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...