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 ;)