many of us probably require that same steely inner strength to turn away from old coping mechanisms to someplace new, someplace unfamiliar, but ultimately better for us in the long run.

In the face of depression or stress, can we choose to pray instead of smoke, excercise instead of binge, call a friend or journal instead of feeding on pornography?

While the stronger part of us is eternally seeking renewal and rebirth, the weaker part shall forever strive to crawl back to the past, dragging our growth down like dead weights. There is a war between spirit and flesh. Unless we consciously and doggedly refocus our efforts on what is newer but unfamiliar, we will forever stagnate. Will we not?

When you look into the mirror, do you see part old, and part new? Does it frustrate you.

I was looking into the mirror just the other day when I found myself surprised at just how much my body has changed. It is vastly different from when I was ill with anorexia 2 years ago. In fact, it is different from any other time in my life. For one, I don’t ever remember myself ever having calves or thighs this muscular (in girl terms of course). I don’t remember my body ever looking this way, nor my skin being so tanned ever in my life. I also don’t remember my weight ever being this… high. Ever since I’ve started cycling, swimming and running on a regular basis, my weight has been climbing. And though I try to remember that muscle is, after all, thrice the density of fat, it is still psychologically a frightful event for a member of the female species.

Suddenly, I became afraid of and exasperated with my body. I became confused and angry with myself. On one hand, I can’t thank God enough for helping me find a genuine joy in sports, find genuine friends who are real gemstones to train with and befriend, find genuine freedom in enjoying recreational sports as God-given gifts instead of being enslaved to them. On the other, the old self was seething with jealousy inside, determined to rob me of this joy, as it constantly reminded me how different and therefore ugly my new body was, and challenged to put it down.

It’s too bulky. Look what roadcycling has done to your thighs. Look what long distance running has done to your calves. Look at what swimming has done to your shoulders and arms. Look at the number on the scale- you’re a whisker away from being sixty kilos. Now weren’t you better off in the past?

Better off? Like when I was ill, you mean?

I am learning, temptation will always be there. We will always have the choice to turn back to our old ways. I know it will only take a moment of folly, insecurity and weakness to make ruin all I’ve taken to come this far in recovery. It will be too easy to to revert to my old ways of self-deprivation. Running to Ed is, or rather, was my natural coping mechanism, something I was comfortable with. After all, Ed was familiar.

But I am learning, that while human beings have a natural tendency to return to the old, we don’t have to, especially when we realise God promises us life afresh with Him.

Today, I received an unexpected email from a sender who made me jump in my seat. It was a well-known senior surgeon whom many of peers admire who had got wind of this space and sent me his thoughts. It got me thinking.