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.