I'm still here.
It's been a bit of a chaotic, exhausting summer.
And through it all, I've been trying my best to make good choices. And, that's going fine in general. But, I've found it frustrating to have changed my habits without seeing much progress in terms of weight loss.
Frustration with weight loss is hard to talk about. Partially, because I feel a strong sense of shame around needing to lose weight in the first place and also because it sounds like whining and because I feel like I am always failing at weight loss.
But, thems the breaks, and I feel like I need to share that.
I don't feel secure enough to share what I've tried, however. Please rest assured, it's all been healthy means, and I've actually not been too obsessive about it this go-round.
And that minimized obsession is real progress. *Celebration*
I can genuinely say that instead of obsessed, I've been feeling motivated. Motivation is something that's seldom crept in over the years-- because my brain tends to short wire and go to the extreme (obsessive behaviors) instead of sensible, reasonable motivation.
Obsession still creeps in. And, yes, I get really depressed when that happens. Because, although I've been recovering for quite a while and I now take good care of myself, I am still very good at beating myself up-- emotionally.
And you don't see that. The world doesn't see that. Sometimes, I don't even see it coming, myself.
But, those moments self-harassment get fewer and farther between.
That's my current state. I also want to include some of the good stuff I've been up to this summer:
-Eating vegetables like a freakin' champ.
-Cooking! I love cooking, and I've been putting together some great meals at home.
-I finished an 8 week ukulele class. It was a blast, and I'm still fumbly, but I feel good enough to say "I play the ukulele" instead of..."I have a ukulele."
- Purchased tickets for my first trip to New York
- I climbed a mountain! Ok, it wasn't a mountain, but I went on 3 "difficult" hiking trails when we went camping last week. That's HUGE for me because an ankle injury was keeping me from these more challenging routes on previous trips. My ankle is doing great, and so are my glutes.
I love me.
I get sad and down and wallowy, but I'm still good.
Still doing good.
Melody
Tuesday, August 23, 2016
Wednesday, July 20, 2016
Bad.
Stop calling food bad. Unless it's actually gone BAD (ie, rotten), just cut it out with that word, already.
Calling food bad or calling yourself bad for eating certain foods does absolutely nothing positive for your mind or body and robs you of the lovely sensation of enjoying what you're fucking eating.
Which you are absolutely allowed to do. Go ahead and enjoy the hell out of it.
If you feel guilt about eating a certain food because it is "bad," I suggest that you come up with some other word to call it. I find this is helpful in removing the shame in what I'm choosing, and finding the joy in it.
Please note that this in no way removes the responsibility of making good choices for your body. You're responsible for getting the right nutrition for yourself and taking good care of your body-machine. But, I think it's really harmful to label certain foods as "bad" just because they might not be for every day use.
I've found these terms useful in changing the way I perceive foods that I feel a great sense of shame around eating:
indulgent
empty calories
sometimes-food
high-calorie
I encourage you to come up with your own. But, whatever you call your food-- don't name it something that's going to make you feel bad about eating it.
Celebrate your food! Food is inherently good! It supplies energy to your cells to help you run and sing and read and whatever else you're spending your energy doing. Of course there are foods that aren't as good for us as others, but that doesn't mean we should harass ourselves into feeling shitty about eating them. Those indulgent foods can make us feel happy, special, celebratory, comfy, and so on.
Eat whatever you want-- as long as it makes you feel good inside and out. That's not my advice, just a rule that I've had to apply to my life.
But, whatever you do, stop beating yourself up about it-- and other people, too.
PSA: Let me also interject that no one around me is responsible for my level of sensitivity regarding food "labels". If someone wants to be gentle with the words or attitude they choose around me, great. But, ultimately, it's my job to protect myself around language that might harm me.
In all honesty and seriousness, this has been a technique that has radically changed the way I view nutrition. Knowing that something isn't "off limits" takes away so much of the guilt, but also some of the desire. I've come to enjoy both my more and less nutritious meals more. Perhaps it's something that might help other people.
That's all for now,
Melody
Calling food bad or calling yourself bad for eating certain foods does absolutely nothing positive for your mind or body and robs you of the lovely sensation of enjoying what you're fucking eating.
Which you are absolutely allowed to do. Go ahead and enjoy the hell out of it.
If you feel guilt about eating a certain food because it is "bad," I suggest that you come up with some other word to call it. I find this is helpful in removing the shame in what I'm choosing, and finding the joy in it.
Please note that this in no way removes the responsibility of making good choices for your body. You're responsible for getting the right nutrition for yourself and taking good care of your body-machine. But, I think it's really harmful to label certain foods as "bad" just because they might not be for every day use.
I've found these terms useful in changing the way I perceive foods that I feel a great sense of shame around eating:
indulgent
empty calories
sometimes-food
high-calorie
I encourage you to come up with your own. But, whatever you call your food-- don't name it something that's going to make you feel bad about eating it.
Celebrate your food! Food is inherently good! It supplies energy to your cells to help you run and sing and read and whatever else you're spending your energy doing. Of course there are foods that aren't as good for us as others, but that doesn't mean we should harass ourselves into feeling shitty about eating them. Those indulgent foods can make us feel happy, special, celebratory, comfy, and so on.
Eat whatever you want-- as long as it makes you feel good inside and out. That's not my advice, just a rule that I've had to apply to my life.
But, whatever you do, stop beating yourself up about it-- and other people, too.
PSA: Let me also interject that no one around me is responsible for my level of sensitivity regarding food "labels". If someone wants to be gentle with the words or attitude they choose around me, great. But, ultimately, it's my job to protect myself around language that might harm me.
In all honesty and seriousness, this has been a technique that has radically changed the way I view nutrition. Knowing that something isn't "off limits" takes away so much of the guilt, but also some of the desire. I've come to enjoy both my more and less nutritious meals more. Perhaps it's something that might help other people.
That's all for now,
Melody
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
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
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
Monday, May 30, 2016
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.
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.
Sunday, May 8, 2016
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...
Saturday, April 30, 2016
messy, obsessive, lovely.
I'm not sure where to start or how to start, just that I know there's an aching inside to share my recovery with those around me. Messy, obsessive, lovely, and hard as it may be.
I started therapy about a year and half ago. I consider that my eating disorder recovery started when I moved to Chicago, almost eight years ago. I worked incredibly hard, day by day, to re-teach myself how to eat, and hopefully live, as a normal, healthy person. I worked on the concrete fundamentals as best I could until I was able to enter counseling. I feel like I've taken a jackhammer to what was my already-crumbling foundation. An effort to rebuild.
My slate isn't clean, and it won't ever be. But, now I have enough clarity to put the remnants of the past in their proper place, holding them with me, as I build new structure for my future.
Mental illness is still such a puzzle. We have little issue speaking of our physical illnesses, sometimes in great detail, with our friends, strangers, family. Needing support for that test or procedure or check-up is completely acceptable and expected--at least among the majority of the population that I see. It's my hope that some day mental illness will hold the same importance in our conscience.
A note: this is coming from my experience. I cannot put words to the trials of others, nor will I try.
But, I'd like to be a part of the conversation. The field of psychology is still trying to figure out how to make people like me better. For me, this is an exploration of finding what helps, what soothes, what triggers and hurts. Bulimia is a disorder that is shrouded in shame, and I want to fight it as fearlessly and openly as I am able. I want to celebrate my achievements, past and future, and my recovery.
It wasn't my choice to be sick, but it was my decision to get better. And dammit, I deserve to give myself some real love for that.
A rule: this is not a place to feel sorry about myself.
So, this entry is my first toe into unexplored, public waters of my recovery. As I transition from my current therapist into trying things out on my own, I hope this will be tool for me to continue mindful progress toward health.
I started therapy about a year and half ago. I consider that my eating disorder recovery started when I moved to Chicago, almost eight years ago. I worked incredibly hard, day by day, to re-teach myself how to eat, and hopefully live, as a normal, healthy person. I worked on the concrete fundamentals as best I could until I was able to enter counseling. I feel like I've taken a jackhammer to what was my already-crumbling foundation. An effort to rebuild.
My slate isn't clean, and it won't ever be. But, now I have enough clarity to put the remnants of the past in their proper place, holding them with me, as I build new structure for my future.
Mental illness is still such a puzzle. We have little issue speaking of our physical illnesses, sometimes in great detail, with our friends, strangers, family. Needing support for that test or procedure or check-up is completely acceptable and expected--at least among the majority of the population that I see. It's my hope that some day mental illness will hold the same importance in our conscience.
A note: this is coming from my experience. I cannot put words to the trials of others, nor will I try.
But, I'd like to be a part of the conversation. The field of psychology is still trying to figure out how to make people like me better. For me, this is an exploration of finding what helps, what soothes, what triggers and hurts. Bulimia is a disorder that is shrouded in shame, and I want to fight it as fearlessly and openly as I am able. I want to celebrate my achievements, past and future, and my recovery.
It wasn't my choice to be sick, but it was my decision to get better. And dammit, I deserve to give myself some real love for that.
A rule: this is not a place to feel sorry about myself.
So, this entry is my first toe into unexplored, public waters of my recovery. As I transition from my current therapist into trying things out on my own, I hope this will be tool for me to continue mindful progress toward health.