A Day in the Life

*Warning: If you are currently struggling with an eating disorder, content may be triggering. 

Alarm goes off: a moment of beautiful, peaceful, unawareness. Then it hits. You stand up and pray you make it to the bathroom before you completely black out. You use the bathroom and try not to notice how dark your urine is. And then its time to get undressed in front of the mirror and pinch every inch of skin obsessively. Now the moment you've been waiting for since yesterday morning. You step on the scale. Not one scale, not two scales, but three scales, to triple check your weight. This number will make or break your day. You hold your breath and hope on, furiously scribbling the number in your notebook of weights that dates 5 years back. You step off and head to the closet, looking for your baggiest clothes that will hide your body. No, these make me look lumpy, you think. So you change, 8 times. Then you head to the kitchen and opening the fridge, staring longingly at the sparse amount of food, knowing that you have to wait until after a certain time to eat because your head has made so many rules. So you pour a black coffee and add a splash of cream. "This will make my dietitian proud!" You think to yourself. And then as you are putting the creamer away, the nutrition facts stare you in the face. It's not that you don't already know the calorie content of the entire grocery store, but the number seems more daunting than usual today. So you pour the coffee down the sink and reach for a sugar free energy drink. You go out and run errands, which includes picking up more diet pills and another pair of fuzzy socks because you can't seem to stay warm anymore. Your phone is buzzing. Friends asking to go out to lunch. Your head starts swimming. You hadn't planned on eating lunch, but you can't keep blowing people off. You sit in your car and you cry because you are hungry and tired and you miss your friends, but your head will not allow you to break the rules. So you go home and sit on your couch until the magic hour when you are allowed to eat. You strategically pick out the lowest calorie item and take 20 minutes to plate it and touch it and smell it and look at it. You take a picture of it to send to your dietitian. You log it in your MyFitnessPal account. You do everything but actually eat it. An hour of sitting at the table staring at a rice cake passes. You take a bite and walk away. Your mind and your body are exhausted at this point, so you throw on 2 pairs of pants and 2 sweatshirts and crawl into bed, hoping to fall asleep before your mind starts racing. An hour later you wake up with horrible cramping in your stomach. Hunger. "I know how to fix this!" you say, as you lace up your running shoes and head into the 99 degree summer heat. "2 miles? That's not enough? 3 miles? That's an odd number. 4?  Okay!" But you do not have the energy to run, so you power walk for 4 miles until the thoughts and feelings all disappear. You come home and you shower.  Only showers are no. Longer enjoyable because any time that you have to acknowledge that you have a body is painful. So you jump in and out, wrap up, and call it a day. You climb in to bed and weep, knowing that there is no end in sight. This is who you are now. And this is who you will always be. 

This was a day in the life. This was my story for years and years. And I am not "recovered" by any means, but I also know that this? This is not who I am. Eating disorders are a living hell that I would not wish on my worst enemy. They suck the life from every part of you and leave you feeling like a shell of the person you once were. But guess what? That person is still in there? And they just need a speck of hope, someone to listen to their story, someone to say "I'm sorry" or "Me too".  I am learning that healing can look like a lot of different things. Sometimes all you can do is make it through the day, and that's okay.  All I know is, "no giving up allowed." 

Hello, 30!

Here I am, standing on the edge of a decade I wasn't even sure I was going to make it to at times. These past 30 years have been filled with ups and downs, highs and lows, laughter and tears. Perhaps more magnified in this past year. 

I've learned a lot in my 20's. I've learned that some friends come into our lives for a season, to bring us laughter and joy and lessons. And just because it's only a season does not make it any less valuable. I've learned that feelings cannot hurt you, but the things you do to avoid feeling? That can hurt. I've learned that just because you have needs, that does not make you needy. I've learned that it was never about the weight. I've learned that a good book and puppy cuddles are just as good, if not better, than a night out. With that, I've learned that owning a dog is a lot of work and I wouldn't trade my sweetest girl for a million dollars. 

I've also made some mistakes. I've eaten too little, stayed up too late, overslept, been selfish in relationships, and put myself aside for the sake of other people. 

I've met some of the most beautiful, strong souls, and I've seen the ugly and bad and dark side of things. I've kept in touch with friends from elementary school and I've moved cities and started a new life.

In my 20's, I graduated undergrad, moved cities, got my CNA, got a job, graduated nursing school,  passed the NCLEX, got my dream nursing job, got a dog, and bought a house. It's easy to forget how much you've accomplished or where you've come from when life comes so fast sometimes. 

In my 30's, I want a family. Saying that out loud and putting that out there feels very vulnerable and scary, because what if it doesn't happen.  But I can't change what my heart wants. So I want a family. And a house with a yard. And to pay off my car. And a second dog. And to travel. And to be okay with taking up space. And to feel joy more days than sorrow. And to laugh and feel sunshine and soak in the first days of fall and decorate the house for Christmas and visit friends in Arizona and Texas and Alaska. I want to eat more ice cream.

I want to be comfortable in my own skin. I want to make decisions for myself. I want to make my happiness a priority. I want to want recovery for myself instead of for everyone else. 

In my 30's, I want to leave behind self doubt. I want to leave behind hopelessness and fear of the unknown. I want to leave the numbers behind. I want to leave behind the idea that I am not good enough. I want to leave behind the feeling of being too much and not enough all at the same time.  I want to leave behind the feelings of unworthiness. 

In my 20's a seed was planted.  And in my late 20's that seed was buried in dirt. In my 30's, I want to bloom. 

Sympathy vs. Empathy

Sympathy versus empathy.  Now, I'm no Brene Brown, so if you want to learn about this topic for real, I HIGHLY recommend going to YouTube and typing in Brene Brown.  She's got some great TED Talks and also a cute little animated video (here ya go: https://youtu.be/1Evwgu369Jw)

But anyways. Sympathy versus empathy. They both serve great purpose and I think they are both necessary to truly connect with another person.  Some people tend to be naturally more empathetic than others, and some people are really good at being sympathetic and showing up in those times of need. To me, the best way to describe it is this:

Me:  I'm having a hard day and I'm really emotional and I feel like I just can't get off the bathroom floor. It's too hard.

Sympathetic: I'm sorry you're sitting on the bathroom floor. 

Empathetic: I'm sorry you're sitting on the bathroom floor. Can I come sit with you?

Sometimes we need the sympathy. When something goes wrong you don't necessarily want the cashier at the grocery store or your kinda weird coworker offering to come sit on your floor (although I have great coworkers who have become friends, and I'm sure there are plenty of empathetic cashiers). 

But empathy? The willingness to crawl through the muck with you? The ability to say 'I've been where you've been in some way, shape, or form, and I am here with you now."  That is everything. 
A few key points about empathy. 
1.  Empathy fuels connections. 
2.  Empathy is feeling WITH people. 
3. Empathy is a vulnerable choice to  connect with someone on a deep emotional level. 
4. Empathy never starts with "at least". 

Sometimes empathy is uncomfortable. You have to go back and remember a time when you were on the bathroom floor or when you felt...(insert emotion here),  and that is uncomfy for sure. But as the all knowing, ever wise Brene Brown said, "rarely can a response make something better.  What makes something better is connection." 

*sympathy vs. empathy pictures I painted whilst sitting on the bathroom floor*

Life's Tunnels.

I'm currently sitting in an airport,  after a weekend of coming the closest I've come to following a meal plan in a long time. I will not cry in an airport. 

This weekend I had a quick trip to visit my best friend and her 2 girls. It was a great weekend and I never feel more like my true self than when I am with old friends and sweet children. 

Big cities are fun and there's lots of sights and things to do. There's also a lot of tunnels. I swear my Uber driver took every tunnel in the surrounding area. I always think to myself,  "Oh a tunnel! This will be fun!" (Because I am 5 years old). You get in the tunnel and it's dark and kind of feels like another world.  It's fine for the first minute. Then I panic.  I'm closed in, I'm stuck, there's no light, and I can't get out. I'm as far in as I am out and that terrifies me. Here's the thing, I could turn around- go back. But then I'd have to start all over again. Getting where I'm going would take twice as long and I'd eventually have to go through the tunnel. I could also freeze. (That's my personal favorite). I could just stop in my tracks,  not moving forward, not moving backward. Just frozen in the middle.  This is problematic because, while you aren't going backwards, you're definitely not moving forward, and you are stuck in the in-between, which can feel dark and scary and confusing. Really, the best way to get through the scary tunnel situation? Through. Through the dark and stuck and scary. Just close your eyes, breathe, and keep going. "The only was out is through." Cliche? Yes. Terrifying? Yes. True? Also yes. 

Easy? No.  

This reminds me so much of where I am in recovery right now. To be honest, a lot of times I find myself running back to where I came from, doing everything I can to avoid the tunnel. The discomfort.  The feelings.  Sometimes I get brave and push through,  often getting frozen and stuck in the middle. I've been through the tunnel.  I can think of a time I was through the tunnel, on the other side. There was so much more light. And there was still some dark.  I got scared and went backwards through the tunnel.  I think every time you successfully make it through the tunnel,  the tunnel becomes a little shorter, a little less scary. The tunnel is scary, but familiar, so I find myself trying to rest in the tunnel. Just a little bit longer, then I'll choose. Then I'll move. And then eventually life comes along. Move or be moved, you cannot stay in the tunnel. And that's a lesson I'm working on now. 

#MyRecoveryLetter

#MyRecoveryLetter is supposed to be a letter to myself, or my ED, or a support person who has helped me through the process. One thing I wish I had as someone who is very new to the recovery process is a letter from someone else navigating the ups and downs of recovery. So this is for them. And for me.
Dear brave, scared, beautiful you,
The you that has just begun the recovery journey as is still nervous to even consider the word “recovery”. Welcome to this rollercoaster of a journey.
First of all, what is recovery? To me recovery is not perfectly following a meal plan or showing up to every appointment with a smile and an Ensure. Recovery is not waking up and loving your body and not thinking twice before getting dressed. Recovery is honestly not even about the food at all. Sure, those are good goals and things to work towards, but let’s start small. To me recovery is about showing up.  Showing up to appointments when you are tired and don’t want to feel or think or talk or listen. Showing up to the table, even if it’s to cry through a dinner or snack. Showing up for your life, because your eating disorder has taken so much life away from you, you might not even recognize what life you have left. Showing up for yourself. Because there are going to be many people along the way to cheer you on and push you in the direction of recovery. And ultimately you have to recover for you. Not your mom or your sister or your boyfriend or your therapist.  You have to show up, hands open, willing for YOU. And if that isn’t one of the hardest parts, then I don’t know what is.
What does recovery look like? Feeling, healing, and “meal”ing. Recovery is not a straight line (which. Is the biggest bummer for those of us who like when things are black and white). There are days when you feel on top of the world and days when you feel like you’re in an endless pit of darkness. And sometimes these aren’t even days, but moments. I’ve heard that eventually it evens out and the emotions become a little less extreme. I’ll keep you updated.
What if I mess up? What if it’s not perfect? What if I disappoint everyone? Is it still okay to miss my ED?
Great questions!  And when I work through the answers,  I will let you know.
All I know for right now is that wherever you are is okay. My last (and most favorite) therapist helped me to realize that we all grow at our own pace. It’s not a race, it’s not a contest. It’s your life.  And as long as you are moving, you are learning and growing.
So my best recovery advice?  Let’s all be a little more like snails. Growing and moving at our own pace, going inside our shells when we get scared, but always coming back out and moving forward.  Snails see the beauty in every inch and always come home to themselves.  Those are my recovery goals,  simple as that.

Couldn’t end my recovery letter without thanking Mara who hasn’t given up on me in 6 years. Karen who gave endless hugs. Liz and Erin who helped me to save my own life. Julianna who made sure I had a place to go and refused to give up on me.  Mary Slate who always listened, even when I was being irrational. And Rachel. Who taught me so many things.  But mainly that I am a person with a life that is worth saving and worth living. Who taught me the skills and stood beside me and cheered me on while I took steps to save my own damn life.

Late night reflections

Things I Miss:

-bananagrams. Anywhere.  At any given time.

-puzzles. Minus the 2000 piece Christmas puzzle that turned into recovery

-changing the white board every night

-Art Ellen rolling her eyes at me. Always. 

-decorating for Christmas with roommate #2

-staying up late laughing so loud with roommate #1

-random outbursts of Pretty Woman

-nightly forbidden hugs

-Furqan quoting Jerry McGuire to me during every single session

-John Mayer in the bathroom every morning

-Emily yelling SHARPS when someone dropped a pen

-Decorating Rigsbee for Christmas

-Doom and Henry and 4am and Hobbs

-helping Anna since it was always her first day

-the dog park across the street

-Home Alone 2. Yes.  I even miss that. 

-the song from the end credits of Rio

-the tiny spoon

-ramekins 

-skkkkkrrtt

-RO-DBT, MedEd with Joe

-Fun fects on Foster

-talking about space noodles more than any group of people ever should

-Nutella puppy chow

-patio time

-literally anything with Rachel, even when she made me cry, aka ALWAYS

-spa night

-ice packs at the ready

-Planet Fitness commercials on New Years and the reactions that followed

-scheduled nap time, specifically on Rigsbee

-the rare Stella appearance

-Maggie and Lindsay and Darby and Jaeda and Camila and all of the great TA's.

-the overusage of the word AND.

-Mandie's hippie outfits, Jillians scarves, Michelle's animal prints, Brianna's Lilly.

-JP and flannel Friday's

-being able to freely cry. Anywhere. At any time.

-being around the most encouraging group of people I have ever met

Things I Don't Miss:

-meal coaching

-eggs

-the feeling of impending doom when your whole team is in one room

-experiential dietetics

-table games

-increases

-increases from dietitians who aren't even your dietician

-dessert snack, aka banana pudding

-someone else flushing my toilet

-COS-DBT

-Veritas shake

-Phosphorus powder

-0400 vitals, although I do miss Donna's yellwhisper 

-Community meetings to discuss video games

-the great unit sweep of 2k19 where all of our boots were taken

-cold showers. In stalls. With other people around.

-hairy shower drains

-that damn NG tube and the sound of the pump

-the phrase "mindful" and "validate" 

-weekends without passes

-excessive online shopping

-Boost

-moving rooms 5 times

-the one salt packet rule

-the one cup of coffee rule

-being told to sit down

-having the emotional stability of a 2 year old

-being anxious all the time

Pruning

This might not make sense to anyone else, but bare with me. When I was a kid my dad planted a wisteria vine on the trellis in our backyard. It was beautiful and super green and grew these beautiful purple blossoms every year. It provided beauty and some shade. It had a purpose. Then, after a few years, the wisteria vines kept growing. It was still beautiful. Slightly overgrown, very green, but still pretty. Then over time, as we were sitting on the back deck, we noticed little sprouts coming through  the wood  floor. Then on the other side of the house, across the deck. Sprouts. Wisteria sprouts coming  through the wood and growing and breaking things. Eventually the vines of the wisteria grew through the metal chains of the porch swing, making it completely lose function, reliability, and strength. Yes, it was still beautiful, but it was out of control. Recently my dad tore down the wisteria. I remember feeling sad because it looked bare, and I knew I’d miss the pretty purple blooms. But for the sake of the porch and the house, it needed to go. It needed a fresh start.
That’s kind of  how I feel about my eating disorder. It felt beautiful at first.  It had a purpose and a function and I could still see that. The beauty and function outweighed the negatives. And then it didn’t. Then it grew out of control. And while it  may have appeared one way on the outside, it was tearing  apart everything inside of me. So I’ve spent the last few years, and in particular the last 7 months, tearing down those vines. Pruning. Starting over. And yes, there are days when I miss the  “beauty” and “function”, but I know in the long run it would have never worked. So while new beginnings are scary and sad and not always pretty,  sometimes they are the most  necessary.