Is It Disordered?

I had a conversation with LA this morning that made me think...as they so often do. Hey, that's what she is paid for, I suppose.

I am really starting to make big strides in terms of getting back to a normal relationship with food and my body, which led to an interesting discussion about some of my lingering weirdness related to nutrition.

Since I've established a pretty good pattern recently of actually eating, LA decided it's time to revisit the fear food list yet again. We have never really gotten very far into the list in the past, as a short relapse, medical issue, or my own balking has halted the progress. But here we are again, talking about the fear foods, and while LA didn't come right out and say it, I sense it is time to start coming to terms with them.

The discussion over fear foods is what prompted the "is it disordered?" topic. Sure, I still carry some irrational fear over things like salad dressing, butter, pasta (unless the night before a race!). But my list of fear foods also includes things that are fried, desserts, processed foods, and most foods that I either a.) have not prepared myself or b.) cannot determine the ingredient list by looking at it. Our discussion got me thinking about the line where a lifestyle ends and an eating disorder begins. LA has asked this question before; however, I was never really in the frame of mind to engage in conversation about it until now.

With the health-concious movement in this country gaining momentum on a seemingly daily basis, many new philosophies about food and nutrition have emerged and attracted followers. It is not uncommon to talk with people who are cutting out processed foods, recreating restaurant favorites at home, or "healthifying" old-school recipes. Millions of people have added sodas, grease, high fructose corn syrup, sugar substitutes, and other "bad-for-you" choices to their own personal lists of "off-limit" foods. It has also becoming more socially acceptable to live a vegetarian or vegan-based lifestyle, and even the reasons behind these choices (morality, health, or otherwise) are questioned less and less.

As our country has shifted focus to weight-related issues and the obesity epidemic, the relationship between food and physical activity is played out in everyday life and interactions as well. As someone who works in the fitness industry- even on a part-time basis- I cannot tell you how many times I hear variations of the following:

"I'll be here (at the gym) an extra hour today to make up for all the nachos I inhaled during the game!"

"I'm not getting off this treadmill until it hits 400 calories burned!" (and very few know that the number on the screen is a complete falsification, but whatever).

"I need to do at least a hundred crunches today to get rid of this beer gut."

And even at the office:

"I needed that Hershey Kiss like I need a hole in my head."

"I'm working through lunch today, I ate enough this weekend to feed me for the week!"

"I'm taking the stairs to the fourth floor...my ass is getting larger by the minute."

On Thanksgiving morning, LA's gym was full of people sweating on the cardio machines...do you think they all came in just for fun? Sure, they may have been enjoying themselves, but let's be real here...they were there for a purpose. And that purpose was to get a workout in before stuffing their faces full of holiday faire.

It's all around...so where does the line between lifestyle and eating disorder lie?

Well, I received a "gold star" (hypothetical, of course, as LA doesn't hand out stars) for my insightful answer: when it becomes an obsession and/or interferes with life.

For me, I had crossed over onto the eating disorder side:

• When I decided a few handlfuls of raw vegetables a day (and nothing else) would be enough to sustain an 8-hour workday and 3-hour workouts...not to mention other basic daily functions.
• The first time I had even considered intentionally throwing food back up as an acceptable option to control my body's response to eating.
• When my obsession with starving kept me from engaging in social activities involving food.
• After repeatedly ignoring the signs that my body was rapidly deteriorating from starvation, lack of nutrients, and the jarring effects of purging three times a day.

It was a rapid descent into Eating Disorder Land once I stepped over the invisible line, that's for sure. Within just a year, my new "lifestyle" had taken its toll. Messed up bloodwork and labs, cracked bones, colorless skin, never-ending headaches, drying and thinning hair, involuntary vomiting when actually trying to eat something out of the ordinary. It's hard to say at what point, exactly, I crept over to the other side. But it was a dangerous first step, whatever it was.

Given the fine line between the two, however, it is difficult to determine exactly when I will be deemed "recovered". Of course, there are the obvious signs of recovery (no purging, actually eating food). However, I will probably always approach food with a critical eye, now that I have battled an eating disorder. So if I never eat a piece of fried food ever again, continue to eat only "clean" foods, and reserve desserts for special occasions only...will I still be considered to have an eating disorder? Or am I just another person trying to make health-concious choices?

I do, at times, think that experiencing an eating disorder is a little like recovering from alcoholism or other addictions...the voice continues throughout life, but is just managed a little better through the application of new coping skills. I know that, as a result of this eating disorder, I will always look at food and my own body image a little differently than most. But there will also always be plenty of perfectly "normal" people with whom I can relate on the topics of restriction, dieting, and weight conciousness...because we're all thinking about it, at least for a few minutes each day.

When you look at our society, it's almost as though we are all a little weird when it comes to our attitudes towards food and weight. So is it disordered?

(Note: I know I definitely have an eating disorder...there is no question about that. I am not looking for confirmation as to whether or not my diagnosis is correct, or to justify/criticize the following behaviors. I'm just asking for the questions to hear what others think.)

Is it disordered to...

• not eat meat?
• eliminate food groups?
• count calories?
• exercise before/after large meals in an effort to "make up for it?"
• refuse to eat processed foods?
• stick to a vegan diet?
• limit the use of butter, condiments, sauces, dressings?
• reserve certain foods for special occasions only?

What do you think? Where is the line?

And a second question...how many of you think LA should give out gold stars for insightful answers? And if I earned, let's say, five of them...wouldn't that clothing allowance be the perfect prize?

Finally Connecting the Dots

This process is changing me.

I knew it would, which is the reason I began to write a few months ago in the first place. I wanted to document this journey, capture the emotions and thoughts, and be able to read it all back at a later date and (hopefully) see signs of growth. Today, I see it.

Thanksgiving went well, despite the morning's torrential downpour. Thanks to the rain, I decided to skip out on the five-mile race (Please note: I am usually hardcore about running/racing/competing despite weather conditions, this was a tough decision). I, of course, decided that some form of exercise was a necessity in order to comply with "The Plan" for Thanksgiving, so LA snuck me into her facility (the gym where I work was closed for the holiday) to go run out five miles sans sleet and rain. We agreed to keep this secret from Dr. Joe, both got our daily cardio in, and headed in our separate directions to feast on the turkey/carb fest otherwise known as Thanksgiving.

At my father's house, I had "normal people" amounts of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing. I stuck to the plan and even had a small piece of pumpkin roll. I ate, let it go, and focused my attention on football (always a priority of mine on Thanksgiving Day). Two days later, I'm still okay with "indulging" in that meal, and honestly, haven't really thought about it much since I took in that last bite of pumpkin roll. The whole process was, surprisigly, not as painful or anxiety-producing as I previously thought. I think I might even do it again sometime...perhaps in about twelve months or so (kidding).

It was somewhere in between the Thanksgiving meal, Black Friday shopping, and family drama that I realized my obsession with all things food/weight/calorie related is diminishing and that I am starting to just live again.

For starters, The Mr. just had to have some cliche red-and-green holiday candy around the house, so proceeded to purchase two bags of holiday M&M's while out at Target. When we returned home on Friday night (after about eight hours of shopping, mind you), he dumped the contents into one of our big, gaudy snowflake dishes and set it out on the counter like a centerpiece (that's about as far as his "holiday decorating" goes).

Throughout my workday, I hear others complain about the magnetic pull an open and visible candy dish possesses, yet I have forgotten what the subconcious candy reach feels like. However, the M&M dish on the counter has pulled me in several times since it has been placed on the countertop, and I haven't really thought twice about it. I had some long runs this weekend, went about my usual routine (which included hanging out with The Mr. and friends, of course), and didn't let food move over to the driver's seat.

While out shopping on Friday, we stopped at a Mexican place I enjoyed pre-ED and took a dinner break. I ate a chicken quesadilla with vegetables and some pico de gallo. On Saturday, I had a post-run egg and cheese bagel and coffee with running friends, some pizza while watching the OSU-Michigan game, and an overabundance of wine throughout the day. I took some chances, ate what I wanted within moderation, and I still lived to tell about it.

What a concept.

The real test will be tomorrow when I go to get ready for work...the dreaded "oh shit nothing fits!" moment (which, by the way, those moments are supposed to happen when you're trying to get healthy- but triggering nonetheless). Thankfully, I had some moments of clarity and motivation this weekend that I can attempt to tap into if/when ED decides to call me fat, lazy, or sloppy as a result of letting up on the Food Control over the last few days. My moments of clarity included:

1. Trail running in the woods on Saturday, feeling strong and wanting a powerful body in order to complete a 50K trail run (slated for Summer 2011). I want to cross that goal off my bucket list even more than becoming a parent at this current moment (no worries- I still want to be a parent...just after completing the 50K).

2. Watching football, eating pizza. A momentary return to pre-ED weekend self.

3. A glimpse of my body in the mirror, wearing a sports bra and Under Armour shorts, during which I thought Muscles are back, looking strong and tough, like I could kick someone's ass if I tapped into my God-given Irish temper. Niiiice.

4. Running ten miles under my normal pace this morning and feeling amazing doing it. A return to strength, to health. I could literally feel the change. I texted LA and told her I'd eat anything she wanted me to and would move up five sizes after that run (I hope she knows I was being sarcastic...I may eat anything she wanted me to because I do trust her; but going up five sizes may be a bit much at this point...).

5. Seeing Mama K and her husband today (in town for the holidays). It wasn't too long ago I was with them at their new house in Florida, but I've already changed a lot since the last time they saw me in person. They are like family to me, and remain a constant in my life. Knowing I am a little more together than I was the last time they saw me helped to keep me moving towards the overall goal: health.

I should also mention that theses moments of clarity and quieted eating-disordered mind were even more impressive given some of the family chaos that I was sucked into yesterday. I won't go into details, but let me just say...the world in which I grew up is not okay and continues to interfere with my adult life despite my best efforts to barricade and hunker down. In the past, I've slipped into self-destructive behaviors when the chaos ensues and it becomes too much to take ("this shit is f-ed up and I'm hurting and oh my god this is all too much to take....ooooooh, let's start counting calories and picking out my flaws instead...."). But this time around, I somehow kept my mind off the pain while simultaneously maintaining the laxed attitude about food. Huge success in my book. Dots are connecting all over the damn place.

I've said it before and will say it again tonight in this post...these moments happen: good and bad. However, this holiday weekend was, by comparison, a long stretch of positive attitude and a relaxed approach to food/body/weight- worth a few touchdowns at least. And to continue on with Dr. Joe's football references, the fact that I maintained this attitude throughout a major food-heavy holiday (probably the most food-heavy of the holidays) is like a successful two-point conversion, an added bonus. The family garbage of yesterday has got to earn me at least a field goal or two.

Scratch that...the fact that I stayed semi-grounded during the family garbage is worth another touchdown. Hands down.

I'm not really sure who I am competing against here (Dr. Joe?), but I think I'm up at the moment. Connecting the dots, seeing the patterns, running interference and studying the X's and O's...it's starting to make a little more sense.

Game Day: Thanksgiving and the Blitz

Ok, so here we are, on the eve of a major eating holiday. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, the day on which overstuffing and overindulging are the cornerstones of this American holiday. Perhaps my senses are simply more alert this year, given the food-driven life I currently lead, but I am picking up a lot more "it's a day to get fat!" chatter this year than ever before. A local radio station was talking to listeners about their average Thanksgiving caloric intake (fast fact: did you know the average American will have a 3,000 calorie meal on Thanksgiving?), and I heard a student today tell a friend she always wears sweat pants to her family dinner to accomodate the bulge she will develop throughout the course of the day. It's actually fascinating to listen to people prepare for the traditional holiday face-stuffing as though it were an Olympic sport.

I, like most others, find the American tradition of gluttonous Thanksgiving feasts to be humorous. We can never do anything in moderation, now can we?

The Mr. and I handle the food piece of major holidays differently. He, like many others, skips breakfast and intends to eat one and only one meal: a massive, balls-to-the-walls, stuff-me-until-I-explode plate of food. He then skips dinner and probably breakfast the next day, too. He somehow draws energy from that one meal for days before his metabolism finally limps back to normalcy and becomes ready for processing yet again.

In my previous life (pre-eating disorder), I approached the meal as just that: a meal. I still ate my regular breakfast, kept the holiday feast to a slightly larger version of a normal meal, and ate another dinner later on to round out the day. I never really stuffed myself into a food coma, rather, kept to a regular schedule. I'm not sure why I took that approach, exactly, except that I have never liked the feeling of being extremely full, even before the onset of my eating disorder.

I left LA's office about an hour ago, where she prepped me for my first recovery Thanksgiving as though I will be going off to war. A "high-risk situation" she called it...I would have to agree. I've been thinking about how to approach the day and the meal all week, and was thankful to see her the night before so we could talk it through. Plus, thanks to a work commitment on Monday morning (when I usually meet with LA), I hadn't seen her for ten days and told her I had forgotten what she looked like. It was definitely time to check in.

LA started off by asking me where my anxiety about tomorrow's meal comes from, and I started to list off the usual fears:

• Social pressure to eat more than usual (this time would be from family who are not aware of my eating disorder), or be subjected to the "you don't eat enough and are far too skinny" comments.
• Not knowing the ingredient list behind every food on the table, therefore wondering whether or not I'm eating something that breaks my completely irrational set of self-imposed "rules".
• Eating too much and wanting to purge, therefore probably inducing the pain and additional vomiting I've been experiencing (oh yeah, we're finding there is a link between the two...did I mention that?).

Just after I listed these usual fears (all of which she has heard from me before), the real reason for the fear hit me. While the fears listed above are always present, I realized my anxiety about managing Thanksgiving is slightly different...

It used to be my favorite meal. It's stacked with my favorite foods...all of which I now avoid. I realized that Thanksgiving is different than other celebrations, parties, and holidays. I really want to enjoy it, given that mashed potatoes, stuffing, and any dessert involving pumpkin would all be included in my hypothetical "last meal" request.

Okay, so you are thinking You love all these foods and are running a 5-mile race a few hours before the meal...what is the problem here? Go ahead and enjoy for once...

The problem is that I still carry the black and white thinking that helped me to eat as little as possible during my sickest period. When in starvation/restriction mode, I stayed the hell away from any foods that I loved because they presented a risk of overeating. As someone in the throes of anorexia, I had trained myself to ignore hunger and cravings. Food, when actually consumed, was kept to a minimal amount and only used to keep me from passing out. That was it. Given how hungry I was back then, I knew that even just one bite of something I had previously loved would have led to an out of control "binge" (again...relative term...I was never one to actually "binge" by most people's standards). Back then, I viewed a binge as a failure, given that my ultimate goal was to exist on as little food as possible. Overeating was the ultimate sign of weakness.

So now I'm eating again, quite regularly in fact. But when dealing with an eating disorder, the brain is a little slower to catch up. It's one thing to treat the physical symptoms, to rebuild metabolism and restore weight. It's another, more difficult challenge to retrain the mindset that drove the eating disorder in the first place.

What I realized with LA tonight is that my biggest fear about Thanksgiving is this:

• I love the foods involved.
• If I eat just a little of each, I will want more- especially since I have deprived myself.
• If I take more, I will not be able to stop.
• If I am not able to stop, I will binge.
• If I sense that I have binged, I will purge.
• Conclusion (and reason for the fear) = Staying away from the foods I once loved ensures this cycle will never begin in the first place.

I am convinced that if I eat it at all, I will not be able to stop. All or nothing. Black or white.

So LA and I developed a game plan, which I intend to stick to because, well, I am not one to back down when faced with a challenge. The game plan is this:

1. Take a regular sized plate and fill it will small amounts of what I want.
2. Sit with The Mr. and eat slowly while engaging in conversation (this will require The Mr.'s cooperation).
3. Sip wine while eating (uh, yeah, that is not usually a problem).
4. Make sure The Mr. is on board with "running interference" (LA's exact words), which includes making sure I do not go back for more than what is on the plate (therefore leading to guilt about "bingeing" later on).
5. Immediately distract after eating...watching football, going for a quick walk, go talk to a relative are all acceptable options.
6. Try as best I can to move on, forget about the meal, and continue with the rest of my life.
7. Use the workouts, runs, and training I have planned for the long weekend as motivation to continue to fuel and resist purging. (The exercise bulimia part of my eating disorder is much more under control, and these now act as the "carrots" dangling in front of me to keep me eating properly and maintaining strength. The professionals know this approach works for me, as long as I do not exceed Dr. Joe's "hours per week" exercise limit).

So we have a Thanksgiving game plan, LA and I. I'll stick to it and make us both proud.

As for Dr. Joe, he has also jumped on the "game plan" bandwagon this week with another one of his ever-amusing treatment approaches. True to his Psychologist-Slash-Athlete swagger, Dr. Joe has somehow mashed two very unrelated topics together to create a new therapy approach: body image and...football.

Yes, football. And body image. You read that correctly.

I thought Dr. Joe's eyes lit up when he used to drop the "Just Do It" Nike reference back in the day...but that was nothing compared to the sheer joy the man seemed to experience while relating my poor body image to gridiron plays. I sensed that he had been saving this therapy approach for years, just waiting for the perfect eating disordered female football fan to walk through the door and soak up his blitz approach to body image. I made his day by being that patient.

Body Image According to Dr. Joe:

The setting: Imagine Dr. Joe sitting on the edge of his seat like my old volleyball coach used to, excited beyond belief to share this with me.

Dr. Joe: "Ok, M. All the messages that run through your head related to your body and eating are like the blitz. What happens when the quarterback doesn't properly read the blitz?"

Me: "He is sacked."

Dr. Joe (beaming with pride that I can follow along with this game reference): "Right! It means the quarterback didn't see what was coming, and didn't pick the right play. He should have dumped the ball, ran for the first down, or switched direction. Instead, he is left picking himself off the ground and wondering what signs he missed. Your eating disorder voice is like the blitz. If you start to starve or purge, you just got sacked. You misread the blitz or used the wrong play."

Me: "Okay. I get it."

Dr. Joe: "And you can't scramble! Just avoid the quarterback scramble...because sometimes it will work, but other times it won't and you'll be dusting off the dirt wondering how the hell you just got sacked. Reading the blitz and applying the right play is the best way to stay on your feet."

In that moment, I stopped thinking about my eating disorder and really just wanted to talk to Dr. Joe about the NFL. But I tried to refocus. Blitz = negative messages. Sack = reverting to eating disorder. Read the blitz, don't scramble, pick the right play. Got it.

Our "talk" stuck with me. But I laughed the whole way home imagining Dr. Joe trying to use his passionate football approach with a room full of female adolescent eating disorder patients staring at him blankly wondering why the hell the man is talking in a foreign language.

This Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for the therapist and dietitian who have gotten to know me so well that they can tap into what makes me tick and use it to help me get better. Game plans, sports, running, blitzes, quarterback references, sacks...hey, I don't know of anybody else on the planet who could bring this eating disorder therapy down to my level quite like these two.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Reliving Puberty

Remember the days we used to wake up, step out of our pajamas, take a look in the mirror, and think to ourselves what the F&#K happened to my body overnight?!

I had my fair share of those mornings, oh, about fifteen years ago. One day I suddenly had a chest, the next my picture-perfect skin was home to a new crop of zits, and on another my hips had doubled in size. I didn't think it was all that fun back then, and I think it is a crime I have to experience it a second time.

You think I am exaggerating (sigh...here she goes again, ranting about putting on a few pounds), but I have been thinking about this whole body image thing a lot this week and the best way to describe the changes are to equate them to the pubescent experience. Of course, I know I need to go through this to become healthy again. I know I am far too active to double in size overnight, or even in a matter of months. I know I cannot go from running on empty to eating like a normal person without some moderate weight gain.

But, dammit, I bet you my year's salary you would be hard pressed to find anyone recovering from an eating disorder who accepts weight restoration and refeeding with open arms. So before you go all "yes, but you just need to suck it up and get healthy" on me (which, yes, I know, thank you very much), just let me bitch a little bit about my very own adult version of puberty.

Trust me, you'd be bitching too. And it wouldn't be pretty (remember your hormones during that time?).

This week, the body is changing by the hour. I hate it and I've thrown little tantrums every time I notice The Change of the Moment. Seemingly overnight I have once again grown an ass, developed hips around my once-protruding hip bones (not a pretty look, I don't really miss that, but still), and started to fill out my bras yet again. Most annoying of all is the softness around my waistline. For nearly a year I have had not an ounce of excess skin around my middle and a very flat stomach (at times, probably sunken actually...but who knows...I couldn't see it), and as I've inched towards health the slightest little layer of softness has appeared and now covers my ribs (I'm sure that's a good thing). My old body- wrecked by starvation and purging- resembled that of a pre-pubescent girl...bony, stick-like. The new body is trying to grow back into the curves and muscles I once had...yet it differs somehow. I'm no longer the stick figure, but my body isn't exactly going back to its old form either. It's a new, unfamiliar feeling that is taking some getting used to.

I know other people cannot see any of this. However, it is very real to me.

LA and I talk about body image a lot, even though she is not a therapist. I like to talk to her about it because she is 1. a woman, 2. an athletic woman like me, and 3. reminds me that health and strength are the ultimate goals and will be worth the mental anguish when it's all said and done. I especially like it when she validates what I am feeling with science, which helps to make me feel a lot less crazy. For example, she explained to me that the softness around my midsection may not be in my head; rather, that a lot of people trying to restore weight after an eating disorder will gain their weight in that location first. Over time, the body will pull from that weight and redistribute it to other parts of the body to develop more muscle.

Music to my ears. In that case, I'll try to leave it be. Thanks, LA.

I think the most frustrating part of weight restoration is that, for me, it seems like a very isolating process. While Dr. Joe has helped me to open up more to those in my life and talk through my emotions (as an alternative to throwing them up, burning them off, or not eating to turn them off), I just don't feel right expressing my frustration, depression, and anger about gaining weight.

For starters, as I have mentioned before, most people would roll their eyes in disgust the second someone my size begins to rant about curvy hips, a "flabby" midsection, or thicker thighs. While the anxiety over my changing body is often crippling, expressing any form of real emotion related to these areas comes across as desperate, attention-seeking, or ungrateful. After all, many would consider my current body to be the ideal. However, to me, it sometimes represents laziness and imperfection. It is all a matter of perspective; unfortunately, a lack of perspective is often what fuels the development of an eating disorder in the first place.

Secondly, the eating disordered mind has a way of warping the "compliments" that are often thrown casually into conversations about healthy weight gain. The eating disorder translates the following we're-so-proud-of-you comments as:

"You don't look sick anymore!" = I've changed. The weight gain is obvious. Shit, I thought it was just in my head.

"You look like your old self!" = I apparently look like I did before I developed the eating disorder, which was obviously fat and sloppy or else I would have never felt the need to drop half of my body weight in the first place.

"You have curves again!" = Yep, it's confirmed. I have love handles. Those were not in my imagination.

"Your face has that healthy glow!" = That comment is reserved for pregnant woman in their third trimester, so I must currently resemble one. All the fat has settled into my cheeks and I have apparently developed a double chin.

You get the picture. It's a messed up world inside here, let me tell you.

Thirdly, it's hard to admit that something as trivial and superficial as physical appearance actually has the power to rule my life. For example, there are mornings on which I do not want to get out of bed and be seen by people, thanks to the distorted perception I have of my own body. Now, most people who know me know I have a very strong work ethic and there isn't much that keeps me from tackling the day's to-do list. Given that fact, you can imagine how painful and real these moments must be in order to keep me from facing the day.

Now imagine picking up the phone and calling a confidant to say "I just (sob) can't (sob) do it (sob, sob) today, it's all (sob, sniffle) too much (sob) to face (sniffle, sob, sniffle) and I feel so (sob) miserable and (sniffle) lazy and fat."

Yeah. No one is going to listen to that. There are children starving in Africa for god's sake. World wars. Poverty. Terrorism, natural distasters, and economic downfall. The fact that I experience such catastrophic distress over weight gain seems utterly selfish, shallow, and ridiculous...even to me. Yet, at times, I cannot shake it. It's the eating disorder talking, and it's much more powerful than I give it (sorry, HE...forgot that LA labeled my ED as male) credit for.

For these reasons, the second puberty go-round is, seemingly, more painful than the first. Back then, at least I could comiserate with an endless sea of hormonal, rapidly developing peers.

*Sigh*...oh well. This is all part of the process. I keep reminding myself of that, and trying as best I can to ride the wave of post-eating disorder weight gain. Thankfully, I sometimes experience moments of clarity during which I can see myself on the other side of this: strong, muscular, lean, solid. My body was there once, before I decided to (foolishly) take matters into my own hands. Fifteen years ago, the first round of body changes didn't end up so badly. I'm trying to have faith that the second go-round will leave me pleasantly surprised by the results as well.

Holiday Bug Has Bitten

Even though retailers have been pimping the holidays since, oh, June, I finally caught the bug this weekend. It usually hits me around this time each year; there is something about Thanksgiving week that really brings home the fact that the holidays are around the corner.

Given the countless dysfunctional holidays of my youth, many may assume that the first sign of seasonal cheer would send me running for the hills. Quite the opposite, in fact, as I have somehow managed to maintain a positive outlook on the holidays and typically utilize the last six weeks of the year to celebrate those who have played a significant role in my life. Admittedly, as the years go on and I distance myself from the dysfunction, this list has become increasingly dominated by those with whom I do not share DNA.

I have my wonderfully grounded maternal grandmother to thank for the preservation of my holiday spirit despite a frequently tumultuous childhood. This year marks ten years since she passed, but my aunt (we're close in age and were raised almost like siblings) and I remain committed to celebrating the holidays the way she would have wanted us to: with generosity, appreciation, and stylish flair. She made certain every platter and dish on the table matched, and her carefully crafted tablescapes often resembled Better Homes and Gardens centerfolds (I actually do this every night that I cook- ask The Mr. and my friends). Each gift was personal in some way, and exactly what the person had been hoping for (wrapped in matching wrapper with spectacular bows, of course). Hours upon hours would be spent at the mall and specialty stores until she had carefully selected something special for each and every person who had touched her life in some way that year. I accompanied her on almost every one of those shopping trips throughout the years, until she passed away when I was eighteen.

She was my foundation growing up, the one who taught me the right way to live, to love, and to show appreciation. I know I picked up some of her perfectionist qualities, given the extensive amount of time I spent with her as a child. While I am trying to shed some of my own perfectionist tendendencies (namely, those that have been self-destructive), the ones I inherited from her are ones I hope I never lose.

I was reminded of her this weekend as I dragged The Mr. out to Target (aka Holiday Hell for a guy) to see what kind of decor we could pick up in preparation for our Thanksgiving Evening Put-Up-the-Tree Extravaganza (which always includes wine, cursing, and the dog eventually breaking something). We grabbed our customary shopping-at-Target Starbuck's coffees, and hit the holiday rows hard. While The Mr., ever the outgoing one, bonded with the other disinterested and unengaged husbands, I picked up trendy holiday hand towels, some artsy-looking ornaments, and perused the wreath selection. Standing in the Target retail wonderland with my coffee in hand, I secretly vowed, as I do every year, to always strive to make the holidays happy, comfortable, and magical for my own "family", just as my grandmother did for me.

This has been a tough year for me, and many months have flown by without my noticing thanks to my "brain-starved" state (as LA calls it). It was around this time last year that I really began to sink into the eating disorder and lost my sense of self, as well as control of my body. This holiday season will be a little different for me, as I have lost that ability to really enjoy in many of the treats that define this time of year. I now have to be conciously aware of my choices, feelings, and urges in an effort to prevent a relapse back to starving and purging in the days, weeks, and months after the celebratory season is over. While the eating disorder has become a driving force in my life over the last year, experiencing the holiday season with the eating disorder mind feels extremely unfamiliar.

I've learned to adapt to Christmases without my grandmother over the last ten years, but it is (and never will be) exactly as it was when she was still around. I wonder the same about experiencing the holidays with an eating disorder...will they ever really be the same now that my mind has zeroed in on food as a control mechanism? Will there be a day when I can eat a second slice of pie (ok, maybe even just one piece of pie...we'll start there) without the urge to throw it up or burn it off immediately? Will I eventually be able to enjoy mashed potatoes again without the list of potential fat-laden ingredients playing on repeat in my brain? Could I ever become so relaxed that I consider Black Friday shopping a cardio exercise (and therefore an acceptable substitute for a trip to the gym) like the rest of the sale-seeking free world?

I don't know. While it scaresthe hell out of me to let go of the safety and control the eating disorder provides, I secretly hope the holidays in years to come are eating-disorder free.

In the meantime, while recovery is still as fresh and new as the holiday crap I just bought at Target, I'm going to focus my attention on doing up the holidays the way my grandmother would want me to: spoiling the hell out of those who have cared for and stood by me this year, creating a happy and cheerful home, and paying attention to the details that make every effort extra special.

She'd be appalled by the fact that that the ED version of her beloved granddaughter would even think twice before digging into a giant plate of her butter-drenched mashed potatoes. I'll work on making her proud again in that respect. She knows better than anyone that I can overcome the tough stuff in life; after all, she made sure to teach me how as I was growing up.

For now, however, I think color-coordinating the gift wrap with the tree ornaments and busting out the matching dessert plates will do, don't you?

Quick Post- Just Checking In

It's Friday...the end of another week. I'm looking forward to a relaxing weekend with only a few plans (although the way I live my life, a "relaxing" weekend is probably still considered pretty packed compared to most). Today's work day was a series of presentations, obligations, and meetings that filled my Outlook calendar, and before I knew it, 5:00 had arrived.

In between meetings and such, I also observed my boss doing yoga in the hallway, dancing to the music in her head outside my door, and reminding some of us that  "National Have Sex With a Man With a Mustache Week" is coming to a close. Only in higher education is it permissable that professionals with Master's degrees be so in touch with their inner nineteen-year olds. But I love every second of it, and my crazy, flower-child of a boss keeps me laughing amidst the chaos of my life and work. I mean, The Mr. doesn't have a mustache, but I would hate to miss out on such an important national holiday. Thank god for my boss for keeping me in the loop.

Our evening at home has been about as uneventful as a staring contest, but I really wouldn't have had it any other way today. The Mr. and I have barely seen each other this week, and I've been somewhat sleep deprived thanks to another bout of excrutiating pain a few nights ago. It was severe enough that (gasp!) I have gone three consecutive days without exercise and/or training...WHAT?! Yep, that's right...my running shoes have not met the pavement in three days, my sports bras remain clean and folded neatly in my drawer, and my iPod fully charged.

Needless to say, it's killing me. Although (surprisingly) not as much as I thought. So maybe I can be okay not working out every single day...well, in extreme cases of sickness or pain, anyhow. I don't necessarily feel as though I've blown up like a whale or moved up three sizes (I breathed a sigh of relief when I zipped into the same size jeans while shopping after work today). I even prepared and ate a very nice, normal dinner this evening, complete with wine (duh) and dessert. I snapped a picture for LA and sent it her way. She'll be so proud.

I have, however, reached my no-exercise threshold, and tomorrow morning I'll be back to the gym. I missed it. I'm sure the regulars in my cycling class missed me too. A good friend of mine subbed my class last evening, and she has a reputation for being a much more intense instructor than I am...they either loved her or hated her, or maybe a little of both (thanks, R!).

Today was, thankfully, so busy that I barely had time to obsess over food, calories, and other eating-disorder preoccupations. It was a nice change, considering the earlier part of the week was not exactly perfect. But that's okay. It's in the past. Time to move on.

Doctors are still trying to get to the bottom of my pain/unitentional vomiting episodes, and I have yet another test on Tuesday morning. I'll admit, I'm starting to get frustrated with the fact that these tests seem to show absolutely nothing. It's almost making me feel as though I am somehow imagining this pain...although I'm certain I am not. I am about the furthest thing from a hypchondriac.

I will be honest in admitting that while I am tempted to push the doctors to continue to look for answers and solutions for these episodes, I experience a great deal of guilt related to doing so. I know, in my right mind, that the pain is largely a result of my own behaviors and the cycle I've fallen into of restricting/purging. My body is screaming at me to stop, to rest, to heal, and for the most part, I have. But the lingering notion that I am somehow to blame for these medical issues is a hard pill to swallow, and makes it more difficult to tell a doctor "hey, look, I'm in pain here...fix this NOW!"

I go back and forth quite a bit between "it is what it is, now let's just fix it" and "quit your bitching, you did this to yourself and have no right to complain". I suppose the latter is the smarter, more logical voice to follow, but alas, if I always listened to the smarter voice, I'd be "healed" by now. I'm still working on that.

The key to warding off the pain, it seems, is to not restrict and/or purge. So that is the goal for the next week. I had three consecutive, healthy weeks and would really like to beat that record this time around. Tuesday brings another test, and I'm ready to get to the bottom of the pain episodes and for this nightmare to be over.

Anyhow, I'm going for a shorter, more general post than usual tonight, as I want to go hang out with The Mr. and hit the sack early so I'm refreshed and ready to go teach at the gym tomorrow (yay!). I had planned to write about family dynamics (a big topic this week in my life), but I'll save that for the next post. Stay tuned.

I'll be back in touch tomorrow...enjoy the rest of your Friday night, everyone.

Crack open a bottle of wine and cheers to the weekend!

The rat race is over...it's Frid

Not Perfect...But Honest

I'm sitting at my kitchen table painting my nails an obnoxious and totally unprofessional color called "Juniper Jade". It is taking me back to my high school years, during which I arrived at my Catholic school each and every morning with "illegal" dark colored nails (which complimented the beaded necklaces and heavy Doc Martens on which I relied to accessorize my plaid uniform kilt).

I rarely paint my nails given the fact that I spend so much time outside of work at the gym, but am in need of a distraction at the moment and giving myself a jade-green manicure is doing the trick.

I haven't posted in a few days because, quite honestly, I wasn't sure what to say. My emotions are running high, I'm spending a lot of time and energy fighting off urges and internal battles, and I have been getting pummeled by some of the biggest stressors in my life at all at once. I'm a little tired from it all, and while I typically rely on this blog to pour out my honest experiences and insight, I am trying to overcome a new hesitancy to do so. Let me explain:

When I first started writing about my experience, I wondered if a time would come during which a commitment to honesty would be become a burden. I have posted regularly for several months now, and have never really struggled with the decision to put myself and my story out there.

Until now.

I posted several days ago about an experience that led to purging, which frustrated some. Yes. I struggled. I still am. Yes, those moments will happen.

This journey is not easy. It's not a short one, either. And, unfortunately, at times, it is a very lonely and isolated trip. I recognize the fact that it is frustrating to watch someone move forward and then take a few steps back. I get that. I also realize that those who know me best are not accustomed to watching me fail (example: purging this weekend), and that I have established a pattern in my life of setting goals and conquering them with lightning speed.

This is different.

It may sound like I'm making excuses. I am not, I assure you. If anything, I am my harshest critic in light of setbacks and failures (how do you think I got here?).

Obviously, some of the things I blog about appear to be setbacks to any right-minded person. If I read a post detailing a not-so-positive experience that did not end well, I would get angry too (actually, I do get angry...as I said, the majority of the disappointment is self-inflicted). But when I began this blog, I was committed to staying real, honest, and open about what it is truly like to battle the emotions, urges, and patterns associated with anorexia, exercise bulimia, and other eating disorders.  In the "real" battle against this disorder, recovery is not a straight line. There is no "quick fix", "cold-turkey", or "patch" to help me turn off the critical inner voice. There is no magic mirror that will help me to see my body for what it really is, or a pill to take to keep me from returning to past patterns in times of stress, pain, or emotional overload.

I know people are frustrated with me. I know people are angry at me for not fixing this yet. For every person who actually verbalizes their anger and frustration (yes, there have been some), there are probably another two or so who secretly want to shake me. I try to take this as a compliment...that people care enough to get anxious about my return to health. As LA once told me: "Even anger means the person still cares enough to express passion; it's indifference that indicates the person is not longer invested."

I was once scolded by Dr. Joe for stating that I thought I could beat this in a matter of weeks, so I understand why some maintain a naive sense of urgency about my recovery. I still, to a certain extent, hold onto that urgency as well (I have to, it's what drives me forward). However, I had to learn the complexities of this disorder the hard way, and have come to realize that with every layer that is pulled back, another (and often more complicated one) exists underneath.

What you read on here may not always be pretty. Recovery is not perfect. I am not perfect.

But I am a hard worker. I set goals. I achieve them regardless of setbacks (and there have been many in my life...more than most even know). Hopefully, those who follow this story have enough faith in me to see those qualities and know that, despite taking steps backward, I'll always keep working.

I'll continue to tell the honest story as best I can...both successes and failures. You can get mad. You can get frustrated. All I ask is that you also applaud the successes, help me if/when I come to you, and be there to make me laugh....

...even if you don't know what to say anymore. (And for god's sake, don't say that out loud...it reads "I've totally given up on you"...warped, I know...but find other phrasing if necessary)
...even if you want to strangle me for having a setback. (Save it. I've probably already beaten myself up more)

...even if you don't understand and never will. (That's ok. I still don't understand most of it)

...even if you wanted this to end, like, yesterday. (I probably want that more than you do)

Some of you know me well enough to know I will always return the favor.

It has taken me a long time to trust that others will stand by me and that I am not entirely alone in this world.
It has taken me even longer to open up in this way. I want to be able to continue to do so in a honest way without feeling that I have let others down with my setbacks.

I've learned to trust you. Please trust me that I am trying very, very hard to repair this as quickly as possible.

Proposing a New Treatment Strategy

Today, I had a brilliant idea while sitting in LA's office.

Those working with treatment teams to overcome eating issues should be provided with a clothing allowance.

Think about it. Sure, I'm thrown into emotional distress when I gain a couple pounds. Yeah, it makes me want to stop eating for about a month (I'm being sarcastic...clearly that would not go unnoticed by the professionals), and a fear of fat is obviously at the root of many of my issues. But further on down the list, the stress of purchasing new clothes yet again is another negative side effect of getting healthy.

Don't get me wrong...I want to be healthy. I do. That is the top priority, and if it were not, I would not spend large chunks of my week with a dietitian, psychologist, and physicians (I mean, they are great and all, but...). I will get healthy, I will listen and do what I should do to regain some of the healthy weight I lost. I will kick and scream and drag my heels a little at times, but deep down I know I cannot fight it and need to just accept it.

I will not let the fact that I will need to buy new clothes stand in the way of my health. It's minor, and I hope you sense my sarcasm and humor in writing this. But, seriously, refeeding would be a lot more pleasant if I had a fashion-related goal to motivate me. People trying to lose weight are motivated by all the cute clothes they can wear if/when they achieve their goal weight. Hell, the contestants on the Biggest Loser even get full-on makeovers after they transform themselves (lucky bastards...although I guess they deserve it). And what do us recovering eating disorder patients get? To watch our waistlines expand, to agonize over favorite clothing that refuses to stretch over our "healthy" new bodies, to "hold off" on buying clothing because we never really know what the hell we are going to look like when it's all said and done.

If LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K all contributed to a refeeding fashion fund for me, it would prod me along a little in the process. Perhaps I wouldn't kick and scream about going up a size if I knew I could tap into the little trust fund they lovingly set up on my behalf rather than forking over my own cash for new clothes.

I'm just saying.

I actually proposed this new idea to LA this morning, who didn't exactly say no, but deferred the question to Dr. Joe. Given that Dr. Joe's salary is probably higher than LA's, I should have probably started there first anyhow. Silly me.

Dr. Joe said the clothing allowance was a fine idea, that he didn't really care either way. Except that the reason he didn't really care was that he would not be footing the bill for any of it. I think he missed the point.

Back to LA. I texted her after the Dr. Joe appointment. She said sure, that she would just include me in her kids' clothing budget. Sweet. She agreed to it, and I have the text to prove it.

(Ok, I realize she was probably kidding, but we all know emotion cannot be expressed in text, so I'm taking the answer for what it is: an affirmative "Absolutely, M. You're my favorite client and I'd love to set aside some money for you to enjoy the experience of purchasing new clothes...").

While out shopping this evening, I came across a fabulous pewter-colored handbag. As is a long-standing tradition when I find something amazing at a store, I snapped a picture and sent it to Mama K for her to provide her opinion. She said it was a must-have, that I needed it, and to just go ahead and bill LA.

I told her I didn't think accessories would count as acceptable use of the refeeding fashion fund, but perhaps I can spin it somehow.

In other news, I had a nuclear test on my gallbladder this morning at the local hospital. The test itself was rather painless (well, except for the IV...I have never gotten used to them and they still make me queasy), but did last over two hours. Mostly I slept while the technician tried to get my gallbladder to act up and replicate the pain I've been experiencing during those recent I-am-certain-I-am-dying attacks. She succeeded; I felt some pain.  I'll hopefully have the results from GI Guy in a few days and we'll proceed from there.

I saw Dr. Joe after LA today, and we had a little chat about all kinds of things: the fact that I purged three times this week (that was not fun to talk about, I kind of stared at the floor while he freaked out a little), my marathon training (even he thinks I'm insane to train for one throughout the midwestern winter...I'll probably agree with him in, oh, about a month or so), my body dysmorphia, and what I've been eating as of late (I absolutely hate verbalizing my daily food intake for some reason, and I wish he'd just read it off a notebook like LA does). I was (jokingly) scolded for rolling my eyes several times during the appointment. I assured Dr. Joe the eye-roll is reserved only for those with whom I feel comfortable enough to be myself. He should take it as a compliment, really.

I will probably need to dedicate an upcoming post to the positives about Dr. Joe. I actually do adore the man, despite the fact that I am constantly harassing him (unbeknownst to him) via this blog. It's just the kind of client-therapist relationship we have: filled with lots of banter that would probably be considered disrespectful except that we both can take it as well as we can dish it out.

All in all, today was a needed opportunity to slow down a bit and reconnect with the people who have been helping me all along. It's time to get back on track and keep moving in the right direction.

After all, new clothing awaits... :)

Mind Games

I have to accept that, thanks to my eating disorder, the world appears slightly warped. The problem is that it is often difficult to discern which parts are warped and which are, in fact, reality.

In our everyday interactions with each other, food-related topics are commonplace. Health and nutrition "advice" is everywhere, comments about weight and food are casually flung into conversation, and we all rely on social cues to help us determine what's "normal" and what is not. To a "normal" person, this information is naturally edited- some of it stays, some of it goes, it does not necessarily dictate the course of the day or provoke a significant change in behavior. To someone fighting off an eating disorder, these pieces and parts of daily life create a dangerous minefield of self-doubt, internal questioning, and often negative response.

Before I start to pour this out onto a post, please understand that I do not believe the world needs to change for me just because I struggle with an eating disorder. The fact that it is a "disorder" implies that I am not like the rest of you, and it is my job to process the world in a way that is not warped and triggering. I need to learn to cope within a world that includes comments, conversations, and advice about nutrition, food, and weight; those things will always exist.

What prompted me to write about this was a comment that I received yesterday while at a family party. Keep in mind that there is not a single member of either of our families who is aware that I struggle with an eating disorder, so this provides the perfect example of the perfectly innocent, everyday commentary that has the ability to rock an ED patient to the core.

The Mr. and I attended his mother's 60th birthday party yesterday knowing that we would be going out to dinner to celebrate our belated anniversary later on in the evening. I had already planned to eat a small amount of food at the party so I wouldn't experience guilt about eating a nice dinner later on (that didn't exactly work out the way I had planned).

At the party, I ate a six-inch turkey sub on wheat bread from the sandwich platter. I had a few handfuls of raw vegetables, some fresh fruit, and a very small portion of the whole-grain Greek pasta salad I had brought to the party. At this point, that is about all I can handle, and I felt okay about the quantity and choices I had made. I opted to not eat cake despite the ever-present "Why isn't M. eating cake?!?!" chatter among the group, stayed away from the desserts I knew would bring on the urge to restrict later or purge.

Several hours later when we went to leave, a family member said to me "You're going to still go out to a nice dinner after that big lunch we just had?! How are you going to have room for that?"

Cue eating-disorder panic. Oh my god. She is right. That is totally not normal. I am a fat, gluttonous pig to come to a party, eat what I did, and then still go out to an anniversary dinner with my husband.

That comment, while completely innocent, stuck with me like glue for the rest of the day. By the time we sat down to dinner at a nice restaurant, I was already in a major eating disorder state of mind. I ate my dinner, determined to enjoy it and not let the eating disorder get in the way of a nice night out. But by the time we arrived at another bar for drinks and dessert, I purged in the bathroom without even thinking twice about it. I didn't even process through it enough to text LA beforehand. It was almost automatic, the voice in my head telling me I had overeaten, that it was not normal to eat at a birthday party and then a dinner out, that I had done something very, very wrong.

Since we had chosen to go to the second bar for drinks and dessert, I went ahead and ordered a small slice of maple walnut cheesecake and ate it slowly, trying to ignore the guilt and just enjoy it. I wanted to just start over and forget about dinner. But while eating dessert, I thought to myself: As if it weren't already bad enough that you ate a GIANT lunch at the party, INDULGED in a HUGE dinner...now you have to go and toss dessert in there too, you fat slob. And think of the wine and all the hidden calories in there too. You are out of control. You are disgusting, have no discipline whatsoever, and do not get to just eat whatever you want, whenever you want.

Without a second thought, I made another trip to the bathroom. I felt horrible about it. I should be able to just enjoy a nice anniversary dinner with my husband. And more importantly, I should have texted LA before purging a second time.

These moments happen every day when you are struggling with this disorder: a comment. A look. Someone else obsessing over their own weight or diet. No one is to blame for these triggers. It's our problem. It's our job to figure out how to rewire our brains.

I can remember a similar situation during which I sensed I had overeaten at a lunch date with friends. I had scanned the plates of the others at table (which I regularly do) and noticed that no one else at the table had eaten everything on their plate (mine was just salad with grilled chicken, but I still ate all of it). I immediately felt as though I had done something wrong. How many times have we all heard that we should never eat an entire entree at a restaurant? I began beating myself up for being so ravenous, uncontrolled, and undisciplined. I can't remember for sure, but I must have purged or restricted after that meal because I recall the following conversation taking place in LA's office shortly after that lunch:

Me: "I should not have eaten that entire salad. No one else ate their entire lunch."

LA: "Why do you feel badly about it? There was nothing bad in that."

Me: "Because I should have only eaten half of it. That's what you're supposed to do at restaurants."

LA: (long pause, shocked look on her face) "Wait...why on earth would you think that applies to you?! You are not overweight and you ran ten miles that morning. There is no such thing as portion control in your life!"

And that, my friends, was the day I realized the world I live in (as someone with an eating disorder) was warped. All of the "advice" I had ever absorbed about food had become so jumbled in my head that I was unable to apply it correctly to my own life. That was the day LA told me I needed to throw out everything I had ever heard about nutrition and begin to follow her lead.

In hindsight, I should have applied the knowledge I've gained throughout this process to yesterday's "You're still going to eat dinner?!" comment. Had I done so, I would have realized that:

1. The person who made the comment probably did not even see what I had eaten and therefore had no idea that I didn't eat as big of a lunch as everyone else.
2. The person who made the comment eats like a bird, so even if she had seen what I ate, it probably would have seemed like a lot from her perspective.
3. The person who made the comment had no way of knowing that I had run a pretty fast ten miles just hours before, and what I did eat was nowhere close to even making up for the energy lost on that run.
4. Like LA tells me all the time...I am not a normal person. I am an athlete. So I need to eat a lot more than the average person and IT'S OK.

But, naturally, I listened to the loud, obnoxious eating disorder and followed it right down the path to self-destruction.

That seems to be the case in general this week: the eating disorder has been loud and obnoxious, and the LA/Dr. Joe/Dr. K rational messages are getting lost somehow.

While I have struggled a great deal over the last several days, I do not consider this past week to have been a relapse. In my mind (and I think in the minds of my team, although we've never really talked about it), a relapse would be a full-blown return to not eating and/or throwing up whatever small amounts of food I do decide to give in and eat. If I returned to something resembling that pattern, then I would consider to be relapsed (and probably sent into inpatient treatment somewhere...no one is going to put up with that for very long now that I'm working with people to correct this).

I did, however, purge three times this week, which is a little alarming, especially in light of the fact that some of the medical issues from previous restrict/purge cycles still linger. I seem to have lost the sense of control I gained while on leave and working with my team regularly. I'm trying to find it again.

When talking to Dr. Joe, LA, and Dr. K, it all seems so clear...so empowering. I often leave their offices feeling strong, rational, and equipped with the strategies necessary to ward off the eating disorder when it creeps up. But somehow, in the moment (or prompted by a simple trigger or comment), their wise voices still get pushed back more often than I would like.

At least the mistakes are fewer and further between than they once were. Eventually, they will go away completely, and I'll be able to exist in this food/weight/body-obsessed world without latching on to the innocent comments and conversations that lead me down paths to dangerous territories.

Prior to the incidents this week, I had gone over three weeks without skipping a meal or purging. When studying to become a personal trainer, I learned that it takes twenty one days before a new behavior becomes habit. The healthy new habits didn't permanently stick this time, but the fact that I experienced over twenty one successful days helps to keep me believing in progress.

The last few days have been rough. This is the epitome of the "gray area"...where I now know better and have been equipped with all the tools necessary to fight off the eating disorder, yet all the old patterns still exist and feel rather comfortable in times of stress.

Old habits die hard.

When studying to become a personal trainer, I remember learning about the 21-day theory, which basically assumes that an individual must maintain a behavior pattern for twenty one days before it then becomes a new habit. I recently met that mark in treatment. For over twenty-one days, I did not skip a meal or purge. This was a big accomplishment...until the bottom fell out this week.

I wouldn't consider this a relapse per se, as I have been able to get back on track after some incidents this week. To me, a relapse is a full-blown return to the old pattern of not eating, giving in from time to time and eating something ridiculously small (like a few pretzels), only to throw them up minutes later thanks to self-inflicted punishment for "giving in". That is not currently happening. Mama K is all about "perspective", so I guess when you apply her "perspective", I have come a long way despite this week's challenges (which feel like major failures to me).

I hate to focus on the negatives in my blog, but, unfortunately, the negative incidents are often the ones I am forced to analyze as I try to turn this thing around. The best I can do is try to reflect on them, talk about them with the team, and try to implement damage control when necessary.

I'm starting to realize that I do return to the old pattern when I sense a loss of control over a situation involving food/body/weight/exercise. It's almost as though I throw on a pair of earmuffs, ignore everything that is going on around me, and spend some quality one-on-one time with the old eating disorder friend in my mind. In moments of confusion and anxiety, it's the only voice I listen to, and he (earlier this week, LA decided the eating disorder is a man) often talks a lot louder than LA, Dr. Joe, and everyone else who likes to fill my brain with positivity, healthy coping skills, and snappy little "anti-eating-disorder" quotes.

So here's the bottom line. I'll just throw it out there: I purged three times this week (actually somewhat of a miracle given how many times I had to battle to not restrict and/or purge). I feel terrible about it. I haven't even told LA about two of the incidents yet (they were last night, so I haven't had the chance to). I've beaten myself up over it, mostly because I wonder why on earth people would still want to help someone- invest a lot of time and energy in someone- who can't seem to get it together. There it is again, that critic: "People have invested in you. You need to work like hell to make sure they don't regret it."

(I've said that to myself so many times in my life. I honestly, even after all this time, have no idea where it comes from. If you want to get all 'psycho-therapy with it, it's very cleary an "I don't deserve anything to just be handed to me" statement...again, I do not know where that comes from either. Feel free to analyze as you wish.)

I, of course, want to beat this thing in record time. I want to have as few setbacks as possible. I want the "perfect" recovery. Like I said...old habits (now referring to the perfectionist attitude I've used to propel me forward for twenty-plus years) die hard.

A Little Late to the Party

Yesterday, two incidents sent me into a bit of an eating disordered frenzy. I woke up this morning ready to let them go and face a new day, but they are most certainly carrying over into today despite my best efforts to just let them go...

While these two incidents may seem like nothing to an outsider (normal people), both are Big Deals (note the capitalization) when you're trying to train your brain to shut the hell up about all things food/eating/body related. Unfortunately for me, two Big Deals hit in one day...the first was totally out of my control. The second, well, was sort of my fault.

Incident #1: The Realization Your "Sick Size" No Longer Fits

Yesterday morning, I went for my favorite pair of work pants (Express Editor pants...have been wearing them for years, I have gone through literally hundreds of them in the last decade), only to realize the smallest size was a bit...snug. They still "fit". They were just no longer "roomy".

I have mentioned in other posts that while I have absolutely no idea what my "real" body looks like, I have been forced to believe that I must be rather skinny (so they tell me). I am socially aware enough to recognize that a skinny girl bitching about her size is a little off-putting to most people. Therefore, the trauma this incident invoked was only shared with a few trusted individuals. In a moment of panic, I texted Mama K, LA, and a few close friends who would "get" the profound seriousness of the eating disorder crisis at hand (which to most people does not qualify as anywhere near a crisis).

Here are some of the responses I received:

• "You're really upset about this?! You got to that size by PUKING. Look how f-ed up your body has become because of it!! Now you're just makin' me mad...Ok, ok, CALM DOWN. My true mother bitchiness is coming out." (Yep...guess who fired off that response!)
• "That is ok. You are getting your health back and that trumps everything." (Ok, a little more supportive and mothering on that one).
• "Strong is the new skinny!" (These responses are so indicative of the senders' personalities...wow).
• "WTF? That doesn't even make sense..." (It makes perfect sense...these crazy people are trying to make me fat!)

Incident #2: Finding Out You Weigh Way More Than You Think

After inwardly cursing LA for making me eat and shoving the latest version of my ever-changing body into those damn work pants, I found myself driving to GI Guy's office. You may be thinking "Oh! GI Guy! We haven't heard his name in a little while...thought that was all taken care of!". And you would be wrong. More consults, more tests, gallbladder removal surgery still looming on the horizon. Thanks to my host of eating disorder-related gastrointestinal issues, GI Guy is still in the picture.

At Dr. K's office (which I frequent regularly since she is part of my original ED Recovery Posse), the medical assistants know to weigh me blindly. Therefore, I have been blissfully unaware of my weight for over two months now. It truly has not bothered me to not know the number, as I tend to use the way I "feel" to gage whether or not I'm "packing on the pounds" (which I have been assured is not happening).

In a split second yesterday, I decided I could handle the truth. I suddenly desperately wanted to know the number, and convinced myself I would be okay with whatever it was. With false bravado, I stepped onto the scale and watched the number appear. For a moment I was calm and at peace. I thanked the medical assistant, who left me in the room to wait for GI Guy.

Then, of course, I started to obsess. The number was seven pounds higher than what I had convinced myself I weighed, and two pounds over the recommendation Dr. K had provided in the very beginning. It was about seventeen pounds over my weight upon discharge from the hospital during the summer.

When I told several people (only within a very, very close circle) the number, they all reacted in the exact same way: big, giant smiles spread across their faces. They could not contain the the sheer joy produced by  me packing on the pounds. I know I should interpret this as a sign of love and caring. But their pride does not replace the fact that I still wanted to strangle them all for being so giddy about something that feels like the end of the world to me. Ah, how I love these classic eating disorder recovery moments.



I tried to remain calm in light of these realizations and just do what I am supposed to do: eat according to the plan, do my work at the office, teach my normal class at the gym, do my typical Tuesday workout and nothing more. I tried to implement Dr. Joe's "relax!" mentality, shut my office door a few times, and regroup. I did everything I could to push the eating disorder voice out of my head. But the truth is, the realization that I am gaining weight (no matter how healthy it is) and going up a size still haunted me all day. The result was a psychological tennis match in my head, during which all of the messages from my treatment team got jumbled and mashed together with the overpowering eating disorder thoughts. The result was a little something like this:

"You're getting fat, just like they want you to. It's distorted, you're not really fat. The scale doesn't lie, you weigh a ton. Just stay at the gym longer to run after your cycling class. Tell the ED voice to shut up. Find a coping skill. Distract. Distract? We could distract by working out more...let's go run! You are getting healthy. Size doesn't matter. You are hungry. Just eat. Eat and then purge. LA will never know if you skip dinner or purge. But you can't lie to her. These people are there to help you. You can't let them down. Pretty soon you will realize you have gained 50 pounds. You need to reign in this weight gain before it gets out of control. You are letting the weight  gain get ahead of you. You promised yourself you would put weight on if it went on the "right" way. Time to lift more and tone up. It's going on as flab. You look lazy. Your self-worth is more than a number. No one will want you to train them if you are fat. Your stomach is already messed up. Just lose two of the pounds. Purge what you ate today and then restrict for a few days. No one will notice...."

By 9:00, I was completely exhausted from it all, and sent a pretty desperate text to LA alerting her to the fact that I would either 1. not be eating dinner, or 2. be throwing dinner up.

I ended up eating a light dinner. It took about 30 minutes, and I didn't taste a thing. Then, I went to bed.

That brings me to this morning. I did not want to get out of bed.

"Everyone can tell you are getting fat."
"Your clothes look like crap on you."
"You've lost control."
"Too many indulgences. Time to get back on track."
"How can you possibly go into work looking like this?!"

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH! Make it stop!

I had a whiney, childlike moment this morning during which I told The Mr. I hate that people are getting such satisfaction from my weight gain (even though my wise mind tells me I should be thrilled about this too...I'm getting healthy! Yay!). He said he highly doubts that LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K are all high-fiving and popping champagne behind closed doors, relishing in the fact that another anorexic has blown up like a balloon.

He's right. Perhaps they are, actually, sipping champagne together somewhere. But it's not because I've put on a few pounds; it's because I'm becoming healthy again. It's a success. Deep down I know that it is.

But I still am angry about it.

Go ahead. Smirk. I know you all are just as excited as everyone else about the fact that I am no longer emaciated. I'll join the party too, as I know it's where I should be. Save a glass of champagne for me. I may just be a few minutes late to the celebration, but I'm coming. Just let me sulk for a bit and mourn the loss of my former body, the one I felt I worked very, very hard for (regardless of the methods).

All or Nothing, Black or White.

I've never really thought of myself as an all-or-nothing/ black-or-white type of person. I can accept the shades of gray that exist in the world and in life; I'm able to see multiple perspectives on a given situation, I have learned the art of compromise (though The Mr. may disagree with that point).

Despite this, the following phrase has come out of LA's mouth three times in the last week: "There's that black and white thinking again!"

When an observation is presented to me once, I can generally ignore on the basis of "they don't really know me" (when, in fact, these crazy therapy people are coming to know me better than 90% of those in my life). But when it's been stated multiple times, I owe it to myself to take a closer look.

Prompted by LA's insight, I've come to realize that when it comes to my own life, the all-or-nothing/ black-or-white mentality is applied on an almost hourly basis. Recent examples of this include:

• My approach to workouts: "I intended to teach two classes, swim, and lift this evening. I taught two classes, swam two miles, but neglected to lift...therefore the workout does not count and I need to restrict my dinner."

• My immediate thought after eating what I consider to be a "treat" (and what normal people consider to be the equivalent of rabbit food): "I screwed up the day. I need to purge it all, not eat anything for the rest of the day, and start over tomorrow."

• At home: "If I am going to cook dinner, it will either be 5-star restaurant quality or I'm not going to waste my time. And a sit-down dinner without wine simply cannot happen."

• In my career: "I don't just work. I achieve. I produce. I must be hauling ass at all times or I am not worthy of the title and letters after my name."

• In graduate school: "I either need to kill myself  juggling an assistantship and a paid internship or no one will hire me and I will be living out of the backseat of my car."

• With others: "Once I trust you, I will love you like crazy. You dare to hurt me, and it will never be the same."

Ok, so I guess I was somewhat aware of this pattern prior to LA mentioning it. I used to joke that it was the Irish streak in me ("I'm Irish! We do everything in excess! Drink, fight, love...you name it!"). Now, however, I am acutely aware of how it is playing into my eating disorder as well as the extreme self-imposed pressure I have existed beneath for years. I have not allowed myself the "in-between". When it comes to myself and the impossibly high standards to which I strive to adhere, many aspects of my life have become all-or-nothing, black-or-white.

I have always worked my ass of. Always. I landed my first job at fifteen (lifeguard at the pool where I trained), and worked two or more since around that time. I overdo everything in my life. I thrive on competition, hard work, and overachievement. People often ask me how I manage it all, and my canned response has always been "I just compartmentalize. When I'm at work, I'm focused on the students and work at hand. When I leave, my mind switches to the gym, what I am going to teach in my fitness classes, and my own training. When I'm at home, I take care of what needs to be done there." My life has become a series of drawers, boxes and baskets (had to throw that in there...my neighbor always comments on the number of baskets and bins in my house). I pull one out when I need to work on it, deal with it, or tap into it's contents. I slide it back in when I'm done. I move onto the next.

The result is the black/white mentality LA is seeing in me. All or nothing. Everything in it's own box, never to be pulled out, misplaced, or combined with another box's contents...no matter what. Every box is pulled out for a reason, and when that "reason" is not fulfilled, it feels awfully awkward to just slide it back in its spot and forget about it; like a task that has not been crossed off the to-do list.

I'm not okay leaving things unfinished, or feeling unfulfilled. While I can talk and listen for hours, I like answers, connections, the "ah-ha" moments. I get a thrill from jumping into action, tackling problems, and moving on. I don't like sitting with emotions for too long before I want to get up, develop a plan, and make them go away.

That has served me well. That has also destroyed me.

I know I need to soften my edges a bit, accept the gray areas, and cut myself a break. The real challenge is learning to doing so without sacrificing the focus that has allowed me to compartmentalize, multitask, achieve, and overcome. While the black and white ends of the spectrum naturally draw in my narrow focus (of course they do...they are quantifiable, measurable, tangible), there are plenty of shades of gray in between that I tend to ignore.

Mistakes, processes, and growth are most often found in the gray areas of life. All are tough to look at when you have lived your life with your eyes steadily focused on goals: the black/white, all/nothing.

Low-Key Weekend at Home

I'm not sure why, but this weekend felt very...normal.

There has been that slight chill in the air as of late, coming and going just enough to remind all of us that another Midwest winter is lurking just around the corner. The painted leaves remind us that it is still autumn, but before we know it we will be white-knuckling our steering wheels and packing our "office" shoes to change into once we get to work.

I've always loved this time of year, as many do (well, minus the fact that winter is lurking around the corner), and would truly miss it if we moved to one of those "one-season" areas (think: Florida. Arizona. Hawaii...although beaches would be nice). Sure, there are numerous annoyances associated with the weather turning colder: running outside presents complex wardrobe issues ("It's snowing, but I know I will be sweating in a matter of minutes...are shorts still acceptable?"), I begin to run late to work thanks to the need to defrost the car, and the dog will need to be yanked outside against his will to go to the bathroom (even though I bought him a little down ski jacket a few years ago).

Despite these minor annoyances, I do love the following about this time of year:

• The reappearance of the festive red Starbucks cups, subtly reminding us that we need to begin holiday shopping, like, tomorrow.
• Football. I live for it. My brother and father trained me well, and at times, forgot that I was a girl.
• The fact that only the hardiest of runners are out training on the paths...it's like an athletic secret society.
• Shopping for others...I truly, truly love it (The Mr.: "I don't understand why gift cards won't suffice...")
• Wearing my hooded sweatshirts, running jackets, gym clothes, and long sleeve race t-shirts is suddenly totally acceptable, as staying warm and being comfortable begins to take priority over looking nice.
• We begin to hibernate and our life sloooooooooooooooooows down just enough.

This weekend was the first of many hibernation weekends. Of course, I am much too social to stay in the house for days. So, my form of hiberation may not be quite the same as others'; but with the colder temperatures hanging in the air, my life has become a little more restful and relaxing. And right now, it's exactly what the doctor ordered, as I had experienced Excrutiating Pain/Vomiting Espisode #6 on Thursday night (which was comparable to childbirth, I am certain).

On Friday, I ventured out with my long-lost work friends to dinner and to see the University's theater department's first play of the semester. We just recently hired a new theater director, and we were anxious to see what kind of new vibe he is bringing to our old-fashioned, traditional theater program. He did not disappoint...a hilarious, modern, sex-filled, R-rated theatrical production left us all wondering if our conservative, Harvard-educated Associate Dean will be asking him to pack his bags first thing Monday morning. We sure hope not...he fits in perfectly with the rest of our quirky campus community.

Dinner was, as always, a bit of an anxiety point. I, of course, looked over the online restaurant menu several times before we left the office, and ordered a glass of wine immediately to shut my brain up as it overprocessed and overthought every last ingredient and calorie. I was set on getting the "safe" grilled chicken salad, but remembered LA's comment this past week about pizza being the perfect food (grains, vegetables, dairy...) and decided to split a tomato-basil pizza and salad with my boss (who was thoroughly enjoying her sangrias that night...one of the many reasons I love her to death). The restaurant is also famous for serving "breadsticks the size of your head" (direct quote from another coworker), and I actually ate one of them (albeit slowly and kind of regretting it with every bite...but, hey, it was a challenge).

On Saturday, The Mr. took me to a Mediterranean lunch buffet, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I made dinner at home both last night and tonight, and we just had wine and watched TV with our crazy dog. I napped (a lot) and tried to relax after the stress of returning to work. I taught cycling class and ran, and just did whatever I wanted to. I even met one of my favorite athletes of all time today: Olympic speed skater Apolo Ohno. I stood in line for about an hour to have him sing my copy of his most recent book "Zero Regrets" , among crying teenagers and sexually frustrated suburban housewifes who probably fell head over heels in love with him while he twirled around the stage on Dancing With the Stars.

So where was the eating disorder voice this weekend? It was quieted a bit by the overall calm of the weekend. I tried to push the "you suck" out of my head while out on my long run this morning, and ignored the urge to restrict or purge after my dinner out on Friday night. I questioned whether or not I had eaten too much at the Mediterranean restaurant, but rationalized that the food was basically comprised of vegetables, olive oil, and pita, and that I had taught a rigorous 90-minute cycling class just hours before and was in need of the nourishment. I know I did not eat a big enough post-run breakfast this morning, and fully anticipate some questioning from LA about it tomorrow morning. Currently, I'm trying to tell myself I did not overeat at dinner this evening, and that the food I consumed (which was all very healthy and not at all anything concerning) is not going to increase my midsection overnight. Nothing is ever perfect, which bothers me at times. However, I'm beginning to realize that even a semi-normal weekend is a step in the right direction at this point.

Time to go pack the food I need to get me through tomorrow's meal plan (it's a little like packing for a expedition, really) and settle into bed with a book. It's only a three-day work week for me this week, as the University is closed on Thursday for Veterans' Day, and The Mr. and I took Friday off to celebrate our wedding anniversary. This week, while short, will bring some challenges. For starters, both LA and Dr. Joe will be out of town (this is the second time this has mysteriously happened...my boss, D., asked me the other day if I find it at all suspicious...?). While both are still readily accessible to me (only a text or email away), the fact that I slipped into relapse the last time they were gone is still fresh in my memory. However, I have grown a lot stronger since then, and fully intend to be just fine without them around.

I should also mention that today marks two weeks without purging or skipping a meal. It seems like a small achievement given the fact that I have been working on this eating disorder thing for almost four months, but I am constantly reminded by those around me that breaking this cycle takes a very, very long time.

I will be meeting with LA tomorrow morning, Dr. Joe tomorrow evening, and GI Guy on Tuesday morning. In between I'll be working at my job, teaching classes at the gym, and riding out the positive momentum of the weekend.

Now I'm Pissed

I just got home from a typical Thursday: work at the university for my "real" job, then head straight to the gym to fit in my own workout before teaching the 7:00 cycling class, followed by the usual stream of post-class questions about heart rates, training, ailing body parts and so forth.

A late afternoon phone conversation with LA helped pull me out of a bit of an ED funk and got me through the last few hours of the work day. But by the time I arrived at the gym and stepped onto the treadmill (which I despise, but it is now practically pitch black by 5:00...hate winter), a serious case of Irish rage had set in. I was suddenly pissed at the eating disorder, the world, and most, if not all, of the people in it.

This sounds like a bad thing. I can assure you that when it comes to my life, it is most certainly not.

(Well, ok...anger got me into a lot of trouble as a pissed-off teenager, and often led to trips to the Dean's office, arguments with coaches, and even some physical altercations...but I've learned to turn it into something slightly more productive as an adult).

Anger is often what drives me. Anger has allowed me to cut ties with toxic people in my life, overcome major obstacles, and fight hard for what I want and believe in. Not many people will ever see it on the outside (as I am actually a nice person, believe it or not), but whenever I achieve, win, or defy odds, anger is usually the fuel propelling me forward.

With anger driving me, I cranked out some serious speed on my godforsaken treadmill tempo run today. I taught my cycling class while on an adrenaline high I thoroughly enjoyed and let my frustration drive my effort (all while maintaining a positive attitude and motivating those in my class...it's a gift, really). By the time I got home from the gym, I was fuming and ready to burst with anger, drive, and determination. So now I sit here at the kitchen table, shoving food in my mouth and trying not to think about it, letting it all out in this post.

The Official List of Why I Am Suddenly Pissed (Please note: remember...anger is FUEL, people. I need to get angry sometimes to beat this thing...don't be offended):

• I realized while at the gym that I know I am strong enough, determined enough, and mentally tough enough to run a full marathon and a 50K,yet I let this stupid eating disorder stand in the way of it.

• I want to slap the next person who says to me "You've lost weight!" or "You're so skinny now!" Sure, I may suffer from one hell of a case of body dysmorphia and still believe I am a lazy, sloppy overweight person, but these statements are getting old...quick.

• I am angry at the people in my life who have neglected to rise to the challenge of loving me unconditionally, thus making it hard for me to trust those who want to help me now in adulthood (don't worry...if you are reading this blog, I am more than likely NOT referring to you...no sweat!).

• I am angry I've let an eating disorder prevent me from enjoying life's treats...DQ Blizzards, cupcakes, queso dip, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes come to mind immediately. *sigh*...one day.

• I'm angry that my dog never lets me relax when I get home. Psycho. I just put him outside, actually.

• I'm angry that I've allowed this disorder to take over my mind, and that it has probably wasted hours upon hours of my life that I can never get back. I could have found the solution for world peace by now if my head wasn't flooded with nutrition facts. Damn you, eating disorder. You are standing between me and a Nobel Peace Prize.

• I'm angry at my coworkers who call off constantly and for every little mini-crisis, leaving me to feel extreme guilt for walking away for two and a half weeks to handle something very major. It pisses me off that my mind even went to "I don't want to be one of them" when I know in my heart that stepping away was absolutely necessary. I'm blessed to work in a supportive environment, but have also vowed to never take advantage of it the way others sometimes do.

• I'm angry that I've allowed the eating disorder to, at times, take away the sheer joy of exercise (something I really, truly love and enjoy with or without the caloric burn...call me crazy, I know).

• I'm kind of angry my favorite pairs of work pants will probably be too small soon, but I need to get over it. In the meantime, I just mutter "I hate this stupid meal plan" as I pull them over my newly formed "hips".

• I'm angry at the people who still think I just "want to be skinny". Jump inside my head for a day and I promise you, you will realize very quickly an eating disorder is not about looking like a supermodel.

• I'm angry that I just poured the last glass of chardonnay...where the hell did that bottle go so quickly?! I just opened it yesterday...

There you have it. I'm suddenly all fired up about my eating disorder. I want to kick its ass...like the time I slapped the bouncer at the bar in college...or told off my high school swim coach after he put me on (gasp!) the B-relay to teach me a lesson...or the time I ripped Bank of America a new one after they withdrew our mortgage payment twice in one week...

Ooops. Uh, yeah...about that rage...

Hey. I can't be Little Miss Perfect all the time. I'm pissed tonight. I want to kick ED's sorry ass and move on with my life. F%#k off, ED.

This Is Your Mind on ED

I wish I could type up a glowing account of my first day back to work, but I unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it) have committed to telling the truth on my blog. To say I passed with flying colors would be a lie; but I can tell you that when faced with some struggles, I did everything I could to overcome them. Perhaps that indicates more success than I give myself credit for. I don't know.

The work day went by surprisingly well after I got over the initial shock of just plain being there. The morning started off in orderly fashion thanks to my abnormally high need for preparedness. I woke up a little earlier than usual, showered, ironed my clothes, ate my routine breakfast, did my makeup, dried and straightened my hair. I dropped a few "mother-f#%kers" when I realized I had to defrost my car (I had been sleeping past the point of frost for the last two weeks, therefore had forgotten how to deal with it), but eventually pulled out of the driveway and made my way to my long-lost office. I even had time to stop by Starbucks to pick up the green and white cup that has practically become a wardrobe accessory throughout the last two weeks.

At this point in the day, I faced only two minor challenges: 1. I realized I had not put on a pair of heels in over two weeks, and thought to myself "ok, time to condition the feet again...ow", and 2. I forgot all about the swipe card we all need to use to gain access to the faculty/staff parking lot and stared aimlessly at the gate for a moment before realizing it would not rise on its own.

Three of my coworker friends had purchased a Starbucks gift card to welcome me back, and the shiny gift card was the first thing I saw when I walked into my office. I felt instantly honored and glad to be around my work friends again, whose crazy antics and off-beat personalities I had truly missed. I took a deep breath and started to sift through the numerous emails, papers, files, and other foreign artifacts from my pre-leave life, hoping it would all start to come back to me.

By 10:00, I had sent the first panicked text to LA: "I'm totally overwhelmed and I want to go back to bed. Except that would be impossible because I've already had Starbucks. I want to run and hide." The reality of holy-shit-I'm-back-at-work-and-have-no-idea-where-to-start had sunk in. I realized I no longer had a clue who I was, where I left off, or how to integrate my newfound appreciation for basic nourishment into my hectic and chaotic "real" life.

Around 12:00 I realized I had never eaten my morning snack. I felt like a failure, even though it really is not that critical. But I, of course, wanted to be perfect on my first day back...to show myself I had overcome the worst of my issues and was ready to return to normalcy. I should know by now that perfection is not a healthy and productive goal. However, I suppose if that had completely sunk in I wouldn't be spending hours each week with a therapist, dietitian, and medical doctor, now would I?

So I ate my lunch. Got back on track. Attended a meeting during which the university President sent us mixed messages about "say yes to the students!" but "uphold the highest of standards!". We rolled our eyes and snickered inside. I returned to the office to finish up the day, feeling cautiously optimistic and slightly accomplished.

On the ride home, it fell apart. Big time.

A few days ago, I had presented LA with a scenario that perfectly illustrated my eating disorder (the actual story is not important so I won't bore you with the details). She helped me to see that my obsession with body/food/calories/weight is really a distraction from everything else that overwhelms me or is too painful to deal with. While I understood where she was coming from and did in fact see this pattern in myself, it didn't really hit me how accurate her interpretation was until this afternoon.

On the way home from work, my mind started to go into overdrive. I started processing through the day, and (of course) found flaws. My inner critic was having a field day with "you should have accomplished more than that today" and "you need to work harder if you want people to respect you again" (just imagine some others...come on, you are getting to know me well!). I also started thinking about the evening hours and began obsess over what to eat for dinner before my appointment with Dr. Joe, what to say to Dr. Joe, which workout I could fit in after my appointment with Dr. Joe, what to pack for lunch tomorrow, when I could fit in laundry (no clean gym clothes to teach cycling tomorrow!), how to prepare for tomorrow's 8:00 AM meeting...

I started to get overwhelmed by the details. The overactive mind that helps me to accomplish and achieve started to eat away at my confidence. Anyone who is really together would be able to do all of these things with ease...

Instinctively, I pushed all of the thoughts out of my head. The lengthy mental to-do list? Gone. The feeling of inadequacy? Banished. Enter obsessive thoughts about food...much easier to organize, count, and compartmentalize.

I met with Dr. Joe. I listened and absorbed his advice for the first part of our session, and then slowly shut down. I was only half-listening, nodding, and contributing. In between his words, my mind was filling with self-doubt and defeat...

"He is only a few sessions away from giving up on you because you make absolutely no progress whatsoever and are wasting his time."

"What is so wrong with you that you cannot get it together after four months of working with this guy?"

"I must check how many calories are in the organic vegetable soup I've been eating..."

"If I leave here and go to the pool, how many yards would I need to swim to burn off my lunch? If I didn't swim tonight, how much would I need to work out tomorrow to make up for it?"

"Did I go back to work too soon? No...I should be able to handle it. Anyone else would be able to handle it all just fine. Something is just wrong with me..."

I left Dr. Joe's in a state of exhaustion (not from him) and a slight depression, but I was unable to really put my finger on it. When I got home, I committed LA's Cardinal Sin #1...

I counted up the calories I had consumed throughout the day.

This is a big no-no. I am not allowed to do this under any circumstances. I should be just plain eating, following the meal plan, and not paying any attention to labels or the contents of my safe foods. Nonetheless, my mind was filling quickly with all kinds of emotions and I needed to push it out and focus on something simple: food. Weight. Calories. Simplistic. Measurable. Numeric.

When I added it all together on my Blackberry calculator I was appalled. Throughout the day, I had been eating healthfully, following my intuition and sticking with safe foods. I calculated again. That number just had to be wrong. There is no way I would eat that much. Suddenly I wanted to purge...badly. I wanted to get rid of it all and start over again tomorrow.

I started to pack for tomorrow and instinctively left out several of the usual things in an effort to shave off calories for tomorrow. I caught myself. I was restricting, moving away from the plan. That's where it all starts to go downhill. I took a deep breath and packed my usual food, trying to ignore the glaring number flashing in my head. Dammit, I thought, I should have listened and stayed blissfully ignorant of what I have been eating.

LA is going to kill me. Lesson learned. I do plan to try and forget about those numbers by morning so I can start over again tomorrow. I am confident I will be able to. My team has equipped me with more than enough support and knowledge, and while my mind did go a little "ED" today, I understand why. I became overwhelmed by work and the demands of my real life, and started listening to the ED voice instead of my own. In the moment of disorder and chaos, his voice was easier- simpler even- to listen to.

So this post doesn't paint the best picture of my return to work. But, the good news is that I 1. did not purge or do anything stupid, 2. caught myself before restricting or starving tomorrow in an effort to "make up for" today, 3. asked for help when I needed it, and 4. developed new insight that allows me to pinpoint the exact moments my mind will switch from (insert hectic/painful/chaotic situation here) to  food/weight/calories, thus beginning the restrict/purge cycle I was once heavily caught within.

Okay, so Day One back at work had its ups and downs. I survived. I'm beginning to see my eating disorder play out in response to stress and loss of control. I may even be to a point where I can consider these experiences to be learning experiences...I do not automatically turn to restricting or purging the second my brain switches to the calorie/weight/food obsessions (as I once did). Now, I can at least process through them and recognize what is going on.

Of course, I still need people to walk me through these moments. Sucks to be LA, Dr. Joe, and Mama K right now, I suppose. Although they'll never truly know how much I appreciate them putting up with me.

In a text a few minutes ago, Mama K screamed (well, imagine a text scream): "Get in bed and do not get out. I want you to send me a picture of you proving to me you are in bed". So, I have to go to bed now. Or at least take a picture and act like I'm calling it a day.

Yes m'am. On that note, I'm heading to bed.