Get Our of Your Own Way

Yesterday was my birthday.

Birthdays have served, for many years, as a deadline to meet any delinquent fitness goals for the year.  Really, just having lost some weight-- that is always the goal.  So far, measuring myself by my weight/size is an aspect of the illness that I have yet to let go of.  It seems to be one of the hardest aspects of illness to let go of.

So, just to take stock in the good stuff that my brain conveniently forgets to give me credit for accomplishing, here are some things I have done in the last year of my life:

Got a new job-- and learned it.
Created a blog-- however slowly-- it's started.
Took a gymnastics class.
Began a 401k.
Started to learn to play my ukulele. (I've already made it farther than I ever learned my guitar!)
Did a show (although last summer feels like forever, it still qualifies.)
Increased my running endurance.
Got back into weight-lifting and incorporating fitness as a regular part of my weekly routine.
Paid off about half of my credit card debt and an emergency room bill

I certainly made some progress this year.  I deserve to give myself a pat on the back--and use that momentum to propel me forward into another year of meeting more goals and being more pleased with myself.

But, in my weird brain-- none of that stuff matters, I am allowed to take no real pleasure in life, until I become thinner.  Now, this "rule" that my brain made up isn't always present-- but it pops in a hell of a lot.  And, frankly, it can make me really miserable.

It's like getting to the amusement park of my joy, but not being tall enough to ride the rides. (I am terrible at metaphors, but I really like to use them.)

So, how do I change this?  I keep pushing myself to set and meet attainable goals.  Hoping that the rush of each level-up will make me feel the most alive and the most happy.  All the while, I'm measuring myself in a thousand different ways-- how much I got done, how many people I connected with, how long I ran, calories I did (or didn't) eat.

But, what if I stopped measuring? What if I just ate those vegetables, ran those miles, learned that new song-- and didn't worry about taking stock in it?  What if I just did good for good's sake?

Perhaps this is a goal-- or a non-goal-- that I should challenge myself to this year.  It's honestly a little terrifying to think of.  And, I don't mean stop measuring things that matter-- like for baking or for meeting my rent.  But, going to do those workouts because they make me feel good.  Eating those vegetables because they give me an energy boost.  Walking those shelter dogs because they are so super cute and I love their wiggle-butts.

It's scary to set myself free in that way.  With my eating disorder, I lived by a set of strict rules-- and continue to set myself strict rules-- in healthier ways, of course.  So, throwing them out seems crazy. But, maybe I deserve to be easier on myself?

Maybe not qualifying the specific things that I will allow myself to take pride in-- will allow me a little more peace and space to grow.

So, Melody, you have the permission to feel happy-- no matter what you got done that day or how your butt looks in your jeans or if you used real or fake sugar in your coffee.  You are free to be yourself.

Be good to those around you and be good to yourself.  Do what makes you happy and try to bring that joy to others.

Here's to a year dedicated to bliss.

the safest space

I've been going around in circles in my mind this week trying to think of what to share with the page.  Let's be real.  If it were only a page, I could truly say whatever I want. 

But, other people's feelings are part of the mix.  This week, I reflected with my therapist about what people around me would think or feel ( or have thought or felt) when they learned of my illness.  Supportive, sad, happy that I'm getting help, and so on.

And then she brought up betrayal.  

Whoa, cut a girl to the core.  

But, I think that's a legitimate thing to feel when you find out that someone you know and love has been hiding a very serious secret.  Even one that they couldn't really prevent.  I think this is one aspect of bulimia that makes it very difficult to talk about.  We live secret lives in our illness.  We live in "safe" spaces that we "control."

But safe and control are bullshit when you're talking about an eating disorder.  Nothing could be farther from reality, no matter how in-control we may feel.  And, I think knowing that I was truly out of control is part of the catalyst that brought me to recovery.  

It was painful to realize that I could cause someone I love to feel betrayed.  And, I deeply regret that my illness had that effect on anyone. I wasn't hiding to intentionally hurt anyone.  I was sad and lonely and scared and ashamed and didn't have the courage or self-worth to seek that help that I needed-- or to help myself. 

I have tried, in my recovery, to be as transparent as I feel safe to be.  It is important that I can have the trust of my loved ones.  And of myself.  There are details that I will likely never share, things I prefer to keep private between myself, God, and maybe my therapist.  Sometimes the wounds that I inflicted on myself (not physical, mind you) are too harsh to re-live and simply better left laid-to-rest.

I am proud to be in recovery, and I yearn for my loved ones to be proud of me and my journey as well-- without feeling responsible for my illness, 

And accepting their role in my wellness.  I am deeply grateful for the continued support of my friends, family members, and loved ones.  This is one reason that I am choosing to share my journey.  It has been made apparent to me that living openly and honestly can be a very safe space. The wonderful people that surround me should get to know what a gift of life their love has been to me so far.  

With a grateful heart, until my next entry...