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:

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?

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.

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.

Stopping Self-Sabotage

I spent all day Saturday at the beach. For most people, the wonder and beauty of the ocean elicit feelings of peace, tranquility, spirituality, awe. When walking along the seashore, I am no exception. I stand, arms outstretched and eyes closed, breathing in the majesty. My stress levels recede. My body is healed. (I suffer from horrendous allergies. The ocean is the only place on earth where I can, literally, breathe clearly). My soul is healed. I feel closer to God. I feel complete.

Unless, of course, the beach is crowded and I am wearing a swimsuit, which I avoid like the plague. This was the case Saturday. I spent 10% of my time marveling at the wonders of creation, and 90% of my time feeling fat, wishing I was thin like the woman lying 8 feet from me on the pink and white beach towel, that my abs were more defined like the girl in the blue bikini throwing a frisbee with her friends. I spent 90% of my time feeling ashamed and strangely out of place inside my own skin. I didn't take off my sunglasses, attempting to create a barrier between myself and the rest of the world. I tried to lie very still as if I could somehow dissolve into the sand, blend in and become so commonplace that no one would notice me.

After about an hour or two of lying on the crowded beach, my boyfriend unpacked the lunches we had brought with us. He had a tuna sandwich. I had a veggie sandwich with vegan mayo and spinach. He also brought along some fat free pretzels. There was no part of this meal that would have ordinarily made me feel ashamed to eat it. It was reasonably healthy. But I couldn't eat it. I felt as though the entire beach was gawking at me, counting every bite, validating my "fatness". I ate a little less than half of the sandwich and put it back inside the cooler. I felt so open and exposed, something I had not felt in a very long time. I lay on my back and watched the seagulls circle over me. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the tide rolling in and out again. I could no longer see the girl on the pink and white towel, the girl with the abs throwing the frisbee. I just listened and tried to forget. I became aware that I was sabotaging myself-- something I am guilty of daily. Any time there is a good opportunity or I am in a good situation, I unconsciously try to sabotage it and make myself miserable. It's not on purpose. But I always do it. I let my emotions, my eating disorder, all of the baggage that I have impose itself and manifest itself and steal all of the spotlight until I'm having a horrible time and a good situation has turned quickly into a miserable one. I realized that lying there on the sand. And I vowed to stop self-sabotaging, to enjoy my time at the beach, to enjoy my life.

So I pushed my sunglasses back onto the top of my head, took off the shirt I was wearing over my swimsuit, kicked off my sandals, and walked into the water. Past the girl on the pink and white towel. Past the girl with the abs and the frisbee. I stood with my hands on my hips, the entire beach looking or not looking, and let the water rush in to meet me. Literally and metaphorically seeking renewal.

My boyfriend walked out to the water to join me. We found a little deconstructed crab shell stuck in the sand, the legs broken and disjointed lying all around it. It put things in perspective for me somehow.

I realized before long that I was still hungry. Instead of fighting it, I returned to my beach towel, unpacked the rest of my sandwich, and finished all of it. It was a beautiful day. I've said it before and I will say it again, every day for the rest of my life if I have to:

There is no room for an eating disorder in my life.

Life is too short.

Life is too precious.

Self-Worth 101

It has been far too long since my last post. I recently got a new job and adjusting to my new schedule has been difficult. Those of you who joined the virtual recovery group I talked about in my last post have already heard this (thank you, by the way! Anyone else interested in joining, the offer still stands. Just let me know!) Trying to eat properly during all of these changes has been particularly challenging. Some days I've been working doubles (two shifts in one day) and it would have been easy for me to skip lunch, skip dinner, restrict like crazy. It would have been easy, but it would have been wrong. I've had to make a conscious effort to find time to eat and eat correctly. Being busy is no excuse to go without food. Anorexia says it is, but anorexia lies. Today is my first day off after working 10 days straight. Needless to say I'm exhausted.

I had originally intended to write about something completely different today, but I received an e-mail from one of my dear friends that really struck a chord in me. She forwarded a quote by David Foster Wallace that says,

"If you can, think of times in your life that you've treated people with extraordinary decency and love, and pure uninterested concern, just because they were valuable as human beings. The ability to do that with ourselves. To treat ourselves the way we would treat a really good, precious friend. Or a tiny child of ours that we absolutely loved more than life itself. And I think it's probably possible to achieve that. I think part of the job we're here for is to learn how to do it."

Sometimes I just need to be reminded of that. Sometimes we all do.

We are all valuable as human beings.

We all have something special and good, something uniquely our own to offer the world.

We are all imperfect, but we are all important.

We have value.

We have worth.

We are too good to be wasted.

It's easy to remember those things when we've done something good, or when something good has been done to us. But it's hard to remember our worth when times are bad. But we are just as worthy. For so many years, my eating disorder held me down an tricked me into believing I wasn't worth anything, that I didn't matter, that no one cared, that the world wouldn't miss me if I was gone. But, like I said, anorexia lies.

Please remember that.

Be good to yourselves.

Weight and Wellness

Though weight is a subject constantly on my mind, I've been thinking about it more and more as I've been sick the last few weeks. I've been on such a mix of antibiotics, steroids, pills for dizziness, decongestants, ear drops, and supplements. I hate taking medicine to begin with, and I certainly hate taking this much of it. I believe in being as natural as possible so this entire course of treatment has been difficult for me, especially when I stop to consider the effect all of this medicine could have on my weight. I've read the ins and outs of all the side effects and one pill in particular says that weight gain is very common. How am I supposed to handle that? Most people reporting weight gain have taken the pill as part of long-term therapy while I'm on it only for seven days. Regardless, the last thing I want to do is gain weight. I've been too sick to work out. Starving myself is no longer (and never should be!) an option. So where does that leave me? Do I stop taking the pills in an attempt to maintain my weight or do I concentrate on clearing up the dizziness, the infections, the fluid in my ears? Do I choose weight or wellness?

Of course I know that the answer should be to choose wellness, but it's not so easy. I'd be lying if I said the thought of weight gain didn't terrify me, even to this day. I have gained weight since I began recovering from my eating disorder, but I am finally at a size I've been learning to feel good about. Suddenly I have to consider what I would do if that size changed? I am all about love and acceptance of the way that I am now, but if I were suddenly much larger, would that change? What if I actually became obese? Could I still love myself, or is that love conditional?

The point is that it shouldn't be conditional. It should be unconditional. Whether or not I gain weight from this medicine or for any other reason should have no bearing on my ability to love myself. It should have no bearing on my self-worth. I always talk about how much the outward appearance doesn't matter. But does it? I want to say no. But if the answer is really no, then why am I still so afraid of gaining weight?

I guess even after all of this time spent in recovery, I still have a lot of ground to break. Discovering my weaknesses is the first step toward correcting them. Better yet, it's the first step toward letting go of them.

Maybe I still have a lot more self-discovery to do before I can fully move on to self-acceptance.