What it Took

I am sitting at my kitchen table paying the medical bills that have piled up in my red, plastic-covered notebook.

A few months before I began this blog, I had gone to Target to purchase this notebook to organize all of my treatment materials. After leaving the hospital a few days prior, I had suddenly decided it was time to get serious about overcoming the destructive issues with weight and food that had starting to gnaw away at my life and livelihood. I had been meeting with LA, Dr. Joe, and Dr. K before buying the notebook, but that day marked the moment I decided to tackle getting better the same way I had tackled many issues before: by trying to organize it, make sense of it all, and take control.

LA just told me recently that the Eating Disorder Notebook (as we now call in it my house...as in "where is the Eating Disorder Notebook?"), coupled with the way I often dress to go to work, gave me a very "serious" look when I came to her office visits. I suppose that observation, at the time, was accurate. Even while struggling, I often approached getting better as though it were a job. If there is one thing I know how to do well it is work; making something my "job" is a tried and true way for me to ensure that I will, in fact, reach my goal in the end.

While tackling some of these medical bills this evening, I couldn't help but leaf through the notebook's pages a bit and take a look at how far I've come. On the pages, I had poured out my food intake, any assignments Dr. Joe had given, and lists of questions for rounds of doctor's appointments.

My first food entry in the notebook reads:

Wednesday, July 21 2010
Breakfast- 1 can of Ensure, 1/2 banana
Lunch- berries, pretzels
4:00- a few almonds
7:00- taught 60 minute cycling class, ran 4.5 miles, upper body lifting, core exercises (totaling over two hours of intense physical activity)
Dinner- multigrain bagel (plain)

I literally cannot remember eating this way. While I'm sure I was supposed to be following the plan LA originally gave me, that did not even come close...yet was probably excrutiating for me. I'm certain I felt, on that day, as though I had seriously binged.

Two entries later:

Saturday, July 24 2010- relapse

According to the entry, I had eaten "a few bites of steak, green beans, a few bites of baked potato" (due to limited options while on a whitewater rafting excursion). I had purged. Three hours later, I "binged" on a few tortilla chips and purged again. I had run 5 miles earlier that day.

Reading that, I almost cried. What an awful, awful place I was in. And I don't remember a thing.

Other Artifacts Found in The Eating Disorder Notebook:

• A magazine photograph of Dara Torres (Olympic swimmer), her ripped body serving as motivation for me to eat and develop muscle again.
• An article from Dr. Joe titled "Exercise Bulimia Difficult to Detect". I remember reading that and thinking he was overreacting a bit. I now realize even the sick girl featured in the article was eating more than I was at the time.
• The scary post-it note Dr. Joe gave me that reads: BLOOD HOSPITAL SCOPE FRACTURE PAIN to remind me how imperative it was that I eat and quit purging.
• Another post-it note from Dr. Joe that reads: "You don't have to be perfect to be good."
• The original nutrition plan LA gave me that directed me to eat practically the bare minimum to stay alive, yet pissed me off so much at the time that I wanted to quit working with her.
• 26 receipts from office visits with LA (at $30 a visit, mind you...do the math)
• 38 receipts from office visits with Dr. Joe (another $30 each time)
• 7 receipts from office visits with Dr. K (yep, you guess it...$30 copay again...she's a specialist)
• 3 receipts from office visits with GI Guy (another specialist...you get the picture)
• Medical bills from the local hospitals totaling over $1,500 (and I have excellent insurance)
• A page in my own handwriting titled "Why Am I So Angry?" and a list of 11 things I apparently hated about my life on September 9, 2010.
• A food entry from July 27 that ends with: "I have decided to trust LA again and get back on the plan"...after a week of purging nearly every day. I have no idea why I jumped off "the plan" at that point in time.

An entry from September 1, 2010 reads:

September 1, 2010
Things to tell LA:
- I hate feeling full and I have to purge when I do. I can't help it. Sorry.
- The meal plan seems like way too much right now, we need to back off

Things to tell Dr. Joe:
- I do not work out hard enough to earn the right to eat.
- Eating is a very time consuming process and I just don't have the energy to fight through it.
- Eating makes me feel weak emotionally. Giving into food is a failure.

Again...wow.

Just wow.

Tonight I ate cookies at the gym without guilt. Yesterday I fueled perfectly for a 15-mile run: post-run breakfast, three gels, recovery drink, sports drinks thereafter, big meals...Friday night I enjoyed some cupcakes with LA and her daughters while relaxing at her house (a sense of family I love now that I am no longer her client). That is where I am right now.

Who was that person?

All that energy poured into obsessing over food. Dr. Joe's scary post-it notes. Entry after entry dotted with hand-drawn stars (what I used to indicate food I had purged so LA could attempt to break down my patterns). All those receipts...and many more that I probably neglected to keep.

So that's what it took for me to wake up.

Unbelievable.

Life After the Cupcake

It's funny how small gestures and momentos often define grand moments in life.

As a runner, I love to collect medals. They are more than just objects to me; they each have a story or an experience attached to them. For example, I look at the one from a half marathon I ran in late October and remember how cathartic the experience was, running without focus on time and reflecting on turning a corner in the recovery process. I will always associate that medal with my mindset at the time, as though it is somehow cast into the metal and ribbon themselves.

Likewise, a lifetime of memories of my grandmother are wrapped up in a single gold heart-shaped locket, containing two miniscule photographs (one of her on her wedding day, and one of me dressed as a pint-sized princess at Halloween). I wear the locket often and treat it as another piece of jewelry on most days- throwing it in my gym bag after work, untangling the clasp from my hair, sprsying cologne all over it. But when I really think about what it means (the only material thing I now own from her), the locket becomes much more than just a pretty necklace; rather it has somehow captured and now holds eighteen years' worth of stories.

Next to my running medals and a beloved momento from someone who played a major role in my life, using a cupcake to define a moment seems rather insignificant. Trivial, even. You may even think, as an outsider looking in, that to associate such a small thing with such a defining moment is melodramatic.

After LA brought me a cupcake on Monday morning (which, yes, I inhaled without hesitation), I started seeing cupcakes everywhere. Cupcake-themed stationary, new cupcake bakeries, cupcake Christmas ornaments, cupcake jewelry, Cupcake brand wines...it was almost as though I was being haunted by cupcakes. Given the significance of the cupcake in that meeting (and the fact that they started to appear everywhere), I couldn't help but start to associate the damn things with breaking free from my eating disorder.

Like a medal or the locket, the sight of a cupcake will always bring me back to the moment I realized I was moving past a disorder that had once made me very sick both physically and mentally.

Six months ago, when I started working with professionals to help me overcome anorexia, I told them I would NEVER eat a treat again. Just get me to eat again...that's it. I will never be someone who indulges.

This week I've had three cupcakes, in fact. Ok, so I was wrong.

Life after The Cupcake (referring to the original post-ED cupcake that signified my departure from LA's office visits) has been wonderful. This week, while I had my moments of stress (who doesn't?), I realized I have become a slightly more relaxed version of my previous self. I can indulge, I can say no to requests and demands that overwhelm me, and I actually enjoy the slight imperfections that have started to sprout up in my life. Ever since The Cupcake, the mere time I spend thinking or obsessing over food or weight has nearly vanished. This week has been the most eating-disorder free week I have had in well over a year, and I anticipate the eating disorder taking even more of a backseat in the weeks to come.

So now it's time to transition, to focus my energy elsewhere. I will always have an eating disorder in my head; the voice has just quieted (or I have learned to tell it to fuck off...that could be too). But while it has shut up for awhile, it's time to take a deep breath, regroup, and start living again.

Here's what my life After The Cupcake is shaping up to look like (in other words, a recap of my life as it now stands...since I have neglected to write in over five days- sorry):

• I eat to fuel my body. In fact, LA and I talked last evening about the fact that I probably need to eat a LOT of food now that my marathon training is picking up...and that does not freak me out one bit. What does freak me out is dying off towards the end of training runs the way I used to. Fuel now trumps weight. Move over, ED. I have all kinds of insane athletic pursuits in my future and you are now just in the way.

• I have been officially adopted into LA's family and gained three new siblings. They were kind of thinking of letting me in anyhow, but when they got to eat some of the cupcakes I had sent LA as a thank you, I was immediately given the stamp of approval. I adored LA as my dietitian, but I like her even more as a friend. Truly stuck for life.

• I'm starting to use my personal training certification, and while I'm working lots of hours between my "real" job and my "second" job, I'm happy to be applying my love of physical activity and training to help other people. I've even been kicking around the idea of using my certification to train individuals who are overcoming eating issues and trying to regain their health and strength. We'll see what the future holds there.

• I am still working with Dr. Joe and probably will be for quite some time, only because I think it's kind of fun to mess with him and he keeps me entertained. Just kidding...that's not why. In reality (let's be honest) my life has been a bit of a mess. At least I'm realizing it in my twenties and can try to apply some damage control so the past doesn't continue to eat me alive.

• I have muscles again. My body is no longer chomping on them to try and get some energy. Bravo for that.

• I laugh. All the time. I'm happy again.

• In the last five days, while still eating really healthfully, I have had 1. chicken philly sandwich, 2. three cupcakes, and 3. a bag of Baked Lays ("health" food to most...not to me). Oh, and 4. butter.

• I have not had an episode of the excrutiating yet mysterious pain+vomiting in about three weeks. After seemingly dozens (ok, it was like four, but still) of negative test results, my doctors determined the episodes were the result of residual damage from repeated purging. Once I got better and cut out the purging, my body has (miraculously) started to heal (what a concept...should've tried it earlier). I may deal with the pain again in the future, but for now it seems to have backed off a little.

Life After the Cupcake, that defining moment that marks the start of the rest of my ED-free life, is treating me well.

Another big milestone is lingering on the horizon this week: The Compliment.

That's right. This marks the fourth week of "true" success, as defined by my ever-so-cautious therapist. Will Dr. Joe drop a compliment as he has promised? What will life after The Compliment look like? Hmmm...stay tuned.

In the meantime, may every cupcake in your future taste just a little sweeter and remind you that change is possible.

Closing a Chapter

In some of my previous posts, I have wondered how I would know if I had moved beyond the eating disorder. What would it look like? Would there ever really be an end to it, or would the obsession and behaviors haunt me for life?

Interestingly enough, my obsession with food and body image suddenly started really slipping away lately without much effort. Dr. Joe seems to think that my choice to walk away from some pretty painful family dynamics has shifted some of my anger outward, rather than inward, and he is not at all surprised I have stopped destroying myself and my life.

Who knows. I am not a psychologist and thank god at times I am not. I guess it really doesn't matter the exact cause of my recent successes, as long as they continue. He can analyze it until he's blue in the face. I suppose that is how he makes his living. In time, I'm sure I'll have it all figured out too. After all, that will probably be the key to leaving this eating disorder and other self-destruction behind for good.

I'm starting to realize I have a lot to give and a lot to accomplish. In short, I now realize I may have too much to lose.

I am shocking myself with how well I am transitioning out of my previous mindset. It is almost as though someone just now found the light switch we've been looking for all along, and didn't waste a second turning it on. I'm suddenly living again; and the life I'm living now, on the tail-end of recovery is, in many ways, even better than the one I was living before I started starving myself. I'm now stronger physically than I have been in nearly a year, I'm starting to understand who I am and what makes me tick, and have developed some extremely trusting relationships throughout this process. My goals are suddenly bigger, my confidence on its way to being restored. I've learned a lot about who in my life will check out during the rough patches, and who will stick around for the good times that exist on the other side of the mountain.

Tomorrow morning, I meet with LA for possibly my last office visit. The discussion over reaching this point was rather casual (via text message, actually). There really wasn't a big flashing "YOU'RE READY!" light that suddenly went off or some kind of finish line that I had crossed. I believe we had been texting about my recent return to normal foods, when she suddenly proposed: You know I was thinking maybe Monday would be our last office visit for awhile...how do you feel about that?

I thought about it. I was instantly apprehensive about severing the cord, moving away from a routine I have established. I have met with LA at least once a week for the last six months. Our office visits had become a mainstay in my life. I had laughed a lot there, cried at times, and overcome my fear of eating there. I have, and always will, see LA's office as a secure place where I really tackled this eating disorder. For a split second, I saw myself falling apart without having that appointment on my calendar each week.

However, I also knew LA was seeing progress that I, honestly, hadn't even been paying attention to. I've grown to trust her enough that I know she wouldn't suggest backing off on office visits unless she knew I had reached a point where I could stand on my own two feet.

I told Mama K about the fact that LA and I are thinking of backing off on the appointments after tomorrow. She simply said: "M. You've won."

For someone who loves to win, one would think I would have realized that already. But I had not.

I cannot believe I am to this point. There were so many times I honestly thought I would not get better. I felt as though this eating disorder and the physical damage resulting from it would haunt me for years and years to come. I pictured LA and I still playing with plastic food models this time next year.

Why didn't I see myself here? This point has been the goal all along. How is it possible to have been working towards a goal I couldn't really see myself?

I am ready to make tomorrow's appointment with LA  my last. Some may doubt that I'm ready or tell me what they think I should do, but in reality, LA and I are the only two who really know how far I've come and where I still need to go. Likewise, she is the only one who truly sees the significance and major successes in things like:

• Butter making an appearance in our home refrigerator again (well, ok, The Mr. also sees the significance in that...he's been missing butter for quite some time).
• Regular caramel being added to my Starbucks coffee in place of the sugar-free version.  
• Me texting her to make sure I had fueled properly before embarking on my 14-mile training run on Saturday (she probably almost fell over reading that text).
• Carelessly taking down jello shot after jello shot at a party this weekend and not worrying about the calories (yeah, she's probably the only person in my life who would find some kind of success in that).

I can't speak to the relationships other eating disorder patients develop with their support teams, but the unexpected friendship and support I have derived from working with LA over the last six months has, honestly, changed my life in many ways. It was critical, I believe, that I had someone with whom I could share completely irrational fears about foods, my urges to revert back to old patterns of thinking, and my (seemingly minor, yet very major) successes related to food. Once I learned to trust her and Dr. Joe, their unconditional support allowed me to open up and talk about the eating disorder obsessions in a way I could not with friends or others in my life. LA especially has seen it all.

She remembers me crying the first day we met because mere discussion about food was too much to handle. When I was learning to just sit with food in my system (rather than purging), she received a lot more emotional and panicked phone calls than I care to admit. I sometimes feel a huge sense of pride when I'm able to tackle a challenging "food" moment or eat something I wouldn't have touched several months ago, and in those moments (when anyone else would think I was crazy for getting so excited about "nothing"), I would email or text her to share in my sense of accomplishment. She walked me through each moment, and in the end, we've become pretty tight as a result of it.

So while the thought of ending the office visits scared me a little at first, it didn't take long to realize that I'm ready to take the next steps on my own.

I only had to think about it for a few moments before I also realized that LA will always be there, and that she's not going to just walk away. Given my lack of trust in people, that's really saying something about what she has proven to me in this process.

The stories from my LA office visits have often provided me with a basis for my posts; at times they were emotional, at other times mildly humorous despite the darker issues involved. Somehow, however, I do not think that LA will be disappearing from the blog any time soon.

She told me once "You're stuck with me, kid."

I really hope she means that. For someone who is used to keeping people at an arm's length, she is one person I wouldn't mind at all being "stuck with" in life. She's proven her support to me. I've grown to see her as a respected professional, but also as a friend and oddly enough, another genuine and caring mother figure (much like Mama K...two "mothers" now, uh-oh!). I have been told that I'm the favorite client (on the down-low, of course).

I think (and hope) that somehow makes me unforgettable.

The Brownie Question

Nearly every day for the last year, my student assistant has come into my office and we have had this routine conversation:

"Hey, M. I'm running to the Campus Center to grab food/coffee/cookie (insert her craving of the moment). Want me to bring you back a peanut butter brownie?"

There was a moment in time, pre-ED, during which I ate peanut butter brownies from the Campus Center a few times a week. I hired my student assistant just before I start really restricting my diet (about a year ago) but she has never forgotten that I, at one point in time, loved those brownies. Ironically, her Brownie Question has remained a constant throughout this year as I went down the anorexia path, and, much to my dismay, she never stopped asking that question even after receiving my "no thanks" reply (literally) hundreds of times.

At times, my thought process when presented with the Brownie Question acted almost as a measurement of my sickness. While I typically said no, there were variations of my internal response, and, looking back, they became almost indicative of my mental state. Here is a random sample:

"No, thank you." (The thought of eating that is positively revloting and I'd have to go run 20 miles to burn it off later, which I don't have the time or energy to do).

"No, thank you." (I am a robot who only consumes raw vegetables...)

"Hmmm....What did you say? Um...." (I'm not even hearing you right now...I'm about to pass out because I haven't had a meal in four days. And please get out of my office because I need to go purge the three raw carrots I just "gave in" and ate)

"Yes! I will have a peanut butter brownie!" (Because I am craving the flavor of one of those pieces of heaven so desperately, but I swear I will throw it up immediately.)

"No, thank you." (Even though my metabolism has finally come alive and I would eat a whole pan of those damn things except I don't have the mental strength to not purge them, and purging is not an option because my esophagus is mangled and destroyed from months and months of repeated vomiting.)

Today, however, when my student assistant sent me an IM stating "Hey, M., going to Campus Center, be right back", I sat and waited for the Brownie Question. It never came. And I thought to myself: Huh...I really wanted a peanut butter brownie today...what's up with that?

I genuinely wanted a peanut butter brownie today. No strings attached. No vow to purge or justifying it with this evening's workout.

The one day I finally decide I will eat a peanut butter brownie, and my student assistant does not pop the question .What the hell.

I had to laugh a little at the irony of the situation. But when I really started to think about it, it hit me just how far I have come. I really, truly, wanted that brownie. Another sign of progress, another subtle indicator that I am winning after all.

Related to winning (and given my love of sharing Dr. Joe stories), I have to recap the email exchange that occured between Dr. Joe and I today.

There have been times in the past in which I have left Dr. Joe's office in a worse depression than when I had arrived. Those days, generally, did not lead to positive outcomes, as I have a hard time just "putting it a lid on it" once we have opened up a can of emotional worms. With time, Dr. Joe has learned to wrap up my sessions with a conversation topic that tends to perk me up a bit: sports/running/competition. While the topic of choice varies slightly, we typically end up talking about running because it is of great interest to both of us.

Yesterday, Dr. Joe asked me how on earth I have been able to not only maintain, but increase my weekly mileage during the winter. I just kind of shrugged. It doesn't seem like a big deal to me that I run in the cold or snow. And Dr. Joe was, in his heyday, a far more serious runner than I currently am. Surely he had to have run through winters back in the day (ok, waaaaaay back in the day...he claims to be old, remember?).

"I don't know. I've just been running in the snow," I replied.

Dr. Joe: "Did you run last weekend?"

Me: "Yes, on trails. I was out for about three hours on Saturday." Now, here was my mistake...I got my days mixed up. I was actually teaching at the gym on Saturday, but had run trails in the snow on Sunday.

He chuckled. "Oh, well, then, Saturday wasn't too bad out."

I'm sure I looked puzzled. No...my run had, actually, been a slightly insane. I had run for three hours in the snow. On trails. In the cold. It wasn't totally extreme, but it really couldn't be described as "not too bad" by someone who apparently does not like to run in the winter.

On the way home, it hit me...Saturday's weather was nice. But I hadn't been out on Saturday. My long, snowy trail run had been on Sunday.

Ever the competitor (and always seeking out opportunities for amusing email exchanges with Dr. Joe), I couldn't have Dr. Joe thinking I believed Saturday's weather was treacherous. It was mild. Plus, Dr. Joe finds my follow-up emails entertaining. So when I got home, I emailed him the following:

Dr. Joe- I misspoke! I was out on SUNDAY not on Saturday running trails...for three hours...in the snow...See?! I'm a lot tougher than you think I am! (I had to make mention of being "tougher than he thinks I am", as the man has continued to seriously doubt my ability to run a 50K this year. While probably a psychological tactic, his doubting irks me and gets under my skin).

This email was also in an effort to passive-agressively harass Dr. Joe for being a fairweather runner and taking the winters off.

For the most part, Dr. Joe responds very quickly to me, even when the content is not therapy-related. He often jumps on an opportunity to tease me or interject one of his ridiculous quotes. But today came and went, and I did not receive a response from Dr. Joe.

A few hours ago, I decided to continue the harassment. I wrote back Aw, come on, Dr. Joe...you're not even going to humor me on that one?!

Immediately, I received a response:

Correct, M. I was not going to humor you and reinforce such behavior... (followed by a smiley face). -Dr. Joe

God love Dr. Joe. I can almost picture him shaking his head (as he often does), laughing to himself, and wondering how the hell he ended up with such a difficult client who keeps pushing the boundaries, sending him provoking emails, and talking at a pace he cannot comprehend.

I'll make sure to let you all know when I eat a peanut butter brownie. My student assistant has tomorrow off, so the next opportunity I will have to answer the Brownie Question will be on Monday...after LA and I have had cupcakes together during my regular morning appointment.

Two desserts on Monday? Hmmm...maybe.

Lightning Speed: Catch Me If You Can

Ok, I'm now passing Eating Disorder Recovery 101 with flying colors. I'm back to myself and ready to tackle just about anything (well, food-related, that is). I've branched out and consumed some turkey chili, a whole Kashi vegetable pizza, and even some freaking Wendy's.

I should mention those three things were NOT in one sitting. If they had been, I may need to be in therapy for another kind of eating disorder.

So what possessed me to eat such things? I'll set it up for you...

Wendy's was consumed while in LA's presence. She barely reacted to it, but I chowed down on a grilled chicken wrap and a baked potato with butter as she calmly talked me through other issues that have crept back into my life (related to my mother...shocking). After well over an hour of in-depth discussion and unusual dietitian-client bonding, I pointed out to her that I had just digested some fast food. "I know!" She said. "I was trying not to make a big deal out of it, but I can hardly contain myself right now!". Yeah, the woman was psyched.

The Mr., surprisingly, made the turkey chili. I didn't really question the ingredients because I was so impressed that he finally figured out that we do, in fact, have a kitchen, pots, pans, and utensils. I was previously under the impression that I was the only member of the household aware that we own such things...like a well-kept secret. I took the chili to work today and ate it for lunch, assuming it was fairly "safe" since it was made from ingredients in my own house (and trust me...there isn't much in the house of an ED person that isn't pure, healthy, and clean).

As for the Kashi pizza, that was consumed this evening with a huge glass of wine. I usually only eat half of it, but I was starving after working at the university, working at the gym, and meeting with Dr. Joe. I let my hunger dictate what to eat, and it screamed at me that leftovers were not an option. So I ate it all.

I mean, really...who the f$%k cares? Hell, I work out intensely for more hours than most people sleep in a week. I think I'll live.

Are you sensing a change in attitude here? Yeah, me too. I think I'm almost fixed. Nice work, team.

Being the take-charge kind of girl I am, I told (rather, directed) LA that she needed to call Dr. Joe and spread the good news: that I'm eating again, that I'm practically having a normal relationship with food, and that I'm basically kicking ass. Dr. Joe never seems to believe me, so I felt a LA phone call was in order.

(They sometimes do what I ask to make me feel like I'm the one calling the shots).

LA left Dr. Joe a voicemail today singing my praises. I knew about this. So I waited to see if Dr. Joe would mention the voicemail when I arrived at his office a few hours later.

"Well, hello, M.", says Dr. Joe (and I wait for him to acknowledge my amazing progress), "I had a voicemail from LA today and she said you are doing well with food."

I nodded and waited for more. He just stared at me. Was that really it? That's all I get?

Yep, that was it. What the hell does it take for this guy to realize I'm kicking this eating disorder's ass? Perhaps I need to down a dozen cookies in his presence and claim to love it. Who knows.

But I am getting closer to his four-week goal. I'll hold out until then and rely on Happy LA to keep me motivated. It's more fun to share my successes with her anyhow.

And I should probably stop messing with my therapist, although I thoroughly enjoy the humorous moments that we, at times, sprinkle into this process.

In other "messing with Dr. Joe" news...

To make a long story short, yesterday brought about some moments of extreme emotion. My mom ended up in the hospital again, probably due to her inability to manage the severity of her psychiatric illness and her serious dependence on large doses of prescription (and non-prescription) drugs and medications. Although a relationship between my mother and I can best be described as non-existent, these moments of crisis always throw me for a loop and challenge my strength and ability to stay the hell away from the situation.

In the moment of crisis, I did what I have learned to do: called and left a message for Dr. Joe. I was hoping he would just tell me what to do. Or at least help me to simmer down, as I was running high on adrenaline and ready to go tell everyone in my family (namely my mother) exactly what needed to be done (which I eventually did do...but I will spare you of the details). In the message I left for Dr. Joe, I provided two phone numbers: 1. my cell phone (which he knows) and 2. my direct work line (which he does not know).

In true Dr. Joe fashion, I received a slow-motion voicemail later on in the day. Contrary to my fast-paced, mind-on-overdrive approach to life, Dr. Joe's voicemail went a little like this (and I wish you could hear his voice in this quote):

"Hello, M. It is Dr. Joe returning your phone call. I just want to remind you that I am old. You are young and move very quickly. Therefore I cannot keep up with you and understand some of the messages you leave me. The next time that you leave me a message containing phone numbers, please make sure to articulate each number clearly and slowly so I may fully understand where you can be reached. Now that I have both numbers, I will go ahead and now try to reach you on your cell phone, which is the number with which I am more familiar. Talk to you in a minute..."

Even in my furious, wigged-out state, I just had to laugh at Dr. Joe. I often wonder if the man even has a pulse. Come on, Dr. Joe. I know you can do it...just try to keep up, just this once...

I'm sure he was clutching the arm rests on his chair, bracing himself for the tornado that is me when I finally picked up my cell phone, neglected to even say hello, and blurted out "MymomisinthehospitalandIdon'tknowwhattodoandIdon'twanttogobutfeellikeIhavetoandIwanttogotelleveryonetogotohell."

Hey, I just try to keep the guy's life interesting. And he is trying to keep me calm. I guess it is a mutually beneficial therapist-client relationship.

LA and I are going to tackle cupcakes together in our next Monday morning appointment. Since Dr. Joe refuses to get excited about my current progress, I plan to snap a picture of myself eating a cupcake and send it his way as proof that I am, in fact, kicking ass.

Obtaining a legitimate compliment from Dr. Joe is, obviously, not the main motivation behind getting well at the moment. But I have to admit, the challenge of getting it out of him is tapping right into my competitive nature and is making my efforts just that much more worthwhile.

It is possible, I suppose, that I may be talking so damn fast all the time that he isn't even sure what is going on with my food intake. He may not even know that I have an eating disorder. In fact, he may not have understood a word I've said in the last six months.

I really need to cut back on the Starbucks...

A "Rainbow" of Foods

1. Sweet potato fries
2. Great Lakes Christmas Ale
3. Egg whites and cheese on a multigrain bagel...from a (gasp) drive-thru...and twice!
4. A big bowl of pasta from a restaurant specializing in "noodles" and chosen by an 8-year-old
5. French onion soup....grilled cheese...and 3 cups of hot cocoa (in one sitting)
6. About half of a gourmet brownie
7. Six venti Starbucks Christmas Blends with sugar-free caramel and nonfat milk
8. Approximately 20 alcoholic beverages

No, this is not a menu swiped from a college campus food court, or a list of the foods my husband consumes in a twenty-four hour period. It is, however, a list of the "shocking" foods I ate over the weekend. There were, obviously, plenty of salads and vegetables and such to fill in the blanks, but yes...I ate those things this weekend and I'm okay with it.

Ok...maybe #7 on the list is not that surprising given my recent addiction...but I'm going to include it anyhow.

And LA said take #8 up with Dr. Joe; she's not touching that one. Hey, I was in a lot of emotional pain this week thanks to my family. Leave me be. Hmph.

Regardless, #1-6 are impressive.

My hippie/flowerchild of a boss, D. (who has been overwhelmingly supportive throughout this whole ordeal and throroughly enjoys talking about food no matter the occasion) responded "I just love listening to this. It's like a rainbow of foods. Makes me so happy." While I generally do not relate aspects of my life to "rainbows" (or flowers, or butterflies, or bunny rabbits, or anything else overly 'joyous') my diet is, indeed, slowly moving from black and white to color again.

Surprisingly, I did not wake up this morning with an extra twenty pounds on my frame or having lost all of my lean muscle mass. I still zipped into my small jeans without any major issues, and felt strong, lean, and toned. The world did not end, and I sit here- very much alive- blogging about my very "normal" food weekend.

Something has clicked. I had about four hours alone in the car this weekend (while driving back and forth to my aunt's for a massive shopping spree) to think it all through, and I've come to this conclusion: my love of intense physical activity is what helped to bring about an eating disorder in me...but it's now what is saving me from it and helping me to heal.

That doesn't make a lot of sense. But it's true. Wanting to be able to complete physical challenges, wanting to push myself, feel strong, and to, basically, kick ass. It makes me want to eat. Right or wrong, it works. I can now justify eating almost whatever, just like an athlete should. I am hungry...and it's a sign that my body is plowing through what it's been given and it's time for more. My body hasn't really let me down lately- in fact, it's strength is impressing me- so, what the hell. I'll feed it, I suppose.

The change over to weather conditions similar to those in the Arctic tundra are helping the situation as well. After nearly three hours spent on a trail run in the snow over the weekend, I really could not justify eating a salad (and while stille shivering an hour later). So, while thawing out with my running friends post-run, I decided only the French onion soup, grilled cheese, and massive amounts of hot cocoa would do. I can tell the cold-weather trail running this winter is going to help with the food consumption...when icicles are hanging from my braids and my lips are permanently frozen in position, I am not in the frame of mind to overanalyze meal options. Hot and steamy and a ton of it to make my stomach stop yelling at me...those are about the only requirements.

Mama K and I are texting back and forth right now, even as I am writing this post. We are talking about how our days went (as usual) and I just told her about the food I ate over the weekend. I think my last text to her wraps up my current mindset quite accurately:

"Yeah, I'm really ok. For real. It's time to focus on how strong my body has become and USE IT. I'm killing the endurance stuff and I need to stick with all of it. Just eat, be strong, and do it."

Her response: "I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU. It has been a long and hard road. But you're there."

I love what I am doing right now. The thought of pursuing some crazy things in the future (marathons, 50Ks, 100-mile trail runs...yes, LA and I talked about the possibility of that this morning...) makes me giddy. I've turned to sports many times in my life to provide me with an outlet for anger, to provide me with alternative routes out of a painful situation, and to give me a sense of accomplishment. There is no denying that my perfectionist, work-hard-play-later approach to life is what hard-wired me for an eating disorder. But there is also no denying that my need for intensity and hard-earned goals has brought me to a place where I can now set aside my need to control food for the sake of becoming a stronger person.

I am so close to the finish line with this eating disorder that I can finally see it. That is not to say that the pain, emotions, and garbage behind it won't linger and need to be dealt with for quite some time. As LA said this weekend: "The food is the easy part...that's why I'm a dietitian and not a psychologist!".

I am looking forward to hearing Dr. Joe's reaction this week when he hears what I ate. While he'll try to cover it up with some kind of  nonchalant "almost there..." comment, I'm convinced I'll be able to catch a slight smile or something when I talk about it.

Still trying to make those around me proud...some things never change!

Worth the Wait

Today was filled with lots of bright spots and hopeful moments.

For starters, I received a phone call from the gym where I teach, and was offered a position as a personal trainer and the opportunity to develop several strong fitness programs. Of course, I knew this was coming...I passed my personal training certification several months ago and have been hanging out in the training pipeline for a little while while the gym was restructuring, establishing a new facility, and transitioning the personal training program to a new coordinator in Mama K's absence.

The timing of this offer could not have been more perfect. There were many moments, especially during the extremely dicey periods of my recovery, that I had seriously questioned my ability to be a trainer. I can remember a few sessions with both LA and Dr. Joe during which I had cried and cried...feeling as though the intense studying and exam preparation had been a waste; that I did not deserve the opportunity to guide others towards their fitness goals. However, I kept reminding myself that:

1. I have never, would never, encourage any client of mine (or individual in my classes, for that matter) to treat their bodies as I have treated mine.

2. Once I found myself firmly planted on the other side of an eating disorder, I would possess a unique perspective on health, fitness, and training that can only be gained as a result of hindsight and experience.

Whenever I doubted my place in the industry, I reminded myself of those two points. Deep down, despite my own battles, I've always known I will one day be a good trainer to others.

While I do not consider myself fully recovered from my eating disorder, I do feel as though my confidence in training others has been restored. I once again feel as though I do deserve the opportunity to share my passion for the field and knowledge of exercise physiology with others. Do I recognize the fact that being fully recovered would be the ideal state in which to accept a training position? Yes. But I also feel as though I may have reached a stable enough place in this process to begin to trust my knowledge and instincts again. More importantly, my confidence- both in myself and my ability to succeed- has been restored slowly over the last several months.

When I took the exam tied to my personal training certification five months ago, I was not in a good place. I had studied my ass off, spent hours each night learning medical terminology, physiology, anatomy, and physics. I wanted to be a trainer because I knew I could. I knew I was smart enough to master the content, and had enough of an athletic background to apply it. Back then, it was strictly about knowledge. Facts. Diagrams. Formulas. Numbers. The perfect equations to produce any results a client could ever ask for.

I passed my personal training exam (mind you- one of the most in-depth and difficult personal training exams out there) on my twenty-eighth birthday, after The Mr. had convinced me that I had studied enough and had what it took to pass the damn thing. I had just arrived home from an out-of-state personal training workshop the day before, had barely eaten, and purged four times the day of the exam. I remember it all distinctly. I also weighed almost twenty pounds lighter than what I do now, and, despite filling my brain to the brim with extensive knowledge about muscles, the cardiac cycle, and bone structure...I was literally unable to apply a single piece of it to my own life. Somehow, brain-starved and in denial about the deteriorating state of my own body, I passed the exam with flying colors. I called Mama K in tears, in complete disbelief over the fact that I had singlehandedly- with very little science background and preparation- passed one of the most difficult certifications in the industry.

I didn't tell her how utterly shocked I was that I was able to pass the exam given how sick I was becoming. I wouldn't go to her for help until almost two months later. I was so proud to have passed the exam, but also felt like a complete fraud. And when my certification arrived in the mail several days later, I clung to it with intense pride, but also shoved it in between two books on my shelf, ashamed to think that I was was living a life so counterintuitive to what I had just spent months learning.

I had the textbook knowledge. I could answer any question about heart rate, caloric burn, exercise physiology. I could name all of the major muscles of the body, could tell you the difference between motions in the saggital and transverse planes, and could calculate an individual's BMI without thinking twice. But what I didn't have was confidence, a belief in the material I had mastered, or the sense of self-worth to apply it all to my own training and life.

Now I do.

Being offered a personal training position at my gym seems relatively insignificant, given the fact that 1. I knew it was enventually coming, and 2. fitness is not currently my full-time job and/or the source of the majority of my monthly income. However, to me, taking this step has lifted my spirits, reminded me that it will soon be time to give back, and that I now  have unique insight (whether I choose to share it with clients or not) that not many other trainers possess.

I cannot wait to see where this path takes me. I earned the privilege of training others months ago when I passed my training exam; but now I feel as though I have developed the strength to actually pursue it and succeed at it. This will be, when my own therapy and recovery is all said and done, the outlet through which I give back, share my love of physical activity, and help others love their bodies for the strength and function they provide.

Being offered a spot on the personal training team at my gym was well worth the wait.

This is one accomplishment I don't mind if others don't see or acknowledge; it is truly for me. Sure, there will be people in my life (just as there were several months ago) who do not think I should work with clients. There will be people who will downplay my successes or tell me I should permanently step away from the fitness industry. But those who know me best know that I:  1. have changed dramatically as a result of this eating disorder; 2. genuinely love physical activity, training, and (at times) competition and want to share it with others; and 3. would never, ever advise others to treat their bodies in the same way I have (my eating disorder is and was, clearly, a manifestation of self-destruction and anger, and not at all indicative of my philosophy on exercise and training).

I cling to my treatment team and will continue to do so until I feel confident enough to gradually step away from them and back into this new post-treatment life of mine. As mentioned before, this opportunity has come along a little sooner than I would have liked, but it is also something I have waited for and worked towards...now is not the time to turn my back on it. If anything, it has motivated me to work harder, and provided me with yet another tangible reason to permanently heal.

I'm proud of myself, hopeful, and confident again. It has been a long time since I've been able to say that. I can't wait to get started...and am thankful to those who believe in me and share my happiness.

In other news...I had sweet potato fries this evening while out to dinner with The Mr. to celebrate. No fried foods...remember that rule? I broke it. Overcoming an eating disorder is one of few situations in which breaking the "rules" is not only allowed, but encouraged.

And the choice to eat (and enjoy them!) was not even the result of an LA challenge.

Ha! On a roll...

Taken Down a Notch By Dr. Joe

Holy shit, I just downed a giant sized bowl of whole wheat pasta with zucchini and tomato sauce, and I don't really care. In a matter of hours (and thanks to Dr. Joe and his psychotherapy techniques) I have suddenly become an emotional eater. The fact that I ate a bowl of pasta for dinner and don't really even mind is significant because:

• I used to (ok, still kind of do) have a rule about pasta: it can only be eaten before a race, swim meet, or very, very long training run.
• I chose to use today as a rest day and therefore did not engage in any physical activity with the exception of running back and forth to the printer at work all day long.
• I ate the pasta just before 10:00 (yes, I am just now having dinner...long day), and while LA says the whole "eating late" thing is a myth, I still kind of think she is lying about that.
• It was covered in more parmesan cheese than even a normal person would probably consume in one sitting, let alone someone who recently engaged in self-starvation.

While eating this dinner, I couldn't help but think of another time a Dr. Joe session led me to eat something outside of the norm. He is not at all aware that he has this effect on me, but would be pleased to know that his work with me often leads to eating behaviors beyond my usual restrictions.

I adore Dr. Joe. I really do. LA is always reminding me that there are reasons behind his approaches with me, and I drag my heels but believe her. Mama K says the same thing and just tells me to go with the flow (yeah, never really been a strength of mine).

Despite the recent family chaos, I was somehow able to pull it together well enough to live a pretty normal life the last few days; I am feeling extremely in control of my eating disorder, have been listening to my body's hunger cues, and focusing on building strength. I am approaching double digit days without purging. While I seem to have developed a new lack of trust in others (thank you, family, for that), I have remained focused on my own personal goals and kept those I do trust close by.

I had even said more than once (either to others or to myself): "I feel more like myself right now than I have in almost a year!". I felt it was time for a toast. A shot of tequila. A puff on a celebratory cigar (just kidding, I don't smoke). However, Dr. Joe, forever the party-pooper, took me down a few notches.

This makes Dr. Joe sound like a downer, but in reality, he is not. He's doing his job, and he is making certain I am not running from my thoughts or slipping into denial. As a result of working with me so closely over the last six months, he has fine-tuned his radar and is able to sniff out denial the second I turn my back on life's major issues.

While I hate to admit it, I did need to be reeled in. Sure, I was on cloud nine over the last few days, celebrating successes, picking up the pace in my life, and just starting to go back into the overdrive that propels my life forward. But, in reality, I had just reverted back (though on a smaller scale) to the patterns that allow me to run from my pain and fear just as I have done countless times in the past. He caught it, and while I hated being brought down a few rungs and forced to think, it is evident that he knows me well and is doing his job.

When I told him I felt my eating disorder was under control, he reminded me that four weeks without purging and/or starvation is his pre-determined benchmark for "being under control". Excellent progress, says Dr. Joe, but not under control just yet, M.

I sulked a little after that. I secretly wished he could find it in himself to express his pride the way LA, Mama K, The Mr., Dr. K, and others do. I guess they will have to continue to serve as the cheerleaders until he comes around. Two and a half weeks to go, and then and he better throw some damn encouragement my way. Until then, I will keep his "four week" benchmark in my head and work like hell to make it there and beyond.

As if his "not quite there" comment wasn't enough of a downer, he then proceeded to make me process through the events of the past weekend (read: talk about my feelings). I curled my legs under me to sit cross-legged on the sofa (which I always do there, I don't know why) and braced myself to answer his questions.

Dr. Joe knew about the weekend's happenings because I had emailed him on Sunday night. We communicate via email regularly, but mostly when something major happens in between appointments so that he is in the loop and we don't have to spend the majority of an hour appointment just catching up on the details (you'd be surprised how quickly these appointments fly by). I'm usually pretty open in this blog, but I am having a hard enough time dealing with these recent family developments during a session with my therapist, let alone on in a public forum. For that reason, I'm going to be a little vague, but here is some general background information on my upbringing:

• My mother is a very, very sick person. It is not necessarily her fault, but she has suffered from some pretty extreme mental illness throughout most of my life.
• My family has been broken apart by many tragedies, including several suicides.
• I have major abandonment/trust issues thanks to some of the events of my past.
• My strong will and extreme drive helped me break free from a pretty bad situation...and also has hard-wired me for perfectionism and, unbeknowst to me until recently, eating disorder behaviors!

For most of my life, I have questioned whether my upbringing was truly as traumatic as I felt it was, or whether my mind had blown it all out of proportion. As an adult, I have justified many of the experiences, tried to make excuses for those around me, or attempted to normalize my previous environment. I'm not sure why I did so, but I think it has to do with the fact that no one around me had ever fully understood the severity of the situation or witnessed the extreme dysfunction in its truest form.

In the midst of another bout of my mom's suicidal behaviors over the weekend, I met with my aunt on Saturday evening. We are close in age, have supported one another throughout many ups and downs in our family history, and spent a great deal of time together as part of an inseparable threesome that included my grandmother prior to her death. She currently lives about two hours from me, but had come into the area to bear witness to the auction of her brother's (my uncle's) belongings after his recent suicide death.

As a result of her pain over the recent suicide of her brother and my mother's (her sister) deteriorating mental state, she began a very open and honest conversation with me regarding my childhood. For the first time in twenty-eight years, I was given a clear, firsthand, eye-witness look at what my life was like as a kid. For the first time, I had stories and facts to go along with my feelings.

It was frightening.

I had not been wrong.

My memories, my pain, my anger...real and justified. For years I had questioned the validity of what I had seen, assuming that witnessing it all through child's eyes had somehow warped and twisted reality. But I had been right all along, and her stories painted a picture for me.

Filled in the missing colors.

Locked together the puzzle pieces I could not figure out.

Despite all of the painful moments in my life, that conversation felt like a knife in my chest. It closed me up immediately. I instantly became wary of others in my life, untrusting, and skiddish. I started to question the intentions and loyalty of those around me, even related to those uninvolved in the situation. I started to think to myself Everything I have ever wondered about the people in my life must be true. I am crazy to believe anyone cares about me. People cannot be trusted. It was too much to handle at one time, my mind unable to process all of the facets and angles involved. On Saturday night, despite the intensity of it all, I one again wrapped it up, put it on the shelf, and buried the pain deep.

In the meantime, until tonight, I just bottled up the anger. I narrowly focused my mind on producing large amounts of work in the office. I ran one of the fastest 3-mile speed workouts I have ever run while trying to release the anger and pain. I trashed my leg muscles while teaching my cycling class. I downed glass after glass of wine each night. I felt great. I felt amazing. I was on cloud nine.

Until Dr. Joe saw the reality of the situation tonight and made me talk. And thank god for that.

I am absolutely making progress, and the eating disorder is on its way to being controlled (despite the fact that I have two and a half weeks until Dr. Joe will acknowledge that). I'm still proud of the fact that I didn't immediately turn to the eating disorder to help deal with the pain. To me, that is a large success.

I am learning (and LA helps me to see this) that Dr. Joe wants me to learn to sit with the emotions. Productive, happy, functional days are not true successes if they are rooted in denial. I'm not truly "back to myself" just because I'm cranking out work and keeping a jam-packed schedule afloat...especially if those patterns are really just distractions for the anger that lies beneath the surface.

Sitting with emotions, especially the intense ones (stemming from this weekend, for example) is my least favorite part of this whole therapy gig. I would much rather dive right back into my life and push them all aside like I've done for so long. However, I'm learning that doing so offers nothing more than a band-aid, a short-term fix. Those band-aids, even over time, have not completely healed the wounds or even covered them up. Trying to overcome this eating disorder has brought me as close as I have ever been to healing these wounds long-term. I have to keep remembering that sitting with the emotions, while painful, will help all the anger and hurt to dissolve for good.

High from recent successes, I entered Dr. Joe's office today with a bit of cockiness. I've almost got this thing beat, I thought. Dr. Joe can start to clear me from his calendar because I will no longer be needing his services, thankyouverymuch.

False bravado. Wrong again. He is right. I hate that.

It appears as though pulling back the eating disorder "band-aid" has just uncovered a few more battle scars. Looks like Dr. Joe and I will be hanging out a bit longer.

And if he thinks I am going to forget his "four week" benchmark, he is dead wrong. I am not the kind of person to set a goal and leave it unfulfilled. He had better start preparing his "Nice work, kid, you did it" comments now, because I will be sure to collect them in about two and a half weeks.

I would say that, while we still have work to do, there is really no denying that the "old" me is back ;)