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  • Writer's pictureAllie Moroney

My Fear of Milk, Part 3

After years of alternative milk consumption out of fear, I found myself at a crossroads. Milk? No milk? Oat milk? Almond milk?


I talked to my spiritual director about it and her question was simple– What do you like? What do you want?


I thought about those questions a lot. What do I like? What do I want?


My mind immediately went to what others said and wanted. As I mentioned before, the question wasn't regarding the dairy. The dairy was the exterior way in which I was trying to answer a deep longing and need at the moment.

What were those longings and needs? A longing to be valued and beautiful. For me this is always confused with exercise, fitness, and diet because of sports. I was afraid of changing my habits and then as a result gaining weight. If I gained weight and didn't keep up my fitness, that would mean I was unloveable and end up alone and abandoned. I longed to fit into my friend group, where many people held strong opinions about diets and food choices. I was afraid if I didn't line up with the opinions of others then somehow I would be rejected from the group and abandoned.


I saw a trend here– a fear of being rejected and abandoned.


I started daily to pray about these things. I asked the Lord to give me an image of this scared version of me. Once I had an image of “Little Al” firm in my mind, I started to invite her to be a part of my times of prayer. It didn't happen immediately, and most of the time I wasn't "feeling anything" at all. But with time and grace, I was able to assure “Little Al” of the truths she was desperate to hear: You are seen. You are wanted. I am glad you are here. You don't have to preform to be loved. You don't need to work out to be a part of the group. You don't have to look a certain way to be accepted. You don't have to prove anything to anyone. You always have a seat at the table. 


My practice of prayer to soak in these realities looks like this – In my mind, I picture Jesus, Mary, and Joseph sitting at a kitchen table alongside a version of me (Typically a version that is uncomfortable or embarrassing for me to behold). Then I imagine myself, as I am today, pulling up a chair alongside of them.


Sometimes this is a peaceful experience. Other times, I cannot stand the parts of me that show up at the table. These things eb and flow like all things in life, but with time and practicing the art of simply being present, all these broken parts and place are finding and settling in to their seat at the table.

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