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Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

depression

When who we are is hiding in plain sight: Review of Invisible by Ginny Yttrup

April 3, 2013

Years ago I watched a movie starring Barbara Streisand called The Mirror Has Two Faces. I can’t remember much about the movie except that Bryan Adams sang on the soundtrack (and I was practically in love with Bryan Adams) and the female lead was not confident about her appearance or her attractiveness to men.

I could relate.

When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t like what I saw, and I didn’t believe anyone else who said they saw something different.

invisible coverAlmost 20 years later, the struggle isn’t as intense, but it’s still a battle. And it’s this image battle that novelist Ginny Yttrup writes about in her new book Invisible.

Ellyn is the owner and head chef of a restaurant in Mendocino, California. She’s also overweight, has never had a relationship with a man and she’s skeptical when a widowed doctor, Miles, shows interest in her. She hears a voice in her head (she calls him “Earl”) that constantly puts her down. She loves butter. (Who doesn’t?)

Twila works at a shop owned by her mom. They specialize in herbal medicines, organic foods, and natural products. Twila bears a tattoo of thorns on her face, a mark of solidarity with those who suffer. She is thin and recovering from an eating disorder (she calls it “Ed”) and re-establishing a healthy relationship with food.

Sabina has come to Mendocino to escape. She’s a therapist carrying a suitcase stuffed with guilt and battling depression. She’s on a break from her practice, her family and God. Each day is a struggle to get out of bed.

Ellyn befriends Twila and Sabina and as the three of them get to know each other and their “issues,” they realize they aren’t as different as they might seem on the outside. Each of them, with the help of the others, is on a journey to discover who they are and why they’ve hidden behind food, an eating disorder and professional success.

I don’t know how she does it, but Yttrup creates characters that could walk off the page and into your living room. Invisible is an honest look at what happens in the female mind, and how distorted our view of ourselves can be. I found myself able to identify with each woman for a different reason.

This quote is one of my favorites from the book:

invisible quote

And if you like the writings of Christian saints, you’ll appreciate Yttrup’s inclusion of quotes from St. Augustine at the start of each chapter. A quote from his writings plays a major role in the theme of the book. (Yttrup did this with Madame Guyon in her last book, Lost and Found. I appreciate the ancient-modern connection.)

Yttrup has a unique style. Each chapter is written from the first-person perspective of one of the characters. Sometimes I had to go back and remind myself who was talking, but the chapters are short and the movement of the characters toward wholeness is fluid and hard to step away from.

I enjoyed reading this book on my own but think it would be even more meaningful in a discussion group with other women. So, if you’re looking for a book club read or you have a group of girlfriends who like to read and talk, I’d put this one on the list.

Read more about the author’s personal experience with the issues she writes about here.

—————-

In exchange for my review, I received a free copy of Invisible from Handlebar Marketing.

Filed Under: faith & spirituality, Fiction, food, The Weekly Read, Uncategorized Tagged With: body image, depression, distorted self image, eating disorders, ginny yttrup, guilt, looking in a mirror, mendocino california, obesity, self image, st. augustine, women's issues

I hate everything about this

October 25, 2012

I’m venting. Be forewarned. Because I’m a writer I tend to process with words and sometimes those words aren’t pretty. I promise I’m not trying to bring you down with me. I just need to let off some steam.

Because I REALLY hate what we’re going through right now.

I hate that I’m capable of a raging outbursts that my kids think are funny but which serve no great purpose for me except to blow off everything that’s been boiling inside.

I hate that my parents might find me curled up in the fetal position when they get here later tonight because the house is messy, the kids won’t listen and I don’t have enough left in me to care what anyone thinks.

I hate that going to the grocery store stresses me out and I used to enjoy it.

I hate that when a woman in front of me is one bad decision away from not being able to buy her food, instead of compassion for her situation I think, “Oh, God, please don’t let that ever be me.”

I hate that I yell at my kids for stupid stuff like spilling a small amount of milk while trying to be independent and pour themselves a glass. Have I become the sort of person who values less than a half a cup of milk more than my child’s intentions and feelings?

I hate that I’m not sleeping well at night. And I’m drinking too much coffee. And I’m escaping into novels so I don’t have to deal with reality for a few hours.

I hate that I can’t see how much I’m blessed because all I can think about is what I don’t have.

I hate that I pout when the pizza crust doesn’t turn out like I like it and that I’m more concerned with how my food tastes than being grateful that I have food to eat.

I hate that a small thing–like not being able to find my husband’s social security card the day he starts a new job–escalates into a big thing because my stress level is off the charts.

I hate that I want to throw all our stuff into the front yard with a big “FREE” sign and start over.

I hate that I sometimes regret having kids because it’s hard and I wonder if it’s worth it and then there’s the people I know who struggle to get pregnant or can’t have kids and I’m sickened by my selfishness.

I hate that I’m full of so much hate toward my circumstances, and even God sometimes, and I wonder if I really believe His promises or if He is my God only when times are good.

I hate that I can’t live in this moment and learn from it, that I just want to escape it.

And most of all, I hate that the truth hurts and yet it is still truth.

Truth like this from a Donald Miller talk my husband was listening to on a podcast: A good story contains lots and lots of conflict. My life is too painful to be meaningless.

And this, from Psalm 38:

Your hand presses hard upon me.

O Lord, You know all my desires, and my sighing is not hidden from you.

My strength has failed me.

In You, O Lord, have I fixed my hope; you will answer me, O Lord my God.

And these words from Psalm 37 that overtake my hate and my doubt yet still I wrestle with them:

Put your trust in the Lord and do good.

Dwell in the land and feed on its riches.

Take delight in the Lord and he shall give you your heart’s desire.

Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him.

I might hate this, but I can’t escape it, and I can’t say what I’ll look like on the other side. Melted, refined, broken. Everything of value–gold, silver, diamonds–passes through some kind of testing and the end result is more beautiful than the start.

This, this, is my hope in the pressing times. That like a grape, crushed and squeezed and left to sit, my life will become something sweet and intoxicating. Like a caterpillar that dies to its former life of crawling on the ground and becomes something wholly new that soars.

I do not want this yet I must embrace it.

And today I will celebrate that even in the pain, I am alive.

That help is literally on the way. (My parents are coming for the weekend.)

That my husband is taking me to breakfast in the morning, and maybe to a movie this weekend. (Because generous friends have given us money to use “for fun.”)

That my kids will fall asleep tonight and all the stress of the day will evaporate.

That there is a God in heaven who hears and sees and that our lives will, in some small way, reveal Him to others.

That what I see and feel and hear are not all there is to life.

That God is always up to something.

And I am not in control.

And sometimes I just need the comfort of words.

“My flesh and my heart may fail,  but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.” Psalm 73:26

Filed Under: faith & spirituality Tagged With: depression, handling stress, hate, life's struggles, love, pain, psalms, reasons for hope, selfishness, stress, suffering, testing, truth

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Hi. I’m Lisa, and I’m glad you’re here. If we were meeting in real life, I’d offer you something to eat or drink while we sat on the porch letting the conversation wander as it does. That’s a little bit what this space is like. We talk about books and family and travel and food and running, whatever I might encounter in world. I’m looking for the beauty in the midst of it all, even the tough stuff. (You’ll find a lot of that here, too.) Thanks for stopping by. Stay as long as you like.

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