Diana Reader

The number one reason people stay stuck in self-destructive patterns is that they don't really want to change.  Of course, you don't like the consequences of your obsession--but there are parts of it you believe you can't live without.  You have limits on how much you will trust God. If this comes close to describing your life [know that] there is a way to break out of this cycle.  Read the words of two people who struggle with eaten problems:  "Success through [your issue] was the key to my salvation.  Success meant a perfect career, perfect control over my life--all of which depended on a perfect me--which depended on me living inside a perfect body.   Eating is one area of my life that no one can reach, not even God." Doesn't it sound as if they're describing a religion?  They have laws, rituals, sacrifice, penance, idols of comfort, idols of control, and the hope of salvation.  The difference is that God is not in it. Your problem isn'...

I've been trying so hard to put love in a box.  Confine it to the image I think it should be: neat, clear, defined.  But what if love isn't that way? What if love is messy? What if love is undefined? What if our view of "perfect love" isn't the same as "real love"? It'll be well after midnight before I post this blog, if I even finish it tonight.  There's something about writing early in the morning when everyone is asleep, after a day has gone by and the anticipation of a new one awaits.  Full stomach and full head spinning with ideas keeping me from sleep, empty answers robbing me of sleep. Is there really such thing as unreciprocated love? So many of us have grown up with Disney movies, romance movies, etc.  Girl and guy meet, there's some force keeping them apart, and in the end (a very short struggle, keeping it true movie style) happy ever after comes for the couple.  I've never bought into those movies.  I'm a huge ...

For anyone that has gone through change, it can be really difficult.  Really challenging. Yet really freeing too. We tend to remember the good things when we leave a place, and forget the struggles.  Sometimes we remember the struggles and forget the good.  Our minds are funny like that, we hold on to things without fully understanding why.  Sometimes we hold on too long, sometimes we're too eager to let go. I don't know what it is, but I have such a hard time getting my concerns across when I'm talking with people.  I've been focusing on being more open, but at the same time I still tend to avoid the questions with a smile and generic response.  I think a lot of that has to do with not wanting to waste people's time if they're asking to be polite rather than genuine concern, but more than likely it's because of the fear of what honesty may bring.  Sometimes honesty is painful to hear, sometime's it's painful to accept. I was talking with a f...

I've been briefly volunteering down at the BRICK these past couple weeks.  I started out thinking I would do this for hours, to "cross off" another thing on my list; to add to my other list.  What I found was surprising. There was this man that has been there both times I have been.  The first time I met him, he barely acknowledged me.  I could tell it wasn't a matter of dislike, but simply the fact that he did not know me and was quite shy.  There was something about him though, that made me feel as if he needed a friend.  I chattered and chattered to him, telling jokes, laughing to myself, and then continuing.  After awhile, I left him in silence to answer if he chose.  Soon enough, I began talking again, less aggressively this time but just as determined.  After a couple hours passed, he began opening up.  I could see his trust in me increasing as he started talking about his home life, then personal history, and in a mere three hou...

We're coming to the end of National Eating Disorder Awareness week, so I felt this was a good time to share some thoughts.  I've been speaking with a close friend about this lately, so that's part of the reason I'm writing, but also because I've become more aware of this issue in so many lives.  Many are too afraid to admit it, but I can see it in their eyes. I'll start off with a disclaimer: If I could give you the words to heal you, I WOULD.  But I can't.  Regardless of how much I can talk, give advice, say all the things that should make this go away, it won't go away without your consent.  It won't go away without your will.  It won't go away until the voice of willpower inside you is greater than the voice inside you shouting your defeat.  I wish I could take these struggles away from you, but I can't.  And I'm so sorry that you feel alone.  I'm so sorry you feel defeated.  I'm so sorry you feel like no one truly understand...

Since I did a blog on what defines a woman, it's inevitable that next I'll attempt to tackle what a man is.  This might be more difficult because I don't have the insight of a male brain, but I'll do my best. I've had this major skepticism when it comes to guys for a large portion of my life; basically, for all of my life.  Which is really funny because I have no reason to; my father is a WONDERFUL man, exampling everything a guy should be.  I've never been betrayed by a guy, or had any significant event that would make me distrust someone.  Most of the guys I have met have been relatively honest, some transparent, some more opaque, but all genuine guys.  All struggling, all striving, all trying to just figure life out. But I'm still really skeptic.  I have this one way view that the majority of guys (I can't bring myself to say all, because that really wouldn't be fair) are so consumed with image, with women (note: plural), and with trying to pr...

When I was little, I didn't think much about being a girl.  I liked playing with dolls just as much as I liked playing in the mud.  Sometimes I'd bake cookies, sometimes I'd race my handheld electric jeep in the street.  I absolutely loved giving makeovers, dousing myself in glitter, and everything to do with shoes.  I also loved running around barefoot, going for motorcycle rides, and wearing my dad's baseball caps. My first favorite sport was baseball.  Most people wouldn't classify it as real baseball, but I did.  We had this big plastic bat (the real bats were too heavy for me to lift at that age) and my neighbors and I would go out into our field and play for hours.  One of our dad's would pitch, and we'd used things like the apple tree, sewer plate, and an old pop can for bases. I never thought about what a girl should or shouldn't like. When I entered kindergarden, a friend and I were talking about our favorite sports.  Of course, I s...