It's pretty obvious that I have not been dedicated to writing this blog in a long time. I love all of you dearly. You have helped me in many ways through your sweet and insightful comments and e-mails, and I am thrilled to know that my words have helped some of you as well. One reason why I haven't been writing is because, for once, as far as my eating disorder goes, things are finally okay. I'm eating three "normal" meals a day. I'm not counting calories. I'm not losing or gaining weight. I'm just doing the very best that I can to take care of myself. I have also been very busy with work. I've been traveling recently, making wedding plans, looking at houses to purchase, applying to PhD programs, and spending time with my fiance and our cat. It seems like I am only inspired to blog when things are going horribly wrong. But lately I have been thinking that I should change the focus of this blog, or create a new blog altogether, where I focus on being healthy. I'm not sure if that's what I'll do. I'm just tossing ideas around. I feel like I just need to move forward and leave my eating disorder in the past. Sometimes blogging about it feels like a step backward, like I'm giving it too much thought and attention when what I really need to do is abandon it and move on entirely.
Regardless of the decision I make, for all of you who e-mail me or contact me, that doesn't mean I don't want to talk to you. I do! I love talking to you. If you need advice, if you have questions about recovery, or if you just need someone who understands to listen, I am and always will be available. Always. So please do not hesitate to contact me. It won't impose on me, offend me, or trigger me in any way. I love hearing from each and every one of you. I know how scary an eating disorder is, how isolating it is, how hopeless it feels. But I promise you, it doesn't have to feel that way. You can live a better life. You can be a whole person. You can be healthy, you can be happy. But you cannot do it with an eating disorder holding you back. You have to let it go.
That's really all I'm trying to do.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Normal vs. Healthy
There are several ED-related buzzwords that make me cringe a bit each time I hear them: "triggering", "fear food", "thinspiration", "meal plan". Today, however, the words I am focusing on are "normal" and "healthy". I don't like either of these words because I believe their definition varies from person to person. Too often, society tries to measure everyone against someone else's vision of normal and healthy.What is normal for me or healthy for me is not necessarily normal or healthy for you. But, more importantly, what is normal for me, isn't necessarily healthy, period.
I realized this a few moments ago while enjoying my lunch which consisted of a mandarin orange, one of those 100-calories bags of popcorn, and a handful of chocolate candy. By no means is this lunch the nutritional ideal for anyone, but, for me, it's quite normal. In other words, within the context of my life,this was not an unusual lunch for me to have (usually I eat breakfast, try to skip lunch, then eat dinner, only to end up snacking on a variety of nutritionally-derelict items). While this might be normal for me, it is not healthy, even though I do little to change my behavior. It seems I need to be reminded that behaviors aren't normal just because they are repeated over and over again.This is an important concept to keep in mind during recovery. It is easy for us to fall into patterns, to repeat certain behaviors, and become oblivious to them. But we need to be self-aware enough to identify which behaviors are "normal" in the larger scheme of things, and which behaviors feed from eating-disordered thoughts and impulses. Next, we have to fashion a plan to remedy these behaviors if they are damaging or if they interfere with our recovery, our health, or the quality of our lives. I can guarantee that my substandard lunch was the product of my eating disorder. Now, what am I going to do to fix it? Stop skipping meals. Stop restricting. Eat well-rounded meals with proper nutrition to avoid absent-minded snacking and hunger-induced binges.
I also have to remember that eating disorders are not normal. Of course this seems like common sense, but after you've lived with an eating disorder for a number of years (whether you are in recovery or you are not) your life begins to feel somewhat normal because it's all you know. Even if you aren't happy with the way your life is progressing, if you're sad, if you're tired of being sick--whatever-- it begins to feel safe and normal and the desire to change things lessens. The need for total recovery fades and you begin to live this pieced together sort of life in which you are partly recovered and partly broken. You step in and out of both realms, trying on both masks and constantly swapping one out for the other. But in order to ever be truly happy, or truly healthy, or truly normal in the most basic sense of any of those words, we have to self-aware. We have to look inward, notice our patterns and behaviors, and work hard toward changing those which are negative, destructive, lazy, neglectful, or hurtful.
Otherwise, we're living life half-full.
I realized this a few moments ago while enjoying my lunch which consisted of a mandarin orange, one of those 100-calories bags of popcorn, and a handful of chocolate candy. By no means is this lunch the nutritional ideal for anyone, but, for me, it's quite normal. In other words, within the context of my life,this was not an unusual lunch for me to have (usually I eat breakfast, try to skip lunch, then eat dinner, only to end up snacking on a variety of nutritionally-derelict items). While this might be normal for me, it is not healthy, even though I do little to change my behavior. It seems I need to be reminded that behaviors aren't normal just because they are repeated over and over again.This is an important concept to keep in mind during recovery. It is easy for us to fall into patterns, to repeat certain behaviors, and become oblivious to them. But we need to be self-aware enough to identify which behaviors are "normal" in the larger scheme of things, and which behaviors feed from eating-disordered thoughts and impulses. Next, we have to fashion a plan to remedy these behaviors if they are damaging or if they interfere with our recovery, our health, or the quality of our lives. I can guarantee that my substandard lunch was the product of my eating disorder. Now, what am I going to do to fix it? Stop skipping meals. Stop restricting. Eat well-rounded meals with proper nutrition to avoid absent-minded snacking and hunger-induced binges.
I also have to remember that eating disorders are not normal. Of course this seems like common sense, but after you've lived with an eating disorder for a number of years (whether you are in recovery or you are not) your life begins to feel somewhat normal because it's all you know. Even if you aren't happy with the way your life is progressing, if you're sad, if you're tired of being sick--whatever-- it begins to feel safe and normal and the desire to change things lessens. The need for total recovery fades and you begin to live this pieced together sort of life in which you are partly recovered and partly broken. You step in and out of both realms, trying on both masks and constantly swapping one out for the other. But in order to ever be truly happy, or truly healthy, or truly normal in the most basic sense of any of those words, we have to self-aware. We have to look inward, notice our patterns and behaviors, and work hard toward changing those which are negative, destructive, lazy, neglectful, or hurtful.
Otherwise, we're living life half-full.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Let's Be Honest: Recovery Warfare
Do you want to recover from your eating disorder?
Do you really want to get better? Wholeheartedly?
For the last five years or so, I have told myself and everyone around me that I genuinely want to recover from my eating disorder. The problem is, that's a lie, sort of. Of course I want to recover from my eating disorder. Of course I know it's deadly, it's killing me, it has stolen everything from me, destroyed my health, and destroyed my relationships. Of course I want to get better. Don't I? Then why haven't I done it already?
I admit that deep down I have been afraid to fully part with my eating disorder because I feel to some extent defined by it. I realize this thinking is illogical, though all eating-disordered thinking is illogical, and that is precisely the point. I will never be fully recovered unless I am willing to give up my eating disorder. It isn't going to disappear. I have to sacrifice it fully. Give it up. Burn it. Kill it. Destroy it. Forget about it. Let it go. Move on.
I realize this isn't easy. I know that recovery isn't as simple as making the choice to get better and trying to implement changes in your life; it takes dedication and daily commitment to overcome an eating disorder. Recovery is most definitely an active choice--something we have to work towards and put effort into. But I believe that if we aren't willing to let go of our eating disorders, of course they aren't going to leave us. We have to leave them. We have to put more effort into being well than we put into being sick. Granted, eating disorders aren't choices and all behaviors and compulsions fueled by our eating disorders are/were out of our control. I know that when my eating disorder was at its worst, I put a lot of effort into being sick-- obsessively counting calories, hardcore restricting, adhering to strict workout regimens, etc. Even though this behavior was fueled by madness, I put effort into obeying it. Why can't we take that same amount of effort and discipline and apply it to our recovery? Why can't we channel the dedication and discipline created by our eating disorder and turn it into a weapon to aid in our recovery?
Guess what: we can. And we have to, if we ever want to be free.
I know I am guilty in being "lazy" in my recovery. It's time to get tough. I am kicking my eating disorder's ass and setting it on fire.
Forgetting about it
Letting it go
Moving on
Who's with me?
Do you really want to get better? Wholeheartedly?
For the last five years or so, I have told myself and everyone around me that I genuinely want to recover from my eating disorder. The problem is, that's a lie, sort of. Of course I want to recover from my eating disorder. Of course I know it's deadly, it's killing me, it has stolen everything from me, destroyed my health, and destroyed my relationships. Of course I want to get better. Don't I? Then why haven't I done it already?
I admit that deep down I have been afraid to fully part with my eating disorder because I feel to some extent defined by it. I realize this thinking is illogical, though all eating-disordered thinking is illogical, and that is precisely the point. I will never be fully recovered unless I am willing to give up my eating disorder. It isn't going to disappear. I have to sacrifice it fully. Give it up. Burn it. Kill it. Destroy it. Forget about it. Let it go. Move on.
I realize this isn't easy. I know that recovery isn't as simple as making the choice to get better and trying to implement changes in your life; it takes dedication and daily commitment to overcome an eating disorder. Recovery is most definitely an active choice--something we have to work towards and put effort into. But I believe that if we aren't willing to let go of our eating disorders, of course they aren't going to leave us. We have to leave them. We have to put more effort into being well than we put into being sick. Granted, eating disorders aren't choices and all behaviors and compulsions fueled by our eating disorders are/were out of our control. I know that when my eating disorder was at its worst, I put a lot of effort into being sick-- obsessively counting calories, hardcore restricting, adhering to strict workout regimens, etc. Even though this behavior was fueled by madness, I put effort into obeying it. Why can't we take that same amount of effort and discipline and apply it to our recovery? Why can't we channel the dedication and discipline created by our eating disorder and turn it into a weapon to aid in our recovery?
Guess what: we can. And we have to, if we ever want to be free.
I know I am guilty in being "lazy" in my recovery. It's time to get tough. I am kicking my eating disorder's ass and setting it on fire.
Forgetting about it
Letting it go
Moving on
Who's with me?
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Why recovery is STILL worth it
I was invited by Anne-Sophie from Fighting Anorexia to participate in a recovery advocacy project. I, along with Anne-Sophie and a list of other great bloggers, are posting this month on our reasons for recovery. Though I have written on the reasons I entered recovery several times on my blog, one particular entry of mine stands out the most. In August of 2010, I wrote a very short post called "Why Recovery is Worth it". Here is what I said:
"Why recovery is worth it:
In recovery, you realize your body is special.
You are worth saving.
Life is too short to be miserable, sick, and hungry.
Food has a purpose.
It fuels your body to give you the energy to live.
You will remember what it feels like to hope and to dream.
If you're healthy, you can actually begin to make them come true.
When you're free from your eating disorder, you are free.
Your thoughts are your own.
You don't have to answer to anyone.
You don't have to lie to people or live a double life.
You don't have to feel guilty.
You don't have to hate yourself.
Food is not the enemy.
You don't have to be afraid of food.
Your hair will stop falling out.
Your stomach will stop growling.
You won't be light-headed.
And you won't gain a hundred pounds.
Eventually, you'll stop fighting with the mirror.
You will begin to trust yourself.
You will begin to take care of yourself.
You will begin to love yourself.
You can start over.
It's not too late.
You are worth saving. "
After rereading this post today, I've realized a number of things:
1. I still believe every word I wrote back in August of 2010, even if I don't always follow my own advice. I know that I should, and I'm trying to do better.
2. I believe I am worth saving. I believe you are worth saving too.
3. Sometimes, dedicating your life to recovery once is not enough. Sometimes we fall down. Sometimes we need reminders. Sometimes we need to take a step back, reevaluate where we stand, and learn the best way to move forward. We need to dedicate ourselves forever, not just a moment in time.
4. Transformation is not a future event. It starts now. Today. Don't say you'll begin recovery tomorrow or next week or next month or when you've lost another five lbs. Do it now. None of us have any promise of tomorrow. Life is too short, too beautiful, too precious, and too fleeting. Even if your world is so dark you can't possibly see that right now, I promise you, it is.
Recovery is possible. Recovery is worth it. Recovery is necessary.
I also once said: "But I've realized recovery doesn't mean boring. It doesn't mean normal or mediocre or bland. Recovery just means healthy. How can I be spectacular and different and unique if I'm dead? Anorexia = another statistic. Anorexia = death. Dead means dead. Dead means it's over. No more chances. No coming back. But with recovery comes hope. Hope means good things will come. Recovery means energy. Energy means I can do all the things I want to do. Recovery means promise. Promise means a chance to be all the things I want to be. Recovery means life. It means more than life. It means to be alive. Unique. Special. Free."
Are you ready for freedom?
What will you do today to take steps toward recovery?
What does recovery mean to you?
"Why recovery is worth it:
In recovery, you realize your body is special.
You are worth saving.
Life is too short to be miserable, sick, and hungry.
Food has a purpose.
It fuels your body to give you the energy to live.
You will remember what it feels like to hope and to dream.
If you're healthy, you can actually begin to make them come true.
When you're free from your eating disorder, you are free.
Your thoughts are your own.
You don't have to answer to anyone.
You don't have to lie to people or live a double life.
You don't have to feel guilty.
You don't have to hate yourself.
Food is not the enemy.
You don't have to be afraid of food.
Your hair will stop falling out.
Your stomach will stop growling.
You won't be light-headed.
And you won't gain a hundred pounds.
Eventually, you'll stop fighting with the mirror.
You will begin to trust yourself.
You will begin to take care of yourself.
You will begin to love yourself.
You can start over.
It's not too late.
You are worth saving. "
After rereading this post today, I've realized a number of things:
1. I still believe every word I wrote back in August of 2010, even if I don't always follow my own advice. I know that I should, and I'm trying to do better.
2. I believe I am worth saving. I believe you are worth saving too.
3. Sometimes, dedicating your life to recovery once is not enough. Sometimes we fall down. Sometimes we need reminders. Sometimes we need to take a step back, reevaluate where we stand, and learn the best way to move forward. We need to dedicate ourselves forever, not just a moment in time.
4. Transformation is not a future event. It starts now. Today. Don't say you'll begin recovery tomorrow or next week or next month or when you've lost another five lbs. Do it now. None of us have any promise of tomorrow. Life is too short, too beautiful, too precious, and too fleeting. Even if your world is so dark you can't possibly see that right now, I promise you, it is.
Recovery is possible. Recovery is worth it. Recovery is necessary.
I also once said: "But I've realized recovery doesn't mean boring. It doesn't mean normal or mediocre or bland. Recovery just means healthy. How can I be spectacular and different and unique if I'm dead? Anorexia = another statistic. Anorexia = death. Dead means dead. Dead means it's over. No more chances. No coming back. But with recovery comes hope. Hope means good things will come. Recovery means energy. Energy means I can do all the things I want to do. Recovery means promise. Promise means a chance to be all the things I want to be. Recovery means life. It means more than life. It means to be alive. Unique. Special. Free."
Are you ready for freedom?
What will you do today to take steps toward recovery?
What does recovery mean to you?
Tuesday, January 17, 2012
Breaking Free From Bananas
I will admit it. I am addicted to bananas. I eat one banana per day for breakfast, alongside a whole-wheat english muffin and a ginormous cup of coffee with two tablespoons of soymilk. Always. For the last four years. Every. Single. Day. I purchase bananas each time I'm at the market, regardless of the quantity I have waiting for me at home. This never changes and I don't want it to. At least I didn't, until I realized this breakfast routine was the dirty work of my eating disorder.
I realized this today when I woke up and started making my usual breakfast. I scooped out the appropriate amount of coffee beans and filled the coffee maker with water. I opened the english muffins, popped them into the toaster, and reached for one of three bananas that were sitting in a wooden bowl on my kitchen counter. All of the bananas were a little overripe, which is how I like them. As I peeled the first banana, the entire thing was rotten inside. Like, brown mushy rotten. Like, no one on the planet would find this appetizing rotten. So I tossed it and opened the second banana-- same thing. Gooey mushy brownness. So I peeled the third banana, same thing. All three completely inedible and now staring up at me from inside the trash can. The coffee had finished brewing, the english muffin had finished toasting, and I had no banana. I commenced freaking out. I paced around my apartment mumbling. Stood there in disbelief. Sent a text message to my fiance, as if somehow he could fix the Bananaless Breakfast Disaster of 2012. Just as I was considering hopping in my car in my pajamas and house slippers to buy more bananas in order to complete the missing breakfast component, my fiance responded with a text of his own that read simply, "You're crazy."
He's totally right.
I am crazy.
This is not normal.
It's not about bananas at all.
I have an eating disorder.
It's about control.
It's about patterns and likeness and familiarity in a world that is constantly changing and overwhelming me.
It's about calories, or the lack thereof. I know a breakfast of a banana and an english muffin is not substantial enough to fuel my body throughout the morning. That's why I'm tired and hungry again not long after I've eaten.
It's about my eating disorder ruining my life. It is not normal to have a major meltdown when I have no bananas for breakfast, when there is a refrigerator and pantry full of perfectly suitable breakfast foods at my disposal. It is also not normal to panic when my banana supply, or my english muffin supply, is dipping dangerously low and run out to the store to buy more. I feel like a drug addict. That's how serious I get about this. And it scares me.
I know that bananas are good for you. They're full of potassium and fiber and even have a considerably high amount of iron for a fruit, which I need because I'm severely anemic. They can also help to regulate your digestive system, and some say reduce your risk of stroke. Plus, they're really tasty and I enjoy eating them. I'm not going to stop. But I know my dependence upon them are the work of my eating disorder, so I have to break free. No more bananas for me, at least not for breakfast, that is.
I am proud of myself for labeling this behavior as ED related, and furthermore, for shutting it down.
So, what did I eat instead of bananas this morning?
I had grapes instead. Tomorrow, who knows?
Do you have any foods that you are dependent upon?
I realized this today when I woke up and started making my usual breakfast. I scooped out the appropriate amount of coffee beans and filled the coffee maker with water. I opened the english muffins, popped them into the toaster, and reached for one of three bananas that were sitting in a wooden bowl on my kitchen counter. All of the bananas were a little overripe, which is how I like them. As I peeled the first banana, the entire thing was rotten inside. Like, brown mushy rotten. Like, no one on the planet would find this appetizing rotten. So I tossed it and opened the second banana-- same thing. Gooey mushy brownness. So I peeled the third banana, same thing. All three completely inedible and now staring up at me from inside the trash can. The coffee had finished brewing, the english muffin had finished toasting, and I had no banana. I commenced freaking out. I paced around my apartment mumbling. Stood there in disbelief. Sent a text message to my fiance, as if somehow he could fix the Bananaless Breakfast Disaster of 2012. Just as I was considering hopping in my car in my pajamas and house slippers to buy more bananas in order to complete the missing breakfast component, my fiance responded with a text of his own that read simply, "You're crazy."
He's totally right.
I am crazy.
This is not normal.
It's not about bananas at all.
I have an eating disorder.
It's about control.
It's about patterns and likeness and familiarity in a world that is constantly changing and overwhelming me.
It's about calories, or the lack thereof. I know a breakfast of a banana and an english muffin is not substantial enough to fuel my body throughout the morning. That's why I'm tired and hungry again not long after I've eaten.
It's about my eating disorder ruining my life. It is not normal to have a major meltdown when I have no bananas for breakfast, when there is a refrigerator and pantry full of perfectly suitable breakfast foods at my disposal. It is also not normal to panic when my banana supply, or my english muffin supply, is dipping dangerously low and run out to the store to buy more. I feel like a drug addict. That's how serious I get about this. And it scares me.
I know that bananas are good for you. They're full of potassium and fiber and even have a considerably high amount of iron for a fruit, which I need because I'm severely anemic. They can also help to regulate your digestive system, and some say reduce your risk of stroke. Plus, they're really tasty and I enjoy eating them. I'm not going to stop. But I know my dependence upon them are the work of my eating disorder, so I have to break free. No more bananas for me, at least not for breakfast, that is.
I am proud of myself for labeling this behavior as ED related, and furthermore, for shutting it down.
So, what did I eat instead of bananas this morning?
I had grapes instead. Tomorrow, who knows?
Do you have any foods that you are dependent upon?
Friday, December 16, 2011
Starting over, again.
Thank you all so very much for all your wisdom and support. You guys are truly, truly amazing and know how to make a gal feel loved. Since my last post, I have made an effort to be more positive and to treat myself better. Last night, one of my friends on Facebook posted a link to a blog that really inspired me. It isn't targeted at ED recovery, but all of the advice listed can be applied to recovery and to every aspect of life, so I'm sharing it with all of you. More than that, I am taking the advice to heart. Maybe it seems simple and self-explanatory, but we need to be reminded of these things from time to time to ensure we are valuing and protecting ourselves.
The post is called "30 Things to Stop Doing to Yourself". Though I am guilty of most of these, the ones that stand out so much for me personally are:
#2 Stop running from your problems
#3 Stop lying to yourself
#6 Stop trying to hold onto the past
#7 Stop being scared to make a mistake
#11 Stop being idle
#18 Stop holding grudges
#23 Stop trying to make things perfect
#28 Stop worrying so much
After reading this post I started thinking about my life, my eating disorder, my recovery, choices I've made, my past, my future-- basically all of the things I try to run from daily. But you can't do that. You can't bury all of your crazy and all of your problems underneath distraction after distraction, which is precisely what I am so skilled at doing. But I'm only hurting myself.
Once it's gone, you will never have the chance to get today back again. Once a moment has passed, it's over. There are no do-overs. But there are do-betters. Tomorrow is new, unspoiled, and full of promise and potential. Tomorrow doesn't have to be the same as today, or yesterday, or last month or last year. Tomorrow is untouched, undamaged, and the perfect opportunity for starting over.
To read "Thirty Things to Stop Doing to Yourself", click here.
The post is called "30 Things to Stop Doing to Yourself". Though I am guilty of most of these, the ones that stand out so much for me personally are:
#2 Stop running from your problems
#3 Stop lying to yourself
#6 Stop trying to hold onto the past
#7 Stop being scared to make a mistake
#11 Stop being idle
#18 Stop holding grudges
#23 Stop trying to make things perfect
#28 Stop worrying so much
After reading this post I started thinking about my life, my eating disorder, my recovery, choices I've made, my past, my future-- basically all of the things I try to run from daily. But you can't do that. You can't bury all of your crazy and all of your problems underneath distraction after distraction, which is precisely what I am so skilled at doing. But I'm only hurting myself.
Once it's gone, you will never have the chance to get today back again. Once a moment has passed, it's over. There are no do-overs. But there are do-betters. Tomorrow is new, unspoiled, and full of promise and potential. Tomorrow doesn't have to be the same as today, or yesterday, or last month or last year. Tomorrow is untouched, undamaged, and the perfect opportunity for starting over.
To read "Thirty Things to Stop Doing to Yourself", click here.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Redefining my Recovery
I have been thinking lately about the possibility of seeking formal treatment. As far as ED recovery goes, I have never played by the rules. After one bad encounter with a medical professional when I was at my worst point, about 6 years ago, I swore off formal recovery and vowed to beat this on my own. But now, for the first time in a long time, I am feeling very vulnerable, very dysfunctional, and very sick of having an eating disorder.
Somehow, within the last three months, things went from good to bad to terrible. As indicated in my last few posts, after a brief relapse, I had lost 14 lbs. I wasn't eating at all. Now, I've gained it all back and I'm experiencing binge after binge after binge. It feels like I have lost control of my life again and all I can think about is food-- or, more precisely-- hunger. I have this burning, irrational, all-encompassing hunger that I try so greatly to suppress and deny. Honestly, it's exhausting. I'm not sure how I got so far off track, but I know that, once again, this thing is controlling/destroying my entire life.
I had today off of work. There were so many things I needed to accomplish but I didn't have the energy to do any of them. I spent my entire day fighting this battle between eating and not eating, switching loyalties from one side to the other and back again. Part of me wants to eat properly and nourish and care for my body, the other part wants nothing more than to lose weight. I am so conflicted that it wears me out. I starve, I binge. I eat normally. I work out. I skip a meal. I binge again. I work out again. There seems to be no logic or reason behind it. There are no decisions being made. It's as if I'm on auto-pilot and just going through the motions that some remote part of my brain signals for me to carry out. I feel so unbelievably, uncontrollably fat. It's as though moving and functioning and carrying out normal tasks are so much more exhausting because I feel like I'm twice the size I actually am. Again, I know that it's not "real", or that it isn't apparent to the rest of the world. It's my own issue inside my own head, but I can't find the switch to turn it off.
I realize this post is a major downer, but I had to say something. Until now, no one else has known what's going on with me. I have just been keeping it all inside, and I know how dangerous that can be.
I hope those of you who are reading this find yourselves in better spirits and in better health. I know that, like all things, this too shall pass. My faith in recovery has not wavered. I still believe it is possible, it is necessary, even, and that we all deserve it. I'm just realizing now that I can't do it on my own, and changes need to be made in order to achieve it.
Somehow, within the last three months, things went from good to bad to terrible. As indicated in my last few posts, after a brief relapse, I had lost 14 lbs. I wasn't eating at all. Now, I've gained it all back and I'm experiencing binge after binge after binge. It feels like I have lost control of my life again and all I can think about is food-- or, more precisely-- hunger. I have this burning, irrational, all-encompassing hunger that I try so greatly to suppress and deny. Honestly, it's exhausting. I'm not sure how I got so far off track, but I know that, once again, this thing is controlling/destroying my entire life.
I had today off of work. There were so many things I needed to accomplish but I didn't have the energy to do any of them. I spent my entire day fighting this battle between eating and not eating, switching loyalties from one side to the other and back again. Part of me wants to eat properly and nourish and care for my body, the other part wants nothing more than to lose weight. I am so conflicted that it wears me out. I starve, I binge. I eat normally. I work out. I skip a meal. I binge again. I work out again. There seems to be no logic or reason behind it. There are no decisions being made. It's as if I'm on auto-pilot and just going through the motions that some remote part of my brain signals for me to carry out. I feel so unbelievably, uncontrollably fat. It's as though moving and functioning and carrying out normal tasks are so much more exhausting because I feel like I'm twice the size I actually am. Again, I know that it's not "real", or that it isn't apparent to the rest of the world. It's my own issue inside my own head, but I can't find the switch to turn it off.
I realize this post is a major downer, but I had to say something. Until now, no one else has known what's going on with me. I have just been keeping it all inside, and I know how dangerous that can be.
I hope those of you who are reading this find yourselves in better spirits and in better health. I know that, like all things, this too shall pass. My faith in recovery has not wavered. I still believe it is possible, it is necessary, even, and that we all deserve it. I'm just realizing now that I can't do it on my own, and changes need to be made in order to achieve it.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Welcome to Michigan
I haven't written in a few weeks because I was in the process of moving all the way to Michigan. The fiance, the cat, and I are all safe and happy and tucked away in our new place here. The cat did much better with the move than I anticipated. When I moved from Las Vegas to the east coast, he had such a difficult time in the car. Moving is hard on everyone. There are still a lot of things left to unpack and sort out, but it's coming along. I started my new job a few days ago but I'm not sure I will be keeping it. The pay is great but it's very boring, not at all what I expected, and it's about a 25 minute drive. That doesn't sound like very far, but it's all these twisty little lakeside roads that will be hell to maneuver once winter comes. Living on the west coast for so long, I am certainly not used to driving on wintery roads! Plus, I drive a sports car. I am looking for jobs closer to where I'm actually living and I've had two interviews at one place so far. I'm really hoping it works out. I also plan to start tutoring and doing freelance work as well once I'm more accustomed to the area.
We have an apartment at the moment which is much much smaller than our previous one. It's a two bedroom but there's only one bath. The kitchen is tiny! I just tell myself that it's "cozy". It really is, in a way. We have a fireplace (which we haven't used yet) and a little pond nearby with wild geese and swans and ducks. We are on the first floor, which means our kitty can't go out and play on the balcony unsupervised, but there are evergreen trees around our patio which add some privacy. Plus, they're nice to look at. And there are lots of birds and squirrels living in them.
It's always difficult adjusting to a new area, but since I've moved to different states so many times during the last few years, I'm used to that. I do have a an issue with the concept of "home" which I have written about before. For so long I felt like I didn't have a home because my father passed away and my mother got rid of our childhood home and moved in with another man. I've been shooting around from state to state and haven't settled in one place long enough to create a home of my own. Now it feels like everywhere is home. Or better yet, everywhere is not home. I don't feel like Michigan is much different from where I lived before. It's all unfamiliar. It's all this uniform "non-home", this state of "otherness" that encompasses everything that is not the life I used to have. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. I think it's made moving here easier.
Part of me wants to settle here. We don't have any foreseen plans for moving, but we are keeping the option open. Because of my fiance's job, we will be here for at least a year, but most likely a minimum of three. If we stay for the full three years, that will be longer than I've stayed in any of the cities I've ever lived in except my hometown. Then again, if we love it here, we could stay forever. My fiance wants to purchase a home somewhere outside the city. A forever home. That's a concept I'm not familiar with, but I'm open to. But it scares me, too. It's a big commitment. What if we buy a house here and want to leave, but can't sell it? I'm terrified of the idea of being trapped. Maybe it has something to do with those tricky control issues. Regardless, I am open to making the best out of our stay here, whether it's temporary or permanent.
As for my eating disorder, things still aren't where they should be. While my fiance was gone away on business, I lost 14 lbs. I know. It's a lot. Since he has returned, I have been eating a lot more and I've gained back 8 or 9 lbs. This stresses me out immensely. I feel like a big blob wobbling around from place to place. I know that it isn't true, but I can't help feeling that way. I need to stop weighing myself. There are so many issues going on in the world and so many people with so many problems. I feel like me worrying over what size my jeans are is so shallow and stupid. Then again, I know that it isn't my fault, that it's not a choice I am consciously making. I'm just so incredibly tired of dealing with my eating disorder. I wish I could just forget about it. Wouldn't that be great?
I hope you're all doing well, eating well, and feeling well.
We have an apartment at the moment which is much much smaller than our previous one. It's a two bedroom but there's only one bath. The kitchen is tiny! I just tell myself that it's "cozy". It really is, in a way. We have a fireplace (which we haven't used yet) and a little pond nearby with wild geese and swans and ducks. We are on the first floor, which means our kitty can't go out and play on the balcony unsupervised, but there are evergreen trees around our patio which add some privacy. Plus, they're nice to look at. And there are lots of birds and squirrels living in them.
It's always difficult adjusting to a new area, but since I've moved to different states so many times during the last few years, I'm used to that. I do have a an issue with the concept of "home" which I have written about before. For so long I felt like I didn't have a home because my father passed away and my mother got rid of our childhood home and moved in with another man. I've been shooting around from state to state and haven't settled in one place long enough to create a home of my own. Now it feels like everywhere is home. Or better yet, everywhere is not home. I don't feel like Michigan is much different from where I lived before. It's all unfamiliar. It's all this uniform "non-home", this state of "otherness" that encompasses everything that is not the life I used to have. That isn't necessarily a bad thing. I think it's made moving here easier.
Part of me wants to settle here. We don't have any foreseen plans for moving, but we are keeping the option open. Because of my fiance's job, we will be here for at least a year, but most likely a minimum of three. If we stay for the full three years, that will be longer than I've stayed in any of the cities I've ever lived in except my hometown. Then again, if we love it here, we could stay forever. My fiance wants to purchase a home somewhere outside the city. A forever home. That's a concept I'm not familiar with, but I'm open to. But it scares me, too. It's a big commitment. What if we buy a house here and want to leave, but can't sell it? I'm terrified of the idea of being trapped. Maybe it has something to do with those tricky control issues. Regardless, I am open to making the best out of our stay here, whether it's temporary or permanent.
As for my eating disorder, things still aren't where they should be. While my fiance was gone away on business, I lost 14 lbs. I know. It's a lot. Since he has returned, I have been eating a lot more and I've gained back 8 or 9 lbs. This stresses me out immensely. I feel like a big blob wobbling around from place to place. I know that it isn't true, but I can't help feeling that way. I need to stop weighing myself. There are so many issues going on in the world and so many people with so many problems. I feel like me worrying over what size my jeans are is so shallow and stupid. Then again, I know that it isn't my fault, that it's not a choice I am consciously making. I'm just so incredibly tired of dealing with my eating disorder. I wish I could just forget about it. Wouldn't that be great?
I hope you're all doing well, eating well, and feeling well.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Hiding, Coming Clean. Starting over.
There is only one real explanation as to why I haven't been blogging lately. I could lie to myself and say it's due to all the stress of moving (we're moving to Michigan in three weeks!) but that's not it. I am not blogging because I am not in a good place right now in terms of my recovery. I am not eating enough. I am losing weight. I am not proud of this, but one thing I have never been is a liar. Over the past year and a half, you, my beautiful readers, have become my friends. I respect you all too much to lie to you. Also, I love you enough to urge you not to follow my mistakes.
I know. That sounds messed up. It's like a parent who smokes cigarettes then warns their children to never smoke. It's contradictory. It's a little hypocritical. But it comes from a place of love. It comes from a place of, "I want to save you from making the same mistakes I've made. I want you to have a better life than I've had." In other words, I am human. Eating disorders suck. They are hard to recover from, but not impossible. Recovery is worth it. This disease doesn't have to be all-encompassing. I haven't forgotten that. I will always believe that. Even if, right now, it doesn't really seem like it.
Ultimately, I know that I need treatment. I need help. I cannot do this on my own. I am no longer too proud to admit that. I have avoided formal treatment for my eating disorder for the past 7 years. I like to blame it on my contempt for doctors (you can read a blog post I wrote about it HERE) but that's not the real reason either. The truth is simple: I don't want to give up control. Hmm. Let me repeat that:
I don't want to give up control.
At this point, "control" is such an eating-disorder buzz-word that it's almost lost its meaning. But, honestly, that's really what it comes down to-- I'm terrified of not being in control. Terrified. The thought of handing my life over to a staff of medical professionals makes my throat feel tight and my heart beat quickly. I get that little pit in my stomach. I want to hide, to run away. Basically, I want to keep doing what I'm doing, even though I know it isn't the solution.
Of course, you could make the argument that I'm not in control as it is-- that my eating disorder is controlling everything. While that may be true, I am more comfortable allowing my eating disorder to manage my life than a nurse or a doctor or a therapist or a hospital bed. It's not that I don't want to lose my eating disorder. I do. I just want to do it my way.
Obviously, my way isn't really working.
I know my life is changing drastically within the next few months: I am moving to Michigan, I am (at some point) getting married, we're looking to buy a house, I am starting a new job. And I realized that, for the last several years, my life has never been calm. I'm always moving from one state to another, starting jobs, quitting jobs, moving on. Changing. Expanding. I have never allowed myself to stay put and just to be. I think that would help a lot. It's time to stay put in one town long enough to make friends, to feel familiar, to redefine my negative definition of "home" by building one of my own.
On a side note, I'm thinking of tutoring once I get to Michigan for some extra income in addition to being a professional writer and a part-time makeup artist. I've been applying for teaching positions at colleges and universities, but none have worked out yet. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. My hopes for Michigan are high. I've never been there and I don't know what to expect, but I'm staying positive. As cliche as it sounds, I'm going to let myself start over.
Fresh start.
New beginning.
All baggage left behind.
Can it really be done? We'll see.
I know. That sounds messed up. It's like a parent who smokes cigarettes then warns their children to never smoke. It's contradictory. It's a little hypocritical. But it comes from a place of love. It comes from a place of, "I want to save you from making the same mistakes I've made. I want you to have a better life than I've had." In other words, I am human. Eating disorders suck. They are hard to recover from, but not impossible. Recovery is worth it. This disease doesn't have to be all-encompassing. I haven't forgotten that. I will always believe that. Even if, right now, it doesn't really seem like it.
Ultimately, I know that I need treatment. I need help. I cannot do this on my own. I am no longer too proud to admit that. I have avoided formal treatment for my eating disorder for the past 7 years. I like to blame it on my contempt for doctors (you can read a blog post I wrote about it HERE) but that's not the real reason either. The truth is simple: I don't want to give up control. Hmm. Let me repeat that:
I don't want to give up control.
At this point, "control" is such an eating-disorder buzz-word that it's almost lost its meaning. But, honestly, that's really what it comes down to-- I'm terrified of not being in control. Terrified. The thought of handing my life over to a staff of medical professionals makes my throat feel tight and my heart beat quickly. I get that little pit in my stomach. I want to hide, to run away. Basically, I want to keep doing what I'm doing, even though I know it isn't the solution.
Of course, you could make the argument that I'm not in control as it is-- that my eating disorder is controlling everything. While that may be true, I am more comfortable allowing my eating disorder to manage my life than a nurse or a doctor or a therapist or a hospital bed. It's not that I don't want to lose my eating disorder. I do. I just want to do it my way.
Obviously, my way isn't really working.
I know my life is changing drastically within the next few months: I am moving to Michigan, I am (at some point) getting married, we're looking to buy a house, I am starting a new job. And I realized that, for the last several years, my life has never been calm. I'm always moving from one state to another, starting jobs, quitting jobs, moving on. Changing. Expanding. I have never allowed myself to stay put and just to be. I think that would help a lot. It's time to stay put in one town long enough to make friends, to feel familiar, to redefine my negative definition of "home" by building one of my own.
On a side note, I'm thinking of tutoring once I get to Michigan for some extra income in addition to being a professional writer and a part-time makeup artist. I've been applying for teaching positions at colleges and universities, but none have worked out yet. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. My hopes for Michigan are high. I've never been there and I don't know what to expect, but I'm staying positive. As cliche as it sounds, I'm going to let myself start over.
Fresh start.
New beginning.
All baggage left behind.
Can it really be done? We'll see.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Separation of Self: Is My Body Me?
For the last several weeks I have been unable to fall asleep before three in the morning. It hasn't been on purpose. I try to sleep-- I just can't. It could stem from my work schedule, or more likely, my caloric restriction (which I am working on). Regardless, I've been spending more time watching television at night than I have sleeping. During a late night tv session, one commercial caught my attention. It said:
"Your body can tell you're pregnant before you can."
Think about that for a second.
Isn't the "your" and the "you" in this sentence referring to the same thing? It got me thinking-- why do we continually think of our bodies as separate entities from "ourselves" ? If we are not our bodies, then who are we?
Naturally, I applied this logic to my eating disorder. Nearly all of the scholarly research I've done on anorexia (I gave a lecture about this in December) refers to a paradoxical split that often occurs between the mind and the body of the anorexic. It becomes a matter of me versus she, of me versus it, me versus my body. This has certainly been my own experience. Throughout the madness and hysteria of my disorder, I never thought of my body as "me." My body was only this oddly shaped, inferior shell that I could shape and wield and torture and mold and control. I could change it. I could manipulate it. I was in control, not my body. But when I say "I", who do I mean? My brain, my soul, my spirit? Why is there a separation between body and between self?
Of course, a biblical explanation seems like it might do-- (as Christianity urges us to kill off the desires of the flesh and the physical body to strengthen our souls, which will never die) but I'm not sure if that is the only reason. I think it's probably more of a cultural habit that stems from philosophical theory which urges us to think of our bodies as separate from our physical beings (think Descartes and the solitary self). It seems as though the "self" is largely interior. But, to me, the self is more than just the body-- it's all-encompassing-- body, mind, spirit, soul.
Is anyone still reading this? :)
What I'm trying to say is this:
Though I have a tendency to get lost in my own mind, I am very much my body.
My body is very much me.
One cannot escape the other.
I am she and she is me.
If I am not my body, why is my body responsible for the way others see me? If you asked someone to describe me to you, odds are they would say I have brown hair. My eyes are blue. My skin is fair.
If I am not my body, why does it hurt when I fall down (which I do often) or burn myself or scratch myself?
I am my body. My body is not merely a mindless vessel equipped with arms and legs
to scurry me around wherever my mind desires. If our minds are in control, why do people get cancer? Why do organs fail?
I am my body. My mind is my body. My body is my mind.
It's the same thing.
That's why controlling and manipulating and torturing and shaping my body never worked the way I hoped it would-- because my entire being is interconnected. It's yin and yang. One part of affects the other, like an algebra equation. You can't divide one side without dividing the other. You can't declare war on one side without affecting the other.
You can't destroy one without destroying the other.
I don't know why, but I need a reminder from time to time to nurture and respect my body. It has never been natural for me to do this on my own. In fact, it's taken 27 years for me to realize that I even deserve it, but I do. Lord knows I haven't been doing all that I can lately to be good to myself.
Have you?
"Your body can tell you're pregnant before you can."
Think about that for a second.
Isn't the "your" and the "you" in this sentence referring to the same thing? It got me thinking-- why do we continually think of our bodies as separate entities from "ourselves" ? If we are not our bodies, then who are we?
Naturally, I applied this logic to my eating disorder. Nearly all of the scholarly research I've done on anorexia (I gave a lecture about this in December) refers to a paradoxical split that often occurs between the mind and the body of the anorexic. It becomes a matter of me versus she, of me versus it, me versus my body. This has certainly been my own experience. Throughout the madness and hysteria of my disorder, I never thought of my body as "me." My body was only this oddly shaped, inferior shell that I could shape and wield and torture and mold and control. I could change it. I could manipulate it. I was in control, not my body. But when I say "I", who do I mean? My brain, my soul, my spirit? Why is there a separation between body and between self?
Of course, a biblical explanation seems like it might do-- (as Christianity urges us to kill off the desires of the flesh and the physical body to strengthen our souls, which will never die) but I'm not sure if that is the only reason. I think it's probably more of a cultural habit that stems from philosophical theory which urges us to think of our bodies as separate from our physical beings (think Descartes and the solitary self). It seems as though the "self" is largely interior. But, to me, the self is more than just the body-- it's all-encompassing-- body, mind, spirit, soul.
Is anyone still reading this? :)
What I'm trying to say is this:
Though I have a tendency to get lost in my own mind, I am very much my body.
My body is very much me.
One cannot escape the other.
I am she and she is me.
If I am not my body, why is my body responsible for the way others see me? If you asked someone to describe me to you, odds are they would say I have brown hair. My eyes are blue. My skin is fair.
If I am not my body, why does it hurt when I fall down (which I do often) or burn myself or scratch myself?
I am my body. My body is not merely a mindless vessel equipped with arms and legs
to scurry me around wherever my mind desires. If our minds are in control, why do people get cancer? Why do organs fail?
I am my body. My mind is my body. My body is my mind.
It's the same thing.
That's why controlling and manipulating and torturing and shaping my body never worked the way I hoped it would-- because my entire being is interconnected. It's yin and yang. One part of affects the other, like an algebra equation. You can't divide one side without dividing the other. You can't declare war on one side without affecting the other.
You can't destroy one without destroying the other.
I don't know why, but I need a reminder from time to time to nurture and respect my body. It has never been natural for me to do this on my own. In fact, it's taken 27 years for me to realize that I even deserve it, but I do. Lord knows I haven't been doing all that I can lately to be good to myself.
Have you?
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Saying vs. Believing
I was a chubby little girl. I had pin-straight brown hair and endless energy. I did cartwheels and handstands on the grass hoping to impress aunts, uncles, and cousins. I made dandelion bracelets and drank kool-aid on the front steps of my grandmother's porch. I rode my bicycle all evening long until the sun began to set and fireflies crept out from the trees that lined our street. I was happy. I had thick little legs, chubby little cheeks. But I was happy.
The hatred and discomfort I felt toward my own body started when I was 8. Until then, I had never cared, or realized even, that my body was different from anyone else's. At eight 8, my two best friends were cheerleaders. They weighed less than me. They were prettier than me. They could do better cartwheels and handstands than me. They looked different in their bathing suits. I remember realizing that and being very upset about it. I understood, even then, that food was what separated fat from thin. I asked my mother once why I couldn't just chew my food up and spit it out again without swallowing it, since the flavor was all I wanted anyway, and the flavor wasn't the part that made you fat. I've never been able to forget the look of horror on her face-- the same look she gave me when she saw me skipping meals years later, when she watched me lose 80 lbs, when I admitted to her that I threw up 8 times a day. When I admitted to her I didn't want help.
Throughout the rest of my childhood and young adulthood, I continued to struggle with my weight. My mother was always present in this battle, hovering in the background and shaking her head with that same look on her face. She had always been a thin woman who could eat whatever she wanted to without gaining any weight. On several occasions I recall her telling me that she would gladly trade me places-- that she felt guilty I wore larger sized clothes than she did. I remember how helpless she looked each time we went shopping. I always wanted the cute outfits and the cute outfits never fit me-- or, if they did, they didn't look how they were supposed to. Each shopping trip led to me holed up inside a dressing room crying. Crying and hating the person I saw reflected in the mirror-- the chubby girl standing in her underwear with a pair of cute jeans that wouldn't pull up any higher than her chubby thighs. My mother always said the same things:
That I was beautiful.
That she loved me just the way I was.
That God did, too.
That he made me this way for a reason.
That I needed to respect myself.
That I needed to love myself.
That I was just as good and as worthy as anyone else.
That I was just as beautiful as all my friends.
That I was gorgeous.
That I was perfect... just as I was.
Although everything my mother told me was true, I never believed it, even when I told her that I did. It took me gaining and losing mass amounts of weight, starving myself to the point of exhaustion and physical collapse, fighting for recovery, relapsing, wanting to die, repenting, wanting to live. It took a whole decade of downward spiral and victory and sorrow and happiness and triumph and defeat and I still haven't been able to fully believe all of what she said to me. I know that I should believe it. But how do I make myself?
I've learned that recovery from an eating disorder-- and from anything else, I guess-- is like this. There is so much space between saying and believing-- so much space. I know that I need to rid myself of my eating disorder forever. I know that. And I say that. But do I believe it? My first instinct is to say yes-- of course I believe it. But do I really? If I really believed it, wouldn't I be working harder toward making it come true?
I've realized that recovery with good intentions is a beautiful thing. That's how I started-- with all the best of intentions. With a whole new outlook on life and living and loving and existing. That was pure. That was real. Somehow my definition of recovery has shifted. Maybe I've been at it too long. I wonder to what extent I am hiding under the umbrella of "recovery" because I'm too scared to step out into the rain. As long as I say I'm in recovery, then people will leave me alone and start believing it. As long as I cling to recovery, people will pat me on the back each time I falter and understand that I am trying. But what if I'm not trying anymore? What if I can't believe it myself?
I have to step back out into the rain and face the storm. I have to put the effort into recovery that it requires. It's like going to the doctor for a sore throat. He gives you medicine to treat it. What if you don't take it? Just because you've seen the doctor doesn't mean you'll get better unless you've done all that he's asked of you. Recovery is no different. It takes effort. It takes cooperation. It takes commitment and dedication and passion and determination.
Honestly, I've been running low on all of those lately. After my last post, several of you reached out to me, whether in comments here or through facebook and e-mail, telling me exactly what I needed to hear. It really touched me to hear all of your heartfelt words and it helped put things in perspective. No one else in my life knows what I'm going through right now in terms of my eating disorder. Honestly, most of them never have. They don't understand. It feels good to be honest, and it feels good to know so many people care.
Somehow I feel like the worst of this is over. That by coming clean I can exhale and slowly start to move forward-- that I can stop excusing my negative behavior and own up to it for what it is-- that I can take a step back, be honest with myself, refocus, rebuild, and set off again in the right direction.
The hatred and discomfort I felt toward my own body started when I was 8. Until then, I had never cared, or realized even, that my body was different from anyone else's. At eight 8, my two best friends were cheerleaders. They weighed less than me. They were prettier than me. They could do better cartwheels and handstands than me. They looked different in their bathing suits. I remember realizing that and being very upset about it. I understood, even then, that food was what separated fat from thin. I asked my mother once why I couldn't just chew my food up and spit it out again without swallowing it, since the flavor was all I wanted anyway, and the flavor wasn't the part that made you fat. I've never been able to forget the look of horror on her face-- the same look she gave me when she saw me skipping meals years later, when she watched me lose 80 lbs, when I admitted to her that I threw up 8 times a day. When I admitted to her I didn't want help.
Throughout the rest of my childhood and young adulthood, I continued to struggle with my weight. My mother was always present in this battle, hovering in the background and shaking her head with that same look on her face. She had always been a thin woman who could eat whatever she wanted to without gaining any weight. On several occasions I recall her telling me that she would gladly trade me places-- that she felt guilty I wore larger sized clothes than she did. I remember how helpless she looked each time we went shopping. I always wanted the cute outfits and the cute outfits never fit me-- or, if they did, they didn't look how they were supposed to. Each shopping trip led to me holed up inside a dressing room crying. Crying and hating the person I saw reflected in the mirror-- the chubby girl standing in her underwear with a pair of cute jeans that wouldn't pull up any higher than her chubby thighs. My mother always said the same things:
That I was beautiful.
That she loved me just the way I was.
That God did, too.
That he made me this way for a reason.
That I needed to respect myself.
That I needed to love myself.
That I was just as good and as worthy as anyone else.
That I was just as beautiful as all my friends.
That I was gorgeous.
That I was perfect... just as I was.
Although everything my mother told me was true, I never believed it, even when I told her that I did. It took me gaining and losing mass amounts of weight, starving myself to the point of exhaustion and physical collapse, fighting for recovery, relapsing, wanting to die, repenting, wanting to live. It took a whole decade of downward spiral and victory and sorrow and happiness and triumph and defeat and I still haven't been able to fully believe all of what she said to me. I know that I should believe it. But how do I make myself?
I've learned that recovery from an eating disorder-- and from anything else, I guess-- is like this. There is so much space between saying and believing-- so much space. I know that I need to rid myself of my eating disorder forever. I know that. And I say that. But do I believe it? My first instinct is to say yes-- of course I believe it. But do I really? If I really believed it, wouldn't I be working harder toward making it come true?
I've realized that recovery with good intentions is a beautiful thing. That's how I started-- with all the best of intentions. With a whole new outlook on life and living and loving and existing. That was pure. That was real. Somehow my definition of recovery has shifted. Maybe I've been at it too long. I wonder to what extent I am hiding under the umbrella of "recovery" because I'm too scared to step out into the rain. As long as I say I'm in recovery, then people will leave me alone and start believing it. As long as I cling to recovery, people will pat me on the back each time I falter and understand that I am trying. But what if I'm not trying anymore? What if I can't believe it myself?
I have to step back out into the rain and face the storm. I have to put the effort into recovery that it requires. It's like going to the doctor for a sore throat. He gives you medicine to treat it. What if you don't take it? Just because you've seen the doctor doesn't mean you'll get better unless you've done all that he's asked of you. Recovery is no different. It takes effort. It takes cooperation. It takes commitment and dedication and passion and determination.
Honestly, I've been running low on all of those lately. After my last post, several of you reached out to me, whether in comments here or through facebook and e-mail, telling me exactly what I needed to hear. It really touched me to hear all of your heartfelt words and it helped put things in perspective. No one else in my life knows what I'm going through right now in terms of my eating disorder. Honestly, most of them never have. They don't understand. It feels good to be honest, and it feels good to know so many people care.
Somehow I feel like the worst of this is over. That by coming clean I can exhale and slowly start to move forward-- that I can stop excusing my negative behavior and own up to it for what it is-- that I can take a step back, be honest with myself, refocus, rebuild, and set off again in the right direction.
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Self-Sabotage
As I’ve mentioned previously, my fiancé is away on business in another part of the country until October, so I am alone. Well, not entirely. I do have the cat to keep me company. I also have my job, though my hours have been cut back to roughly 10-12 per week. So I have a lot of free time. I have so many hours where I could be doing so many productive things—editing my book-in-progress, devoting time to my fiction side project, updating my blog, cleaning our apartment, making a dent in my mega-long reading list. Sharpening my guitar skills. Brushing up on my French. Planning our wedding. Applying for a better job. There are so many productive ways I could be spending my time. What am I doing?
Working out (far too often)
Obsessing over food
Weighing myself
Watching reality television
Sleeping
Playing Angry Birds
Listening to pensive indie bands (which I do love)
Avoiding reality
Avoiding responsibility
Avoiding recovery
Self-sabotaging
Self-destructing
Somehow I’ve found myself in the midst of a depression. Depression is nothing new to me. I’ve dealt with it since I was twelve when my father was first diagnosed with colon cancer. I fade in and out of it so fluidly that sometimes I don’t even recognize. For the last few years it has been relatively mild (I don't take any medication). However, it worsened back in January when my mother remarried. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned her husband (soon to be ex-husband, God willing), but he is a very, very negative and verbally abusive person, which yielded a whole host of trouble. I’ve been so stressed and worried about my mother, among other things. Of course, my eating disorder is closely linked to my depression. And, of course, I’m not eating nearly enough. But it’s hardly even a conscious choice this time. It’s because my fiance is gone and I’m here on my own. There’s no one else to cook for and I’ve been too emotionally drained to cook for myself. I don’t have the energy to do anything at all. All I want to do is sleep. I started out eating frozen dinners just to keep from cooking—which I normally love to do—and I’ve slowly been eating less and less. In the back of my mind I know it isn’t right, that I was doing so well in my recovery for the last several years really, and that not eating is never an option. I know how unhealthy it is, I know how hard ED behavior is to overcome. I know how hard I’ve fought this thing and how much progress I’ve made and how I never ever ever want things to go back to the way the used to be. I know all of this but I can’t snap out of it. I can’t snap out of it because, without really trying to, I’ve lost about 8 lbs. Suddenly my brain insists that I can and should lose more.
“Don’t you love a challenge? 8 was easy. Let’s do 15!”
The one thing that has been keeping me solid in my recovery all these years is my ability to block out those eating-disordered thoughts. They have always been there, but I’ve been able to override them and do what is right. But now, it seems so much easier and requires far less effort just to let my eating disorder do the thinking for me. I’ve been fighting this for 7 years. I’m tired.
I’m not saying I’m giving up on my recovery. I’m not giving up and I’m not going back. I just need help, and thoughts, and prayers right now to keep me grounded and give me the energy and motivation to keep fighting. It is worth it, I know that. I believe that. Really I do.
Working out (far too often)
Obsessing over food
Weighing myself
Watching reality television
Sleeping
Playing Angry Birds
Listening to pensive indie bands (which I do love)
Avoiding reality
Avoiding responsibility
Avoiding recovery
Self-sabotaging
Self-destructing
Somehow I’ve found myself in the midst of a depression. Depression is nothing new to me. I’ve dealt with it since I was twelve when my father was first diagnosed with colon cancer. I fade in and out of it so fluidly that sometimes I don’t even recognize. For the last few years it has been relatively mild (I don't take any medication). However, it worsened back in January when my mother remarried. I don’t know if I’ve mentioned her husband (soon to be ex-husband, God willing), but he is a very, very negative and verbally abusive person, which yielded a whole host of trouble. I’ve been so stressed and worried about my mother, among other things. Of course, my eating disorder is closely linked to my depression. And, of course, I’m not eating nearly enough. But it’s hardly even a conscious choice this time. It’s because my fiance is gone and I’m here on my own. There’s no one else to cook for and I’ve been too emotionally drained to cook for myself. I don’t have the energy to do anything at all. All I want to do is sleep. I started out eating frozen dinners just to keep from cooking—which I normally love to do—and I’ve slowly been eating less and less. In the back of my mind I know it isn’t right, that I was doing so well in my recovery for the last several years really, and that not eating is never an option. I know how unhealthy it is, I know how hard ED behavior is to overcome. I know how hard I’ve fought this thing and how much progress I’ve made and how I never ever ever want things to go back to the way the used to be. I know all of this but I can’t snap out of it. I can’t snap out of it because, without really trying to, I’ve lost about 8 lbs. Suddenly my brain insists that I can and should lose more.
“Don’t you love a challenge? 8 was easy. Let’s do 15!”
The one thing that has been keeping me solid in my recovery all these years is my ability to block out those eating-disordered thoughts. They have always been there, but I’ve been able to override them and do what is right. But now, it seems so much easier and requires far less effort just to let my eating disorder do the thinking for me. I’ve been fighting this for 7 years. I’m tired.
I’m not saying I’m giving up on my recovery. I’m not giving up and I’m not going back. I just need help, and thoughts, and prayers right now to keep me grounded and give me the energy and motivation to keep fighting. It is worth it, I know that. I believe that. Really I do.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Rebirth
One of my favorite authors, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, once said:
"...human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves."
I have reflected on these words many times throughout the years, especially in regards to my eating disorder. But, in the past, I often used this quote to negatively inspire myself. It fit perfectly. I could be reborn. I could change everything. I could alter my course, suppress what I ate, sculpt my body and emerge skinnier, better, more beautiful. I would be me, only better. I would be me, only perfect. Searching for this perfection became an all-encompassing obsession that ruined my life. I refused to believe that "perfect" was unattainable. I reached one weight loss goal only to set another. Before long, the number on the scale didn't even matter. Unless it flashed back 0, it wouldn't be good enough.
Is it good enough now?
A lot has changed since I've been in recovery. My body has changed; it's gotten bigger. It's gotten stronger. This was enough to convince everyone who knew me that I was also better.
"Better. Synonyms: convalescent, cured, fitter, fully recovered, healthier, improving, less ill, mending, more healthy, on the comeback trail, on the mend, on the road to recovery, out of the woods, over the hump, progressing, recovering, stronger, well". (http:thesaurus.com)
In other words, all former symptoms and issues vanquished. Anorexic no more!
If only it were that simple.
One does not go from Anorexic to Formerly Anorexic so easily. There is a long period of transition. A great chunk of time to think and reflect and heal and cry and eat and struggle and starve and struggle and fight and celebrate and lose and love and win. A lifetime of great, marvelous, continuous rebirth.
The quote is still one of my favorites, but I see it now for what it is: a celebration of our imperfections. An urging to grow, to try, to change and be changed. It isn't about being perfect at all. It's about doing the best with what we're given-- it's about making the decision to adapt to any obstacle-- and to grow because of it.
I may never be fully recovered, but I've come far enough to know that I am never going back. I will never treat myself the way that I once did. I am not perfect now and I never will be. Finally, I'm okay with that.
Are you?
Stop chasing perfection.
You won't find it.
Stop punishing yourself.
You are beautiful now. In this moment.
Right now.
You are good enough.
You are worthy.
You don't have to pull it together to begin recovery. You don't have to lose 10 lbs to begin recovery. You don't have to get a whole lot worse to "deserve" recovery.
You just have to let your body speak. Not your mind, your body. Your heart, your organs, your skin and blood and stomach and hands and feet and bones. Your body, the one you're hurting, the one you're depriving, the one you're neglecting, the one you're killing. You have to let it speak.
And then you have to listen to what it's telling you.
"...human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves."
I have reflected on these words many times throughout the years, especially in regards to my eating disorder. But, in the past, I often used this quote to negatively inspire myself. It fit perfectly. I could be reborn. I could change everything. I could alter my course, suppress what I ate, sculpt my body and emerge skinnier, better, more beautiful. I would be me, only better. I would be me, only perfect. Searching for this perfection became an all-encompassing obsession that ruined my life. I refused to believe that "perfect" was unattainable. I reached one weight loss goal only to set another. Before long, the number on the scale didn't even matter. Unless it flashed back 0, it wouldn't be good enough.
Is it good enough now?
A lot has changed since I've been in recovery. My body has changed; it's gotten bigger. It's gotten stronger. This was enough to convince everyone who knew me that I was also better.
"Better. Synonyms: convalescent, cured, fitter, fully recovered, healthier, improving, less ill, mending, more healthy, on the comeback trail, on the mend, on the road to recovery, out of the woods, over the hump, progressing, recovering, stronger, well". (http:thesaurus.com)
In other words, all former symptoms and issues vanquished. Anorexic no more!
If only it were that simple.
One does not go from Anorexic to Formerly Anorexic so easily. There is a long period of transition. A great chunk of time to think and reflect and heal and cry and eat and struggle and starve and struggle and fight and celebrate and lose and love and win. A lifetime of great, marvelous, continuous rebirth.
The quote is still one of my favorites, but I see it now for what it is: a celebration of our imperfections. An urging to grow, to try, to change and be changed. It isn't about being perfect at all. It's about doing the best with what we're given-- it's about making the decision to adapt to any obstacle-- and to grow because of it.
I may never be fully recovered, but I've come far enough to know that I am never going back. I will never treat myself the way that I once did. I am not perfect now and I never will be. Finally, I'm okay with that.
Are you?
Stop chasing perfection.
You won't find it.
Stop punishing yourself.
You are beautiful now. In this moment.
Right now.
You are good enough.
You are worthy.
You don't have to pull it together to begin recovery. You don't have to lose 10 lbs to begin recovery. You don't have to get a whole lot worse to "deserve" recovery.
You just have to let your body speak. Not your mind, your body. Your heart, your organs, your skin and blood and stomach and hands and feet and bones. Your body, the one you're hurting, the one you're depriving, the one you're neglecting, the one you're killing. You have to let it speak.
And then you have to listen to what it's telling you.
Monday, August 1, 2011
Thank You! Plus, Big News! Plus, I haven't abandoned you!
So, first of all, I want to thank all of you for helping out the Geese by signing the virtual petition! That petition, along with local media coverage, protests, and letters written to editors and the humane society helped to save the geese! At least for now. The homeowners withdrew their request to have the geese murdered and are looking at other options to control them. Though their future is uncertain (this will be a big problem again next year, and the year after that, and the year after that) the geese can at least for now, relax. So, thank you again. I knew I could count on you! Here is a picture of the protestors via the local news channel.
I also have some very exciting personal news. If you follow me on facebook you may know this already, but... I am engaged! My boyfriend, err, Fiance, proposed to me a little over a week ago. I am very excited about it. No wedding plans have been made as of yet, except I know that I want to have an outdoor wedding. The when is the big question. On a sad note, he will be out of town--and out of state-- for the next two months. He is en route to Wisconsin as we speak because of his job. This also happened last year. I was worried then that I wouldn't be able to properly feed myself and care for myself in his absence, but I did, proving to myself that I can take care of me. I won't lie, it's not easy. I have a hard time cooking a meal for just myself, but I do it anyway. I'm already thinking about what I'll make for dinner tonight. In my refrigerator I have zucchini, fresh corn on the cob, cabbage, leftover quinoa, green peppers, and a bunch of herbs. I'm sure I can whip something up out of those goodies. Speaking of cooking, my boyfriend... err.. Fiance and I have been thinking about starting a video blog featuring various cooking tutorials. He is a classically trained chef and I, well, am not. I doubt that we would actually go through with it, but, if we did, would anyone want to watch? I guess that's the question.
Finally, I want to apologize for my absence over the last several months. I feel like I have let some of you down. Maybe it's myself I'm letting down. I used to blog daily, then weekly, then, well, randomly. I want to recommit myself to blogging more often. The truth is, for now at least, it seems my eating disorder is pretty well controlled. I still have issues but they're not as common as they used to be. I've considered allowing my blog to drift slightly into the "healthy living" realm posting about my ed when it's particularly relevant, and posting about other things when eating isn't a real issue. But, I'm not sure if that is something you ladies and gentlemen would be interested in reading about? So, there are a few things I need to work out, but I will be blogging more often.
As always, I hope you all are well and wonderful. I hope you're being kind and gentle to yourselves, taking care of yourselves, and wearing sunscreen. Seriously. It's hot outside. At least it's hot here. And humid.
Take care!
- Jess
I also have some very exciting personal news. If you follow me on facebook you may know this already, but... I am engaged! My boyfriend, err, Fiance, proposed to me a little over a week ago. I am very excited about it. No wedding plans have been made as of yet, except I know that I want to have an outdoor wedding. The when is the big question. On a sad note, he will be out of town--and out of state-- for the next two months. He is en route to Wisconsin as we speak because of his job. This also happened last year. I was worried then that I wouldn't be able to properly feed myself and care for myself in his absence, but I did, proving to myself that I can take care of me. I won't lie, it's not easy. I have a hard time cooking a meal for just myself, but I do it anyway. I'm already thinking about what I'll make for dinner tonight. In my refrigerator I have zucchini, fresh corn on the cob, cabbage, leftover quinoa, green peppers, and a bunch of herbs. I'm sure I can whip something up out of those goodies. Speaking of cooking, my boyfriend... err.. Fiance and I have been thinking about starting a video blog featuring various cooking tutorials. He is a classically trained chef and I, well, am not. I doubt that we would actually go through with it, but, if we did, would anyone want to watch? I guess that's the question.
Finally, I want to apologize for my absence over the last several months. I feel like I have let some of you down. Maybe it's myself I'm letting down. I used to blog daily, then weekly, then, well, randomly. I want to recommit myself to blogging more often. The truth is, for now at least, it seems my eating disorder is pretty well controlled. I still have issues but they're not as common as they used to be. I've considered allowing my blog to drift slightly into the "healthy living" realm posting about my ed when it's particularly relevant, and posting about other things when eating isn't a real issue. But, I'm not sure if that is something you ladies and gentlemen would be interested in reading about? So, there are a few things I need to work out, but I will be blogging more often.
As always, I hope you all are well and wonderful. I hope you're being kind and gentle to yourselves, taking care of yourselves, and wearing sunscreen. Seriously. It's hot outside. At least it's hot here. And humid.
Take care!
- Jess
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Have a heart! Please help.
Hi everyone. This post is totally unrelated to eating disorder recovery, but I have a favor to ask each of my readers. In the city where I live, one community is planning to trap and kill over 50 wild Canadian geese because they feel the animals are a "nuisance". (One man complains they poop everywhere and eat the his precious lawn. So they should be killed?) Honestly, the geese are my favorite part of living here. They are so beautiful and magnificent. It breaks my heart at the thought of someone rounding them up and killing them. Our local SPCA has started a petition to try and save the geese from being murdered. I know that none of you (I think?) live here, but I'm asking, will you please have a heart and sign this petition anyway? You can remain anonymous and it only takes a second to sign. Many more signatures are needed. The geese are set to be killed any day now.
Thank you all. The link is located below. Have a wonderful day and be kind to yourselves!
Click here to sign!
Thank you all. The link is located below. Have a wonderful day and be kind to yourselves!
Click here to sign!
Friday, July 8, 2011
marry me
While trying to secure a job teaching at the college level, I am currently working for a high-end cosmetics company. One of the most popular skincare brands we carry is Philosophy. I decided to buy a Philosophy gift set for my mother called "The Bride" which contains several of their most popular products. Since my mother is going through a divorce, I thought it wasn't the best idea to give her the original box the products came in (since it's peppered with words like, "marry me" and "the bride") so I transferred the products into a neat little gift bag for her and kept the original box for myself to store random things in. Inside the box was this nifty little "marriage certificate" which I never read until a few weeks ago. It isn't meant to be given to another person-- it's a marriage certificate for yourself. Basically, it says, "Marry yourself before you marry another." In other words, commit to loving yourself before passing that love onto someone else.
I decided to tape the marriage certificate above the vanity where I get ready every morning to remind me to nurture and love myself. It may seem silly, but it's something I need to constantly remind myself. I have no problem nurturing and taking care of others, but I'm the worst person in the world when it comes to respecting my own body and its needs. I'm going to post the words to the certificate below as well as a couple of pictures. Here's what it says:
I don't really agree with the first line (I don't think I am the most important person in my life and I never will). But I do think most of what is said in this little certificate is valuable, especially for those of us learning to love and respect ourselves.
We're only given one life, one body, one shot.
We have to take care of ourselves. If we don't, who will?
We have to respect ourselves. If we don't, who will?
We have to commit to ourselves, to be honest with ourselves, to do good by ourselves. If we don't, who will?
We have to love ourselves.
If we don't, who will?
I decided to tape the marriage certificate above the vanity where I get ready every morning to remind me to nurture and love myself. It may seem silly, but it's something I need to constantly remind myself. I have no problem nurturing and taking care of others, but I'm the worst person in the world when it comes to respecting my own body and its needs. I'm going to post the words to the certificate below as well as a couple of pictures. Here's what it says:
marry me
Dear God, I stand before thee as I join in marriage with the most important person in my life, me. I ask for your blessings so I may be totally conscious of my special needs always. I ask this so that I may be strong enough to love myself as I love others. I vow that from this day forward, I will care for myself by getting the proper rest. I will consume foods that nourish my body and soul. I will internally cleanse my body with a large daily intake of pure drinking water. I will exercise, not to burn calories, but to rid my body of toxins. I promise to take care of my skin, the largest organ of my body. I will nurture my soul with little gifts of pampering. I will celebrate my spirit with creative activities I love. I will romance my heart, by allowing intimacy into every moment of my life, but mostly, I vow to put my arms around me every day and to recite the words, “I will never leave me no matter what".
I don't really agree with the first line (I don't think I am the most important person in my life and I never will). But I do think most of what is said in this little certificate is valuable, especially for those of us learning to love and respect ourselves.
We're only given one life, one body, one shot.
We have to take care of ourselves. If we don't, who will?
We have to respect ourselves. If we don't, who will?
We have to commit to ourselves, to be honest with ourselves, to do good by ourselves. If we don't, who will?
We have to love ourselves.
If we don't, who will?
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Body Dysmorphia: How do you see yourself?
I was well into my anorexia before I realized the way in which I saw and gauged the size of my own body differed from the way it was percieved by others. This revelation occurred when, after I'd lost 40 lbs, my mother, who had always been much smaller than me, handed me a pair of her pants to try on. It didn't make sense in my brain. How could I come even close to wearing the size that she wore? I had never been that size. Sure, I had lost weight and I knew that, but as far as I was concerned, I was still fat. I tried the pants on anyway, mostly to quieten her. Not only did I fit into the pants, they were so large on my body that they nearly fell to the ground even after I'd buttoned them. I couldn't believe it. I stood there in her bedroom, between the window and the ironing board, holding the waistband of my mother's tiny pants to keep them from falling off of me. I had never been so small in my entire life, according to the pants and every person who had ever known me. So why did I still see the same chubby, hopeless, miserable figure staring back at me from inside the mirror?
I had heard as a young girl that those individuals suffering from anorexia nervosa believed themselves to be fat when in reality they were frighteningly thin. My mother explained this to me when we saw the daughter of a local restaurant owner out at the department store. She was, at that point, the thinnest person I had ever seen, not to mention the skinniest person (apart from the cancer patients) in our very small, southern town. Her knee caps were the widest part of her body. Her cheekbones were sunken in as though she was sucking air. She seemed so fragile, probably 20 years old at best, though she walked across the parking lot with the gait of an 80 year old woman. All I remembered thinking was,
"How could she ever think she was fat?" 10 years later, people were asking the same question about me. I still don't have the answer.
Although I have made great progress in my recovery from anorexia and bulimia, I still have hang ups. Body dysmorphia is one of the biggest issues I still face. Here is the definition of Body dysmorphia as defined by the Mayo Clinic's website:
"Body dysmorphic disorder is a type of chronic mental illness in which you can't stop thinking about a flaw with your appearance — a flaw that is either minor or imagined. But to you, your appearance seems so shameful that you don't want to be seen by anyone. Body dysmorphic disorder has sometimes been called 'imagined ugliness.'"
I know that I've gained weight since I entered recovery, but it's very hard for me to understand that people on the street see me as, well, "normal." I assume that people think I'm chubby, or thick, or even downright fat. The reason is because that is how I see myself. When I look in the mirror, I see wide thighs, curvy hips, a stomach that isn't as flat as it could be. But it's more than what I see. It is so largely dependent upon how I feel. It is so very difficult to explain to people how it feels to be uncomfortable and restless inside your own body. I know many people argue "fat is not a feeling." I disagree. I have felt fat. I feel fat. I'm not saying it to gain attention or sympathy or even understanding. I'm saying it because that's the only way to explain how I feel.
I feel fat.
I feel like I'm too large to go out in public.
I feel like I'm too large to be seen.
I feel like people would say, "Damn, she's heavy."
I feel as though my pants are unusually tight.
I feel as though I don't belong.
I feel like I'm unworthy.
I feel as though I wish people would look the other way.
I feel like I should blend into the crowd and disappear.
So maybe fat is not a feeling, but the feeling that fat causes me to feel is uncomfortable. It's frustrating. And it's so very real.
The feeling, that is.
Sometimes I'll catch a glimpse of my body in a public place, where there are other bodies nearby to compare mine to, and I won't recognize myself. In the gym where I work out, my favorite elliptical machine is located across from a wall of floor-length windows. It is in a row with dozens of other machines which are always occupied. Sometimes, in the middle of my workout, I'll turn my head to the side to wipe my forehead with the back of my hand or brush my hair out of my face and accidentally see myself in the mirror, working out there beside all the others, and I'm taken aback by how I look. For that split second I don't look fat at all. I see my familiar brown hair, but then I'll see strangely sharp cheekbones, a bony nose, an unexpectedly slim waist. And the big kicker, normal thighs. It looks familiar, only not. It looks like me, only not. But it's only seconds before the confusion fades. I look down at my thighs, working and pumping in a circular pattern, and feel ashamed of how fat they look.
How fat they look.
I have realized that I am not very self-aware at all, even though I've always thought I was. I realize that I have no idea how I appear to others, what my body looks like charging around out there in the real world, how I'm viewed or judged or criticized-- or ignored. I only know how I see myself. I only know how irrational I am, how unfair I am, how unforgiving and appallingly self-scrutinizing I am.
I also know that I deserve better.
But how do we learn to take a step back and see ourselves as we really are? To see what I see sometimes in the mirror at the gym, or in a storefront window-- the self that somehow escapes me. Unfortunately, I don't have the answer to that either. But I do know this:
I am beautiful, whether I believe it or not.
I am worthy, whether I believe it or not.
I am important, whether I believe it or not.
I am good enough, whether I believe it or not.
The hard part is believing.
Isn't that what this is all about?
Learning to love myself unconditionally?
I guess I still have a lot of work to do.
Here's to believing.
I had heard as a young girl that those individuals suffering from anorexia nervosa believed themselves to be fat when in reality they were frighteningly thin. My mother explained this to me when we saw the daughter of a local restaurant owner out at the department store. She was, at that point, the thinnest person I had ever seen, not to mention the skinniest person (apart from the cancer patients) in our very small, southern town. Her knee caps were the widest part of her body. Her cheekbones were sunken in as though she was sucking air. She seemed so fragile, probably 20 years old at best, though she walked across the parking lot with the gait of an 80 year old woman. All I remembered thinking was,
"How could she ever think she was fat?" 10 years later, people were asking the same question about me. I still don't have the answer.
Although I have made great progress in my recovery from anorexia and bulimia, I still have hang ups. Body dysmorphia is one of the biggest issues I still face. Here is the definition of Body dysmorphia as defined by the Mayo Clinic's website:
"Body dysmorphic disorder is a type of chronic mental illness in which you can't stop thinking about a flaw with your appearance — a flaw that is either minor or imagined. But to you, your appearance seems so shameful that you don't want to be seen by anyone. Body dysmorphic disorder has sometimes been called 'imagined ugliness.'"
I know that I've gained weight since I entered recovery, but it's very hard for me to understand that people on the street see me as, well, "normal." I assume that people think I'm chubby, or thick, or even downright fat. The reason is because that is how I see myself. When I look in the mirror, I see wide thighs, curvy hips, a stomach that isn't as flat as it could be. But it's more than what I see. It is so largely dependent upon how I feel. It is so very difficult to explain to people how it feels to be uncomfortable and restless inside your own body. I know many people argue "fat is not a feeling." I disagree. I have felt fat. I feel fat. I'm not saying it to gain attention or sympathy or even understanding. I'm saying it because that's the only way to explain how I feel.
I feel fat.
I feel like I'm too large to go out in public.
I feel like I'm too large to be seen.
I feel like people would say, "Damn, she's heavy."
I feel as though my pants are unusually tight.
I feel as though I don't belong.
I feel like I'm unworthy.
I feel as though I wish people would look the other way.
I feel like I should blend into the crowd and disappear.
So maybe fat is not a feeling, but the feeling that fat causes me to feel is uncomfortable. It's frustrating. And it's so very real.
The feeling, that is.
Sometimes I'll catch a glimpse of my body in a public place, where there are other bodies nearby to compare mine to, and I won't recognize myself. In the gym where I work out, my favorite elliptical machine is located across from a wall of floor-length windows. It is in a row with dozens of other machines which are always occupied. Sometimes, in the middle of my workout, I'll turn my head to the side to wipe my forehead with the back of my hand or brush my hair out of my face and accidentally see myself in the mirror, working out there beside all the others, and I'm taken aback by how I look. For that split second I don't look fat at all. I see my familiar brown hair, but then I'll see strangely sharp cheekbones, a bony nose, an unexpectedly slim waist. And the big kicker, normal thighs. It looks familiar, only not. It looks like me, only not. But it's only seconds before the confusion fades. I look down at my thighs, working and pumping in a circular pattern, and feel ashamed of how fat they look.
How fat they look.
I have realized that I am not very self-aware at all, even though I've always thought I was. I realize that I have no idea how I appear to others, what my body looks like charging around out there in the real world, how I'm viewed or judged or criticized-- or ignored. I only know how I see myself. I only know how irrational I am, how unfair I am, how unforgiving and appallingly self-scrutinizing I am.
I also know that I deserve better.
But how do we learn to take a step back and see ourselves as we really are? To see what I see sometimes in the mirror at the gym, or in a storefront window-- the self that somehow escapes me. Unfortunately, I don't have the answer to that either. But I do know this:
I am beautiful, whether I believe it or not.
I am worthy, whether I believe it or not.
I am important, whether I believe it or not.
I am good enough, whether I believe it or not.
The hard part is believing.
Isn't that what this is all about?
Learning to love myself unconditionally?
I guess I still have a lot of work to do.
Here's to believing.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Celebrating Summer, Celebrating Life
I've written before that the change in seasons affects and triggers my eating disordered behavior. My anorexia first began in the dead of winter, which could explain why during the cold weather winter months, restricting and self-starvation become increasingly tempting for me. Summer, however, seems to trigger different feelings. Of course, warmer months add a lot of anxiety and negativity toward the way I feel about my body.
I don't want to wear a skirt. Why would I wear shorts. My legs are hideous. A swimsuit? You must be kidding...
This is normally the sort of dialogue that occurs inside my head when summer begins to materialize. But instead of trying to starve myself, something about the warm weather makes me want to exercise, to "get healthy", to "eat more cleanly", to "lose weight the healthy way", all under the guise that I'm doing something "good for myself."
But where do these feelings come from? Aren't they just eating-disordered mania in disguise?
I'm afraid so. But those of us who have and are recovering from eating disorders are not the only individuals to have this inner dialogue. Quite frankly, it comes down to pressure. We are pressured to have toned, tanned legs, beach-ready bodies, swimsuit-worthy waists. During the summer, there are no extra layers of sweaters or coats or scarves to hide behind. Unless, of course, you want to sweat to death or stay indoors. I don't want to do either.
But I refuse to feel guilty about my body.
I refuse to feel inadequate, insubstantial, insecure, unimportant, unworthy, ugly.
I refuse to waste yet another summer by holding back and not enjoying myself.
(I've wasted far too many)
So, I wore a skirt today, even though my legs are the one part of my body I am and always have been most afraid of. I wore a skirt without leggings. Without tights. Without self-tanner. Without worry. Or regret. Or trepidation. I wore a skirt because it was 90 degrees, unrelentingly humid, and I refused to swelter away another summer in jeans.
Wait, I'm sorry, did I just do something... practical?
Maybe this doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment to most of you, but for me, that's progress. I can count the times on one hand (today included) that I wore a skirt (without tights/leggings) or shorts *in public* in the last 15 years. How unbelievably sad is that? How irrational? Even at my lowest weight, I was deranged enough to believe my legs were huge and disgusting. But that's what an eating disorder does: it lies, intimidates, and destroys. That's why I'm celebrating practicality. Celebrating summer.
Celebrating this short, sweet, single shot at life we are all given.
This is the only life I have.
I've already wasted too much of it.
That stops today.
I don't want to wear a skirt. Why would I wear shorts. My legs are hideous. A swimsuit? You must be kidding...
This is normally the sort of dialogue that occurs inside my head when summer begins to materialize. But instead of trying to starve myself, something about the warm weather makes me want to exercise, to "get healthy", to "eat more cleanly", to "lose weight the healthy way", all under the guise that I'm doing something "good for myself."
But where do these feelings come from? Aren't they just eating-disordered mania in disguise?
I'm afraid so. But those of us who have and are recovering from eating disorders are not the only individuals to have this inner dialogue. Quite frankly, it comes down to pressure. We are pressured to have toned, tanned legs, beach-ready bodies, swimsuit-worthy waists. During the summer, there are no extra layers of sweaters or coats or scarves to hide behind. Unless, of course, you want to sweat to death or stay indoors. I don't want to do either.
But I refuse to feel guilty about my body.
I refuse to feel inadequate, insubstantial, insecure, unimportant, unworthy, ugly.
I refuse to waste yet another summer by holding back and not enjoying myself.
(I've wasted far too many)
So, I wore a skirt today, even though my legs are the one part of my body I am and always have been most afraid of. I wore a skirt without leggings. Without tights. Without self-tanner. Without worry. Or regret. Or trepidation. I wore a skirt because it was 90 degrees, unrelentingly humid, and I refused to swelter away another summer in jeans.
Wait, I'm sorry, did I just do something... practical?
Maybe this doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment to most of you, but for me, that's progress. I can count the times on one hand (today included) that I wore a skirt (without tights/leggings) or shorts *in public* in the last 15 years. How unbelievably sad is that? How irrational? Even at my lowest weight, I was deranged enough to believe my legs were huge and disgusting. But that's what an eating disorder does: it lies, intimidates, and destroys. That's why I'm celebrating practicality. Celebrating summer.
Celebrating this short, sweet, single shot at life we are all given.
This is the only life I have.
I've already wasted too much of it.
That stops today.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Update!
Hi everyone. I know it's been far too long since my last post. There is really nothing I can say about that except things have been very very very busy with my new job. I guess that's not really an excuse. I am trying to set aside time to write and update and read and comment on all of your lovely blogs much more regularly. Know that I am still thinking of you and still wishing you all the very best!
So, I received some life changing news this week. It's official: in October I will be moving to.......
MICHIGAN.
Whoa. Didn't see that one coming! I hate moving. I don't like boxes and packing and unpacking. And I don't like feeling lost and lonely in a new city. I've never been to Michigan, but I'm hoping beautiful things await me there.
As for food, all has been well lately. I pray the same thing for each and every one of you. Be good to yourselves, nurture yourselves, trust yourselves. Love yourselves.
Sorry if this is random. I'll be writing again soon.
So, I received some life changing news this week. It's official: in October I will be moving to.......
MICHIGAN.
Whoa. Didn't see that one coming! I hate moving. I don't like boxes and packing and unpacking. And I don't like feeling lost and lonely in a new city. I've never been to Michigan, but I'm hoping beautiful things await me there.
As for food, all has been well lately. I pray the same thing for each and every one of you. Be good to yourselves, nurture yourselves, trust yourselves. Love yourselves.
Sorry if this is random. I'll be writing again soon.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Defining Hate and Nurturing Love
Due to the state of our world right now, I have been thinking a lot lately about the word hate. Like love, it is a word that has become so commonplace and used so flippantly that we forget its true meaning:
I hate this shirt.
I hate mayonnaise.
I hate when someone cuts me off in traffic.
I hate Mondays.
In reality, hate is not the adequate word to describe any of these circumstances. Hate is much greater, much more powerful, much more dangerous. Here is the definition via http://www.merriam-webster.com:
hate
noun, often attributive \ˈhāt\
Definition of HATE
1
a : intense hostility and aversion usually deriving from fear, anger, or sense of injury b : extreme dislike or antipathy : LOATHING
This definition reminds me of the similarities between hate and fear. One usually drives or supports the other. I think immediately of the way some people have responded to Bin Laden's assassination. I'm alarmed to see many of my fellow Americans rejoicing, celebrating, and cheering over his death. Though I understand and agree that he was a horrible, evil man who needed to be held accountable for the innocent lives he ended, something deep inside my soul will not let me rejoice or celebrate the death of any living creature, period. I cannot celebrate death. Many of you may have seen this next quote circling around facebook and twitter the last few days as I have, but I think it's appropriate and meaningful, not just to this situation, but to the way we live our everyday lives. Martin Luther King, Jr said this about the subject of hate:
"I will mourn the loss of thousands of precious lives, but I will not rejoice in the death of one, not even an enemy. Returning hate for hate multiplies hate, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that."
Like the words hate, love, and fear, darkness and light have also become highly desensitized. They've become a little too wishy-washy; their meaning has been stripped to the point of cliche and redundancy. But let's remember what they mean really. Let's remember the importance of light. Let's remember the importance of love. Not just for others, but for yourselves.
How many of us hate who we are?
Do you really hate yourself?
Your arms, your waist, your thighs?
Do you hate them enough to want to kill, to want to destroy?
I used to. Not now.
Next time you think you hate your body enough to punish it, remember what Dr. King said.
" Returning hate for hate multiplies hate
, adding deeper darkness to a night already devoid of stars. Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate, only love can do that. "
Hate breeds hate.
Evil breeds evil.
Only love breeds love.
Only acceptance breeds acceptance.
Love yourself.
Love the light inside of you.
It's there, even if it's just a spark.
It's there, even if you don't see it.
Don't let it burn out.
Magnify it.
Celebrate it.
Nurture it.
Let it grow.
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