Have you ever felt like your pain was too much? The past two years have been a period of incredible hardship for me as I stumbled through this eating disorder recovery journey. While I would never wish pain on anyone, it is, unfortunately, universal. Every single one of us will experience pain at some point in our lives. I’m still learning to manage the hurt. I won’t sugarcoat the amount of time and energy it takes for the power of pain to subside. However, over the past two years, I have also learned so much about myself through my pain. And these lessons are important. Some days I have to remind myself of these lessons over and over, while other days I believe them with ease. What do you do when it feels like the pain in recovery is too much? That’s what I want to help you with. Here are 5 powerful facts to remember when the pain feels like too much. I want every single one of you to remember that these statements are true for all of you. Take them in. Repeat them. Learn to believe them. 1. You will be okay I know that when I’m experiencing extreme pain or any intense emotion for that matter, it feels like it will never end. It is truly a horrible feeling. Sometimes the circumstances causing the emotions are permanent – maybe it’s the loss of a loved one, a trauma that can’t be undone, or a person who simply won’t change. Things like that are truly sad, and your pain is valid. However, the intensity of your pain will not last forever. I know that sounds cliché, but it’s true, I know from experience. Now, this isn’t to say it’s all sunshine and rainbows. The pain in recovery doesn’t just “go away.” Sometimes a past hurt comes back like a dagger to the heart, but it doesn’t last as long as it once did. I have the skills to manage it, and people I can go to for support. Other kinds of pain are always there, lingering in the back of my mind, but they no longer consume me – and that’s okay. 2. You are not too much The pain I felt was BIG. And sometimes that pain got expressed in very big ways – ways that overwhelmed me. Sometimes I broke down into seemingly uncontrollable tears; other times I exploded with anger that I had let simmer for far too long. I often fell into a stubborn mindset where nothing anyone could say would change my mind. The pain felt too much. I think these manifestations of my pain scared people sometimes. My peers didn’t know what to do or say. This made me feel like others didn’t care, and that I was simply too much. What I have learned, however, is that I am not too much. Sometimes my pain and the expression of that pain may have been too much for certain people to handle at the time, but that is not a reflection of me. And that’s okay – sometimes our pain in recovery is extreme and we need professionals to help us manage it. Our friends and family simply may not be equipped to help us in those moments. This does not mean that our friends don’t care; in fact, they probably care very deeply and simply feel helpless to handle the situation. But know that you, as a person, are never too much. 3. You are brave Sometimes being in pain can make you feel helpless. It would be easy to remain in that helpless place, feeling like you’re suffocating; drowning. I understand the desire to do so. Making a change can seem overwhelming and unbearable. The thing is, staying in the hurt and the helplessness keeps you stuck. It disables you from facing the deep-rooted source of that pain. For me, there was a situation I had been trying to escape from for 18 years. The pain of remaining stuck in that situation kept me depressed and anxiety-ridden. But in facing those feelings, I realized that the deeper source of my hurt was the desire to be rescued. This also meant coming to terms with the reality that, after 18 years, that wish would never be granted. Though enlightening, this realization brought on an entirely new level of hurt. However, it also allowed me to wiggle myself out of that stuck, helpless place. I realized that I had to save myself. But that wasn’t what I wanted. Nor was it without pain, but it was a solution. I would never have discovered my bravery had I not had to fight pain head-on. 4. Sometimes the impossible happens Pain can make you feel hopeless especially when it feels like it is too much. I can’t tell you how many times it left me on my bedroom floor crying, thinking that my dreams were shattered and my life was over. I thought that my mental illnesses and multiple stints in treatment had robbed me of all opportunities. There was a point, not too long ago, when I was told that I would never get into another graduate school again – that it was simply an impossibility. It was impossible because I had withdrawn from school too many times, choosing to put my health first. My emotional pain had temporarily disabled me from participating in “real life”. I felt defeated – I had done nothing wrong other than experience the pain inflicted on me by others (if you can even consider that “wrong”) and I was punished for that. Yet somehow, in the depths of my pain, I realized the injustice of my situation. So I picked myself up off the floor and used my pain to advocate for myself. I cannot explain how vulnerable and heartbreaking it feels to fight a seemingly impossible battle. However, I also cannot explain the joy and pride when the impossible happens – like getting into graduate school when you
Hate Uncomfortable Emotions? Here’s Why You Need to Embrace The Uncomfortable
The other day, the weight of my world hit me hard. A recent accident permanently disabled my arm and I’m finally dealing with long-time back and sleep issues. Actually being present and feeling the emotions (without relying on eating disorder behaviors) of these life issues is both exhausting and frustrating. Finally feeling the emotions For example, yesterday I came home from my third doctor’s appointment in two days feeling utterly overwhelmed. I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet and put my head in my hands. The old me would have immediately numbed the pain by using a behavior. Yet, I just sat with the emotions. And soon enough, the tears came. Sobs followed. And the crumble to the floor ensued. As I was lying on the floor in my own self-pity, it occurred to me – I was feeling my present emotion. I was in it. And although the present emotion was not a good one, I was in it fully, and that is a gift. I have felt more emotions, both welcomed and unwelcomed, in the past two years than the entire sixteen I spent in my disorder. And this isn’t just me. I have a friend who suffered from eating disorders for a long time as well. She had a similar struggle with emotions and even started watching “Daniel the Tiger” (a kid’s show that models after “Mr. Rodger’s Neighborhood“) with her daughter to learn what feelings are. Eating disorders rob you of feeling. They rob you of simple and complex emotions that make life dynamic. And yes, I have been dealt a tough hand lately, but the capability to feel the emotions, deal with the pain in a healthy way, and move on with a clear and present mind has been the gift of my current struggles. Back then… This newfound life of feeling is a stark contrast to how I dealt with feeling before recovery. When I was deep in my disorder, I used behaviors to numb out pain and block disappointment. Focusing on my eating disorder allowed me to manipulate my feelings by focusing on something that was in my control rather than succumbing to the real issue facing me. While I was in the habit of these practices, I convinced myself that they worked. The instant gratification I got from using a behavior instead of facing my problem was satisfying. It gave me a false sense of security that fueled my behaviors for many years. My eating disorder seemed to work for me… until it didn’t. Now I know But now I know – no binge and purge session is going to heal my arm. A meal skipped is not going to help my sleep apnea go away. And ____ mile run will not heal my back. My body is not my means of fixing my problems. And if I am honest, how I treated my body in my disorder is some of the causes of my current issues. If I had continued to go down the path of self-destruction, my body would only continue to pay the price. While you may not have almost lost your arm, suffer from sleep apnea, or be in the middle of a spinal issue from years of malnutrition and exercise abuse, you are in your own battle. We all have the negative physical, emotional, and psychological effects of eating disorders. And you know what? I’ll take lying on the floor in tears while feeling my current emotions ANY DAY over continuing to mask them and prolong the inevitable with eating disorder behaviors. Emotions Set You Free My heart is heavy and full at the same time. My shame turns to regret which helps me get up off the floor and continue to face life. As messy and hard as it can be, it is worth it to sit with the emotions. The alternative will lead to the ultimate demise of my entire being. Recovery is both excruciating and exhilarating. You are going to have to white-knuckle through hard times. But you are also going to finally feel the joy of throwing your hands up in the air, bending your neck up to the sky, and allowing yourself to give in to the will of the world. That is a gift that we have been blessed with from the universe. Not being in control doesn’t have to be terrifying. In fact, it can be freeing. So, in my current situations of unknown and uncharted, instead of being afraid, I am choosing to be excited to see what comes next. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I’m choosing to feel blessed to be alive. The present emotions will pass if I allow them to go through their process. No longer will I prolong, but I will proceed. No longer will I repress, but I will experience. Are you with me? (Last Updated: December 5, 2022)
Bully In My Brain: a Recovery Poem
There’s a bully in my brainThat keeps pushing me aroundFrom the ground, I try to riseBut she grips me so tightlyShe stifles my cries. She tells me I’m just fineTo keep it up and then do moreIt’s like a chore that never endsAn eternal loop of despairWith a rose-colored lens. I muster up the courageAnd try to leave her far behindBut in my mind, she growsConvinces me from deep withinThat this is the life I chose. I carry on each dayWith this bully in my brainShe never lets me have my peaceHer lease has long expiredBut I can’t get rid of her nowI’m too tired. Eviction or extinctionThat’s what I want to seeBut this bully in my brainThe pain she brings to meComes along with the satisfactionAnd without her, I can’t see. We try to grow togetherBut the bully just gets louderShe wants me to do more and moreAnd in my core I know it’s overI’ve lost this battle with my brainI cannot slow her. When the bully’s happy I am notIt seems we cannot coexistSo I shrink down and she expandsAnd in her hands, I am confinedI feel fulfilled but numb insideWould things would be easierIf I just died? Voices from outside call to meBut I can’t hear them nowThe bully is too loudToo proud to say that I need supportThis bully’s got me figured outShe plays me like a sport. The darkness surrounds meI can’t find my way outI’m trapped inside the bully nowI can’t see how it has come to thisHow is it that this HellOnce started out as bliss? Then comes a bang and I lookupThe faintest light comes streaming inFrom the bully’s hands, I can see outThe doubt about escaping intensifiesSo I stay seated and thinkBut then I slowly rise. Cautiously I move toward the lightGentle movements in the dark of nightThe bully’s sleeping as I moveI prove that she hasn’t killed meBut I need to stay quiet, for if she sees meShe will riot. The closer I move toward the lightThe brighter it seems to shineSo while the bully stays at restI test my strength and gritI find the crack that leads to lightAnd I squeeze through it. The crack is tight but I am determinedThe bully is seeming restless nowI know my time is shortShe thwarts my movements with her gripBut his is my chance to escape herI can’t slip. I make it through that little crackBut I don’t know what to do out hereThe light is blinding and I’m so unsurePure relief washes over meI’ve escaped the bully in my brainFinally I begin to see. Slowly I get the hang of lifeAnd though the bully calls to meI ignore her pleas and carry onNo longer a pawn of her awful gameI can live my life forever freelyBut I still feel ashamed. As the years go by I see her rarelyIt seems like I’ve escaped her wrathWith each day I can grow strongerAnd like a pearl inside a clamI slowly open to the worldIt takes me as I am. Memories of the bully stay with meBut the grip she once held on me is goneThe curtain was drawn so I keep her outSometimes I worry that she’ll returnBut this freedom I haveI’ve worked so hard to earn. The bully’s impact will never be erasedI know she’s out there stillI see her in my family and friendsAnd through my lens, I feel their painThey may not know it yetBut there’s a bully in their brain. I try to help but get pushed awayI suffer as I watch them struggleFor the bully beleaguers and break them downI frown and carry on my wayI cannot fight their bully tooThey slowly wither away. So beware the bully that lives to killThe one that seems innocent until she’s notHer comfort is cold and careless tooShe’ll keep you tied with a ball and chainSo please beware of the bullyThe bully in your brain.
I Tried to Run From My Grief. Here’s Why I’m Now Choosing to Embrace It
Grief. It’s a pit. One that feels endless at times. A darkness in which you can lose your way. Or even lose yourself. It is a darkness in which I have been lost. Grief is devastating. Profound. Miserable. Yet it is tremendously healing. I have spent much of my time avoiding and denying my grief. Grieving is something I’ve told myself I can’t do. But not anymore. Now I am grieving. There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power, and they speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief…and unspeakable love.— Washington Irving The grief I feel is immense. At times it can be dark and unforgiving. However, I have also found that it is a sign of my ability to love. My grief also shows my ability to give. And to let go. Letting grief in Pressing into this grief — acknowledging it, rather than avoiding it — has allowed deep healing to begin within me. I am healing. Healing means growing and moving forward. Letting grief in means I can move from the darkness towards light. I was unsure if that could ever happen. But it is happening. With this work, I am learning so many things. Like how to love myself and others. I’m even learning how to feel again. Grieving is teaching me how to withstand my feelings and keep them from drowning me. It’s even teaching me how to use those feelings in ways I never imagined. Honoring through grief Losing Sutton and Cali has been the most devastating experience in my life. It is heart-wrenching and incredibly raw. And utterly confusing. There are times that I can go about my day and not give it a thought. Then there are times it hits me so much harder than I ever thought it could. Often, I wonder how can I begin to explain how I am feeling to anyone when it doesn’t even make sense inside my own head. But the loss impacted me in such a huge way, that I have to try to express it. I want to — NEED to — in order to honor what they have done for me. Because it is incredible. Loving and grieving for Sutton and Cali opened my heart in a way I didn’t know it could. It tore it wide open. Love so deep, love so wide Grieving Sutton and Cali created such an intense love that I was surprised by my ability to feel so strongly. I didn’t know it was possible to feel so much. And I didn’t know I was capable. They found parts of me that I didn’t know existed. It was in those parts that I found a love I no longer believed was real. They showed me it was possible. And that it is possible. That part of me does exist. The kind of love I felt is real. And with that love has come enormous hope. Hope for my Sutton and Cali. Hope for others. And hope for me. Feeling their loss, I have begun to open my heart to the idea of feeling more than just grief. The pain of the loss is a reminder of the love. I want to be reminded of that love day in and day out. I cry because they are gone. But I rejoice because I met them. Rejoice because I loved them. There is a stillness in my grief. It is a process. Some days it screams about the ones I miss. Other days it’s a silent mending. Yet I don’t mind the grief anymore — it is a sign of endless love and a richness, undying hope. I’m learning that grief is part of the beautiful mess that is life. It is part of aching, mending, and becoming whole again when part of you is gone. I’m the chosen one I used to think I chose this path. That I chose these babies. Consequently, I thought I chose to feel this pain because I deserved it. Now, I know how incredibly wrong I was. I didn’t choose them. They chose me. God placed them in my life because that was how He meant it to be. I don’t deserve to feel pain. What I deserve is to feel the vast love that they brought to me. Sutton and Cali showed me the way to love another person fully. Giving and sacrificing my heart for ones I knew would not be in my life for long enough. And I am so glad I did. Sutton and Cali are forever a part of me. A good part. Maybe the best part. After real grief, we are reborn as people with wider and deeper vision and greater compassion for the pain of others. I think my grief has done that. It has given me the capacity to feel, give, love, and do more than I ever thought was possible. Knowing them has made me a better person. I am certain they were in my life to guide me towards where I was meant to be. They taught me how to give endlessly, how to love endlessly, and how to hope endlessly. Together, they helped create a whole person. So, Warriors, you are free to grieve. You are free to love. And you are free to hope. You are free to heal. (Last Updated: May 20, 2022)
What New Snapshots Do You Want to Shoot to Fight Your ED?
A snapshot of ED Half-eaten granola bars. An iota of peanut butter on each banana bite. Sugar-free, low-calorie ice cream. Bones protrude more and more as I see my reflection in the dorm bathroom mirror. A certain number flashes back at me when I step onto a scale. Measuring cups are utilized for chips and cereals. The red glare of numbers from the elliptical announced calories burned. Each of these snapshots has been collected during my eating disorder. And some days they’re the only pictures I know. Rather than feeling trapped by their power, however, I’m disgusted by my reaction to pride. Let me show you how little I can eat. Prove how much I can push tired muscles. Let me grow in supposed self-discipline as I say no to dessert again. Look at what I’ve accomplished. See how capable I am of achieving my fabricated idea of healthiness. Scrapbook memories Without realizing it, I’ve scrapbooked these photos with colored washi tape, attractive patterned paper, and sequins galore to give the pictures extra allure. I love them. Yet in spending such copious amounts of time displaying them, I forgot their danger. They spin a story that I’m in control and can have it all: worth and healthiness. These photos mask the truth: I do not control the food; rather, the food controls me. Demanding restriction. Bellowing for more exercise. Whispering degrading names when I fail to obey. This doesn’t deserve to be scrapbooked. No, these pictures need to be burned, lest I never escape the voice of the ED. The good news is that I still have a camera for new pictures. More scrapbooks are waiting to be filled with new pictures. Ones that point to truth. New Snapshots to Fight Your Ed Having a donut at Sunday morning church. Going on an impromptu ice cream run late at night. Skipping workouts to sit and talk with new friends. Accepting a car ride from my roommate instead of biking to the store. Buying a box of cold cereal without looking at the nutrition label. Relaxing at a park with my sketchbook instead of dragging my body on a run. My camera is merely waiting. Begging for new snapshots. The question, however, remains: Do I want these new snapshots – opportunities for freedom – more than the photos I’ve prided myself in? Friends, let’s grab our cameras. What new snapshots do you want to shoot to fight your ED? (Last Updated: August 15, 2022)
Beauty Lies in the Eye of the Beholder
“Beauty lies in the eye of the beholder.” This phrase takes on a new meaning When it comes to your personal relationship with food and your body. As a licensed marriage and family therapist and eating disorder specialist, it is a common theme and discussion I have with clients. The thought of developing a better relationship with your body and food isn’t often thought or discussed in this way. I take a step further, as I do most things in my life. What messages have been received externally? I refer to family, socially, society, and culturally (i.e anything outside of yourself) consciously and unconsciously. Mixed Messages about Beauty In my home, we received messages that were conflicting and confusing. My grandmother, aunts, and mother had different definitions of beauty. My grandmother constantly fed and made meals for everyone. For my grandmother, preparing and providing food for others was her way of giving love. She’d comment and associate being overweight with beauty and power whereas my aunts and mother were constantly attempting to get to their birth weight. Reflecting back it’s clear that my aunts and mother struggled with disordered eating. The mixed messages of love, beauty, and image were interconnected in very confusing ways. My home environment consisted of a strong matriarchal presence with two different definitions of beauty. It was the outer dialogue of the eating disorder. It took me a long time to unpack the layers of beauty, body image, and food. We Have Choices We internalize messages and definitions that are spoken or unspoken. And we have choices in how we define beauty. I know it often doesn’t feel this way in the depths of the eating disorder. It takes unpacking and curiosity of these meanings and definitions. The beauty is that you get to decide what your relationship with food and body looks like and what you’d like it to look like.
Mirror Mirror – Part 2 – A Change in Perspective
Mirror, mirror,On the wall,When I look at the girl in front of me,I’m completely in awe. To think that she almost lost her lifeFollowing the path she was on;To think of the resilience it tookFor her to keep fighting until she won. She used to be so fragile,Insecure and afraid.Now she is so strong,Confident and brave Mirror, mirror, On the wall,When I look at the girl in front of me,I’m completely in awe. To think of all the thingsShe’s had to overcome;To think of who she wasVersus who she has become. She used to be so empty,With a touch of sadness and despair.Now she’s so full of life,With an energy that doesn’t compare Mirror, mirror, On the wall,When I look at the girl in front of me, I’m completely in awe.
What Surprisingly Helped Me Heal from My Eating Disorder
Eating disorders are always so much more than what they appear to be. At the surface it seems they’re just about food. But if you take a peek beneath the surface, you’ll find it’s so much more complex than that. If you were to take a look at my internal world a few years ago, you’d discover I was deeply ashamed of needing anything at all. I treated my needs like the Dursleys treated Harry Potter— I shoved them in the cupboard under the stairs and tried to keep them quiet. This internal conflict showed up in several different areas of my life. But this wound was especially apparent in my relationship with food. Little did I know one day I would credit Mother Nature for helping me heal from my eating disorder. My Hunger I’d sneak food into my room because I didn’t want people to see the extent of my hunger. Other days I’d see how long I could go without meeting my need to eat. When I started healing, I had to feel how deeply disgusting I found this part of myself. One of my mentors and teachers, Dr. Sam Rader, helped me understand that my hunger had become a symbol of the part of me that is small and vulnerable. I’d learned somewhere along the way that this part of me was bad. It was impossible to imagine that anyone would enjoy nourishing me and that my needs wouldn’t hurt them. How Mother Nature Helped Me Heal From My Eating Disorder I’ve since unraveled this belief and reworked it into a belief system that serves me. One of the ways I did this was by spending time in nature. I started a garden and while I tended to it, I meditated on who I imagine Mother Nature to be. I picture her like a goddess, with flowing white garments and joyfully loving on her children. I’d let myself imagine her holding me and not judging me while she joyfully gifted me the herbs that grew in my backyard. I let the love fill me and satisfy me. I know it sounds super woo-woo, but this is my true experience and one of the most powerful medicines I received during my recovery. As a psychoanalytic therapist, I know that the way we are in one area of our life is how we are in every area. Dr. Sam Rader helped me see that I had been playing the role of a superhero by pretending not to need anything. As a result, I found myself in situations and relationships where it felt necessary to neglect myself. My wound became a self-fulfilling prophecy. Mother Nature is All Around Us The more time I spent meditating and envisioning Mother Nature’s kind eyes, the more I started seeing her in the people in my life. My relationships transformed and I let myself take off the cape. I became a fully fleshed out human being instead of a two-dimensional character who doesn’t need anything. Not only is my relationship with food so much better, but so are my relationships. I share this because I desire for everyone to be fed and satisfied. It’s possible and it’s okay if you don’t believe it now. I’m confident that one day you will—because it’s true. There’s enough love for all of us.
Why Don’t You See What I See?
Why Don’t You See What I See? A thousand tears fall from the face of a girl, As she looks in the mirror, dreaming to be free.Her loved one holds onto her, smiles and says, “Why don’t you see what I see?” She feels like she’s losing a constant battle,Between her body and her brain. She’s tired and weak and dizzy when she stands,And she’s constantly in pain. You see this girl has an eating disorder,Anorexia Nervosa they say. All she knows is that she hates how she looks,But it’s not always been this way. She was healthy before and full of life,But her insecurities got in the way.And past life events were traumatic and tough,Now her body is having to pay. She’s irritable, confused and has trouble sleeping,And she’s obsessed with her weighing scales,Her periods have stopped, but she’s bloated as hell,And she’s losing her hair and her nails. She finds herself checking food packets all day,Adding up all the sugars and fat.This becomes part of her daily routine,To make sure her tummy stays flat. Her clothes are all baggy, and she covers herself up,To keep bad attention away.But she doesn’t seem to have any answers as to why,Her eyes and her face are so grey. Her family, they know, but they don’t understand,Why she wants to be this way.They simply don’t get it, it isn’t a choice,But the voices, she must obey. They tell her she’s worthless and not worthy of food,And they fill her with guilt and shame.They taunt her and strip her of her rights to survive,And make her feel like she’s the one to blame. People always stop and stare and point,And yell “Jesus, get her some food!”But these comments don’t help, they make it all worse,She’s already suffering with her mood. But what she doesn’t know yet, is there is help out there,From people who are dedicated and kind.They can help you recover and get back on your feet, And help with your frame of mind. The future can be great for those struggling as well,Have courage, be brave, be strong.Speak up and ask for the help that you need,This disease doesn’t have to be life-long.
RENOUNCE MY PRAYER: A Poem On Eating Disorders and Recovery
Renounce My Prayer: A Poem on Eating Disorder Recovery I walked steadily in, my breaths shallow,Into the midst of a glowing shadow… My pumps tapped lightly on marble floors, The wind slammed shut the carved wooden doors,And towering above, stood my temple of faith; I approached determined, with a choice to make… Letting go of my trust and my sick twisted pridein deities who decreed I starve till I dieTugging the delicate strings of faithwrapped round tight to lessen my waist,Till it dwindled into thin air, I renounce my prayer That day,The thread snapped,Thunder clapped,My heart cracked;I was flung from the top,And I fell;The fabric of my characterUnraveling…As I kept travelingThrough an infinite space of black…The gold-capped domes melted;New emotions replaced the faith I lacked…No, lost.No chants to mould my depression into restriction and obsession…Eroded.For what constitutes my persona,save for anorexia? I caused a revolt when I tried to retire, And I watched my truth burnt by the pyre This descent felt worse than slowly dying …So I kept trying To clutch the remnants of my religion;Throw myself at the doors, revoke my decision,But I feared those hymns eternally;And my tears fell along with me,Suspended like diamonds, sharp-cut like pain…Old bruises resurfaced and bled and stained…My submerged self couldn’t hear loved ones shout,there was light at the end; Was it my escape out? I closed my eyes, flung my arms and awaitedThe endless reckoning anticipatedBut I found my feet stumbling on pavement;And arms, not strings, held my waist,But were gentle unlike that old harsh restraint…I looked up, saw my lover as he pulled me close~Kissed me with an energy that penetrates the soulIt was a surprise, when he hushed old lies;and spoke softly with his words and his eyes‘Unforgiving sermons are hard to forget;You swayed to the storm of rue and regret,But from the spilt scarlet, seeds were sown;would blossom into fragrant flowers of hope~And soon, you’d have meadows of scents and hues~Values and strengths that now define you… But growth takes time as does healing, the future looks dark and you feel like screaming…You spent too long in hurt, to know your worthTo measure the intrinsicity of your meaningSo for now, trust in us and our love and me~ And we’ll get you through this recovery…’
Protest (Or, How To Survive Anorexia)
Protest (Or, How To Survive Anorexia) When the dietitian calls you non-compliant you’ll want to protest. Silently, of course, because Anorexia has taught you to sit down and shut up; don’t disrupt, don’t draw attention, don’t ask for what you need. You need nothing. You deserve nothing. You are nothing. Protest (Or, How To Survive Anorexia) When the doctor looks you over From head to toe and says, “You don’t look like you have an eating disorder,” you’ll want to protest. You’ll want to steam at the top of your boiling kettle lungs, but you won’t, because maybe she’s right… maybe you’re not really sick. Maybe you really are fine. See, even the doctor thinks so. And when she rolls her eyes at your request for labs, Anorexia will say, “See what a burden you are?” And you’ll be too tired to protest. Your brain will hold onto that – use that against you. “See what a burden you are?” “See what a burden you are?” “See what a burden you are?” Protest (Or, How To Survive Anorexia) Your therapist will say, “No wonder you’re exhausted. No wonder this is hard. No wonder…” And you will breathe again. You will feel seen – even if the light only peeks around the darkest corner of the deepest, emptiest cavern of your soul, you will feel seen, and you’ll know: Compassion can still find you here. Anorexia will feel scared. She’ll show her teeth and dig in her claws and it will hurt – it hurts to be ripped to shreds from the inside. But inside you’ll know: Compassion can still find her here. When you’ve seen your new dietitian 3 times and the word “compliance” has not once left her lips, you’ll feel a sense of relief you didn’t know you needed. Anorexia will brace herself for what’s coming – what always comes. She’ll be ready to protest, to dig in her claws and hold on with every ounce of strength she’s gathered over the last 20 years. Protest (Or, How To Survive Anorexia) She’s strong… But you are stronger. And compassion will still find you here. Compassion can always find you here.
There Is Always Hope- A Poem for the Courageous Warriors
There Is Always Hope: For years I was in darkness; A shell of myself, Cold and distant, Numb to everything but despair. Pain buried deep inside. Knowing I was loved, yet believing I was unlovable. Stuck in a cycle, Clinging to ‘safety’. Walls built so high no one could reach me. Defensive. Unfeeling. Deceiving. Hopeless. “You will never heal from this” But now, I see the sun rise and feel it’s warmth. Blossoming into myself – Perfectly imperfect. Experiencing the rollercoaster that is life, Showing up in vulnerability. Acknowledging pain, And beginning to heal. Accepting myself for who I am. Allowing myself to love and be loved. There is nothing safe in vulnerability, Yet in knocking down those walls I freed myself, Letting in the world, And the endless possibilities of life. Broken. Recovering. Feeling. Living. Healing. I am getting there. There is always hope.
Getting an Eating Disorder Recovery Tattoo Has Been a Total Game Changer
I just I got a tattoo for my birthday. It is an eating disorder recovery tattoo. My tattoo is a butterfly with the NEDA’s (National Eating Disorder Association) symbol for recovery weaved inside. The world “allow” is underneath. My tattoo is a symbol of metamorphosis and represents my recovery and freedom from anorexia and bulimia. And although this tattoo shocked some of my friends and family, I had been planning it for months. Nine to be exact. I’m not an impulsive person. Rather, I tend to over-analyze. For most of my life, I’ve made my choices based on what other people would think. For example, I knew my mother would disapprove of a tattoo. And even at 44 years old I was worried about her opinion. So what even made me get this tattoo? Let me explain… Why get an eating disorder recovery tattoo? Getting a tattoo has served me in several ways. First, it’s a constant visual reminder to remain committed to my recovery. Unlike a recovering alcoholic who abstains from all alcohol, a person recovering from an eating disorder must eat food and face her demon 3-5 times a day. Every. Single. Day. Now when my eating disorder is triggered or when I’m struggling with a meal, I can simply glance down at my own arm and see the beautiful reminder of what recovery means to me. The permanence of the tattoo signifies that I’m finally fully and completely committed to remaining in recovery. The tattoo is also a way for me to share my story more openly with those who ask. No longer ashamed of my past and my journey, I am open to sharing the meaning of my tattoo. I realize I am not defined by my disorder. But it’s helped shape me into the person I am today. Lastly, the tattoo is a way for me to add something I find aesthetically beautiful to my body. I have spent almost my entire life scrutinizing and hating my body. The issue of body image and body acceptance is the final hurdle and one of the hardest challenges I hope to overcome. The butterfly tattoo on my forearm represents the journey of my recovery and freedom from my eating disorder. Metamorphosis While in treatment, my middle son loved with The Hungry Caterpillar book. As I repeatedly read it to him, I identified with this little caterpillar who had to eat and eat and eat before entering his chrysalis. The caterpillar literally outgrows and sheds its old skin. Much like someone in recovery must push themselves to shed old thought processes, behaviors, beliefs, and coping skills. I felt like the caterpillar who literally entered a chrysalis and changed shape and form as my body grew and changed. When he emerges, the butterfly is free to fly in this world. Like the butterfly, recovery from an eating disorder is all about freedom too. The world “allow” is in my tattoo because it has been my mantra over the past two years. For the first time in my life, I have allowed myself to eat what I want when I am hungry and to listen to my body. I’m finally allowing my body to become whatever shape and size it was naturally meant to be. Recovery also includes allowing myself to have and express feelings. Allowing myself to ask for and accept help, allowing life to be messy and imperfect. It’s also about allowing myself to live life authentically, despite what other people may think about me. It is about allowing myself to have needs, to meet those needs, and to prioritize taking care of myself along with the care of the rest of my family. Recovery is about letting go of all of the things we think we can control (such as weight, body size, and so much more) while allowing life to flow according to it’s plan. “Allow” “Allow” is written in the typewriter font as another reminder. As a child, I always loved expressing my creative ideas. But somewhere along the way, I learned to bury my dream of becoming a writer. Recovery has reconnected me to my true self, my values, and my passions. For over a year now, I have been contributing to Recovery Warrior’s online magazine with the hope of giving back to the resource that helped me gain my life back. It has been astounding, overwhelming, and simply amazing to connect with other warriors throughout the world. With the exception of a few close friends, until now I haven’t told people in my everyday life about my articles on Recovery Warriors. I intend to change that by sharing this article with my own friends and family for the first time. The stigma surrounding mental illness often keeps those struggling silent about their battles. When I initially resisted returning to treatment, my therapist encouraged me to seek help. She used cancer as a metaphor. As she compared the two diseases, I realized if I was fighting a medical disease vs a mental illness, my path would have been very different. Perhaps family and friends would have stepped in to help, creating care calendars and offering support. But my shame kept me from being open. But I’m no longer ashamed. And I hope to help awareness and create change so that perhaps in the future, other women and men will seek support and treatment when fighting to claim their lives back. My eating disorder tattoo is a reminder My tattoo is a reminder that every single meal, every single day, I’m choosing to live life in recovery. And I’m choosing to listen to and trust my body despite the false claims diet culture bombards me with. I’m choosing to value love, connection, and living authentically. I want my sons to grow up in a home where their mother loves and accepts herself so that they will hopefully do the same. I’m letting go of the lie that “thin equals happy” and instead I am focused
A Poem: Show The Tears
Show The Tears The girl with the smile on her face.That smile is hiding a lot;A lot of pain.A lot of tears.A lot of fears.Her skinny body is telling you how miserable she feels. She can look so fragile But she has to be strong.Strong because she is smiling.Strong because she is still here,Even though she wants to disappear. This girl is broken And needs to heal.Needs to ask for help.Needs to be herself;Get to know herself;Create herself. There is a story behind that smile A story with scars, starvation, tears and fears.Most of the time that smile is fake.She says that she’s fine;But she is not. This girl wants to be saved This girl wants to save herself.This girl is scaredBut she wants to heal. How can someone help her when she can’t help herself? How can she trust people if she doesn’t trust herself?How can you know someone if you don’t know yourself?How can you love someone when you don’t love yourself? The truth is that she can help herself She is just too scared.She could use a little bit of hope;Hope for a better future But there is some hope deep inside her Buried with sadnessBut it’s still thereBecause she is still here. That hope will help her SomedaySomehow Give her the support she needs Give her a hug.Let her cry. And you: Accept the help.Accept the hugs.Accept the change. Everything will be alright But only if you decide to fight.Fight your fears. Show the tears