Surfacing After Silence

Life. After.

Whatever You Want

JUST TRY HARDER!!

If you wanted it bad enough, you’d have it by now. All you have to do is try. It’s easy once you decide to really go after it.  Give yourself some credit and just do it already! 

Anyone else hear these, or similar, sayings while struggling with an eating disorder or addiction or trauma or depression?  Or life in general?  I *think* they’re supposed to be motivational. How many people actually find words like this motivating?  How many people feel guilty after hearing words such as these?  I’ll raise my hand to the latter.

I’ll admit, those early hospitalizations for the eating disorder and self-harm—I didn’t want it.  I had no intention of wanting it.  I had every intention of following the program’s rules in order to be discharged so I could go home and get back to the weight I was before admission.  I was there because my treatment team told me to go.  I played nice so I could avoid involuntary commitment.

Then there came the stage when I began considering recovery.  I began wanting it.  I knew people in varying stages of recovery, and I was starting to see just how miserable the eating disorder was making my life.  But at the same time, I began to notice how difficult recovery was.  How many daily choices I would have to make to stay on that path.  How exhausting those choices could be.  How exhausted I would be.  And how terrifying everything in front of me was.

I wanted recovery.  But I was already exhausted and frightened and overwhelmed.  How was I supposed to take on even more exhaustion, terror, and change?  I really had no faith that I could do so.  I mean, I had an eating disorder.  How strong could I possibly be?  How could I be strong enough to overhaul my life?  I knew how easy relapsing after treatment was.  Fighting that felt like too much for me.  So when I heard someone say “You just have to want it”, I felt like a total failure.  I thought that I obviously didn’t want it enough, or else I would be choosing recovery.

Yes.  I think you do have to want it.  People can’t make you recover.  They can force you to eat and gain weight and they can monitor your diet and when you use the bathroom and how much you exercise, but that can only last so long.  Eventually, it will come back to you again.  And if you don’t want to change, you won’t change.

But desire is not enough.  If you are so exhausted and physically compromised that you can’t think through the decision of what movie to go see, how can you be expected to make a serious life decision?  If you really do want recovery but have absolutely no idea how to even begin walking that path or whom to talk to or where to go, how can you be expected to “just” get better.  And if you know you want a better life but don’t honestly believe you have an eating disorder, how can you choose not to have one?

Sometimes, someone else will have to step up and make decisions for you.  They may have to force you to go into treatment.  A doctor may have to initiate involuntary feedings.  And you may hate those people and be angry and bitter and swear you’ll never talk to them again.  But because of these people, you will have a chance to regain enough strength and mental clarity to make the decision for yourself.  And even then, you may well need those same people to help keep you on that path of recovery.

After I choose to recovery, I didn’t immediately begin eating 100% of my meals and calmly sit in the hallway afterward without yearning to get up and pace for hours to burn all of that food off.  I struggled against my treatment team.  I tried to “make deals” with them to get out of certain parts of health.  I was confused as to why they were demanding so freaking much out of me.  I wanted to get better, but I just didn’t want to put forth the required effort.  For a while.  Then I began *gasp* working with my treatment team and making choices for myself that supported a healthy lifestyle.  And after I regained enough strength, I found that it was easier to make those daily choices to recover than to make the choices to relapse.

If you are at that stage of wanting it but are completely exhausted and don’t know what the hell to do, tell someone else and tell them you need their help because you can’t do it by yourself.  And then resent that person with all your heart as they help you get to the point where you can thank them with your life.

January 26, 2017 Posted by | addictions, bipolar disorder, Body Image, Communication, coping, depression, Eating Disorders, faith, family, feelings, guilt, health, identity, progress, publicity, recovery, relationships, self harm, shame, therapy, trauma, treatment | Leave a comment

I’m Sorry and I Thank You

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These are things I remind myself of almost every day.  It’s difficult to examine my life and realize that I’m not where I was supposed to be.  According to my own expectations, of course.  I do look at my life and am content–I never really planned to end up where I am, but it turns out, I like it here!  But I also like finishing what I’ve started, and there are a whole lot of things I started and never finished.

I often take stock of my life in this manner–and around this time of year, I get even more introspective.  Thinking about what I’ve accomplished in the previous year, but also since I left Missouri, since I left Washington, D.C., since I left Pennsylvania.  Since I used to work for Certain Company and taught at Certain University and climbed rocks as a hobby.

Since I knew various people that once were a significant part of my life and no longer are.  I wonder how these people are doing.  I wonder if they are still angry with me.  The ugly truth is that I lied to people, manipulated them, and screamed horrible things I don’t even remember.  I hurt people.  I wish I could contact each and every single person to apologize, to say that regardless of my pain, I should not have said or done those things.  I’m aware of that now.

I also wish I could thank these people.  The ones who walked away out of exhaustion and frustration and confusion.  I may have hurt them, but I am here because of them, and I wish I could let them know where I’ve been and where I am now and what I’m doing.  I’d want them to know that some of my dreams have come true and that I’ve been dreaming new dreams.  I’d like them to see me as I am now, because I hope they’d agree that I’m a better person–and that I’m a better person in part because of their influence.

I’d like to know I’ve made them proud, even if it’s just a little bit.

I think one of the most difficult things that people struggling with recovery face is the knowledge that we’ve let people down along the way.  It’s not easy to own up to this, to honestly admit to the dark parts of our pasts.  I think hearing “I’m proud of you” is the greatest phrase because of this.  Each time I hear this, in sincerity, I chip away at the dark parts of myself that I fear so much.  Each time these words are spoken, I heal just a little bit more.

Remember to thank those you love.  Remember to let people know when you are proud of them.  You never know what they might be carrying inside.

January 10, 2017 Posted by | addictions, bipolar disorder, Body Image, Communication, coping, depression, Eating Disorders, faith, feelings, guilt, identity, mindfulness, progress, recovery, relationships, responses, self harm, shame, suicide, therapy, trauma, treatment, well earned pride | 1 Comment

Regardless of gender, color, size, age . . .

 

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Recently, Obama signed the 21st Century Cures Act into law which will, among other things, require insurance companies to stop refusing payments for residential care, thus finally giving eating disorder patients access to adequate treatment.  The Miami Herald ran an op-ed discussing this new law, which originated with the Anna Westin Act.  The senators also discuss what was left out of the law–measures that would affect how images are photoshopped.  Regarding how these images affect those with eating disorders, they state, “Dissatisfaction with their own bodies based on unrealistic and unattainable physical standards promoted by these significantly digitally-altered images can develop into dangerous medical conditions including depression, anxiety, and eating disorders, costing both families and taxpayers dearly.”

I agree wholeheartedly with everything stated with this op-ed, and I realize digitally altered photos are the main point of discussion.   However, the editors of the newspaper unfortunately contributed to existing stereotypes with their choice of a cartoon illustration depicting a very thin female with a huge shadow.  But why would the editors have chosen anything different considering our leading eating disorder organizations and treatment centers–regardless of the age and sex of the patients they accept–offer the same images over and over in their publications:  a thin female staring forlornly into a mirror or out the window.  Of course, she is almost always a she.  And she’s usually a white, older teenager, often with long straight hair.  We don’t see a rebellious teenager with spiked, dyed hair, with piercings and tattoos, dressed in black, staring angrily into the camera.  This is not the image they want to people to associate with eating disorders.

As the stereotypical all-American overachieving white college female, it was terrifying to reach out for help because I was afraid I wasn’t “thin enough” for anyone to believe me.  So I didn’t reach out for several years.  Imagine how difficult it must be for a forty-year-old Asian male to ask for help.  Or a black woman approaching retirement?  Or anyone considered at all overweight?  Or anyone who isn’t skinny?

I was in treatment with men and women and adolescents and adults from all different cultures.  Yet the treatment brochures don’t reflect that diversity.  Educational materials stating that eating disorders affect everyone across the population still only portray a small segment of these individuals.

Eating disorders already result in isolation and fear.  In order to truly reach the different people affected with these illnesses, we need to expand the face of eating disorders.

 

December 29, 2016 Posted by | Body Image, Communication, diversity, Eating Disorders, feelings, health, identity, images, inclusiveness, Mental Health Parity, publicity, shame, teaching | 1 Comment

The Inevitable Holiday Post

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To state the obvious: the holiday season can be difficult for a lot of people, regardless of any diagnosis or history of diagnoses.  It’s just plain stressful.

I love going to visit my brother and sister-in-law—I get to see my precious nephew and niece, after all.  And I love catching up with all of my in-laws, whom I simply refer to as family.  I like waking up to kids squealing when they see the presents under the Christmas tree and relaxing with family the rest of the day.

However much I love my friends and family and love spending time with them, I remain an introvert.  This does not mean I don’t like spending time with people or socializing—it just means that doing so tires me out as much as running ten miles used to.  This is when the anxiety heightens, simply because of the exhaustion, and then I start feeling trapped—the old “the walls are closing in on me” feeling—and wishing I could disappear.  The stress mounts until I force myself to emotionally numb out and present a much-practiced Smile Face for people.  In the past, this would inevitably lead to dangerous coping behaviors, and that would lead to guilt and shame, even if no one else knew about it.

I still feel all those feelings, but now I have a choice as to how I respond.  I could still give in to those old urges, but I know that’s not really want I want for myself.  Instead, I’ve learned that when I first start feeling that panic creep up on me, I give myself an break.  I find space and silence and retreat for a few minutes.  Sometimes for more than a few minutes.  I simply rest in the silence.  I inhale slowly, feeling my ribcage expand.  As I exhale, I picture all the tension in my body flowing out, and I let my shoulders relax.  I notice the solidness of the chair I am sitting on, or the floor beneath my feet.  I ground myself, thus healing the anxiety before it has a chance to overcome me.

Usually, I return to any festivities going on, but there are times I don’t.  Times when I am simply too overwhelmed and I know that immersing myself in a room of people and noise will be too much.  My family and friends know that this is not a comment on my feelings for them and that I’m not tired of them.  I am simply tired, and for my own health, I need some me time.  They’re a supportive bunch and don’t judge me.  They are glad I am learning to take care of myself and finding ways to stay healthy.

This list has some good ways to take care of yourself on stressful days.  I love writing To Do lists, because when I cross something off that list, it feels wonderful.  There are days when crossing off “check work email” is an accomplishment.  I make my bed every day—not to accomplish anything, but because I love the feeling of crawling between two smooth sheets when I go to bed.  I prefer baths over showers, and making myself put “real” clothes on does feel good.  If you choose exercise, please do so keeping your health in mind.  And remember that everyone has days when they stay in the pajamas all day, but if these days start melding together, please reach out and talk to someone.

And some days, you just need to wear a crown.

 

 

December 21, 2016 Posted by | addictions, bipolar disorder, Communication, coping, depression, Eating Disorders, family, feelings, health, mindfulness, progress, recovery, relationships, shame | 1 Comment

Landing in the middle

Over the previous two weeks, several people have asked me about my blog and wanted to know when I’d start writing again.  Honestly?  I didn’t think I had much to say.  Also, I was busy.  A clichéd excuse used by many students, I know.  As a professor, I don’t accept this excuse as legitimate, so before I dig myself in deeper, here’s the deal:

I have more to say.  Maybe not about the initial steps of recovery, but about day to day life, living with the memories that may still rear up every so often.  I look at where I had always wanted to be by this point in my life, and I am not there.  I am not the person I wanted to be by now; my educational and professional careers had to be altered because of some of the choices I made years ago.  I have to accept that, however, and be who I turned out to be rather than who I once wanted to be.

Earlier this year, I decided that by the end of 2016, I would have a submission-ready manuscript.  FINALLY.  When I began my memoir, the drama of the illness and of the initial steps of recovery were still filled with raw emotion.  But the conclusion—that’s been nagging at me for a few years now.  I still feel sure in my recovery and have no regrets, so why the hell couldn’t I sum all of that up in a nice concluding essay and wrap this whole project up?

It turns out that this story doesn’t really have a clear ending.  I wanted to Be Recovered.  But with my perfectionistic, obsessive streak, I began questioning what that even meant.  There are some days now and then when I hate the number on the scale. Those emotions still have nothing to do with my actual weight, but I thought that if the number bothered me could I still call myself “recovered”?  Could I be “recovered” if I don’t feel like eating when the depression has been particularly brutal?  Could I be “recovered” if I go home after a difficult day of teaching and choose a ½ gallon of ice cream rather than a nice, balanced meal?  How could I be “recovered” if I still give in to my emotions and let them determine my actions?

Welcome to the life of a fully recovered individual who lives in the real world full of great days and conflicts and exhaustion and joy and despair and contentment.  An individual who has perfectly healthy reactions to both the good and the bad days.  Sometimes, going with comfort is the best course of action.  I’m not harming myself in any way, and I curl up and sleep with a tummy full of chocolate and wake up and go face what was so horrible (it usually isn’t horrible at all) and rediscover balance.

A recovered person is not a perfect person.  A recovered person is a human person with all the normal daily variations that come with the human experience.

Once I let this sink in, once I realized that I am honestly content (in this one case) with imperfection, the conclusion I had been looking for was finally created.  I think that society needs to hear more stories like this.   The amazingly inspiring individuals who recover and then go on to create significant change in their world are necessary.  The sobering stories of individuals who lost their fights are also necessary.  But most of us fall in the middle.  And the middle, it turns out, is a perfectly fine place to be.

December 17, 2016 Posted by | Uncategorized | 1 Comment

For an “All or Nothing Girl,” “Closer” Can Be a Tricky Place to Hang Out

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I have always been an all or nothing girl.  My friends know this.  My family knows this.  My teachers have always known this.  My coaches loved this.  If I’m going to play Field Hockey, I am going to give it every little ounce of my self that I can.  Same with school.  Same with life.  I don’t believe in doing things half-heartedly.

I spent Thanksgiving with awesome friends who have become family over the years.  These people have known me for almost twenty years.  I am still sometimes amazed that my friend and I survived these twenty years and that I feel as comfortable in her presence as I did way back then, no matter how much time passes between visits.  I have gained friends and family through this one person, another thing I thought I was incapable of.

In the car home, I was listening to Melissa Ferrick, specifically to her song, “Closer,” which you can listen to on her Facebook page.  Singing along as I always do when I drive, I sang the words (forgive me for quoting an entire chorus):

“But with every little bang, every little push
Every little step I take, I get closer
A second at a time, usin’ my breath
Maybe it’s true I’ve got a fear of success
But with every little bang, every little push
Every little step I take
I’m gettin’ closer
I’m gettin’ closer”

And I realized–this is true.  And I realized–it’s easy for me to be disappointed in this.

When I was young, I must have seen a movie or show with a professor sitting in his or her office–a big, ornate desk and walls lined with shelves full of books–and I knew that was what I wanted.  I really had no idea what a professor was or what it entailed, but I wanted to be one.

It took awhile for me to accept this.  I have a Bachelor’s in music; I finished it because it was what people expected me to do.  Later, I went back for a second Bachelor’s–this time in English.  It was home.  I went on and earned my MFA in Creative Nonfiction Writing at American University, and there really was no option in my mind about my last step: get my PhD.  So I moved to Missouri, fully intent on getting that PhD.  I thankfully discovered that I love being in front of a classroom.  And I love being a student.  I think my dream job right now would be to get paid to sit in a library (a very big library) and do research and write.  Full time.

I finished my coursework at Mizzou.  I knew what I was doing my critical dissertation on.  I had my comps list.  I knew what I wanted to do for my creative dissertation.  And then I realized I couldn’t.  I could teach.  I could be a student.  I could not do both at the same time, and in order to get my PhD, I would have to teach while reading and researching and writing and meeting with my committee and turning out drafts by certain dates and so much more.  And I couldn’t do it.  At least, I couldn’t do it and maintain any semblance of mental health at the same time.

In the end, my mental health prevailed, and I am now a professor–an adjunct, but my dream is to still be a full-time professor.

So.  I certainly am closer.  Especially when I look back two years ago, when life started falling apart to a degree I can’t put into words.  I took three semesters off of teaching.  This semester I am teaching three sections, and I am loving being back in the classroom on a college campus.  It has been difficult to restrain myself at times–to not join committees, to not accept speaking engagements, to not push myself into the ground every single night.

It has also been difficult.  To be on a college campus and not be working toward my PhD.  To know that my PhD is not going to happen.  I have always assumed I’d have a PhD.  And yes, I still dream of going back and earning one.  I get as far as looking at universities’ programs.  I feel guilty when I am on Facebook when I see my friends post about their dissertations and their job searches and their publications because that should have been me.  That could have been me, if I hadn’t fucked up so bad, if I hadn’t disappointed everyone around me. 

I know a PhD is not in my future.  I still want one.  But I also realize that I need to accept and rejoice in the fact that I am a professor, in a field I love.  I am writing again.  I am researching again.  Eighteen months ago, that didn’t seem possible.  But here I am.  Closer. But not quite there.

As I continue studying mindfulness and practicing meditation, acceptance keeps rearing its head.  I have (mostly) accepted the Bipolar I diagnosis.  I have (mostly) accepted my cardiac diagnosis.  I can even joke about both of those.  I know I haven’t accepted my “academic failure” aka my “non-PhD.”  The fact that I still see it as a failure says a great deal.

But I am going to continue to work on this.  I had a life planned out for me.  Maybe, however, I need to accept that it wasn’t the life I was supposed to live.  I still get to discover that.

November 28, 2015 Posted by | bipolar disorder, Communication, coping, depression, Eating Disorders, faith, feelings, guilt, heart, identity, mindfulness, progress, shame, teaching | , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Lists of Changes

I recently started enjoying the memories app on facebook.  This was one of my memories, from five years ago.  Eating disorder wise, I had been in full recovery for eight years.  Depression wise?  I was entering what would become the most hellish depressive episode ever, triggered by everything going on with my heart–all things I couldn’t grasp on an intellectual level.

Some of these things are still the same.

A lot of these things are different now, and it’s nice to be able to see and acknowledge those changes–and to take pride in the work it took to make those changes.

And NONE of the changes listed could have been possible without recovery.  Eating disorders are never your friends, and they will never “work for you.”  They are never “the best option for now.”  They kill.  They steal lives.  They hurt the survivors.  You will lose more than you ever thought possible. 

But recovery is possible.  You have the power to make it happen.

TEN things you wish you could say to ten different people right now:

1.  You’re not the same person as you were two years ago.  I liked that person better.

2.  I wish you would have let me change.

3.  I do not understand your priorities anymore.

4.  I wish I could say something, anything, that would do this justice.

5.  Sometimes I hate you and sometimes I can’t forgive you.

6.  I see myself in you and am powerless to stop the train from derailing.

7.  I wish you knew how much I loved you, and what I meant when I said that.

8.  You and I are no good apart.

9.  If I could tell you how much you’ve let me down, I fear that no one would ever look at me the same.

10.  I know I’m not good enough for you.

I’ve healed some relationships.  I’ve walked away from others.  I’ve watched other people change and grow and heal.  And most importantly, I know I’ll never be good enough for some people–and I don’t really give a damn, because I’m good enough for ME.

NINE things about yourself:

1.  I keep point shoes in vases.

2.  I have a model of the human heart on my bookshelf.

3.  I am more terrified of living like this than I am of dying.

4.  Each day, I wake up with this huge, ominous question mark over my head and I’m not sure how long I can take it.

5.  I don’t think I’m supposed to be here.

6.  I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.

7.  I will never measure up.

8.  I treasure silence.

9.  Translating Latin is the only escape I have right now.

The model of the human heart is on my shelf, knocked over weekly by Camena.  I crossed off number 3 because although I am still scared of “living like this,” I have learned that I can live like this–fully live.  I know I can take it, and I know I’m supposed to be here right now.  I don’t know if this is where I’ll stay, but I’m thinking it will be.  I know I will never measure up–no one ever does, really, because it’s called Being Human.  I still like to translate Latin, but I have a lot more healthy ways of escaping than any other point in my life.

EIGHT ways to win your heart: 

1.  Don’t laugh at my fears.

2.  Treasure silence as much as I do.

3.  Don’t waste money on jewelry when there are thousands of books to be devoured.

4.  Give me flowers.  One at a time.  On random days.

5.  No pressure.

6.  If I tell you a song reminds me of you, listen to it.

7.  Believe me.

8.  Send me a poem in the mail.  Snail mail, that is.

These are all the same.

SEVEN things that cross your mind frequently: 

1. I hate this.

2. I can’t do this.

3. I wish I could leave.

4. I hate my heart.

5. This was not supposed to turn out this way.

6. Someday.

7.  Maybe.

There are still things I hate, but my heart is not one of them.  My heart can make me sad and bitter and can make me grieve at time, but I don’t hate it.  And maybe things weren’t supposed to turn out this way, but that doesn’t mean that Someday can’t happen.

SIX things you do before you fall asleep:

1. Journal.

2. Some form of devotional.

3. Listen to music.

4. If I can, take a hot hot hot bath.

5. Curl up with my cats.

6.  have a cup of hot decaf coffee.

Still a journaler–you will never be able to take that away from me!  My spirituality is still important, as it always will be.  I can’t take a hot bath here because we have no drain plug that fits 😦  And I’ve become a tea snob in the previous five years, and my nightly cup of tea requires thought.

FIVE people who mean a lot to you.

1. Sara

2. Wednesday

3. Neesha & Dustin (they count as one)

4. Court

5. Rena

These people are still important to me, even if some are no longer part of my life.  I’m proud to say that I’ve been able to add more people to this list, which was difficult to come up with five years ago.

FOUR things you’re wearing right now: 

1. Yoga pants

2. Camisole

3. Keeping the Beat T shirt

4. MedicAlert Bracelet

I will always wear my MedicAlert bracelet.  It does make me feel somewhat safer.  And I still do wear yoga pants and all that, but right now I still have on my bathrobe and PJs.

THREE songs that you listen to often: (recently) 

1. Dublin Boys

2. Bend Before It Breaks

3. Reasonland

I’d have to say these three songs are still prominent in my playlist.  “More Than Ordinary” has been my most recent obsession.

TWO things you want to do before you die: 

1. Publish my two books

2. Not have another sudden cardiac death.  That kind of sucked.

Yeah, so both of these are still the same!

ONE confession: 

1) I am drowning.

Maybe I don’t feel like I am always on solid ground, but I have learned that it’s my choice to be on solid ground, and that there are always people around me willing to help that happen.

September 20, 2015 Posted by | Uncategorized | , , , , , , | Leave a comment

One Day I Will Love My Body

ae2db3e26f6acb3b54fd48520d5521f4Here’s another post where I respond to someone else’s work.  Allison Epstein recently wrote “Why I Have No Intention of Loving My Body” for an online publication.  The title itself intrigued me.  As someone in recovery from anorexia, I have had the words “Love Your Body” shoved down my throat for over a decade.  I haven’t always reacted well.

I do agree with Epstein’s argument that the “Love Your Body” campaign has turned into just one more way for certain industries–fashion and publishing come to mind–to make money.  Not just among people struggling with eating disorders, but for anyone in a society that is programmed (due to fashion and publishing industries) to see only a certain kind of body as worthy or beautiful.

Speaking as someone who has recovered from an eating disorder and struggled with intense shame surrounding my body, I don’t want to proclaim that I have no intention at all of ever loving my body.  Loving my body is an ideal that I work towards, and I even have days when it’s true.  But to be honest, I haven’t yet reached a transcendent point in recovery where I can say without any hesitation that I love my body with all my heart and soul and always will.

But those of us who have sought treatment for an eating disorder or body dysmorphic disorder, we are told that we must love our bodies in order to recover.  At the beginning of my recovery, I was so far away from loving myself that the whole concept seemed impossible.  Which must mean recovery is impossible.  Or so I was made to feel.  In painting across my body’s outline on a piece of paper, I could not draw butterflies and suns and rainbows or symbols of peace and strength.  I could draw angry red scribbles as I tried to destroy my image.  I was fully weight restored, eating intuitively, and not over-exercising.  All awesome things to have accomplished.  But every time someone tried to simple tell me to love my body, I felt as if those things didn’t matter for much since I still kinda hated my body.  And I really did try to “just love my body,” but I think most of you know it doesn’t work that way.

Here’s how things worked for me.  During my first year of recovery, I focused on intuitive eating and I learned how to listen to my body and respond appropriately.  Because of the severity of the over-exercise, I agreed to one year exercise free–no running, no yoga, no speed walking, no biking, no weights.  Nothing.  The idea was to “reset” my relationship with exercise.  I still really couldn’t have cared less for my body.

So during the second year of recovery, I had a pretty good handle on intuitive eating and no longer consulted a nutritionist and didn’t see my doctor every week “just to make sure.”  I gradually reintroduced exercise into my life style.  i did not let myself keep a schedule, because in the past, that only led to obsessive thoughts.  Instead, I woke up and thought, “What would I like to do today?  Run or do yoga?”  It was through yoga that I released a great amount of hatred toward my body.  On the mat, I realized that even though I didn’t have the same super-athletic body I had while I was an All American in Track and Field, my body could do some awesome things.  I’m not extremely flexible, but I realized I was doing poses a lot of people couldn’t, and I could hold poses for a significant amount of time.  My time on the mat gave me the opportunity to appreciate the body for everything it could do for me, just as it is in that moment.  I didn’t need to improve upon it or make it stronger.

But did you note the language I just used?  I used “it” instead of “my.”  I still saw myself as separate from my body.  My body was this appendage that was necessary for me to exist, so I had to put up with it.  Not only did I continue practicing yoga, I began practicing slower, gentler forms of yoga than I was accustomed to.  While I was in a pose, I listened to what my body was telling me, something I’d later call mindfulness.  My body could tell me where I was sore or if I was tired and needed rest.  My body could also tell me if I was stressed emotionally, or angry, or overwhelmed with sadness.  This was when I began to learn to accept my body, and I learned to say that it was indeed my body.

Then I began learning more about mindfulness, which, to be honest, terrified me in the beginning.  Body scans could cause nightmares.  Very slowly, however, I learned to sit in my body, to be still in my body, and to be present in my body.  I am still beginning my journey of mindfulness, but over the previous few years, I have moved from a tolerance of my body to an appreciation of my body.

I admit, I do not wake up in the morning filled with love and awe for my body.  But neither do I wake up hating my body and dreading the sight of it.  There are days when I can appreciate my body just as it is, but there are more days when I still appreciate my body for what it can do for me.  This does not take away from my recovery.  If anything, the fact that I can acknowledge the different stages of body awareness is a huge accomplishment.

This body is mine.  I treat it well and take care of it.  I listen to its needs and wants and respond appropriately.  I could not do any of this while I was sick.  I think that if we expect people to jump from intense self-hatred to all-encompassing love of the body, we put too much pressure on them.  Recovery is not a one-day process, and we should not expect sufferers to “just get over it” as soon as they maintain weight or maintain healthy behaviors.  Our bodies carried heavy loads for such a long time, and we need to give them the grace and patience to heal.

August 31, 2015 Posted by | addictions, Body Image, Eating Disorders, health, mindfulness, progress, recovery | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Seven Things

Survive and Thrive

Survive and Thrive

I came across  Seven Things to Remember During Eating Disorder Recovery, and I encourage you to read it if you are recovering from an eating disorder, an addiction, any mental illness, or if you are recovering and having one of those days when you doubt everything.

I, of course, have some things I want to add.  Yes; it was the hardest thing I have ever done, and my even on my bad days I remember the hell of life with an eating disorder.

In my early recovery, yes, there were hard days.  Days when I made crappy choices.  Bad body image days.  Falling back on old habits.  It is a process of recovery, because you learn that one day, one binge, one purge does not define you.  You are now aware that maybe that wasn’t the best, and you are able to stop, look around you, and keep moving forward.  It doesn’t matter if you have a few of these days.  What matters is when you choose to make better choices for yourself.

But I don’t want people to think this is it.  That recovery will always mean hard days.  Recovery looks different for every person, though.  I no longer have panic attacks at the thought of eating cupcakes.  I don’t ever wish I could go back there.  Ever.  I eat intuitively.  I listen to my body and go for walks when my body feels well, and I take naps when my body is sore.  I’m pretty sure men and women all have days when we look in the mirror and are disappointed or even crushed, but those thoughts are no longer tied to my self-worth and don’t weigh me down during the day.  My eating disorder is gone.  Gone.  Read my blog and you’ll discover I have plenty of bad days, but they no longer have anything to do with food or size or exercise.

Repairing your relationship with food does take time.  You’ll have a lot of relationships to repair.  My relationship with exercise was especially difficult, and I was afraid I would never enjoy exercise again, that it would always be laced with hatred and anger and self-loathing.  You will also have to repair actual relationships with actual people.  Sometimes, you will come across relationships that cannot be healed.  This is okay.  You will likely need to end a relationship or two if you find the other person is pulling you toward the eating disorder.  This is a healthy decision.

And yes, remind yourself of where you were then and where you are now, be it the day you choose to start recovery or a week into the journey or a month or five years.  Remember everything you held yourself back from, and celebrate your strength and ability and courage of today.

August 23, 2015 Posted by | Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Dreams Come

I just like my head.

I just like my head.

There’s really no meaning to this picture.  I have a clear glass head, and I put a black wig on her, and periodically use it to display hats I’ve made and to creep some people out.  But I have no main topic today, just a mish mash of what’s been in my head lately. Perhaps one of my readers has a better picture?

I am doing an Out of the Darkness Community Walk for suicide awareness on September 12.  These are run by the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention.  I am close to my fundraising goal, and would really like to go over my goal, being the over-achiever I am.  You can help me here.  Five dollars means that more people can be helped.  If you are in the area and would like to walk with me, that would be awesome.  This is an extremely important subject for me.  I am a survivor of suicide, and I have lost family and friends to suicide.  You can read more about my story here.  I am mentioning all this here because it is absolutely necessary that our society talks openly about suicide and mental illness in general.  I remember being in high school and feeling like I was somehow broken because I had all of these bad thoughts that no one else had.  Except I know now that I wasn’t alone back then.  But mental health was not brought up in schools, so we were not encouraged to talk about it.  I was terrified to talk about it.  But imagine if we do talk about it in junior highs and high schools.  Imagine that one student in the classroom who has felt alone and broken, and then s/he hears that there are other people out there who struggle with the same types of thoughts, and then s/he decides to talk to someone, and then s/he gets help early, and then s/he may never attempt suicide at all.  That is why when I got my semi-colon tattoo, I put it on my wrist.  Not only is it easily visible to me, but it is easily visible to everyone else.  I hope people will ask me about it.

I hope my students will ask about it.  I will head back to the classroom this semester and teach eager college students about writing essays.  When I first began teaching in 2008, I spent a great deal of time wondering if I should wear long sleeves to cover up my scars from years of self-harm.  But I decided that, in my own little way, I wanted to show people I was not ashamed of my past.  And because of that decision, I have had multiple students approach me after class or via email about my scars–and about their own, be them external or internal.  Students who felt alone and scared and didn’t know where to go for help.  I have been able to direct students to the university’s health center, mental health center, and various treatment centers.  I have witnessed them grow and struggle and change, and I still tear up when I think of some of them.  Even if they didn’t take me up on the offer to walk them over to the mental health center, and even if they didn’t go at all, I put the idea in their heads that the life they were living could be left behind and a new life could begin.

If students ask why I took a year off of teaching, I will tell them.  If I had had major surgery, there would be no shame in needing time to heal.  There is no shame in needing time to heal from a serious depressive episode either.  It took me time to come around to that belief, and I hated running into people in my small hometown and having them ask, “So what are you doing these days?”  I felt ashamed for not being a productive member of society.  But I now realize that if I had tried to work last fall or last spring, I would not have been an effective teacher, and I might not have been physically capable of meeting all of my responsibilities.  Of course, I am nervous about this semester, but I am no longer ashamed of the time it took to get me here.

I want that message to spread.  Healing is possible, and it is worth the time and energy involved.  I realize that due to the cyclical nature of Bipolar I, I will likely need time to heal again.  But I also can’t plan my life around that fear.  Maybe my career in academia won’t be as I originally pictured it years ago, but I’m not the same person I was years ago.  I’ve changed, I’ve adapted, and I’m ready to continue seeing my dream come true.

This wasn’t as mish-mashy as I thought it would be, but I still have no idea for a good photo.

August 19, 2015 Posted by | bipolar disorder, coping, depression, Eating Disorders, progress, recovery, shame, suicide | , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment