Wednesday, June 15, 2016

Melody Goes to the Gym

I started working out at the gym when I was in high school.  I pretty instantly fell in love with the way it made me feel:

peaceful
joyful
sore
strong
exhausted
energized
accomplished

Throughout high school and college is was something of an occasional habit.  I would be consistent for a few weeks or months, and then fall off for the same amount of time.  But, it was clear that it brought me joy.

After college, and a year living as a very poor actor in Memphis, TN, I toured with a children's theatre company.  This was one of the best experiences of my life!  Travelling and doing shows was so fulfilling and interesting.  I loved it.  The hardest part, though, was no gym.

I have never been great about working out outside-- or outside of a gym, even.  I enjoy taking walks, but never find them enough to satisfy my urge for endorphin.  I didn't get to work out much on the road-- aside from our shows, which to be honest, were workouts in themselves.

After touring for the fall and spring, then teaching at children's theatre summer camp, I moved to Chicago in August of 2008.  I was BUH-ROKE when I moved here, and finding a gym to join was not a priority at the time.  I took occasional walk/jogs in Lincoln Park, which were wonderful.  Once, the weather turned cold, however, I found myself stuck indoors and facing my first bout of mild seasonal depression.

In January 2009, I decided that getting a gym membership had to be a financial priority for me.  I joined the YMCA-- one of the cheapest in town, and made it my most important bill (after rent and electric).  I immediately made consistent use of this resource.  Other than work, it became my most important thing.  It gave me a place to dream, relax, express myself, and something to look forward to several time a week.

I primarily worked in a call center at the time-- and would often show up to work sweaty and gross
a. because I could
b. because I didn't want to shower mid-day

It felt great.  I didn't really lose any weight for a while, but I felt SO much better about myself.

A few years ago, I discovered weight-lifting.  And this brought me to a really great place in my recovery.  Instead of just balancing the number of calories I was eating with the amount I was burning, my diet and exercise routine became focused on gaining.  Gaining muscle.  Gaining strength.  Feeding myself to get strong-- not restricting myself to get thin.  This concept was mind-blowing and life-changing.

It became my new goal to take up space.  The opposite of what my disorder wanted to do-- shrink shrink shrink myself.  I'd been doing well with my post-bulimic life, but this new way of eating and exercising took me to great new places.

Working out at a gym is something that has consistently brought SO MUCH GOOD into my life.  I love to sweat and push myself.  I love seeing the numbers on the machines.  They are constant affirmations that I am working.  That I am improving.  That I deserve...

For as long as I am able, I will have a gym membership.  It's something that I'm simply not happy without.

For my recovery, working out was my replacement for purging, in that-- it helped me feel worthy.  I still struggle with feelings of worthlessness, but being able to exercise -- even just a but-- is a reminder to myself that I am worthy of love and life just because.  It is my favorite self-care.

Sometimes, however, you sprain your ankle-- or you're sick-- or depressed-- and you are unable to exercise in the way that gets you to your "deserving" place.  So, what then?

Step 3:  Still Working on this one...

I won't be writing about step 3 yet, because yes, I'm still working on this.

As I wrote about a couple entries ago, I get in my own way.  I keep myself from feeling fulfilled if I haven't done enough.  Why do I feel this need for perfection?

TBE (To Be Explored...)

Melody



Sunday, June 5, 2016

Real Recovery

One of the traits of bulimic-me was obsession-- over weight, exercise, food, perfection, and...well...eating disorders in general.  Learning about them and people's experience fed my disorder and tended to drive me more and more towards my other self.  Her.

I've put a label on that mindset-- the bulimic mindset-- for myself.  For me, giving it a label, naming it, gives me some power over it.  I can identify when she's creeping in and tell her to leave.

During my darkest days with Her, I would occasionally pro-ana/mia websites, blogs, etc.  If you don't know what those are, I'll refer you to wikepedia's explanation:

"Pro-ana refers to the promotion of behaviors related to the eating disorder anorexia nervose.  It is often referred to simply as ana and is sometimes personified by anorexics as a girl named "Ana".  The lesser-used term pro-mia refers likewise to bulimia nervosa and is sometimes used interchangeable with pro-ana."

I found this place that I belonged. Where the thoughts I was thinking weren't weird, but normal.  Perfectionism was glorified.  I found phrases, mantras, et cetera that fanned my fire.

These places were and continue to be very, very destructive "resources" for the disordered.

Looking back, I wish that I'd had a realistic resource to learn about recovery.  In every story, article, book I read, recovery went like this, "_____ eventually entered in a rehab facility, and a month later, ____ was better. "

Maybe that is reality for some-- and good for you/them!  My experience is different than this.

After years of acknowledgement of my disorder and wanting to "get better," I finally started my recovery.  I didn't have the resources to go to a rehabilitation center-- or even get a therapist.  I decided that since no one else was going to take care of me-- I had to do it myself. (I mean, duh, right?  But, that's a difficult thing to come to when your norm is self-harm/destruction.)  So...

Step 1:  Stop purging.

I did it.  I just did it.  And, it sucked a lot-- because I hadn't eaten like a normal person in over 10 years.  I overate a lot-- and I had to re-learn when to stop eating.  I had to learn what feeling just full was like.  I gained some weight (about a size-- which for someone who is 5'3" isn't that much)-- and that was hard, but I was in a new city.  I didn't know anyone.  I didn't have to go out and see people and make friends-- I just let my focus be to stop purging.

It was hard to start listening to my body.  I'd been shutting it up for what felt like a long time.  When I overate, I immediately had the urge to purge.  But, I gave myself the space to feel way too full... and forgive myself.

Forgiveness was a HUGE part of this process.  I'm sorry for feeding you to much, body.  I'm sorry for the past several years and what I put you through.  I'm sorry that I've called you names and thought you were ugly.

Through this forgiveness, I became very thankful of and for my body.  For what it could do.  This new-found gratitude changed my path.  Emotionally, I found new space to take up for myself.  To stop putting myself down.  Gratitude also motivated me to continue with this great recovery process that I'd started for myself.

I also had new energy-- unlike anything I'd had in the past years, because I actually had consistent fuel coming into my body.  It's such a fundamental thing-- but I wonder what college would have been like if I'd actually had enough nutrition.

I can't say that I never purged again, it's normal and I've found it actually kind of helpful during rehabilitation to make mistakes, but I can say that it was never the same after that first year in Chicago.

I was really, really happy with the progress that I made, but I was still stuck in a body that didn't feel comfortable to me.  So, on to

Step 2:

Actually,  I'll talk about my "Step 2" in the next entry, "Melody Goes to the Gym."



until then,

Melody