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.

209 days

I walk in the front door and tears immediately spill down my face. It's like a time capsule. For 7 months,  209 days, nothing here has changed. In fact, the only thing that dates the passing of time are the medical bills and mail piled up on the kitchen table. I wipe the tears and walk towards the kitchen. The color is different. Is this where the forks always went? I cringe as I think of all of the times spent opening the empty pantry with a hungry stomach, hoping to find something to fill me up without making me bigger. I shutter when I look at the fridge. Memories of diet sodas, energy drinks, alcohol, and low fat yogurt that would sustain me for days. Moving on.  My cute red couch. The couch I napped on multiple times a day while my dog jumped on me to go play. The couch that called to my depression and drew me in for hours at a time. Moving on.  I head towards the bedroom and hold my breath like a monster is going to jump out at me. I open the door. A perfectly made bed. Flowers and fresh sheets. I exhale. But only for a minute. The pink 5 pound weights sitting on my dresser call to me. I rush over and open the dresser drawer, knowing what I would find and hoping for a miracle. No such luck. A drawer full of laxatives, diet pills, and a blood pressure cuff, so that I could make sure I was still alive sometimes. Moving on. I open the closet. I know I shouldn't. I know I was told to wait. But I can't. I open the closet. Cat and Jack children's clothing hangs from the closet racks. All clothes that fit me 7 months ago. Each clothing item with its very own past memory. Not going there. Not tonight. At the end of my house tour,  I sit on the bathroom floor. 209 days gone. My eating disorder hell perfectly preserved within these 4 walls. 

But things have changed. I smile when I listen to my friends talk about their new house, or starting or a family, or the new drama at work. I smile because I am reminded that for the past 209 days, life has gone on. Part of that terrifies me. A life that has moved on without me. Friends and work and life that didn't pause for 209 days. But then I smile. I did not pause for 209 days. I have grown and stretched and cried and laughed and made new friends and set boundaries and had honest and deep and fun conversations. I have decorated hospital windows for Christmas and passed out Valentines to new friends. 

Home is here. And home is good and will be good. Change will happen and it will be scary. But not changing would be scarier. 

Home is here and I'm okay. 

Happy, Healthy, Peaceful, Safe

On August 8th of this past year, I packed up my stuff, left my job, and entered residential treatment for the 3rd time. Third time's a charm, that's what they say. 

2 more treatment centers, and 190-something days later, here I am. Still fighting every single day. Still showing up. 

When I first started the process this time, back in August, I met some friends who have changed my life. There are lots of people like that on this journey and I wish I had time to go in to detail about all of them. I remember my 2nd day at Carolina House, the first time I heard A's mantra. "May you be happy, may you be healthy, may you be peaceful, may you be safe." She said this with her eyes shut and with such conviction. Granted, at this time we were lowering a mouse named Mr. Whiskers into a small dirt hole, but that's beside the point. Those words stuck with me. And I heard them repeated over and over again during my time in treatment.  At first they were words for other people, for the frogs and spiders that had fallen victim to the house cat. But soon, I began to internalize them and wish them for myself. After all, isn't that what we all long for? To feel happy, healthy, peaceful, and safe. Isn't that honestly what this whole journey has been about for me?

Fast forward 7 months and I've found and am still seeking some of those things. I'm WAY happier than I was when this journey began. Physically, I am MUCH healthier than I was 7 months ago. I don't think I realized how truly sick I was at the time. As far as peace and safety, I am working on those. I'm working on feeling peaceful and safe in my own body.  I'm working on trusting others to help me create safe space and internal peace. All of these things are continuous works in progress. No one is ever done searching for happiness, health, peace, or safety. I'm learning that it's all part of the process. I'm also learning to be thankful for the people along the way who have helped guide me to this place.

I'm thankful for the girls who first muttered this mantra. I'm thankful for the sweet spots and the mouse funerals and joy in the very ordinary moments. 

So for this Eating Disorder Awareness week, I want to leave you with this: 

May you be happy. May you be healthy. May you be peaceful. May you be safe. And May you find your tribe who helps you with all of these things. 

I'm so thankful I did.

Walgreens.

I have a strange association with my local Walgreens. I didn’t realize it until today, but I do. As I drove in to the parking lot, my palms got sweaty, my heart began to race. What the heck, Brooke? It’s a Walgreens. It’s the Walgreens you’ve been to twice before to print out pictures before you left for Indiana...oh. Oh shit. You see, I’ve been to Indiana for treatment twice and both times a large packing priority of mine was physical pictures from home, since we can’t have phones or social media. I remember the past 2 years stopping at Walgreens to print out these physical memories to take with me. A tiny piece of home I clung to when my world felt like it was being tipped upside down. 

Today is different. Today I printed out pictures of me in my new home. I printed out 2 copies to send to the staff at Selah House to show them my progress. They have been there for my lows, I figured they might want to see a high for once. And while I still have bad moments and hard days, I’m currently feeling extra thankful that I’m mailing these pictures to Indiana instead of hand delivering them! 

One Year Later...

One year ago today I said goodbye to my family and friends and hopped on a plane to the middle of nowhere Indiana all by myself. I was scared but mainly I was tired. Too tired to grasp the concept of what was about to happen in my life. One year ago I stayed in a hotel room in the middle of Anderson, Indiana and cried myself to sleep, hoping the next day would bring relief. One year ago I was picked up by a complete stranger and driven to a house where I would spend the next 6 weeks fighting my eating disorder. I remember a lot about my time at Selah house. I remember the hot pink vitals gowns and the blind weights, cereal Wednesdays and four caffeine Fridays. I remember crying over a chicken sandwich and rejoicing over a completed plate. I remember 4th of July spent in the art room and my birthday spent in tears. I remember the tornado closet and the barn and the table games and the bathroom lines at 2:00am. And the night sweats. Ew I remember the night sweats. I remember laughing with my Selah Sisters and crying with the counselors. I learned a lot this past year. I've learned about myself and my friends and family, I've learned more about God's promises and my faith. Here's a short list of some of the things I have learned this past year. 

1. Recovery is NOT a straight line. It's more of a roller coaster of successes and setbacks. Find people to love you through every stage. 
2. People need people. I 100% could not have done this past year alone. 
3. Let love in. This might be the biggest thing I learned. I can give freely with no problems, but when it comes to receiving, I seem to have a very hard time. Because of this, I've often found myself struggling to accept that God could love me in my mess. And yet the amazing RC's at Selah showed me a small glimpse of Gods love. While I was at Selah I was tired and terrified and cranky and full and uncomfortable in so many ways. I cried and complained and moaned and cried and cried and cried more than any one person over the age of 2 should do. I essentially threw daily temper tantrums. And what was I met with? Hugs. Numerous hugs. And support and words of affirmation and notes and prayers and true, genuine love during a time when I felt so hard to love. I like to imagine that's just a small glimpse of how God sees us. There is nothing we can do or say that can separate us from the love of God. 
4. Be kind. You never know what battle people are facing. I was so lucky to hear so many girls amazing stories of courage and bravery and resilience. These girls started as strangers and ended as sisters and I feel so lucky to have shared a little bedroom and a dining room table and countless giggles and tears with these amazing ladies. 
5. Lastly, always give thanks. I could not have made it through those 6 weeks and this entire past year without the love and kindness and tough love of Lori, Chanda, Shari, Mallory, Sarah Madison, Hayley, Kat, Tia, Katie, Rachel, Marcy, Z, Kadee, Todd, Shelby, Jess, Kristen, Sara, Chris Z., Alicia, Mel, Ann, Julie, Brooke, and Dr. Foreman, and all the Selah staff (including the horses!). To my Selah sisters, Hill, Lu, Jac, Muriel, Christine, Leeda, Becca, Michelle, Karie, Tina, Jackie, and Katherine: thank you for being my sisters during such a difficult transition in my life. Thank you for the porch chats and the prayers and listening and loving and laughing and crying with me. To my parents, thanks for letting me go and for listening to me cry on our nightly phone calls. And to my friends and family who have continued to support me in my ups and downs this past year. I'm forever grateful for your constant love, even when it's tough, and support. 

I honestly can't believe it's been a year since I began this journey. Here's to many more years of this crazy recovery journey. 

Nurses Week 2017

Happy Nurses Week 2017 to all my fellow nurse friends! Being a nurse is the best and worst and hardest and most rewarding job possible. I go to work everyday in awe of the strength of both my coworkers and my patients. Now, I've only been a nurse for 3 years, & somehow it feels like I've been doing this my whole life. That being said, I think there comes a point in every nursing career where a switch is flipped and you change as a nurse and as a person. For me that moment came last summer, when I was on the other side of the nurse/patient relationship. 

A little under a year ago, I packed up and shipped off to Indiana for 6 weeks of treatment for an eating disorder that was slowly consuming my life. I was terrified to be so far from home and know no one. And yet as the big white van pulled up to the beautiful house, the first person to greet me wasn't a therapist or nutritionist or counselor, but a nurse. A nurse who held me as I shook and cried. A nurse that patiently waited for me to get vitals and a blind weight every morning. A nurse who took me to the bathroom and gave me my meds and answered my same silly questions everyday. It was the nurses who held my hand during panic attacks on the back porch. It was the nurses who assured me each morning that the scale was not my enemy. It was the nurses who kept an eye on my vitals and labs and kept me safe. It was also the nurses who cried with me and laughed with me and sat in the kitchen with me when meals felt too overwhelming. It was the nurses who were some of my biggest advocates. Every day for 6 weeks, a nurse was the first person I saw when I woke up in the morning and the last person I saw before bed at night. It was Erin who stayed awake the night of the tornado and it was Mel who played bananagrams with me on the porch. It was Michele who blended oils for relaxation and Julie who ate and prayed and did puzzles with me. And it was nurse Brooke who made my 6 weeks possible. It was Brooke who was there day in and day out. It was Brooke who was the perfect mixture of goofy and sassy and sweet and serious. Brooke ate meals with me and rejoiced in my successes and helped walk me through my failures. I specifically remember one day after I had a pass. I had made a mistake and was horribly embarrassed and ashamed. Brooke was the first person to talk to me. She did not yell or lecture or judge. She simply loved me through the process. Which is really all anyone can ask. 

So this nurses week, as a nurse and as a former patient, I really want to try to be more like nurse Brooke in my nursing practice. I want my kids to know I'm cheering them on no matter what. I want them to know I care, no matter what. I want them to know there's no failures or losses, only lessons and growth. I want to remember that as a nurse I have the potential to have a very large impact in someone's life at a time when they are most vulnerable. And I want my patients to know that although I can't always "fix" them, I can always love them through the process. 

So happy nurses week to all of the amazing nurses I'm blessed to work with and all of the incredible nurses who loved me through my process. 

Dear ED

In honor of #NEDAweek, here is something I found from an old journal entry that I wanted to share:

July 25, 2012
"Dear ED-
Hello, it's me-Brooke. I know you know me. We know each other very well. In fact, most of the time I can't tell us apart. We have such a strange relationship. I want to keep you around but I don't want you to control  my head. I'm scared to let you go because I don't know who I am without you. I thought we were friends, but I'm finding out that you lie to me. I've always relied heavily on my feelings and been easily swayed by my emotions, but that's where you live. You live in my feelings and emotions and twist them into lies. Do you know how hard that is for me? I don't know how to not trust my emotions which means I don't know how to not trust you. I want to want you gone, but I'm scared of life without you. Doesn't make much sense, does it? I'm sad of life with you, but scared of life without you. I guess that makes me stuck."

Thankfully, 5 years later, I can say that I am in a different place. I have experienced who I am without ED. I have experienced tastes and glimpses of true freedom. I've become unstuck. And while recovery isn't linear, as Shauna Niequist says, "We don't arrive. But we can become. And that's the most hopeful thing I can think of."

NEDA week 2k17

February 26^th-March 4^th, 2017. It’s officially #NEDAweek. I’ve had so many conflicting thoughts about posting about this, but the theme of this years NEDA week is “It’s Time to Talk About It”, so here I am. Did you know that at least 30 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder in the U.S.? Did you know that eating disorders are more common than green eyes? It’s definitely time to talk about it. But why are we so afraid to talk about it? It’s a topic that brings about a lot of shame and hard emotions. However, Brene Brown says that shame cannot survive being spoken. So yes, it’s time to talk about it. Because we all have a story and all of our stories are valuable. We all have things we are good at and things we struggle with and things that make our hearts smile and things that make us weep. And that’s the beauty of life. (Disclaimer: Recovery is one big Brene Brown quote). Anyways…Brene Brown also so wisely said, “the irony is that we attempt to disown our difficult stories to appear more whole or more acceptable. But our wholeness, even our wholeheartedness, actually depends on the integration of all of our experiences.” Isn’t this so scary and so true? Being vulnerable is so hard. We refrain from telling our stories for fear of critique and judgement. And yet isn’t that when we feel the closest and most connected to others? When they are open and raw and honest and emotional with their stories and experiences. We are all works in progress and we are all in this life together.

So this NEDA week, even if you don’t struggle with an eating disorder, there are still ways to be participate. Be open and honest with your story, ask for help when you need it, take time to relax and take care of yourself, eat a healthy breakfast, exercise because you love your body, get off the scale, smile at yourself, really listen to others as they share their life experiences, embrace your story and know that you are exactly who and where you are supposed to be, and love well, including yourself. 

The Thrill of Hope

“The thrill of hope; the weary world rejoices…”

A line from my favorite Christmas song. I listen to this song on repeat all year round and not until recently has it struck me how beautiful that line is. The THRILL of HOPE. It reminds me of when I was a kid on Christmas Eve. Never had I had such a hope, an excitement, a joy, a thrill…that the next day would bring magic and presents and laughter and joy. I would have such hope that the next day would be the best day, that sometimes I would have trouble sleeping at night.

When is the last time you felt that childlike hope? Now as I’m older, I still hope; I just hope for different things now. I hope for peace and for joy and for laughter and health. I hope for feelings and memories and experiences rather than things. And ultimately, like Psalm 33:20 says, “we wait in hope for the Lord”.  What would it look like if I carried that same thrill of hope I had as a child with me now? And why don’t we? Yes, life might have dealt us some hard cards and the things that were once magical, like Santa, no longer have the same magic. But there are so many things to still be hopeful for. So this Christmas, my hope is that you hope. And that you never give up the thrill of hope.

Merry Christmas, friends.

Little Reminders...

The Cost

A while ago I was given the following assignment:

            "Please write a letter to an adolescent girl who is struggling with body image concerns about the costs associated with pursuing the thin ideal..."
The assignment was daunting and overwhelming and I don't like writing off of  prompt. However, I was told to look at a picture of my younger self and think of what I wanted to say to her. Putting it into that perspective allowed the words to flow. The holidays can be a stressful time, and with the New Year and all of the resolutions that follow, I want to share the letter, for all of the young girls. And older women. And boys. And humans in general. 

Dear little me- That feeling in the pit of your stomach and on the back of your neck when you're called on in class or asked to participate? That is anxiety. And you will face anxiety provoking situations for the rest of your life. The key is to participate in life anyways. You can't stand on the sidelines and wait for the feeling to pass, because avoidance only gives power to the anxiety. So dress up for spirit week, participate in field day, speak up. I know you don't like people looking at you and I know that you're very aware of your body. Body awareness is not always a bad thing-as long as your remember that you are more than your body. Appreciate your body for as long as you can. Be aware that you have a body and that it's capable of many things. You may grow up hearing "oh you're so tiny, so cute, so little". And you might be. But you are so much more than that.
You are a culmination of many things. You are made up of your memories and experiences, what makes you laugh and what makes you cry. You are made up of your favorite foods and the songs you like to sing and your plans for the future. You are the light that shines in your eyes when you get excited about something. You are made up of your favorite subject in school and your intelligence that helps you to understand these things. You are a child of Christ and you are made up of so many wonderful things.
There are also so many things that you are not. You are not your pants size, or the number on a scale, or the amount of money in your bank account. You are more than the number of friends you have or the sports you play.
I know this may sound very easy right now, but it does get harder. Appreciate your family for all they do for you, and understand and realize that they are not perfect, and neither are you. So as life throws you challenges, face them head on. But please. Hold yourself to a standard of grace, not perfection. Because there is no such thing as perfect and the pursuit of the unattainable comes at a high price. When trying to become "perfect", you may lose yourself and lose control. I know you may feel like you can handle it and like you have it all under control, and you might, for a little while. But in the pursuit of trying to become someone you're not, you will lose friends and time and happiness and money. And eventually the thing you so desire to control will end up controlling you. 

Yeses and Nos.

Happy November, yall. Can you believe the year is almost over? (Thank God). This month I am learning to put the NO in November. Too often, we try to please everyone, help everyone, do everything, and it turns out to be at our own expense. I’m sure we all can think of a time we said yes to something we really didn’t want to. We all do it. And it’s okay. Sometimes we have to say yes to ourselves before we can say yes to others.

5 months ago today I said the biggest yes of my life and entered the doors of Selah House. In saying yes, I also had to say my biggest nos. I said no to my job. I said no to my friends. To my family. To my dog. To my responsibilities. To my phone and e-mail and texts and social media. I said no to friend’s weddings and people’s birthdays. I said no to summer vacation plans. And as hard as it was, in saying all of these no’s, for the first time in a long time, I was saying yes to myself. To life and courage and happiness and freedom. I was saying yes to myself so I could come home and say fuller and more whole hearted yeses to my friends and family.

What I didn’t realize is that I didn’t just have to say yes to myself on June 13^th. Saying yes to myself is something that has to happen again and again every single day. Outside of the Selah bubble, there is real life and there is responsibilities and jobs and people asking you a million different things. And if you want to be able to fully engage in life and make your yeses count, you have to first say yes to yourself. And sometimes saying yes to yourself means saying no to others. And at first it feels horribly selfish and wrong, especially if you’re a people pleaser like me. However, I have learned that in taking care of yourself, you are able to make your yeses and no’s mean more to others. You are able to more freely give and to say yes without obligation and no without guilt. So one of the biggest lessons I learned this summer is this: That love you keep trying to give everyone else? You actually have to practice it on yourself first. Because as they say, “you can’t pour from an empty cup.”

Present Over Perfect

To be present. To be fully in a moment. To be intentional with my time and my decisions. That has been a goal of mine these past few months. But I never thought about how perfectionism tied into the idea of being present until I started reading 'Present Over Perfect' by Shauna Niequist. The cover itself says, “Leaving behind frantic for a simpler, more soulful way of living.” Sign me up! At one part, the book states:

“Sink deeply into the world as it stands. Breathe in the smell of rain and the scuff of leaves as they scrape across driveways on windy nights. This is where life is, not in some imaginary, photo-shopped dreamland. Here. Now. You, just as you are. Me, just as I am. This world, just as it is. This is the good stuff. This is the best stuff there is. Perfect has nothing on truly, completely, wide-eyed, open-souled present.”

We get so caught up in the idea of perfect, we lose focus of who we are and what we are doing. In the quest to be perfect, we forget to be present. These past few months I’ve tried to worry less about how my hair looks or if I’m saying the right thing or when my next appointment is and more on being fully where I am in the moment. It changes everything. It’s like wearing glasses for the first time. You become more aware, of yourself, of others, of your surroundings and thoughts and behaviors and feelings. It looks a lot like random smiles walking to the mailbox or tears in the middle of a workout class. It looks like feeling deeply and trusting emotions and active listening, to myself and to others. It’s midnight journaling and deep breathing and vulnerable phone calls to friends. It’s a whole new world when you choose to focus on the present, in all of its beauty and mess, rather than the false idea of perfection and the ‘shoulds’.

Selah

So often as a society we value busyness and a full schedule. We have silent contests with our friends and family to see who is the busiest, who has the least amount of downtime, who is the most tired. I admit that I have been a part of this silent contest for far too long. We value busyness because we confuse it with accomplishments. However, you can accomplish so much more when you take a minute to pause and rest.

I learned that lesson this summer at Selah House. Selah literally means “an invitation to pause and rest.” I wouldn’t say I had a particularly restful summer, but I learned to value of true rest. Rest that can only be found in the Lord. I found that down times have always been a source of anxiety for me. Free time allows me to rest, however, I rest in myself and get stuck in my head, and it ends up being very unrestful. However, Psalm 37:7 calls us to rest in the Lord and wait patiently for Him. There is something so freeing about resting in the Lord. It’s the ultimate rest.

This summer, we frequently listened to the song “Breathe” by Jonny Diaz. One of the lines in the song says “Breathe, just breathe. Come and rest at My feet and be, just be. Let your weary spirit rest. Lay down what’s good and find what’s best. Just breathe.”

Lay down what’s good and find what’s best. Lay down our busy schedules full of appointments and fun things and obligations. Find true rest in Jesus. I “accomplished” so much this summer, personally. I took a pause, and time to reflect, and in those 6 weeks, I put the value of “busyness” aside and allowed myself to rest. I did not feel lazy. I did not feel weak. I felt renewed and full and I had time to learn so much about myself and about others and about God.

So as the school year starts up and we all find ourselves in the scramble of busy, remember that God has given us Selah- an invitation to pause and rest. And finding true rest in Him in enough to replenish our souls and strengthen us for the year ahead!

Why I Chose Change.

“And the day came when the risk to remain in a tight bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.”

I have always liked this quote, but it’s never resonated with me quite as much as it does now. Change is not my favorite thing. It never has been and it probably never will be. But sometimes change is good and sometimes change is everything. I’m learning that lesson, like I learn everything else, slowly. So, metaphorically, I think of before treatment as being in a tight bud. Closed off, taking up the least amount of space possible, walling myself off from the rest of the world. It was familiar and routine and I thought it felt safe. But in reality, sadness, fear, loneliness, rigid rules, and self-hate were what I was feeling, and it got to a point where my feelings no longer felt safe. It came to a point where I had a choice to make. I could stay in ‘comfort zone’, which wasn’t very comfortable and continue to live my life out of fear and sadness. Or I could take a risk and choose to do something different with my life. I could choose to bloom. My comfortable tight bud all of the sudden started feeling claustrophobic. I felt trapped in myself. So I made the decision to take a leap of faith, and what a leap it was. During treatment, I was in a greenhouse with perfect conditions to loosen my bud and bloom. There were definitely growing pains, and sometimes I had to have my petals pried open. And as I began to open up, I felt things I hadn’t felt in a long time. I felt hope. I felt unconditional love. I felt joy and laughter and friendship. I felt what it was like to be taken care of. I also felt vulnerable and scared and shame and fear. But most importantly, I felt. I allowed myself to have feelings and I felt alive. If I had remained in my tight bud, I never would have felt these things. I may never have felt such deep shame and vulnerability and fear, but I would have never felt such immense love and hope. So I guess the reason I chose to change was to feel again. In my tight bud I felt stuck in things like sadness, rules, loneliness, and self-hate. And because I was afraid to bloom, I was unable to experience the full range of emotion. The good and the bad. The fear and the hope. The sadness and the joy. The loneliness and the laughter. My “blooming” process has not been easy and I would not say that I am fully bloomed (although, are any of us ever?), but I am in the process. I am feeling. And like a flower with its petals spread open to the wind, rain, sun, and storms, I am open and vulnerable and willing and scared and excited. Because I made a choice and I chose to change.

“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.” –John 10:10