There is a natural progression in life... At first we grow, stretch, become... We stand and fall and stand again. We lean on others for support and guidance. And learn to run on our own...
I faltered in my progression early on... I felt unsafe in a world in constant flux. I was victimized before I knew what that meant. And in an effort to avoid further victimization, I built walls, separated myself from true growth, and stagnated...
Learning to put myself back on the map was an excrutiatingly difficult thing to do... Daring to believe in myself. Trusting in others. Risking further falls as I once again began taking tentative steps. I have stumbled on my path... Often pausing for balance checks on uncertain legs. But with each new successful step, I can feel my confidence swelling within me, charging me with joy, desire, and an intense inner fire to continue taking steps. I feel myself stretching into a run, filling my lungs and exercising my heart as never before. ♥
This is my evolution.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Saturday, January 29, 2011
I am becoming me.
The shadows have swallowed all but the memory of the shell I once was...
A gesture. A look. An easy passing comment...
These things can pull me back into the memory of discontent;
I can feel the ghost of pain leaning close against my skin.
Breathing softly against my cheek...
But I am changed.
I will not be cajoled into dangerous reminiscence...
I am standing taller.
Looking others in the eyes.
I can smile. And laugh.
I am sharing more of myself because there is more of me to share...
And I am less afraid of losing myself in the process.
I stared into the mirror this afternoon with surprise.
Returning my awestruck glance was a face that radiated health.
Life!
The eyes watching mine glistened with excitement over having been discovered...
I am no longer captive to fears and insecurities.
I am becoming aquainted with strength and peace.
And the joys of love.
For the first time, I am starting to see myself as lovable.
It's a new world.
And I'm happy to be in it.
The shadows have swallowed all but the memory of the shell I once was...
A gesture. A look. An easy passing comment...
These things can pull me back into the memory of discontent;
I can feel the ghost of pain leaning close against my skin.
Breathing softly against my cheek...
But I am changed.
I will not be cajoled into dangerous reminiscence...
I am standing taller.
Looking others in the eyes.
I can smile. And laugh.
I am sharing more of myself because there is more of me to share...
And I am less afraid of losing myself in the process.
I stared into the mirror this afternoon with surprise.
Returning my awestruck glance was a face that radiated health.
Life!
The eyes watching mine glistened with excitement over having been discovered...
I am no longer captive to fears and insecurities.
I am becoming aquainted with strength and peace.
And the joys of love.
For the first time, I am starting to see myself as lovable.
It's a new world.
And I'm happy to be in it.
Living
Living is hard. Unpredictable. Full of ups and downs. Learning to live again after existing in mental anguish for so long is precarious and confusing... What's real? What's normal?? I feel exhaustion and lower moods with trepidation... Could a bout of depression be on its way? And yet, no... This is life. Living. Normalcy... How strange to feel unable to recognize the difference between disorder and normal...
Today, I'm told I am symptom free. I'm told that being symptom free, since there is no such thing as a perfect recovery, implies that I am no longer plagued each day with the chaos of my former existence. My disordered existence is no longer controlling my day; dictating everything...
Standing on the shores of recovery feels a lot like walking in the sand... Today I am on firm footing. :) I feel earth beneath my feet, and while water may sometimes lap at my ankles, I no longer feel like I'm in danger of being dragged to sea, crushed against the rocks. I feel movement beneath me. I have a healthy respect for the ocean; I know better than to turn my back. Today I can breathe. And laugh. Play. And love... ♥
I have had my last group therapy session. And I will be discharged from out patient on February 15th. I am not complacent. I will stretch and dance at the water's edge, enjoying my new found confidence and space. And I will continue to work as I've been taught. I will continue to hold to my limits. To push myself to do what is hard. Talk. Trust. Feel. These three words have been a beacon in the night for me... A mantra for life and the living. I know the darkness and despair that lurks in the shadows. I trust that something better awaits. :)
Today, I'm told I am symptom free. I'm told that being symptom free, since there is no such thing as a perfect recovery, implies that I am no longer plagued each day with the chaos of my former existence. My disordered existence is no longer controlling my day; dictating everything...
Standing on the shores of recovery feels a lot like walking in the sand... Today I am on firm footing. :) I feel earth beneath my feet, and while water may sometimes lap at my ankles, I no longer feel like I'm in danger of being dragged to sea, crushed against the rocks. I feel movement beneath me. I have a healthy respect for the ocean; I know better than to turn my back. Today I can breathe. And laugh. Play. And love... ♥
I have had my last group therapy session. And I will be discharged from out patient on February 15th. I am not complacent. I will stretch and dance at the water's edge, enjoying my new found confidence and space. And I will continue to work as I've been taught. I will continue to hold to my limits. To push myself to do what is hard. Talk. Trust. Feel. These three words have been a beacon in the night for me... A mantra for life and the living. I know the darkness and despair that lurks in the shadows. I trust that something better awaits. :)
Saturday, January 1, 2011
Holding a Candle
Shakespeare wrote, "Must I hold a candle to my shames?"
Therapy, journaling, recovery from an eating disorder... All of these things require us to hold a candle to those dark and secret shadows which instinct drives us to hide, even from ourselves. But without looking honestly at ourselves, our experiences, fears, doubts, dreams... We cannot hope to regain the sense of self which we misplaced along the way. Shining a candle does not, in my eyes, mean that we necessarily need to aim a spotlight at ourselves and broadcast any and every thing to the world... But it does mean being truly open to learning about oneself. Being honest with oneself. Willing to learn, live, think, and breathe differently.
In my own experience, it has been the things I am ashamed of that I most need to examine. Those are the things that I have attempted to bury through layers of depression and disordered eating. And while turning my gaze upon the shadows is painful, as the pain passes through me, it takes some of the shame with it. I have begun to recognize how many things which happened to me in the past continue to hold enormous power over me today because I have continued to carry the shame as my own. Talking about these thing, writing about them, sharing them has lessened their power because I was able to see that the shame belonging to these events was not mine to claim... The shame belongs to those that acted against the child that I was. The shame belongs to my abusers. Learning to set that down is not easy. But it is a crucial step which cannot be neglected. One cannot recover without doing so.
Candlelight is softer than pulsing flourescents. More forgiving than beams of light that would cut through the darkness. Examining those shameful shadows through the flickering light allows our brains to process bits at a time. We do not have to take it all in at once to see the picture and release the shame. We need only to look to begin to heal.
Therapy, journaling, recovery from an eating disorder... All of these things require us to hold a candle to those dark and secret shadows which instinct drives us to hide, even from ourselves. But without looking honestly at ourselves, our experiences, fears, doubts, dreams... We cannot hope to regain the sense of self which we misplaced along the way. Shining a candle does not, in my eyes, mean that we necessarily need to aim a spotlight at ourselves and broadcast any and every thing to the world... But it does mean being truly open to learning about oneself. Being honest with oneself. Willing to learn, live, think, and breathe differently.
In my own experience, it has been the things I am ashamed of that I most need to examine. Those are the things that I have attempted to bury through layers of depression and disordered eating. And while turning my gaze upon the shadows is painful, as the pain passes through me, it takes some of the shame with it. I have begun to recognize how many things which happened to me in the past continue to hold enormous power over me today because I have continued to carry the shame as my own. Talking about these thing, writing about them, sharing them has lessened their power because I was able to see that the shame belonging to these events was not mine to claim... The shame belongs to those that acted against the child that I was. The shame belongs to my abusers. Learning to set that down is not easy. But it is a crucial step which cannot be neglected. One cannot recover without doing so.
Candlelight is softer than pulsing flourescents. More forgiving than beams of light that would cut through the darkness. Examining those shameful shadows through the flickering light allows our brains to process bits at a time. We do not have to take it all in at once to see the picture and release the shame. We need only to look to begin to heal.
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Less
On the surface of things, anorexia and diets look very much the same. The behaviors are the same. The words that follow such thinking are the same. The goals look the same. The differences are subtle, and lurking beneath the surface; it requires a trained a eye to spot the variances. Deep beneath the surface, however, the thoughts are vastly different... While a dieter may believe that it would be healthier to lose a little weight, it'd be great to fit back into some smaller jeans, or maybe he/she wants to look amazing at an upcoming event, the anorexic tends to focus more on being a better person by losing weight. And the goals are completely different. While the dieter generally has a numerical goal, the anorexic typically wants to weigh "less". The trouble with aiming for less? It's an unreachable goal... Ever shifting, and dangerously so...
To an outsider then, it might follow that determining whether a loved one is on a diet or truly sick is a fairly simple matter... Why not ask?? "What are you trying to do?" "Do you have a goal weight?" "What is it?" But these are dangerously loaded questions... All anorexics begin as dieters. And even after the disease has begun to gradually sink its teeth into the sufferer, the anorectic will believe he/she is a dieter. He/she will likely have a numerical weight loss goal... Health benefits will be articulated with ease, even, and perhaps most markedly, past the point of any healthy kind of loss. When the goal is to weigh less, eventually that line will be crossed.
It takes time for the casual observer to notice the subtle changes. The weight dips lower than a healthy weight. Hair begins to fall out. The sufferer is always cold. Dizzy. Prone to headaches and sickness. Dry skin. Shaky hands. Dark eyes. Probably lethargic much of the time. Strangely hyper-active much of the time. Depressed. Anxious. Ever vigillant. Stepping on the scale repeatedly. Driven to follow the same patterns of behavior; routine-bound. The signs are varied and completely individualized. Sometimes they're obvious. Usually they're carefully hidden, noticed only by the careful observer.
Denial is a real, dangerous, palpable thing. Even when anorexia becomes obvious to the outside observer, the sufferer continues to experience wave after wave of conflicting fears and emotions. In one moment, the sufferer is desperate for help, feeling the pain and depression dragging him/her further away from life and the living. In the next, the sufferer once again feels that he/she is just a dieter; fear of being pulled from the safety of the routine behaviors begins to lull him/her into believing that everything is fine just as it is. Neither belief is stable nor accurate. Neither is based on any kind of objectivity, for the sufferer cannot be objective, much as he/she wants to be. Tries to be.
Deep beneath the surface, something else is always lurking... Low self-esteem, self-hatred, fear, pain, depression, feelings of inadequacy, feeling out of control... Something is always driving the belief that one will be improved by losing weight... Others will feel admiration, or stop noticing at all... The sufferer will earn others' love and respect. The sufferer will demonstrate great control, self-discipline, and determination. And to add to those feelings, every dieter initially enjoys these rewards, and basks in the glow of others' admiring words. For the anorectic, these rewards only spur on the disease. Even words of caution, warning, concern can spur on an anorectic... For once the disease has taken hold, the sufferer lives in fear that either no one will notice (i.e. care), and the strangely opposite fear that everyone knows and will eventually force the sufferer to give up the behaviors and obsessions which feel so impossible to live without.
When weighing less is the goal, there is always something more beneath the surface.
To an outsider then, it might follow that determining whether a loved one is on a diet or truly sick is a fairly simple matter... Why not ask?? "What are you trying to do?" "Do you have a goal weight?" "What is it?" But these are dangerously loaded questions... All anorexics begin as dieters. And even after the disease has begun to gradually sink its teeth into the sufferer, the anorectic will believe he/she is a dieter. He/she will likely have a numerical weight loss goal... Health benefits will be articulated with ease, even, and perhaps most markedly, past the point of any healthy kind of loss. When the goal is to weigh less, eventually that line will be crossed.
It takes time for the casual observer to notice the subtle changes. The weight dips lower than a healthy weight. Hair begins to fall out. The sufferer is always cold. Dizzy. Prone to headaches and sickness. Dry skin. Shaky hands. Dark eyes. Probably lethargic much of the time. Strangely hyper-active much of the time. Depressed. Anxious. Ever vigillant. Stepping on the scale repeatedly. Driven to follow the same patterns of behavior; routine-bound. The signs are varied and completely individualized. Sometimes they're obvious. Usually they're carefully hidden, noticed only by the careful observer.
Denial is a real, dangerous, palpable thing. Even when anorexia becomes obvious to the outside observer, the sufferer continues to experience wave after wave of conflicting fears and emotions. In one moment, the sufferer is desperate for help, feeling the pain and depression dragging him/her further away from life and the living. In the next, the sufferer once again feels that he/she is just a dieter; fear of being pulled from the safety of the routine behaviors begins to lull him/her into believing that everything is fine just as it is. Neither belief is stable nor accurate. Neither is based on any kind of objectivity, for the sufferer cannot be objective, much as he/she wants to be. Tries to be.
Deep beneath the surface, something else is always lurking... Low self-esteem, self-hatred, fear, pain, depression, feelings of inadequacy, feeling out of control... Something is always driving the belief that one will be improved by losing weight... Others will feel admiration, or stop noticing at all... The sufferer will earn others' love and respect. The sufferer will demonstrate great control, self-discipline, and determination. And to add to those feelings, every dieter initially enjoys these rewards, and basks in the glow of others' admiring words. For the anorectic, these rewards only spur on the disease. Even words of caution, warning, concern can spur on an anorectic... For once the disease has taken hold, the sufferer lives in fear that either no one will notice (i.e. care), and the strangely opposite fear that everyone knows and will eventually force the sufferer to give up the behaviors and obsessions which feel so impossible to live without.
When weighing less is the goal, there is always something more beneath the surface.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Progress Treadmill
Sometimes it's easy to see progress in recovery... There are the big, blunt, obvious changes: weight loss halts; weight restoration completes; clothing sizes stabilize; calorie counting ceases, or at least eases up. Then there are smaller, subtler, gentler changes: I find myself trusting others more; taking greater risks; opening up to people; making many new friendships and connections with fellow humans. And then there are also the whispers of progress that fill in the rest of life; hints of movement so slight, it's difficult to see direction, and impossible to predict destination.
I am tired this evening. I skipped my kickboxing class, which in itself, might smack of progress. In the past I would have forced myself to workout, without pausing to consider my own desire or energy. Thanksgiving recently passed by, and I reveled in moments of pure joy... I felt completely comfortable at my boyfriend's parents' house. I took new risks. I ate out! A lot! I tried foods that were new to me, and even discovered some new favorites. Persimmons! Yum! :) I was honest with my boyfriend about my struggles, and really put my heart out there. I have been focusing on these triumphs, almost basking in the golden glow of success and the warmth of new love... But it is hard to separate oneself from the shadows, especially those that have been familiar companions... With my successes this holiday, came failures. Freak outs. Shame. And while I can look at my life today and see its promise and hope and possibility... It is hard to feel... worthy. Guiltless... Accepting. Okay...
Sometimes things that don't look like progress really are... Sometimes we need to settle on a nice stable plateau before we're ready to move ahead once again... And sometimes we even have to back-track slightly before angling for a truer ascent. But sometimes... and this is where things become dicey... sometimes things that look like progress are not. How does one know the difference? I do not wish to hold myself back. I do not wish to misrepresent my recovery. I do not wish to make things look easier than they are. Or harder than they are. And I'm not sure how to even identify my own feelings... Tonight I feel like I'm in Limbo Land... While my recovery feels on firmer footing than it ever has been before, there is something in me that remains unsettled; uneasy; cautious...
With my great successes over Thanksgiving, and I will acknowledge that they were great successes, I must also be honest. I was there for five days. And I didn't pass a single day during which I ate three square meals... Generally I missed dinner. Some snacks. On Thanksgiving Day, I missed lunch in anticipation of dinner. And while I was honest about this fact upon my return, and have gotten back on track, I can't help yearning at my brush against the familiar, cool, soft surface of what once was my world... My clothes feel looser. I do not believe that's possible. I'm wearing different clothes for a cooler season. Logically, I am combating these observations with cold, hard facts. And yet, I'm drawn to the feeling of looseness. More of my meals recently have been comprised of snacky foods... I had two protein bars tonight for dinner. Why?? Somehow guilt over the enormous amount of blueberries I consumed at lunch made me shy away from an actual "meal". Blueberries??? And yet I justify my choices with reminders that my calorie consumption was adequate for recovery. Hmmm... Not quite a slip... Not quite healthy, either...
I've been reminding myself a lot lately of the joys of recovery... The positive things that recovery has brought. The terrible cost of my eating disorder. Refocusing on my determination to recover and to live a life that is full and sweet and unimpeded by the drudgery, pain, and self-loathing that is an eating disorder...
My mind is tired... I wonder if I'm feeling the pull of depression... And yet I'm thankful for my Prozac-gifted ability to separate myself from its vice-like grip. I wonder if I'm feeling fear of life actually beginning to move as I always dreamed it could... I'm retracing the same worn neurological pathways I've always used. I have not succumbed... But I feel like I've been gliding along a border, almost casually stretching out a toe before snatching it back in consternation.
Will it always be like this? Will I continue to live a vigilant life? Or will the vigilance eventually wear new pathways in my mind, so that someday I might follow them automatically, too... Or, might I allow myself to settle into the familiar shallows that offer such promising relief and comfort. Ahhh... I know those shallows... But I also know the black depths lurking just below their surface... And I do not wish to visit them again... It's hard to imagine this new life... A life without sinking and fighting and trying to remain vigilant...
I'm on a progress treadmill... Running my intervals according to someone else's plan, and praying like crazy that I'm actually getting somewhere...
I am tired this evening. I skipped my kickboxing class, which in itself, might smack of progress. In the past I would have forced myself to workout, without pausing to consider my own desire or energy. Thanksgiving recently passed by, and I reveled in moments of pure joy... I felt completely comfortable at my boyfriend's parents' house. I took new risks. I ate out! A lot! I tried foods that were new to me, and even discovered some new favorites. Persimmons! Yum! :) I was honest with my boyfriend about my struggles, and really put my heart out there. I have been focusing on these triumphs, almost basking in the golden glow of success and the warmth of new love... But it is hard to separate oneself from the shadows, especially those that have been familiar companions... With my successes this holiday, came failures. Freak outs. Shame. And while I can look at my life today and see its promise and hope and possibility... It is hard to feel... worthy. Guiltless... Accepting. Okay...
Sometimes things that don't look like progress really are... Sometimes we need to settle on a nice stable plateau before we're ready to move ahead once again... And sometimes we even have to back-track slightly before angling for a truer ascent. But sometimes... and this is where things become dicey... sometimes things that look like progress are not. How does one know the difference? I do not wish to hold myself back. I do not wish to misrepresent my recovery. I do not wish to make things look easier than they are. Or harder than they are. And I'm not sure how to even identify my own feelings... Tonight I feel like I'm in Limbo Land... While my recovery feels on firmer footing than it ever has been before, there is something in me that remains unsettled; uneasy; cautious...
With my great successes over Thanksgiving, and I will acknowledge that they were great successes, I must also be honest. I was there for five days. And I didn't pass a single day during which I ate three square meals... Generally I missed dinner. Some snacks. On Thanksgiving Day, I missed lunch in anticipation of dinner. And while I was honest about this fact upon my return, and have gotten back on track, I can't help yearning at my brush against the familiar, cool, soft surface of what once was my world... My clothes feel looser. I do not believe that's possible. I'm wearing different clothes for a cooler season. Logically, I am combating these observations with cold, hard facts. And yet, I'm drawn to the feeling of looseness. More of my meals recently have been comprised of snacky foods... I had two protein bars tonight for dinner. Why?? Somehow guilt over the enormous amount of blueberries I consumed at lunch made me shy away from an actual "meal". Blueberries??? And yet I justify my choices with reminders that my calorie consumption was adequate for recovery. Hmmm... Not quite a slip... Not quite healthy, either...
I've been reminding myself a lot lately of the joys of recovery... The positive things that recovery has brought. The terrible cost of my eating disorder. Refocusing on my determination to recover and to live a life that is full and sweet and unimpeded by the drudgery, pain, and self-loathing that is an eating disorder...
My mind is tired... I wonder if I'm feeling the pull of depression... And yet I'm thankful for my Prozac-gifted ability to separate myself from its vice-like grip. I wonder if I'm feeling fear of life actually beginning to move as I always dreamed it could... I'm retracing the same worn neurological pathways I've always used. I have not succumbed... But I feel like I've been gliding along a border, almost casually stretching out a toe before snatching it back in consternation.
Will it always be like this? Will I continue to live a vigilant life? Or will the vigilance eventually wear new pathways in my mind, so that someday I might follow them automatically, too... Or, might I allow myself to settle into the familiar shallows that offer such promising relief and comfort. Ahhh... I know those shallows... But I also know the black depths lurking just below their surface... And I do not wish to visit them again... It's hard to imagine this new life... A life without sinking and fighting and trying to remain vigilant...
I'm on a progress treadmill... Running my intervals according to someone else's plan, and praying like crazy that I'm actually getting somewhere...
Monday, November 22, 2010
Working Like Ducks
I once heard those in recovery described as working like ducks. On the surface, things look nice and calm... We tell others we're fine... We go to great lengths to hide our struggles and discomfort. We hold everything in. We constantly replay conversations and passing comments, looking for any hint that someone is "on to us", or "overly concerned", or even showing "too little concern". We analyze our own responses. Fleeting facial expressions. Momentary, but telling, displays of a lack of interest... Beneath the surface, we are working like ducks! Everything is a flurry of movement... It's hard work to make things look effortless. And the irony is, we seldom succeed in doing so.
This points to how important it is to avoid making comparisons. I am reminded of the sentiment that comparing one's insides to another's outsides in always fruitless... We cannot compare and judge our own struggles, pain, experiences, or even healing journey with another's, because attempting to do so is an attempt to see beneath the surface. And as anyone in recovery can attest, it's hard enough to feel our OWN legs paddling beneath us... We truly cannot grasp the depths of others'... Even if we could, doing so would not be healthy or helpful.
In my own experience, I've found that when I compare myself with others I am generally seeking to understand myself better. As if in comparison, I can see how I "measure up"... Am I "worse"? "Better"? "Less worthy"? "More fortunate"? Have things been "easier" for me? "Harder"? And does making these judgements really change me or my experience? Absolutely not. ♥
If we really want to learn more about ourselves, we need to look inward... The answers, hard as they are to see, reside within each of us... We sometimes need help in finding the answers, seeing what is in plain sight, and interpreting how our cumulative set of life events has changed us and our perspectives. The temptation to reach for a self-help book or to tap out a Google search is tangible. And while I feel these things do have merit, I must acknowledge that we sometimes try to use a flashlight when we really need a floodlight to see through the maze of tangled emotions and fears... The darker the air we breathe, the more help we need in our attempts to shine a light. There's no shame in asking for that. ♥ Asking for help is the BRAVE thing to do. ♥ And learning to accept ourselves, whoever we are, is always powerfully worthwhile.
This points to how important it is to avoid making comparisons. I am reminded of the sentiment that comparing one's insides to another's outsides in always fruitless... We cannot compare and judge our own struggles, pain, experiences, or even healing journey with another's, because attempting to do so is an attempt to see beneath the surface. And as anyone in recovery can attest, it's hard enough to feel our OWN legs paddling beneath us... We truly cannot grasp the depths of others'... Even if we could, doing so would not be healthy or helpful.
In my own experience, I've found that when I compare myself with others I am generally seeking to understand myself better. As if in comparison, I can see how I "measure up"... Am I "worse"? "Better"? "Less worthy"? "More fortunate"? Have things been "easier" for me? "Harder"? And does making these judgements really change me or my experience? Absolutely not. ♥
If we really want to learn more about ourselves, we need to look inward... The answers, hard as they are to see, reside within each of us... We sometimes need help in finding the answers, seeing what is in plain sight, and interpreting how our cumulative set of life events has changed us and our perspectives. The temptation to reach for a self-help book or to tap out a Google search is tangible. And while I feel these things do have merit, I must acknowledge that we sometimes try to use a flashlight when we really need a floodlight to see through the maze of tangled emotions and fears... The darker the air we breathe, the more help we need in our attempts to shine a light. There's no shame in asking for that. ♥ Asking for help is the BRAVE thing to do. ♥ And learning to accept ourselves, whoever we are, is always powerfully worthwhile.
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