Last summer, while working with LA to start breaking down my food rules and start expanding my preferences, I mentioned I wanted to become a vegetarian.
LA glanced up at me from the meal plan she was carefully developing, stared at me for a moment, and replied:
"Let's just work on expanding your diet a little right now, okay?" And she returned to writing.
I frowned. At the time, I did not understand her response at all. If I wanted to be a vegetarian, why couldn't we just omit meat from my meal plan? If my whole diet had to be rebuilt anyhow, couldn't I do it the way I wanted to?
One year later, I've made the connection.
Given that I was only eating about five things (most of which were just variations of raw vegetables) at that point in time, cutting out a food group while moving forward was probably not her preferred strategy.
I actually was a vegetarian at one point in my life. As a teenager with a brother and dad who hunted and ate pretty much anything with a heartbeat (er, a terminated heartbeat, I guess?), an uncle who raised cattle and hogs for my relatives to "buy", and a house with various unidentifiable meats stored in the deep freezer (usually from hunting trips and/or a recently slaughtered "pet"), I steered clear of meat until I went to college.
Sometimes, I would eat meat if prodded, teased by my family or relatives, or just to be accomodating. However, when given the choice, I would generally choose a plate full of greens or pasta over Bambi or Spunky or Brownie any day.
In college, I ate meat because: 1. choices were limited on campus, and 2. I was not constantly reminded that the end product was derived from a bullet in my brother's gun or the animal to which I had just fed grass the week prior.
Currently, however, I am about two months into my return to vegetarianism. While noshing on my veggie, feta, and hummus pita recently, I reflected on this choice and whether or not it is something I want to stick with...or even should stick with given my recent history with food restriction and disordered eating.
In a variety of situations (many now personal and not at all eating-related), LA has challenged me to focus not on a particular action or decision, but on what is actually driving my choice. The choice itself, as she points out, is not necessarily "healthy" or "unhealthy", but sometimes the motivation leading me to the action can be.
For example, when I still wanted to run the Little Rock Marathon despite a multitude of stress fractures, she did not automatically support this decision until I reflected upon and could explain my motivation for doing so. Once she could see evidence that I had truly sat with the decision and thought it through, she supported my decision wholeheartedly and stepped in yet again as my biggest cheerleader.
This I love about her.
Through my close bond with LA, I have learned to process through a lot of life's decisions in this way. So while pondering whether or not cutting out a major food group is a smart choice for someone with a past restrictive eating disorder, I naturally started by examining my motivation for doing so.
What I decided is that LA's efforts to keep me focused on eating a variety of foods was absolutely the correct approach. I had established a history of eliminating major food groups, one by one, until I was essentially eating nothing (and still purging the "nothing"). My motivation for wanting to return to a vegetarian diet last summer was, without a doubt, in an effort to maintain control of my diet and resist LA's efforts to rebuild my nutrition. It was a last resort, last ditch effort to keep my obsessive focus on food.
I had to learn to eat again without the obsession before I could truly make any sound decisions about my diet. LA (and now JN) have helped me approach food without judgment, eat driven by hunger cues, and let go of any preconceived notions about "right" or "wrong" choices. I learned to eat freely again, and because of that, I am now in a place where I can decide what I want to eat based on true preference, not restriction.
Currently, I am about two months into eating an almost entirely vegetarian diet. I can honestly say I enjoy eating this way for several reasons, none of which are driven by obsession, weight loss, or control.
Having gone through some fairly intensive nutrition therapy, I now understand food and nourishment better than I ever have. For this reason, I am actually better equipped to eliminate meat from my diet and still meet my nutrition and energy needs. I approach meal planning with a natural awareness that has taken time to develop, but it is that awareness that helps guide my choices and ensures balance with regards to ingredients, nutrients, and energy sources. I've acquired enough knowledge in this process that I can now listen to my body, determine what is lacking, and make choices based on that intuition.
I have always enjoyed the process of cooking (it was the eating part that became a problem) as a creative outlet, and eating a primarily vegetarian diet over the last few months has once again sparked my love of food and natural ingredients. When in the depths of my eating disorder (and even for a few months while learning to eat normally again) I stuck to "routine" or "safe" foods, and was only eating about a dozen individual ingredients and foods. As LA helped me break down my restrictions, I started to expand the list more and more each day until very few foods provoked guilt, anxiety, or purging. Ironically, while eating as a vegetarian (and therefore elimintating a group of foods), I've been forced to create new strategies for recipes, seek out ingredients I would normally not eat, and expand my food list.
I am now truly enjoying the process of selecting foods I enjoy, cooking, and eating. This is a therapy team's dream for a eating disorder client, I'm sure; a major success that is not measured by weight gained or loss but by lifestyle and happiness and intuition and all that other intangible stuff that just makes my team melt.
My fear in posting this is that someone else with a tendency towards restriction may use eliminating a food group (or following a dietary "lifestyle") as an outlet for control or to mask disordered eating under a more socially acceptable label.
If that is the case for you, I challenge you to examine the motivation behind your choices, just as LA has challenged me to do many times before. For the choice itself is not necessarily indicative of an unhealthy lifestyle or pattern; rather the thought process behind it has the potential to be.
Had I refused to eat meat last summer while under LA's guidance, that decision would have been for all the wrong reasons. Now, that same choice reflects growth, awareness, and a newfound ability to listen to my body and make healthy choices that are right for me and preference-driven...not based in a need to control, achieve perfection, or lose weight.
Most of us can justify nearly any choice we make in life. The hard part is telling ourselves the truth behind the "why".
Friday, June 3, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Triggered
I knew this time would come, but I did not think my ability to eat would be crippled by it. Not at this point in recovery, not after all the work I have done and hours I have spent to establish a healthy relationship with food no matter what.
But the time has come: a big, BIG trigger that has sent me spiraling into the kind of severe obsession cycle I thought I would never, ever experience again.
The trigger (let me retype that with a capital T: "Trigger") was a new rule about food in the office. A rule that, to most, would normally be met with the usual groaning, followed by a careless shoulder shrug once the initial venting subsides. But as hard as I tried to do the same and "set an example" as one of the leaders in the office, it was only a matter of days before I slid back into some seriously disordered thinking while trying to function under a new set of expectations.
The motivation behind establising the new rule is not necessarily something I disagree with: some of the desks within our office are in an open environment, and that set-up (existing within the already-casual environment of a college campus) lends itself to some level of unprofessionalism as people chow on their lunches while seating at their desks. Often, students are greeted by a receptionist whose greasy, fast-food smorgasbord is only an arm's length away. Sure, we were probably in need of a "professionalism makeover" in the office, specifically related to the amount of food being consumed at workstations.
Because several people in our work environment struggle to exist within shades of gray, the New Food Rule was presented in black and white: No food present in the office. No food at desks. No food in sight. Food only behind closed doors. The senior staff members (which includes me) are to set an example.
I didn't see it coming at first, but after four days of the following battle playing out in my head, I could see trying to exist within the new expectations was a recipe for disaster:
(These bullet points should be read as one big run-on sentence in order to even begin to understand how this all plays out in my head...and to really walk in my shoes, feel free to play it in your head for at least 6-8 hours a day and tell me how exhausted you feel):
When the process of eating becomes too complicated, too complex, too overwhelming...it's way too easy for someone in recovery to turn her back on it. And that's exactly what I started to do.
I was, of course, provided with accomodations that allowed me to eat throughout the day despite this rule. Now, I am not a person who likes "special treatment" and fairness and equality are two values I hold in high esteem, so the fact that I showed up for myself enough to even pursue that option means I obviously care a little more about my recovery than I did at this point a year ago.
But even the "exception to the rule" threw me into an obsessive, anorexic cycle that I lost control of almost as soon as it began. The FOOD = BAD/ FOOD = GUILT/ FOOD = SHAME messages started coming on at full force. What if others who are under me see me eating? Will they think I am "above" the rules? Isn't it elitist to have food on my desk when they cannot? And those messages very quickly morphed into:
What the hell. Who knew I'd be stopped dead in my tracks by an office food rule?
Well, apparently, this came as no surprise to JN and Dr. Joe, both of whom have graciously assisted me in pulling out of this mess of a trigger.
JN helped me see that the new set of expectations triggered all the negative feelings I used to hold about food: That I am somehow "bad" for needing to eat. That my hunger is not natural and should be ignored. That eating should bring about guilt. That I must not eat to "set an example" as someone who has a second job in fitness. That food needs to have rules and they must be strict and I deserve to pay (read: purge) when I break them.
Wow.
The parallels to my eating disordered mentality were glaringly obvious once she pointed them out. I have worked so hard to reverse this mindset, but the reality is that the distortion remains and still pulls me in when triggered.
Dr. Joe met with me this afternoon to work through the psychological piece of this mess, which helped me understand this big trigger even more:
*Flashling Lights!* BIG Connection Here:
When I first began working with Dr. Joe, two of my main values were pleasing others and earning respect.
The new expectation in the office related to food put my directives to eat and overcome food rules in direct opposition to these values. As a result, I didn't know which to pick.
IF I ATE: If someone saw me eating outside of the expectation, I would appear as "above the rules", and therefore not please those above me and not be able to earn respect from others in the office setting. Translate to an eating disorder patient: Food is totally not worth the hassle.
IF I DID NOT EAT: I would be setting a good example by following the rules. I would lose weight. I would get more work done. I would have my door open and be able to maintain open communication with my student assistant and coworkers, which I enjoy. Translate to an eating disorder patient: Food is totally not worth the hassle.
An anorexic, if she is not careful with her thoughts, can talk herself out of eating at the slightest notion of inconvenience. It was a recipe for disaster I should have seen coming.
But as with most triggers...I will miss them until they throw me off track.
Dr. Joe spent an hour with me today breaking down each and every message that is in my head at the moment about eating. I now have a counter-attack for every possible scenario this damn eating disorder could throw at me under this new set of expectations. I feel armed and ready to go.
I'll be having a nice (pre-planned) dinner out this evening with LA to get me back on track.
I'm glad it's Friday. Anorexia is kicking my ass this week.
As JN said to me last night: There is a reason recovery is extremely hard. You really have to work for it sometimes.
Ain't that the truth.
But the time has come: a big, BIG trigger that has sent me spiraling into the kind of severe obsession cycle I thought I would never, ever experience again.
The trigger (let me retype that with a capital T: "Trigger") was a new rule about food in the office. A rule that, to most, would normally be met with the usual groaning, followed by a careless shoulder shrug once the initial venting subsides. But as hard as I tried to do the same and "set an example" as one of the leaders in the office, it was only a matter of days before I slid back into some seriously disordered thinking while trying to function under a new set of expectations.
The motivation behind establising the new rule is not necessarily something I disagree with: some of the desks within our office are in an open environment, and that set-up (existing within the already-casual environment of a college campus) lends itself to some level of unprofessionalism as people chow on their lunches while seating at their desks. Often, students are greeted by a receptionist whose greasy, fast-food smorgasbord is only an arm's length away. Sure, we were probably in need of a "professionalism makeover" in the office, specifically related to the amount of food being consumed at workstations.
Because several people in our work environment struggle to exist within shades of gray, the New Food Rule was presented in black and white: No food present in the office. No food at desks. No food in sight. Food only behind closed doors. The senior staff members (which includes me) are to set an example.
I didn't see it coming at first, but after four days of the following battle playing out in my head, I could see trying to exist within the new expectations was a recipe for disaster:
(These bullet points should be read as one big run-on sentence in order to even begin to understand how this all plays out in my head...and to really walk in my shoes, feel free to play it in your head for at least 6-8 hours a day and tell me how exhausted you feel):
- It is 10:36 and I need to eat my apple and cheese.
- I have an office with a door. Should I shut my door during a time when I am supposed to be available to those in the office? But if I do, I will need to shut it for at least 20 minutes because I have to eat the apple and cheese slowly, because if I eat it too quickly I will feel full, and when I feel as though I've eaten too quickly and feel full, I will not want to eat my lunch. And if I dont eat my lunch, I am heading for relapse...and....and....and....fuck it, this is too much stress and too much to think about and I cannot eat this damn apple in the office so I'm not going to and just forget about it...
- My stomach is growling. JN and LA taught me this means I'm hungry. I needed that apple. Ok, I will take a bite of it. But when someone who does not have an office door walks by I will feel elitist and horrible, and I'm supposed to be setting an example as a leader in the office and they are watching me...and, okay, I'll take one bite.
- Shit! Someone just walked by twice and I have the apple and cheese out on my desk. Should I shut my door? But I CAN'T! What if people need me?!?!
- Food = BAD
- Hunger = BAD
- You eat way too much. No one else needs an apple and cheese in the morning. Just wait til lunch. Everyone else is fine. You should be too.
- You are different. You are a pain in the ass. You are the exception. You don't want rules to apply to you? What is wrong with you? Why can't you behave?
- Wait! JN and LA tell me I need that apple...shit, it's already in the trash...
- I'm not getting any work done, but my mind is reeling about food, weight, guilt, AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!! Make it stop!!!!
- Now it's lunch time. Shut your door. You're used to eating over the course of two hours but you're just going to need to figure this shit out. You're a leader. Set an example. No one else gets to eat all day. You need way too much food, you fat slob. Get it together.
- (Behind shut door) Hurry up and get this food down, you have to open your door, people need you. You work in education and should be helping people. You need to set an example, be a leader, work harder. Get the food down and open the door!
- Screw it. I cannot eat this fast, I am totally stressed out by all of this (and why won't my brain shut OFF!!!????!?!?). Tossing the lunch in the trash.
When the process of eating becomes too complicated, too complex, too overwhelming...it's way too easy for someone in recovery to turn her back on it. And that's exactly what I started to do.
I was, of course, provided with accomodations that allowed me to eat throughout the day despite this rule. Now, I am not a person who likes "special treatment" and fairness and equality are two values I hold in high esteem, so the fact that I showed up for myself enough to even pursue that option means I obviously care a little more about my recovery than I did at this point a year ago.
But even the "exception to the rule" threw me into an obsessive, anorexic cycle that I lost control of almost as soon as it began. The FOOD = BAD/ FOOD = GUILT/ FOOD = SHAME messages started coming on at full force. What if others who are under me see me eating? Will they think I am "above" the rules? Isn't it elitist to have food on my desk when they cannot? And those messages very quickly morphed into:
- Something is wrong with you.
- No one else needs to eat all day.
- You should feel guilty when people see you eat.
- You are a terrible leader if you eat at work.
- You do not need food.
What the hell. Who knew I'd be stopped dead in my tracks by an office food rule?
Well, apparently, this came as no surprise to JN and Dr. Joe, both of whom have graciously assisted me in pulling out of this mess of a trigger.
JN helped me see that the new set of expectations triggered all the negative feelings I used to hold about food: That I am somehow "bad" for needing to eat. That my hunger is not natural and should be ignored. That eating should bring about guilt. That I must not eat to "set an example" as someone who has a second job in fitness. That food needs to have rules and they must be strict and I deserve to pay (read: purge) when I break them.
Wow.
The parallels to my eating disordered mentality were glaringly obvious once she pointed them out. I have worked so hard to reverse this mindset, but the reality is that the distortion remains and still pulls me in when triggered.
Dr. Joe met with me this afternoon to work through the psychological piece of this mess, which helped me understand this big trigger even more:
*Flashling Lights!* BIG Connection Here:
When I first began working with Dr. Joe, two of my main values were pleasing others and earning respect.
The new expectation in the office related to food put my directives to eat and overcome food rules in direct opposition to these values. As a result, I didn't know which to pick.
IF I ATE: If someone saw me eating outside of the expectation, I would appear as "above the rules", and therefore not please those above me and not be able to earn respect from others in the office setting. Translate to an eating disorder patient: Food is totally not worth the hassle.
IF I DID NOT EAT: I would be setting a good example by following the rules. I would lose weight. I would get more work done. I would have my door open and be able to maintain open communication with my student assistant and coworkers, which I enjoy. Translate to an eating disorder patient: Food is totally not worth the hassle.
An anorexic, if she is not careful with her thoughts, can talk herself out of eating at the slightest notion of inconvenience. It was a recipe for disaster I should have seen coming.
But as with most triggers...I will miss them until they throw me off track.
Dr. Joe spent an hour with me today breaking down each and every message that is in my head at the moment about eating. I now have a counter-attack for every possible scenario this damn eating disorder could throw at me under this new set of expectations. I feel armed and ready to go.
I'll be having a nice (pre-planned) dinner out this evening with LA to get me back on track.
I'm glad it's Friday. Anorexia is kicking my ass this week.
As JN said to me last night: There is a reason recovery is extremely hard. You really have to work for it sometimes.
Ain't that the truth.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
How "Recovered" Am I?
A few weeks ago, Dr. Joe gave me an article on eating disorders in which the writer (a psychologist specializing in the treatment of anorexia) pondered the question "what does 'recovery' really look like?". I was asked to read this article and reflect upon it for my next appointment, which I did primarily to uphold my title as Perfect Patient (that statement is dripping in sarcasm, as I gave up on perfection months ago). As usual, however, other minor catastrophes and chaotic happenings popped up in between appointments and therefore hijacked the therapy topic train. Needless to say, we have not yet had the opportunity to discuss the content of article or, more importantly, what "recovery" looks like for me.
I caught myself thinking about this today after the idea of purging crept into my head out of nowhere. I have been, for the most part, eating whatever seems right to me and actually trusting my body's hunger cues. As a result, I have settled into a very healthy weight and maintained it without restricting. I can honestly say it has been almost two months since I've engaged in any sort of anorexia-inspired behavior, so the intense "need" to throw up a bite-sized Snickers bar I had eaten caught me by surprise. The fact that purging popped into my head as an acceptable way to manage my insecurity over what I had eaten infuriated me...I thought I was over this?
Most people who have never struggled with intense distortion related to food cannot comprehend the emotional magnitude of these obsessive ED episodes. For me, my automatic impulse to control my food intake kicks in, and a "mistake" such as eating a miniscule Snickers bar has the potential to send me spiraling into another starve-purge cycle if I let my guard down even for a moment.
So I guess I am not over this, per se. Although I may never be. Like any addiction or negative pattern of behavior, the psychological aspect to the disease still exists even when the behaviors diminish. "Recovery" really means no longer acting on the distortions, coping despite them, and conciously stopping myself from skipping meals or throwing up the tiniest Snickers bar on the planet just because my brain is telling me to.
A relapse into starvation and rapid weight loss is always standing right behind me; I just have to conciously fight the constant urge to actually turn around and greet it when it calls my name.
And people wonder why I need to drink so much Starbucks. This whole recovery thing requires a lot of energy, people.
It's a waste of that energy to get mad at myself when an "eating disorder" thought pops into my head or when my brain tells me purge a miniature piece of candy. The fact that such thoughts suddenly appear in my head doesn't mean my recovery efforts aren't working; rather the fact that I am able to dismiss the thoughts without action serves as the true litmus test for the strength of my recovery.
I used to think (until recently) that recovery meant eliminating all aspects of an eating disorder: medical, psychological, behavioral. I somehow believed I would not become a success story until my life was completely rid all things "anorexia". But in reality, that day may never come. Hence, it is silly to measure success and recovery against such an unrealistic standard. It's really about fixing the medical damage, modifying the behavioral patterns...and simply managing the psychological component so I can avoid eroding the progress made in the other two areas.
Similar to the desire to purge the candy, I have had other distorted "thoughts" recently that did not morph into eating disordered "actions":
In reality, there probably isn't a strategy in the world that will cause these thoughts to go away. They stem from an eating disorder I will more than likely always "have"...like an alcoholic who will always want to drink, but has to work hard each day to fight against from the magnetic pull of the bottle.
So maybe the fact that I...
...did NOT cut my food intake in half after trying on running clothes at Dick's Sporting Goods...
...did NOT use the caloric expenditure of a 13.1 mile run as the basis for my pre-race dinner choice...
...did NOT skip dinner last night even though I wanted to...
And...
...did NOT purge the Snickers bar, even though my mind told me to...
...means I'm more "recovered" than I think I am.
I caught myself thinking about this today after the idea of purging crept into my head out of nowhere. I have been, for the most part, eating whatever seems right to me and actually trusting my body's hunger cues. As a result, I have settled into a very healthy weight and maintained it without restricting. I can honestly say it has been almost two months since I've engaged in any sort of anorexia-inspired behavior, so the intense "need" to throw up a bite-sized Snickers bar I had eaten caught me by surprise. The fact that purging popped into my head as an acceptable way to manage my insecurity over what I had eaten infuriated me...I thought I was over this?
Most people who have never struggled with intense distortion related to food cannot comprehend the emotional magnitude of these obsessive ED episodes. For me, my automatic impulse to control my food intake kicks in, and a "mistake" such as eating a miniscule Snickers bar has the potential to send me spiraling into another starve-purge cycle if I let my guard down even for a moment.
So I guess I am not over this, per se. Although I may never be. Like any addiction or negative pattern of behavior, the psychological aspect to the disease still exists even when the behaviors diminish. "Recovery" really means no longer acting on the distortions, coping despite them, and conciously stopping myself from skipping meals or throwing up the tiniest Snickers bar on the planet just because my brain is telling me to.
A relapse into starvation and rapid weight loss is always standing right behind me; I just have to conciously fight the constant urge to actually turn around and greet it when it calls my name.
And people wonder why I need to drink so much Starbucks. This whole recovery thing requires a lot of energy, people.
It's a waste of that energy to get mad at myself when an "eating disorder" thought pops into my head or when my brain tells me purge a miniature piece of candy. The fact that such thoughts suddenly appear in my head doesn't mean my recovery efforts aren't working; rather the fact that I am able to dismiss the thoughts without action serves as the true litmus test for the strength of my recovery.
I used to think (until recently) that recovery meant eliminating all aspects of an eating disorder: medical, psychological, behavioral. I somehow believed I would not become a success story until my life was completely rid all things "anorexia". But in reality, that day may never come. Hence, it is silly to measure success and recovery against such an unrealistic standard. It's really about fixing the medical damage, modifying the behavioral patterns...and simply managing the psychological component so I can avoid eroding the progress made in the other two areas.
Similar to the desire to purge the candy, I have had other distorted "thoughts" recently that did not morph into eating disordered "actions":
- I felt a strong urge to cut my food intake immediately after catching a glimpse of "fat" (in quotations because I am not entirely sure if it's there, I cannot actually tell, as we all know) on my body while trying on potential race outfits at Dick's Sporting Goods the other day.
- I found myself mentally calculating the number of calories burned while running 13.1 miles at an 8:30 pace in an effort to not "overeat" the night before the Pittsburgh Marathon last weekend (as if you could really "overeat" as an endurance athlete...ah, distortion at its finest).
- I considered not eating dinner last night after realizing I had eaten some candy and a cookie throughout the day, as well as a small dessert the day before.
In reality, there probably isn't a strategy in the world that will cause these thoughts to go away. They stem from an eating disorder I will more than likely always "have"...like an alcoholic who will always want to drink, but has to work hard each day to fight against from the magnetic pull of the bottle.
So maybe the fact that I...
...did NOT cut my food intake in half after trying on running clothes at Dick's Sporting Goods...
...did NOT use the caloric expenditure of a 13.1 mile run as the basis for my pre-race dinner choice...
...did NOT skip dinner last night even though I wanted to...
And...
...did NOT purge the Snickers bar, even though my mind told me to...
...means I'm more "recovered" than I think I am.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Rarely do I link directly to the blogs of others, but I stumbled upon two of Carrie Arnold's (ED Bites) recent posts that resonated with me:
Marathon Metaphors (uses the last miles of the marathon as an analogy for the latter stages of ED recovery)
Trauma and Recovery (explains the growth, change, and transformation that occurs through recovery)
Props to Carrie for sharing her insight on these two topics. Great minds think alike, apparently!
Marathon Metaphors (uses the last miles of the marathon as an analogy for the latter stages of ED recovery)
Trauma and Recovery (explains the growth, change, and transformation that occurs through recovery)
Props to Carrie for sharing her insight on these two topics. Great minds think alike, apparently!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Untwisting the Lid and Unleashing...ME
As my recent posts explain, the current phase of my own personal recovery from anorexia involves accepting not only my new body, but the person that lives inside it day in and day out. It's now about owning who I am, what I look like, and what I set as priorities in my life. Regardless of the size I am or how much weight I gain or lose, what's living within will remain the same. So it's time to learn to love it.
During this phase and with the help of the unconditional love and support of some key people in my life I have arrived at a place in which I am no longer apologetic for the person I truly am.
I have, many times in my life, apologized for being intense, driven, or aggressive. I have, at times, bit my tongue, held back, or downplayed my competitive nature. I felt as though these qualities somehow eclipsed other, more "positive" characteristics; that I could not be a caring, sweet, loyal person while simultaneously chasing my goals with focus and determination. Seeing these firey aspects of my personality often led me to hate who I was; why could I not just be nice and passive and content?
Well, thanks to this latter "phase" of recovery, I can now own what's actually living in this body. No more apologies. Love it or hate it, I am aggressive. Driven. Intense.
I am also loyal, genuine, and caring. I do not climb over others to get where I want to go. I respect people, and my competitiveness rarely leaves victims lying in the dust I kick up as I take off towards what I want. I'm the first to celebrate the success of others, and I get a rewarding thrill from igniting fire in others and watching them achieve despite obstacles.
So, yes, it is possible to be both.
I ran another half marathon this past weekend (not surprising). I love the half marathon distance, and have ever since I started running a little over a year ago. In fact, my first race ever was a half marathon- quite a reflection of my personality, as most runners start with shorter races and add distance over time.
I will admit that after running my first full (26.2 mile) marathon back in March (and while injured, mind you), my motivation took a nosedive. I had achieved The Goal of running a full marathon, and I no longer felt like the only runner who had yet to cut that notch into the imaginary belt some of us runners feel like we wear when asked "so...what distances have you done?". I worked through some trying running-related experiences in the months following my first marathon: horrible training runs, residual pain from injuries trying to heal, and an overall lack of motivation that, at times, actually kept me off the roads.
But as yesterday's race approached, my natural and innate passion for competition started to creep back up. I really, truly have fun when I run. However, I have also never been one to back down from an opportunity to achieve a goal. This race was no exception, and as much as I tried to push down my natural aggression and desire to kick some ass, the more that flame sparked and grew.
This inner battle between my natural inclination towards achievement and my self-imposed "put-a-lid-on-it" restraint (often self-imposed after someone has criticized me for being "too much" or "too competitive") is what confirms to me that: 1. yes, there is some kind of bizarre fire in me 2. I do not know where it comes from, and 3. I need to embrace it, feed it, and tap into it without apology.
Like so many experiences in my life as of late, I approached yesterday's half marathon using the new approach my team has taught me: be the most authentic version of myself and don't apologize for it.
I wanted to run a kick ass race. I wanted to push it and crush my goal. I wanted to experience a high at the finish line. So I f%&k-ing did.
I ran that race in a zone, and did not look around. I sprinted down the downhill portions to bag time for the inclines. I passed people left and right and sprinted straight through 13.1 miles, motivated by the kind of pure determination and aggression I can tap into when I really, really want something. And I ran those 13.1 miles in one hour, 52 minutes: a goal I didn't think I could reach until the end of this summer.
And the result was one of those great moments I draw strength from: the high I gain not from the achievement, but from knowing I was 100% myself and resisted the urge to "temper" my true self. I wanted to run an aggressive, exhilarating race. I did not care if anyone viewed me as overly competitive, overly focused, or putting energy into something relatively "meaningless". It felt right to me. So I went with it.
When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me, I got to experience the amazing high that comes from putting everything I had into a two hour run.
When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me... I started to recover from anorexia. From self-destruction. From self-hate.
Almost the second I crossed the line, however, the switch flipped. I had friends running the race too, and my thoughts immediately shifted to them, their successes, their celebrations. Yeah, I can be a raging, narrowly focused beast ("Badger", as my friends call it) when I want something. But I can love like hell too and the most aggressive version of my inner beast is reserved for those who mess with the people who have proved their loyalty to me and stand with me through triumphs and failures. Ultimately, sharing our successes with those we love produces the ultimate "win".
I am never going to qualify for the Olympics or put my job aside to play sports for a living. At the end of the day, competition is just a hobby, an outlet for my energy and intensity. Some may view my approach to life as too intense, and that's okay. After spending the last year learning to embrace my genuine self, I can now see that this determination can be used for good (turning dreams into realities) or bad (starving myself in pursuit of perfection).
Either way, the fire is there. It is part of me, and it's been given to me for a reason. It just took this recovery process to accept that it exists as part of my nature, to harness its power, and to use it to get what I want out of life and not destroy myself instead.
We are just not meant to "put a lid on it". Rather, we are challenged to open up, go for what we want, and put it out there for the world to see. A lot of energy exists under the pressure of that lid.
Unleashing it can help us overcome insecurities, experience memorable highs, and develop the confidence to be who we really are...not who others want us to be.
During this phase and with the help of the unconditional love and support of some key people in my life I have arrived at a place in which I am no longer apologetic for the person I truly am.
I have, many times in my life, apologized for being intense, driven, or aggressive. I have, at times, bit my tongue, held back, or downplayed my competitive nature. I felt as though these qualities somehow eclipsed other, more "positive" characteristics; that I could not be a caring, sweet, loyal person while simultaneously chasing my goals with focus and determination. Seeing these firey aspects of my personality often led me to hate who I was; why could I not just be nice and passive and content?
Well, thanks to this latter "phase" of recovery, I can now own what's actually living in this body. No more apologies. Love it or hate it, I am aggressive. Driven. Intense.
I am also loyal, genuine, and caring. I do not climb over others to get where I want to go. I respect people, and my competitiveness rarely leaves victims lying in the dust I kick up as I take off towards what I want. I'm the first to celebrate the success of others, and I get a rewarding thrill from igniting fire in others and watching them achieve despite obstacles.
So, yes, it is possible to be both.
I ran another half marathon this past weekend (not surprising). I love the half marathon distance, and have ever since I started running a little over a year ago. In fact, my first race ever was a half marathon- quite a reflection of my personality, as most runners start with shorter races and add distance over time.
I will admit that after running my first full (26.2 mile) marathon back in March (and while injured, mind you), my motivation took a nosedive. I had achieved The Goal of running a full marathon, and I no longer felt like the only runner who had yet to cut that notch into the imaginary belt some of us runners feel like we wear when asked "so...what distances have you done?". I worked through some trying running-related experiences in the months following my first marathon: horrible training runs, residual pain from injuries trying to heal, and an overall lack of motivation that, at times, actually kept me off the roads.
But as yesterday's race approached, my natural and innate passion for competition started to creep back up. I really, truly have fun when I run. However, I have also never been one to back down from an opportunity to achieve a goal. This race was no exception, and as much as I tried to push down my natural aggression and desire to kick some ass, the more that flame sparked and grew.
This inner battle between my natural inclination towards achievement and my self-imposed "put-a-lid-on-it" restraint (often self-imposed after someone has criticized me for being "too much" or "too competitive") is what confirms to me that: 1. yes, there is some kind of bizarre fire in me 2. I do not know where it comes from, and 3. I need to embrace it, feed it, and tap into it without apology.
Like so many experiences in my life as of late, I approached yesterday's half marathon using the new approach my team has taught me: be the most authentic version of myself and don't apologize for it.
I wanted to run a kick ass race. I wanted to push it and crush my goal. I wanted to experience a high at the finish line. So I f%&k-ing did.
I ran that race in a zone, and did not look around. I sprinted down the downhill portions to bag time for the inclines. I passed people left and right and sprinted straight through 13.1 miles, motivated by the kind of pure determination and aggression I can tap into when I really, really want something. And I ran those 13.1 miles in one hour, 52 minutes: a goal I didn't think I could reach until the end of this summer.
And the result was one of those great moments I draw strength from: the high I gain not from the achievement, but from knowing I was 100% myself and resisted the urge to "temper" my true self. I wanted to run an aggressive, exhilarating race. I did not care if anyone viewed me as overly competitive, overly focused, or putting energy into something relatively "meaningless". It felt right to me. So I went with it.
When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me, I got to experience the amazing high that comes from putting everything I had into a two hour run.
When I stopped trying to talk myself out of what felt right to me... I started to recover from anorexia. From self-destruction. From self-hate.
Almost the second I crossed the line, however, the switch flipped. I had friends running the race too, and my thoughts immediately shifted to them, their successes, their celebrations. Yeah, I can be a raging, narrowly focused beast ("Badger", as my friends call it) when I want something. But I can love like hell too and the most aggressive version of my inner beast is reserved for those who mess with the people who have proved their loyalty to me and stand with me through triumphs and failures. Ultimately, sharing our successes with those we love produces the ultimate "win".
I am never going to qualify for the Olympics or put my job aside to play sports for a living. At the end of the day, competition is just a hobby, an outlet for my energy and intensity. Some may view my approach to life as too intense, and that's okay. After spending the last year learning to embrace my genuine self, I can now see that this determination can be used for good (turning dreams into realities) or bad (starving myself in pursuit of perfection).
Either way, the fire is there. It is part of me, and it's been given to me for a reason. It just took this recovery process to accept that it exists as part of my nature, to harness its power, and to use it to get what I want out of life and not destroy myself instead.
We are just not meant to "put a lid on it". Rather, we are challenged to open up, go for what we want, and put it out there for the world to see. A lot of energy exists under the pressure of that lid.
Unleashing it can help us overcome insecurities, experience memorable highs, and develop the confidence to be who we really are...not who others want us to be.
Monday, May 2, 2011
The Birthday Mentality: 365 Days a Year
This past weekend falls within the Top Ten Moments of My Life.
Other moments that fall within this category are my wedding day, my first marathon, and just about every single trip I've ever taken with my girlfriends from graduate school.
Friends can attest that I have never been a birthday "partier". In fact, my birthday (excluding #21, which was one hell of a bash) is typically celebrated rather intimately and the plans are made by others around me who seem to care a lot more than I do. I'm sure this general downplaying of the day of my birth can be traced back to my rocky relationship with my mother, my shockingly low sense of self-worth, and my general attitude of mistrust in people, but we'll let Dr. Joe create those connections.
However, my approach to birthdays has always been this: Anything involving MY birthday belongs to me and me alone. I do what I want and I really do not care if people do not like it. The other days of the year, I may be a little more willing to compromise...or at least not kick and scream.
Recent birthdays have included the following celebratory I-do-what-I-want events:
Bottom line is: When it's my birthday, I do what I want.
It's no understatement that my 28th year was one of the toughest on many, many levels. Let's face it, when I suddenly realized I spent the majority of an entire calendar year either in the presence of or in constant communication with a doctor, a dietitian, and a therapist, I was ready to bury 28 and ring in 29 with a new approach.
I kept the "I do what I want" mentality when planning out this weekend, but it was taken to a whole new level. Nothing was going to stop me from being ME for three days straight:
1. Friday night: Joint Birthday Party- My running friends are some of my closest. An eclectic group of individuals who would probably never interact with one another under normal circumstances, we share an unbreakable and close bond crafted entirely from our love of this ridiculous physical activity.
There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to celebrate my birthday with this second family of mine, so when I realized four of us had birthdays within weeks of one another, it provided me with the perfect excuse to plan a large group dinner at a restaurant many of them had been wanting to try.
Many hours of laughter and intoxication later, I found myself in the passenger seat of our car (The Mr. was driving, of course, a rare role reversal after a night out), looking up at the stars and thanking god for connecting me with such an awesome group of people who accept the Genuine Me, laugh and carry on with one another like family, and support one another through all of life's peaks and valleys...both on and off the running course.
Saturday- Everything I Love in One Day: I ran a (dehydrated) long run of 13 miles with a friend. It was beautiful outside. In between my "I really need to get back into training" and "why did you do that last shot last night?" thoughts, I felt a sense of appreciation for this breathtaking area and the fact that I am able to spend my weekend mornings killing my legs in a National Park trail system I love so much. Pure. Bliss.
This run was immediately (well, I showered first) followed by an outlet shopping excursion with three of my girlfriends, during which I discovered I am now, apparently, a pretty solid size 4-6 and somehow avoided a total breakdown. To my surprise, the fact that I had to purchase work pants in a larger size did not throw me into a tailspin; rather I shrugged it off and reminded myself that I'm an athlete, I'm active, and that I need to eventually figure out my natural weight setpoint anyhow. My calm acceptance of this situation was bizarre, yet not at all coincidental that I was able to put poor body image and distortion aside when feeling secure, loved, and happy among friends...
After shopping, I kept the promise I made to myself during the Great Closet Cleanout and rid myself of a pair of shoes, two tank tops, a pair of pants, and sweater. A one-for-one tradeoff to make room in my now-minimalist wardrobe for the newly purchased pieces.
Then, another dinner/drinks night out on the town. I had organized this one to include other close friends (mostly outside of the running circle), and met ten of them out for dinner and drinks at a restaurant that has played host to many of our special celebratory moments: graduations, bachelorette parties, births, anniversaries, and the like.The group, some of whom had never met, and I closed the night with more laughter, more conversation, more martinis, and more wine at another nice establishment down the street.
I went to bed that night feeling a new kind of full; the fullness that doesn't necessarily come from food, but is derived from simply being oneself, yet reaping the benefits of solid, unconditional friendships with those who have watched me transform...and loved me even more for it.
Sunday- Drying Out/ Enjoying Some More: Despite my second morning of party-induced dehydration, I crawled out of bed at 7:00 AM to meet the girls for a trail run in the rain. I have no idea where this kind of motivation comes from, but it's just who I am and I guess I don't have to understand it...only embrace it.
On this particular run, M, who is normally a bit of a nature-hater ("Someone really needs to come clean this trail up because it is MUDDY") wanted to climb a giant hill on an unfamiliar stretch of the park system to "see what was at the top". After dragging ourselves up a relatively untraveled path, we found ourselves at one of the highest peaks in the park system. Standing in the quiet rain, surrounded by nothing but the outdoors I love so much, I suddenly realized life is as close to perfect as it's ever been.
An hour later, I found myself (no longer covered in mud and transformed into the publicly acceptable version of myself) at lunch with E., my new coworker and friend. The instant trust and mutual respect she and I have established has been a wonderful gateway into yet another new friendship, and we later joined other coworkers for a theatre production to support one of our charismatic student assistants.
Dinner and a movie at LA's house with her family capped off the day, allowing me to unwind surrounded by a family that has become like my own, in a house that I feel comfortable enough visiting in my sweats, and on a sofa I am known to fall asleep on from time to time.
Which brings me to today: a planned vacation day (I never take for granted that I can take these just about any time I want) and one of my biweekly appointments with JN.
It was in the comfort of JN's office this afternoon that I realized the significance of this pre-birthday weekend, and was convinced that adopting The Birthday Mentality as a way of life will help me walk away from this eating disorder once and for all.
Food (as well as how, when and why I consume it) is obviously JN's main concern as a dietitian/body image guru. However, as I have learned throughout the recovery process, my actions and thoughts related to food practically rip the bandage off any emotions I'm trying to ignore or suppress.
In reading my account of this weekend's activities, you may have been searching for a food reference: my thoughts as I indulged in back-to-back dinners out, how I used my running to compensate for my "indulgences" or the like. But you didn't find any...because food (and the obsessive ED thought process related to it) was virtually non-existent as I lived out an entire weekend founded in The Birthday Mentality: I do what I want.
I am who I am. I do what I want.
I ate what I wanted. I wore what I wanted. I said what I wanted. With the exception of a few friends who 1. couldn't make it, or 2. live far, far away...I gave time, energy, and attention to the people I wanted, those who take me as I am and enjoy every minute of it.
I am so Me right now, it's scary. But I love it.
Which brings me full circle to the body/food piece (the foundational subject matter of this blog!)...
Without realizing it, I have begun to adopt the so-called Birthday Mentality 365 days a year: living a genuine life, eliminating guilt, dropping the self-imposed bar from perfectionism to happiness. Given how strongly I now feel about this approach to living, not accepting my body for what it truly is seems downright hypocritical.
I can't be Me all the time if I keep trying to change the shell, the packaging. I need to let it be. The packaging needs to match the product...real, lacking judgment, genuine.
The Birthday Mentality is going to be sticking around. JN and I agree...it's the best way to ensure that I am living and eating based on intuition. Every day is now my birthday. Which means the next 364 days need to be approached with the "I do what I want" (read: I eat what I want, I listen to my needs, I put my own self-care first, I surround myself with those who respect me). And on May 3rd of next year, I will renew that commitment and continue on into the next year with the same Birthday Mentality. And the next, and the next.
The Birthday Mentality is about really owning who we are, what we need, and shedding the crap. It's about saving our energy for the people, experiences, and relationships that fall on the priority list on the one day each year when we allow ourselves to just BE.
Being ourselves, doing what feels right, and reflecting our priorities. Not caring what others think. Living as we truly are, without apology...
...365 days a year.
Other moments that fall within this category are my wedding day, my first marathon, and just about every single trip I've ever taken with my girlfriends from graduate school.
Friends can attest that I have never been a birthday "partier". In fact, my birthday (excluding #21, which was one hell of a bash) is typically celebrated rather intimately and the plans are made by others around me who seem to care a lot more than I do. I'm sure this general downplaying of the day of my birth can be traced back to my rocky relationship with my mother, my shockingly low sense of self-worth, and my general attitude of mistrust in people, but we'll let Dr. Joe create those connections.
However, my approach to birthdays has always been this: Anything involving MY birthday belongs to me and me alone. I do what I want and I really do not care if people do not like it. The other days of the year, I may be a little more willing to compromise...or at least not kick and scream.
Recent birthdays have included the following celebratory I-do-what-I-want events:
- Birthday #28- Spent two hours locked in a local community college testing center taking the hardest exam of my life to earn my personal training certification through the American College of Sports Medicine. Certainly not a party, but I wanted that license badly and didn't care if it was my birthday or not...I was taking the damn exam. The Mr. and I celebrated this achievement with dinner at a cheap Mexican joint (because, well, that's what I wanted), me in sweats and without make-up. I'm certain I purged that meal anyhow, as I was in the depths of anorexia at the time and really was not puting effort into anything but trying to destroy my body (obviously reflective of my self-worth at the time). Happy birthday to me.
- Birthday #27- Phone calls, emails, text messages coming in weeks in advance as my friends try to make plans with me. I turned them all down, persuaded my husband to go on a long bike ride, went to a nice dinner, and was in bed by 11:00. I believe I met three of my good friends a few days later for a casual Sunday lunch on the dock of a lakeside restaurant and that was that.
- Birthday #26- Took the day off work and shopped all day...solo.
Bottom line is: When it's my birthday, I do what I want.
It's no understatement that my 28th year was one of the toughest on many, many levels. Let's face it, when I suddenly realized I spent the majority of an entire calendar year either in the presence of or in constant communication with a doctor, a dietitian, and a therapist, I was ready to bury 28 and ring in 29 with a new approach.
I kept the "I do what I want" mentality when planning out this weekend, but it was taken to a whole new level. Nothing was going to stop me from being ME for three days straight:
1. Friday night: Joint Birthday Party- My running friends are some of my closest. An eclectic group of individuals who would probably never interact with one another under normal circumstances, we share an unbreakable and close bond crafted entirely from our love of this ridiculous physical activity.
There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to celebrate my birthday with this second family of mine, so when I realized four of us had birthdays within weeks of one another, it provided me with the perfect excuse to plan a large group dinner at a restaurant many of them had been wanting to try.
Many hours of laughter and intoxication later, I found myself in the passenger seat of our car (The Mr. was driving, of course, a rare role reversal after a night out), looking up at the stars and thanking god for connecting me with such an awesome group of people who accept the Genuine Me, laugh and carry on with one another like family, and support one another through all of life's peaks and valleys...both on and off the running course.
Saturday- Everything I Love in One Day: I ran a (dehydrated) long run of 13 miles with a friend. It was beautiful outside. In between my "I really need to get back into training" and "why did you do that last shot last night?" thoughts, I felt a sense of appreciation for this breathtaking area and the fact that I am able to spend my weekend mornings killing my legs in a National Park trail system I love so much. Pure. Bliss.
This run was immediately (well, I showered first) followed by an outlet shopping excursion with three of my girlfriends, during which I discovered I am now, apparently, a pretty solid size 4-6 and somehow avoided a total breakdown. To my surprise, the fact that I had to purchase work pants in a larger size did not throw me into a tailspin; rather I shrugged it off and reminded myself that I'm an athlete, I'm active, and that I need to eventually figure out my natural weight setpoint anyhow. My calm acceptance of this situation was bizarre, yet not at all coincidental that I was able to put poor body image and distortion aside when feeling secure, loved, and happy among friends...
After shopping, I kept the promise I made to myself during the Great Closet Cleanout and rid myself of a pair of shoes, two tank tops, a pair of pants, and sweater. A one-for-one tradeoff to make room in my now-minimalist wardrobe for the newly purchased pieces.
Then, another dinner/drinks night out on the town. I had organized this one to include other close friends (mostly outside of the running circle), and met ten of them out for dinner and drinks at a restaurant that has played host to many of our special celebratory moments: graduations, bachelorette parties, births, anniversaries, and the like.The group, some of whom had never met, and I closed the night with more laughter, more conversation, more martinis, and more wine at another nice establishment down the street.
I went to bed that night feeling a new kind of full; the fullness that doesn't necessarily come from food, but is derived from simply being oneself, yet reaping the benefits of solid, unconditional friendships with those who have watched me transform...and loved me even more for it.
Sunday- Drying Out/ Enjoying Some More: Despite my second morning of party-induced dehydration, I crawled out of bed at 7:00 AM to meet the girls for a trail run in the rain. I have no idea where this kind of motivation comes from, but it's just who I am and I guess I don't have to understand it...only embrace it.
On this particular run, M, who is normally a bit of a nature-hater ("Someone really needs to come clean this trail up because it is MUDDY") wanted to climb a giant hill on an unfamiliar stretch of the park system to "see what was at the top". After dragging ourselves up a relatively untraveled path, we found ourselves at one of the highest peaks in the park system. Standing in the quiet rain, surrounded by nothing but the outdoors I love so much, I suddenly realized life is as close to perfect as it's ever been.
An hour later, I found myself (no longer covered in mud and transformed into the publicly acceptable version of myself) at lunch with E., my new coworker and friend. The instant trust and mutual respect she and I have established has been a wonderful gateway into yet another new friendship, and we later joined other coworkers for a theatre production to support one of our charismatic student assistants.
Dinner and a movie at LA's house with her family capped off the day, allowing me to unwind surrounded by a family that has become like my own, in a house that I feel comfortable enough visiting in my sweats, and on a sofa I am known to fall asleep on from time to time.
Which brings me to today: a planned vacation day (I never take for granted that I can take these just about any time I want) and one of my biweekly appointments with JN.
It was in the comfort of JN's office this afternoon that I realized the significance of this pre-birthday weekend, and was convinced that adopting The Birthday Mentality as a way of life will help me walk away from this eating disorder once and for all.
Food (as well as how, when and why I consume it) is obviously JN's main concern as a dietitian/body image guru. However, as I have learned throughout the recovery process, my actions and thoughts related to food practically rip the bandage off any emotions I'm trying to ignore or suppress.
In reading my account of this weekend's activities, you may have been searching for a food reference: my thoughts as I indulged in back-to-back dinners out, how I used my running to compensate for my "indulgences" or the like. But you didn't find any...because food (and the obsessive ED thought process related to it) was virtually non-existent as I lived out an entire weekend founded in The Birthday Mentality: I do what I want.
I am who I am. I do what I want.
I ate what I wanted. I wore what I wanted. I said what I wanted. With the exception of a few friends who 1. couldn't make it, or 2. live far, far away...I gave time, energy, and attention to the people I wanted, those who take me as I am and enjoy every minute of it.
I am so Me right now, it's scary. But I love it.
Which brings me full circle to the body/food piece (the foundational subject matter of this blog!)...
Without realizing it, I have begun to adopt the so-called Birthday Mentality 365 days a year: living a genuine life, eliminating guilt, dropping the self-imposed bar from perfectionism to happiness. Given how strongly I now feel about this approach to living, not accepting my body for what it truly is seems downright hypocritical.
I can't be Me all the time if I keep trying to change the shell, the packaging. I need to let it be. The packaging needs to match the product...real, lacking judgment, genuine.
The Birthday Mentality is going to be sticking around. JN and I agree...it's the best way to ensure that I am living and eating based on intuition. Every day is now my birthday. Which means the next 364 days need to be approached with the "I do what I want" (read: I eat what I want, I listen to my needs, I put my own self-care first, I surround myself with those who respect me). And on May 3rd of next year, I will renew that commitment and continue on into the next year with the same Birthday Mentality. And the next, and the next.
The Birthday Mentality is about really owning who we are, what we need, and shedding the crap. It's about saving our energy for the people, experiences, and relationships that fall on the priority list on the one day each year when we allow ourselves to just BE.
Being ourselves, doing what feels right, and reflecting our priorities. Not caring what others think. Living as we truly are, without apology...
...365 days a year.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Listening to My Body...And It Wants Chips
Why the hell am I suddenly drawn to potato chips? There is a massive bag of them sitting on the back counter at work, and they are pulling me in like a moth to a flame.
While food (especially the junk variety) holds an almost sacred place in my office, my colleagues do a piss poor job of preserving it. The industrial sized bag of chips (truly- as it was donated to the office by a student of mine who works at the Shearer's factory) was "sealed" shut with a barely twisted metal tie as we fled the office at 5:01 last Friday afternoon.
Regardless of the fact that everyone's germ-infested hands have now been in the bag at least a half dozen times and the chips are now stale from two days spent absorbing the office air, we continue to munch on them mindlessly as we wait for the copier to spit out our duplicates.
I spent all weekend ridden with anxiety over what to eat at our multiple Easter dinners...but for some reason, stale, germ-infested potato chips are passing the ED test.
I really have no explanation for this behavior. Except that I'm starving lately and if I eat "intuitively" (JN buzzword) I would probably consume 10,000 calories (mostly comprised of potato chips) in one sitting. Because that is what my "intuition" is telling (no, screaming, actually) me to do.
Despite all the medical issues, psychological battles, therapy sessions, and forced nutrition...the moments that have reversed me back into a kicking and screaming little brat have been those involving real, genuine, physiological hunger.
Hunger genuinely pisses me off, even though I know this rebellious response defies everything I have been taught while learning to feed myself again. I do not like being hungry, and my life was "easier" when I had trained my body to not feel hunger, to ignore it, to function without food. I frame the word "easier" with quotation marks, as it was really quite the opposite; I just couldn't see it at the time.
Why would hunger piss off a formerly anorexic person? Well, because I now have to respond to it. And not only respond to it (which in and of itself feels unnatural and wrong), but try to apply "new" and "healthy" strategies such as listening to my body, eating a variety of foods that cannot be found on the fallback safe list, and warding off the anxious ED voice that tells me I need to get rid of it all immediately anyhow (fading, yet still lingering).
When I was first starting to eat again, I didn't have to listen to hunger cues. In fact, quite the opposite. I had a plan. I followed it. I ate at set times and stuck to recommended combinations of foods. I ate regardless of whether or not I was hungry, and any opportunity for overthinking was removed from the process. Eating the plan = Happy Dietitian, Happy Therapist, Happy Doctor. Unhappy Patient...but that didn't really matter.
I thought that's what "recovery" looked like. Eating meals. I'm putting food into my body...isn't that what you people want, for chrissake?!
Eating intuitively (or following the cues of the body) is one of the hardest things for me to wrap my head around. Although my relationship with food is much healthier than it once was, I still tend to view food as a means to an end. I eat the same foods a lot because I know what is in them and can eat them mindlessly. Mostly, the combinations are carefully thought out and calculated: protein because I am an active person who needs to build muscle mass again. Carbs because I need energy. Fat because LA once convinced me I need it. However, I rarely incorporate things because I just crave the ingredients or the texture or the taste. In my ED-conditioned mind, food is still somewhat scientific.
Hunger also brings with it the sheer annoyance of cravings that fall outside of my habitual food routine, and the internal battle that occurs as I think through whether or not to follow the cue (although I should be following it each and every time, according to JN, but I'm not there just yet). Case in point: the potato chips. To eat or not to eat. The question can be mulled over for hours and hours until I realize: 1. I'm out of my mind and just need to give it up all ready, or 2. I'm incapable of listening to my body and therefore reach out to LA, JN or some other person who just tell me what to do...and they will tell me to eat the goddamn thing...and then I will.
Lately, JN and LA gently push me towards intuitive eating. I'm in the later stages of recovery where I really do need to learn to eat and function in the real world. While I'm sure they thoroughly enjoy my panicked "OMG, I think I need a cookie right now so what should I do" texts, they could probably pick up new forms of entertainment along the way. While intuitive eating makes a lot of sense to me in theory, the actual practice of such a thing often seems bizarre, given some of the cravings that hit me like a ton of bricks. Does my body really need potato chips? Is there ever really a time when my body "misses" brownies so much that it just has to have one? What ingredient in chocolate chip cookies is my body not getting elsewhere?
Weird.
The key to this, as I've learned, is viewing all foods as neutral. LA used to preach this, and now JN has picked up this crusade right where she left off. No food is "good"; no food is "bad". That's a hard lesson for a recovering anorexic to learn when magazines, talk shows, television commercials, and weight loss television shows sing a different tune.
However, I can no longer act like I don't understand why my body is craving such things, thanks to a conversation with LA today during which she reminded me of some of her earlier teachings:
1. My body is, quite frankly, sick of the safe foods. And I'm getting kind of sick of them too. So it's probably time to switch it up a bit. Shake it up. Live on the edge and have some chips.
2. After a recent dip in eating (yeah, I lost a few pounds but have restored them after realizing I was heading straight for intensive help yet again if I didn't cut it out), my metabolism is recharged and ready to go burn up some food. Chips, specifically.
Given the fact that most individuals (stereotyping a bit here, although clinicians do it too which makes it okay) who fall into the spiral of disordered eating are slight (ah-hem) perfectionists (cough, cough), chucking the plan out the window and trusting the body isn't exactly a natural course of action. Toss in the fact that I once trained my mind to ignore my body's cues, and, well, learning to eat intuitively is a little like driving without a GPS. On a highway with no signs...or gas stations to inquire about directions...on a different continent...
I'll get there. Patience has just never been a virtue of mine.
On the body dysmorphia front, I'm, well.....trying as best I can. Today, I could've sworn my arms had lost all muscle tone in the last three days and I had suddenly become doughy and soft. I also convinced myself I could feel my (nonexistent) stomach jiggling as I walked down the hallway at work. I was later brought bakc down to earth when I realized I was still wearing the same size jeans I've been wearing for the last four months. Big sigh of relief.
I have to be okay letting my body achieve its natural setpoint. This I know and I vow I will let it happen. But it doesn't mean it is a pleasant experience in the meantime.
Looking to bitch a little to someone who gets this kind of insanity, I fired off a text to JN late this afternoon: I'm trying very very hard to believe I do not have fat arms right now. Imagine me with my eyes closed, thinking really hard. I probably look like the 4-year-old version of myself trying to make a birthday wish. I was super cute back then, BTW.
I didn't hear back from her right away, so finished up my day at the office and headed to my second gig at the gym. When I finally retrieved my phone from my bag, she had written back: I know you were cute. Still doing okay with that, ya know ;) Keep paying attention to emotions and expressing them effectively. Strong relationship to distortions here.
Me: Oh. Well, I feel better now that I ripped my arms up at the gym and taught a cycling class.
JN: Oooookaaaaay. Not quite what I had in mind.
Me (even though I know better, but just playing around): Oh. Damn. I thought that's what you would suggest. My bad.
Perhaps I need a WWMDD band for my wrist.
What Would My Dietitian Do?
Signing off. My body wants some orange juice before bed. Must be lacking vitamin C or pulp pieces or something. Who knows, but what the body wants, the body is supposed to get.
While food (especially the junk variety) holds an almost sacred place in my office, my colleagues do a piss poor job of preserving it. The industrial sized bag of chips (truly- as it was donated to the office by a student of mine who works at the Shearer's factory) was "sealed" shut with a barely twisted metal tie as we fled the office at 5:01 last Friday afternoon.
Regardless of the fact that everyone's germ-infested hands have now been in the bag at least a half dozen times and the chips are now stale from two days spent absorbing the office air, we continue to munch on them mindlessly as we wait for the copier to spit out our duplicates.
I spent all weekend ridden with anxiety over what to eat at our multiple Easter dinners...but for some reason, stale, germ-infested potato chips are passing the ED test.
I really have no explanation for this behavior. Except that I'm starving lately and if I eat "intuitively" (JN buzzword) I would probably consume 10,000 calories (mostly comprised of potato chips) in one sitting. Because that is what my "intuition" is telling (no, screaming, actually) me to do.
Despite all the medical issues, psychological battles, therapy sessions, and forced nutrition...the moments that have reversed me back into a kicking and screaming little brat have been those involving real, genuine, physiological hunger.
Hunger genuinely pisses me off, even though I know this rebellious response defies everything I have been taught while learning to feed myself again. I do not like being hungry, and my life was "easier" when I had trained my body to not feel hunger, to ignore it, to function without food. I frame the word "easier" with quotation marks, as it was really quite the opposite; I just couldn't see it at the time.
Why would hunger piss off a formerly anorexic person? Well, because I now have to respond to it. And not only respond to it (which in and of itself feels unnatural and wrong), but try to apply "new" and "healthy" strategies such as listening to my body, eating a variety of foods that cannot be found on the fallback safe list, and warding off the anxious ED voice that tells me I need to get rid of it all immediately anyhow (fading, yet still lingering).
When I was first starting to eat again, I didn't have to listen to hunger cues. In fact, quite the opposite. I had a plan. I followed it. I ate at set times and stuck to recommended combinations of foods. I ate regardless of whether or not I was hungry, and any opportunity for overthinking was removed from the process. Eating the plan = Happy Dietitian, Happy Therapist, Happy Doctor. Unhappy Patient...but that didn't really matter.
I thought that's what "recovery" looked like. Eating meals. I'm putting food into my body...isn't that what you people want, for chrissake?!
Eating intuitively (or following the cues of the body) is one of the hardest things for me to wrap my head around. Although my relationship with food is much healthier than it once was, I still tend to view food as a means to an end. I eat the same foods a lot because I know what is in them and can eat them mindlessly. Mostly, the combinations are carefully thought out and calculated: protein because I am an active person who needs to build muscle mass again. Carbs because I need energy. Fat because LA once convinced me I need it. However, I rarely incorporate things because I just crave the ingredients or the texture or the taste. In my ED-conditioned mind, food is still somewhat scientific.
Hunger also brings with it the sheer annoyance of cravings that fall outside of my habitual food routine, and the internal battle that occurs as I think through whether or not to follow the cue (although I should be following it each and every time, according to JN, but I'm not there just yet). Case in point: the potato chips. To eat or not to eat. The question can be mulled over for hours and hours until I realize: 1. I'm out of my mind and just need to give it up all ready, or 2. I'm incapable of listening to my body and therefore reach out to LA, JN or some other person who just tell me what to do...and they will tell me to eat the goddamn thing...and then I will.
Lately, JN and LA gently push me towards intuitive eating. I'm in the later stages of recovery where I really do need to learn to eat and function in the real world. While I'm sure they thoroughly enjoy my panicked "OMG, I think I need a cookie right now so what should I do" texts, they could probably pick up new forms of entertainment along the way. While intuitive eating makes a lot of sense to me in theory, the actual practice of such a thing often seems bizarre, given some of the cravings that hit me like a ton of bricks. Does my body really need potato chips? Is there ever really a time when my body "misses" brownies so much that it just has to have one? What ingredient in chocolate chip cookies is my body not getting elsewhere?
Weird.
The key to this, as I've learned, is viewing all foods as neutral. LA used to preach this, and now JN has picked up this crusade right where she left off. No food is "good"; no food is "bad". That's a hard lesson for a recovering anorexic to learn when magazines, talk shows, television commercials, and weight loss television shows sing a different tune.
However, I can no longer act like I don't understand why my body is craving such things, thanks to a conversation with LA today during which she reminded me of some of her earlier teachings:
1. My body is, quite frankly, sick of the safe foods. And I'm getting kind of sick of them too. So it's probably time to switch it up a bit. Shake it up. Live on the edge and have some chips.
2. After a recent dip in eating (yeah, I lost a few pounds but have restored them after realizing I was heading straight for intensive help yet again if I didn't cut it out), my metabolism is recharged and ready to go burn up some food. Chips, specifically.
Given the fact that most individuals (stereotyping a bit here, although clinicians do it too which makes it okay) who fall into the spiral of disordered eating are slight (ah-hem) perfectionists (cough, cough), chucking the plan out the window and trusting the body isn't exactly a natural course of action. Toss in the fact that I once trained my mind to ignore my body's cues, and, well, learning to eat intuitively is a little like driving without a GPS. On a highway with no signs...or gas stations to inquire about directions...on a different continent...
I'll get there. Patience has just never been a virtue of mine.
On the body dysmorphia front, I'm, well.....trying as best I can. Today, I could've sworn my arms had lost all muscle tone in the last three days and I had suddenly become doughy and soft. I also convinced myself I could feel my (nonexistent) stomach jiggling as I walked down the hallway at work. I was later brought bakc down to earth when I realized I was still wearing the same size jeans I've been wearing for the last four months. Big sigh of relief.
I have to be okay letting my body achieve its natural setpoint. This I know and I vow I will let it happen. But it doesn't mean it is a pleasant experience in the meantime.
Looking to bitch a little to someone who gets this kind of insanity, I fired off a text to JN late this afternoon: I'm trying very very hard to believe I do not have fat arms right now. Imagine me with my eyes closed, thinking really hard. I probably look like the 4-year-old version of myself trying to make a birthday wish. I was super cute back then, BTW.
I didn't hear back from her right away, so finished up my day at the office and headed to my second gig at the gym. When I finally retrieved my phone from my bag, she had written back: I know you were cute. Still doing okay with that, ya know ;) Keep paying attention to emotions and expressing them effectively. Strong relationship to distortions here.
Me: Oh. Well, I feel better now that I ripped my arms up at the gym and taught a cycling class.
JN: Oooookaaaaay. Not quite what I had in mind.
Me (even though I know better, but just playing around): Oh. Damn. I thought that's what you would suggest. My bad.
Perhaps I need a WWMDD band for my wrist.
What Would My Dietitian Do?
Signing off. My body wants some orange juice before bed. Must be lacking vitamin C or pulp pieces or something. Who knows, but what the body wants, the body is supposed to get.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Permissable Purging
What, you think LA or JN gave me permission to throw up food? Um, no. I'm talking about a different type of purging. No worries. I'm eating. Sit back down.
When you're forced to re-examine your life, make sense of it all, and become a freer and better version of yourself (this process is known as therapy...everyone should go through it, although overcoming an eating disorder is not my recommended path), you learn to shed almost everything that you once hid behind. You stop editing, stop watching over your shoulder, and start living the most honest, genuine and true life you could have ever imagined. You, essentially, become YOU. All caps. No mincing. No acting. Just the real YOU.
The best part of that very process is developing the confidence to not really care anymore what others think, and to follow the path you know feels right, natural...unforced.
Of course, there have been growing pains as I've started to shed the crap and heal from years and years of anger, mistrust, resentment, and self-destruction. To a critical eye, one may assume I have "changed"; the irony is that while it appears as though I've transformed...it's really quite the opposite. I am now the closest to the genuine ME I have ever been. Anything that has fallen away, "changed" or been tossed aside was, as I've come to realize, not part of the original package to begin with. It was like the shiny label and fancy exterior used to distract from the flaws of the product held inside.
For years, I shopped. I shopped like crazy and spent money and always had an overabundance of clothes, jewelry, bags, shoes. I was known for having whatever was new, never shopping the clearance racks (because that stuff was outdated and unwanted...obviously). It carried over into my demeanor and approach to life too. Always striving to be polished, professional, play the "political" games I needed to play as a (very) young person trying to move up quickly. I had to be that way. From 18, I swore I'd never return home to the chaos and instability I came from. So I adopted the persona of someone who was so "together" that my success in life was nearly guaranteed.
Well, fuck that. Because I really wasn't together at all. I carried so much anger, so much self-induced pressure, and an utter lack of appreciation for the person I really am. And the battle of trying to "be" something so counter to my genuine self, frankly, wore me out. It caused me to run myself into the ground, starve myself in the pursuit for perfection, and exist in a constant state of overdrive.
I've taken many, many steps recently to shed the garbage. I have pulled those whom I love in a little closer, and held those whom I do not trust a little further away. I have opened up and give, give, give...and I love it. I take the time to listen, to do what is right, and to invest only in those things in which I place value and meaning. I dump my energy into my passions (work, sports, relationships), and waste very little of it on anything that isn't worthwhile.
The last step in this purging was not necessarily the most difficult, but delayed only because it required time. But while battling a cold this weekend, I found the time to dive in head-first...and purge my material belongings.
I'm not talking about a seasonal "let's clean out the closet" mini-purge. I'm talking the fundamental, simplifying-of-my-life-for-good kind of purging that only someone who has come out on the other side of some serious trauma and therapy can truly understand.
I got rid of it all. At least 3/4 of my wardrobe (yes, you read that correctly: 75% of my wardrobe). Shoes. Bags. Jewelry. EVERYTHING. Am I left with anything? Sure. Only what I love and wear regularly. And I need nothing else. I truly need nothing else.
See the thing is...I'm not a clothes horse. I'm really, genuinely not. Sure, I like to look nice for work and to go out with friends. But that's about it. I'm more of an active person who likes to get muddy and run miles and miles and miles, someone who is not afraid to swim in a lake, likes adventure and outdoors and competition. I like to sweat. I like to feel like I've accomplished something, I enjoy the thrill of LIVING...not dressing for living. Sorry, that's just who I am.
Friends joked with me this weekend that this won't last long, that my closet will be filled again soon.
Nope.
Like I said- this is not your run-of-the-mill spring cleaning. This is me. This is the back end of therapy, where I have finally come to realize that I used to pour anxiety and anger into buying stuff, starving myself, overworking to death. Sure, I'll shop. I'll buy things I love and will wear over and over and over again. But I can promise you a good chunk of the money I spend in the future will be invested in other people. In helping those who don't have it. In acknowledging the people whom I love with tokens of appreciation or help when needed.
Not a new version of me. Just ME.
This "permissable purging" of my material belongings produced some other "ah-ha" moments too, most of which were unintended until JN pointed out the fact that the "cleaning of the closet" is a major step for someone recovering from anorexia. Amidst the keep-toss-donate piles that had formed on my bedroom floor, I was forced to subconsciously accept my body and size for what it is now, what it may never be again, and what it could be in the future.
I realized this weekend, while trying to decide what to keep, just how small my "sick" sizes really are. Various pairs of pants were barely big enough to fit over my thighs (and if you know what I currently look like, that really puts it into perspective, as I am still a very thin person). I can remember a time when some of those pants- though they are the smallest size carried by most stores- were too large and needed to be held up by a belt.
I was taking slow steps towards extreme sickness and potentially death. I didn't realize it at the time.
It was humbling. And a little frightening. So much so that I told Big Sis K, LA, and JN how much it scared me to realize how sick I used to be.
With my main goal in mind (to keep as little as possible), I was forced to pick a size. I really could no longer keep six different sizes in my closet while trying to go the "minimalist" route. So I picked the size I currently am, and one size bigger to allow for some flexibility. The rest- bigger and smaller- were given away.
Living in the moment. A new concept for someone like me.
JN's text from Sunday morning (after the massive closet purge) reads:
Awesome that you got rid of the clothes. It's not who you are anymore. Very powerful step. It's important to have clothes that fit right now because it communicates acceptance.
I've accepted who I REALLY am: Fiercely loyal to those I love. Honest. Driven. Unmaterialistic. Generous. Empathetic. Opinionated. Independent.
I've accepted my new size (though I of course struggle with it at times).
I've accepted that those who matter most will never, ever leave. And that there are some people will just be who they are and my only obligation is to either accept them as is or let them be.
This is the kind of purging I could get used to...and I don't think any member of the team would try to intervene.
When you're forced to re-examine your life, make sense of it all, and become a freer and better version of yourself (this process is known as therapy...everyone should go through it, although overcoming an eating disorder is not my recommended path), you learn to shed almost everything that you once hid behind. You stop editing, stop watching over your shoulder, and start living the most honest, genuine and true life you could have ever imagined. You, essentially, become YOU. All caps. No mincing. No acting. Just the real YOU.
The best part of that very process is developing the confidence to not really care anymore what others think, and to follow the path you know feels right, natural...unforced.
Of course, there have been growing pains as I've started to shed the crap and heal from years and years of anger, mistrust, resentment, and self-destruction. To a critical eye, one may assume I have "changed"; the irony is that while it appears as though I've transformed...it's really quite the opposite. I am now the closest to the genuine ME I have ever been. Anything that has fallen away, "changed" or been tossed aside was, as I've come to realize, not part of the original package to begin with. It was like the shiny label and fancy exterior used to distract from the flaws of the product held inside.
For years, I shopped. I shopped like crazy and spent money and always had an overabundance of clothes, jewelry, bags, shoes. I was known for having whatever was new, never shopping the clearance racks (because that stuff was outdated and unwanted...obviously). It carried over into my demeanor and approach to life too. Always striving to be polished, professional, play the "political" games I needed to play as a (very) young person trying to move up quickly. I had to be that way. From 18, I swore I'd never return home to the chaos and instability I came from. So I adopted the persona of someone who was so "together" that my success in life was nearly guaranteed.
Well, fuck that. Because I really wasn't together at all. I carried so much anger, so much self-induced pressure, and an utter lack of appreciation for the person I really am. And the battle of trying to "be" something so counter to my genuine self, frankly, wore me out. It caused me to run myself into the ground, starve myself in the pursuit for perfection, and exist in a constant state of overdrive.
I've taken many, many steps recently to shed the garbage. I have pulled those whom I love in a little closer, and held those whom I do not trust a little further away. I have opened up and give, give, give...and I love it. I take the time to listen, to do what is right, and to invest only in those things in which I place value and meaning. I dump my energy into my passions (work, sports, relationships), and waste very little of it on anything that isn't worthwhile.
The last step in this purging was not necessarily the most difficult, but delayed only because it required time. But while battling a cold this weekend, I found the time to dive in head-first...and purge my material belongings.
I'm not talking about a seasonal "let's clean out the closet" mini-purge. I'm talking the fundamental, simplifying-of-my-life-for-good kind of purging that only someone who has come out on the other side of some serious trauma and therapy can truly understand.
I got rid of it all. At least 3/4 of my wardrobe (yes, you read that correctly: 75% of my wardrobe). Shoes. Bags. Jewelry. EVERYTHING. Am I left with anything? Sure. Only what I love and wear regularly. And I need nothing else. I truly need nothing else.
See the thing is...I'm not a clothes horse. I'm really, genuinely not. Sure, I like to look nice for work and to go out with friends. But that's about it. I'm more of an active person who likes to get muddy and run miles and miles and miles, someone who is not afraid to swim in a lake, likes adventure and outdoors and competition. I like to sweat. I like to feel like I've accomplished something, I enjoy the thrill of LIVING...not dressing for living. Sorry, that's just who I am.
Friends joked with me this weekend that this won't last long, that my closet will be filled again soon.
Nope.
Like I said- this is not your run-of-the-mill spring cleaning. This is me. This is the back end of therapy, where I have finally come to realize that I used to pour anxiety and anger into buying stuff, starving myself, overworking to death. Sure, I'll shop. I'll buy things I love and will wear over and over and over again. But I can promise you a good chunk of the money I spend in the future will be invested in other people. In helping those who don't have it. In acknowledging the people whom I love with tokens of appreciation or help when needed.
Not a new version of me. Just ME.
This "permissable purging" of my material belongings produced some other "ah-ha" moments too, most of which were unintended until JN pointed out the fact that the "cleaning of the closet" is a major step for someone recovering from anorexia. Amidst the keep-toss-donate piles that had formed on my bedroom floor, I was forced to subconsciously accept my body and size for what it is now, what it may never be again, and what it could be in the future.
I realized this weekend, while trying to decide what to keep, just how small my "sick" sizes really are. Various pairs of pants were barely big enough to fit over my thighs (and if you know what I currently look like, that really puts it into perspective, as I am still a very thin person). I can remember a time when some of those pants- though they are the smallest size carried by most stores- were too large and needed to be held up by a belt.
I was taking slow steps towards extreme sickness and potentially death. I didn't realize it at the time.
It was humbling. And a little frightening. So much so that I told Big Sis K, LA, and JN how much it scared me to realize how sick I used to be.
With my main goal in mind (to keep as little as possible), I was forced to pick a size. I really could no longer keep six different sizes in my closet while trying to go the "minimalist" route. So I picked the size I currently am, and one size bigger to allow for some flexibility. The rest- bigger and smaller- were given away.
Living in the moment. A new concept for someone like me.
JN's text from Sunday morning (after the massive closet purge) reads:
Awesome that you got rid of the clothes. It's not who you are anymore. Very powerful step. It's important to have clothes that fit right now because it communicates acceptance.
I've accepted who I REALLY am: Fiercely loyal to those I love. Honest. Driven. Unmaterialistic. Generous. Empathetic. Opinionated. Independent.
I've accepted my new size (though I of course struggle with it at times).
I've accepted that those who matter most will never, ever leave. And that there are some people will just be who they are and my only obligation is to either accept them as is or let them be.
This is the kind of purging I could get used to...and I don't think any member of the team would try to intervene.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Fat Is Not a Feeling, People
Except when you battle an eating disorder. Then, fat is as real an emotion as the rage you possess when someone (usually a medical professional or counselor who has graduated from the School of Eating Disorder Therapy) tells you it is not.
I know- really do know- that fat is not a feeling. While we ("we" being pretty much everyone regardless of size or level of distortion) have each pinched a side, stared in the mirror, or put on an outfit and either thought or said to ourselves: "ugh I feel so fat!".
How do you feel in that new dress? -Fat
How was that meal? -Great, but I feel so fat!
I don't want to go to the beach. I feel so fat today.
Get your hands off me. I feel so fat right now.
We're not going out tonight. I feel fat in these jeans.
We FEEL fat at times. But anyone who has ever worked through an eating disorder knows..."fat" is indicative of something else, another emotion. In recovery from anorexia, we're taught (as much we hate it) to crack the code behind the word "fat". Fat often = Depressed. Overwhelmed. Stressed. Unloved. Insecure. Inadequate. Anxious.
JN says the statement "It is weighing heavy on me" is not just a cliche reference people toss around. We actually feel weight on us when we are experiencing some kind of strong emotion or reaction to life's challenges and struggles.
Yet, even when this thought process becomes automatic...I hate it. And fight it.
Yesterday, during a highly anxious moment over eating pasta at lunch (the kind of madness only a fellow ED person or professional trained in this area could truly understand), JN texted me something perfectly inspirational, prodding me to explore the emotions attached to once again feeling "fat".
I responded:
J- Thanks. Nothing makes me want to punch a dietitian more than a "fat is not a feeling"reference.
How an ED moment can turn me from a perfectly professional, mature twenty-something to a temper-tantrum-throwing, moody, bratty pre-teen is beyond me. Somehow, though, the stars aligned perfectly when I was handed over to my treatment team, and they simply absorb these blatantly honest (er, bitchy) reactions from me like the tolerant, amusing sponges I have grown to love.
JN: Love it! I know it's annoying but so true.
Just because I was feeling fiesty and embracing my bratty moment, I pushed a little further when I sent JN:
Ok, so if fat is not a feeling...can I just say I AM fat?
JN: Sure. If you want to feel awesome and avoid real issues :)
I had to laugh. And then I snapped out of my bratty preteen-ness and re-entered my daily crusade to fight ED-inspired thoughts of fatness.
I have no idea how these people continue to put up with me. But they do. And it reminds me why they are the team for me.
Fat is not a feeling. Word.
In other news, Dr. Joe is off running a marathon in Europe, which has left me high and dry without a therapist for two and a half weeks. While I'm annoyed (not that he is not here, but that I myself kind of want an international marathon medal to add to my collection), this is providing me with an excellent opportunity to grab recovery by the balls and attempt to conquer the crap without his guidance and motivation. Eventually (while I will miss Dr. Joe immensely when the time comes), I will need to be a fully-functioning, independent, "formerly eating disordered and messed up" person. So this is a trial run. Time to see if the work has paid off at all.
While I've struggled a little without him around to field my crazy emails or talk through some completely distorted fear of fatness, I can tell that working through the garbage in my life has paid off immensely. Getting rid of the crap (the emotional baggage, the resentment against my mother for being such an unrealiable individual in my life, cleansing my life of negativity, and the list goes on) has freed up the space necessary to allow in those whom I trust, to give freely of myself, and to walk away from the things that do not contribute positively to my life.
No wonder I felt "fat" before, and sometimes still do. Holding onto all that emotion has and continues to weigh me down a bit.
Ever notice how you feel lightest on your "happy" days? I have too. Even though the idea of it still makes me want to punch the nearest dietitian...I think they might be on to something.
I know- really do know- that fat is not a feeling. While we ("we" being pretty much everyone regardless of size or level of distortion) have each pinched a side, stared in the mirror, or put on an outfit and either thought or said to ourselves: "ugh I feel so fat!".
How do you feel in that new dress? -Fat
How was that meal? -Great, but I feel so fat!
I don't want to go to the beach. I feel so fat today.
Get your hands off me. I feel so fat right now.
We're not going out tonight. I feel fat in these jeans.
We FEEL fat at times. But anyone who has ever worked through an eating disorder knows..."fat" is indicative of something else, another emotion. In recovery from anorexia, we're taught (as much we hate it) to crack the code behind the word "fat". Fat often = Depressed. Overwhelmed. Stressed. Unloved. Insecure. Inadequate. Anxious.
JN says the statement "It is weighing heavy on me" is not just a cliche reference people toss around. We actually feel weight on us when we are experiencing some kind of strong emotion or reaction to life's challenges and struggles.
Yet, even when this thought process becomes automatic...I hate it. And fight it.
Yesterday, during a highly anxious moment over eating pasta at lunch (the kind of madness only a fellow ED person or professional trained in this area could truly understand), JN texted me something perfectly inspirational, prodding me to explore the emotions attached to once again feeling "fat".
I responded:
J- Thanks. Nothing makes me want to punch a dietitian more than a "fat is not a feeling"reference.
How an ED moment can turn me from a perfectly professional, mature twenty-something to a temper-tantrum-throwing, moody, bratty pre-teen is beyond me. Somehow, though, the stars aligned perfectly when I was handed over to my treatment team, and they simply absorb these blatantly honest (er, bitchy) reactions from me like the tolerant, amusing sponges I have grown to love.
JN: Love it! I know it's annoying but so true.
Just because I was feeling fiesty and embracing my bratty moment, I pushed a little further when I sent JN:
Ok, so if fat is not a feeling...can I just say I AM fat?
JN: Sure. If you want to feel awesome and avoid real issues :)
I had to laugh. And then I snapped out of my bratty preteen-ness and re-entered my daily crusade to fight ED-inspired thoughts of fatness.
I have no idea how these people continue to put up with me. But they do. And it reminds me why they are the team for me.
Fat is not a feeling. Word.
In other news, Dr. Joe is off running a marathon in Europe, which has left me high and dry without a therapist for two and a half weeks. While I'm annoyed (not that he is not here, but that I myself kind of want an international marathon medal to add to my collection), this is providing me with an excellent opportunity to grab recovery by the balls and attempt to conquer the crap without his guidance and motivation. Eventually (while I will miss Dr. Joe immensely when the time comes), I will need to be a fully-functioning, independent, "formerly eating disordered and messed up" person. So this is a trial run. Time to see if the work has paid off at all.
While I've struggled a little without him around to field my crazy emails or talk through some completely distorted fear of fatness, I can tell that working through the garbage in my life has paid off immensely. Getting rid of the crap (the emotional baggage, the resentment against my mother for being such an unrealiable individual in my life, cleansing my life of negativity, and the list goes on) has freed up the space necessary to allow in those whom I trust, to give freely of myself, and to walk away from the things that do not contribute positively to my life.
No wonder I felt "fat" before, and sometimes still do. Holding onto all that emotion has and continues to weigh me down a bit.
Ever notice how you feel lightest on your "happy" days? I have too. Even though the idea of it still makes me want to punch the nearest dietitian...I think they might be on to something.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
The New Social Eating Theory According to Me
Having experienced a few ED setbacks in recent weeks, I find myself reassessing what works and what does not when it comes to pulling me out of lapses. It's been Dr. Joe's goal all along to gradually decrease not only the number of anorexia relapses I experience, but also the amount of time I spend lying there at rock bottom when I'm gripped by them.
One of the best things I have done for myself in recovery was permanently tattooing XXVI.II (26.2, for those of you who are Roman numeral illiterate) on my body. Sounds like a trite "lifesaver", and I even received a comment from someone that alluded to the fact that the inking "lacks meaning" (Ha! If they only knew...). However, it has become a constant reminder that I am tough as nails, can overcome just about anything, and have a reason to stay strong and healthy.
Aside from the permanent reminder on my body, I've also drawn strength and empowerment from the realization that my fear of food diminishes when I am within the comfort and company of others. This may come as a major shock to those of you who have read this blog since the beginning...What? But she used to HATE eating with other people!".
And you would be correct. I used to burst into tears at the mere suggestion of eating amongst people, at restaurants, or at family gatherings. I used to have to "work it through" and "come up with a plan of attack" with people like LA and Dr. Joe to get me through those moments; social situations were never as easy as "show up, talk, eat" like they are for normal people.
But we all eventually change and grow, do we not?
The turning points in this latest dip, actually, happened as a result of some social situations. I started to realize, within the last couple of days, that chowing down with friends is now a great way to shift the focus away from food. Not to mention, the sound generated through conversation with dining companions (if you will) drowns out the ED voice in my head that is screaming "DO NOT EAT" at the top of it's lungs.
Recent Situations That Back This Non-Scientific Theory:
#1: Last Friday Evening
The Location: An Undisclosed Sports Bar Serving Food I Do Not Eat Without Panic
The Group: Grad School BFFs
The Situation: Some moderate panic over eating pizza (usually not a problem unless I'm in a bit of a relapse). Semi-anxious texts sent to JN, LA, Mama K, to which they all responded with some variation of "eat slowly and focus on the people". So I did. And managed to scarf three slices of pizza, a salad, and a glass of wine. Left filled with food and love for my long-time friends...aaaaawww (Cheesy, I know! But true and ED counselors and dietitians eat shit like that up).
#2: Last Saturday Evening
The Location: A Backwoods-y Winery in the Boondocks
The Group: Neighbor BFF and Our Mutual Friends
The Situation: Among friends and taking cues from their food choices, I marched up to the bar and ordered spinach artichoke dip for me and The Mr. (whose jaw pretty much hit the floor, as he usually has to persuade me to eat such a thing). I ate it. In between fits of drunken laughter at the "girls' end" of the table, noshed on some cheese and crackers. More wine. Four glasses in, had dinner: potato soup and a turkey panini. Wine consumption continued. Laughter continued. Mild panic the next morning, but no purging and an 8-mile trail run with more friends helped me forget about the "Major Binge!" (which I know was not really one at all). Case closed.
#3: Monday Evening
The Location: My Dining Room Table
The Group: Me, The Mr., The Dog
The Situation: The Mr. stayed home from bowling league, warding off a minor cold (this is where we differ and know it...I run marathons with fractured bones, he bails on bowling league for a runny nose). I therefore stayed home from the gym (where I typically reside on Monday nights) and cooked us a meal from scratch. I set the table, poured wine, and spent some quality time over the stove making whole wheat penne with roasted vegetables and tomato pesto, Greek salad, warm bread. We chatted as I ate an actual meal. I watched as The Mr. ate a "guy-sized" portion of food and felt okay about what I had consumed by comparison. Cleaned up the kitchen, went to watch television, and forgot all about the food I ate. Allowed it to digest like a normal, non-anorexic person and got a virtual (emailed) pat on the back from JN in the morning for my efforts. Did not even work out that day and still was able to let it go. Yay me.
#4: Tuesday's Lunch
The Location: A Restaurant Near the Campus Where I Work
The Group: New Friend-Turned-Coworker
The Situation: I served on a search committee last semester during which we decided to hire E. The second we met at her interview we became friends, and I have been looking forward to having her on campus ever since I saw the announcement that she had accepted the position. We headed out to lunch on her second day (the first of many lunches, I'm sure, as we are already borderling codependent). We didn't shut up for the entire hour, and in between sentences I gnawed on a normal yet healthy lunch...even including sweet potato fries (Eat your heart out, LA! She got so excited the first time I had fries in recovery). Another socially distracted meal that produced anti-ED actions. Hoo-rah.
As JN says: You already have your own answers when you are battling an eating disorder; you just have to figure them out". Her statement (and combined with the fact that my mind is already overactive and analytical to a fault) propels me to pick apart these scenarios and tried to find the meaning, the "big picture", the lesson.
So what is going on here? Why has "social eating" begun to save my ass from ED hysteria as of late?
Here's what the overactive, analytical mind has come up with...
Man, I am just oozing with recovery and self-exploration lately. I guess this is how people finally break free of this cycle for good.
Huh.
One of the best things I have done for myself in recovery was permanently tattooing XXVI.II (26.2, for those of you who are Roman numeral illiterate) on my body. Sounds like a trite "lifesaver", and I even received a comment from someone that alluded to the fact that the inking "lacks meaning" (Ha! If they only knew...). However, it has become a constant reminder that I am tough as nails, can overcome just about anything, and have a reason to stay strong and healthy.
Aside from the permanent reminder on my body, I've also drawn strength and empowerment from the realization that my fear of food diminishes when I am within the comfort and company of others. This may come as a major shock to those of you who have read this blog since the beginning...What? But she used to HATE eating with other people!".
And you would be correct. I used to burst into tears at the mere suggestion of eating amongst people, at restaurants, or at family gatherings. I used to have to "work it through" and "come up with a plan of attack" with people like LA and Dr. Joe to get me through those moments; social situations were never as easy as "show up, talk, eat" like they are for normal people.
But we all eventually change and grow, do we not?
The turning points in this latest dip, actually, happened as a result of some social situations. I started to realize, within the last couple of days, that chowing down with friends is now a great way to shift the focus away from food. Not to mention, the sound generated through conversation with dining companions (if you will) drowns out the ED voice in my head that is screaming "DO NOT EAT" at the top of it's lungs.
Recent Situations That Back This Non-Scientific Theory:
#1: Last Friday Evening
The Location: An Undisclosed Sports Bar Serving Food I Do Not Eat Without Panic
The Group: Grad School BFFs
The Situation: Some moderate panic over eating pizza (usually not a problem unless I'm in a bit of a relapse). Semi-anxious texts sent to JN, LA, Mama K, to which they all responded with some variation of "eat slowly and focus on the people". So I did. And managed to scarf three slices of pizza, a salad, and a glass of wine. Left filled with food and love for my long-time friends...aaaaawww (Cheesy, I know! But true and ED counselors and dietitians eat shit like that up).
#2: Last Saturday Evening
The Location: A Backwoods-y Winery in the Boondocks
The Group: Neighbor BFF and Our Mutual Friends
The Situation: Among friends and taking cues from their food choices, I marched up to the bar and ordered spinach artichoke dip for me and The Mr. (whose jaw pretty much hit the floor, as he usually has to persuade me to eat such a thing). I ate it. In between fits of drunken laughter at the "girls' end" of the table, noshed on some cheese and crackers. More wine. Four glasses in, had dinner: potato soup and a turkey panini. Wine consumption continued. Laughter continued. Mild panic the next morning, but no purging and an 8-mile trail run with more friends helped me forget about the "Major Binge!" (which I know was not really one at all). Case closed.
#3: Monday Evening
The Location: My Dining Room Table
The Group: Me, The Mr., The Dog
The Situation: The Mr. stayed home from bowling league, warding off a minor cold (this is where we differ and know it...I run marathons with fractured bones, he bails on bowling league for a runny nose). I therefore stayed home from the gym (where I typically reside on Monday nights) and cooked us a meal from scratch. I set the table, poured wine, and spent some quality time over the stove making whole wheat penne with roasted vegetables and tomato pesto, Greek salad, warm bread. We chatted as I ate an actual meal. I watched as The Mr. ate a "guy-sized" portion of food and felt okay about what I had consumed by comparison. Cleaned up the kitchen, went to watch television, and forgot all about the food I ate. Allowed it to digest like a normal, non-anorexic person and got a virtual (emailed) pat on the back from JN in the morning for my efforts. Did not even work out that day and still was able to let it go. Yay me.
#4: Tuesday's Lunch
The Location: A Restaurant Near the Campus Where I Work
The Group: New Friend-Turned-Coworker
The Situation: I served on a search committee last semester during which we decided to hire E. The second we met at her interview we became friends, and I have been looking forward to having her on campus ever since I saw the announcement that she had accepted the position. We headed out to lunch on her second day (the first of many lunches, I'm sure, as we are already borderling codependent). We didn't shut up for the entire hour, and in between sentences I gnawed on a normal yet healthy lunch...even including sweet potato fries (Eat your heart out, LA! She got so excited the first time I had fries in recovery). Another socially distracted meal that produced anti-ED actions. Hoo-rah.
As JN says: You already have your own answers when you are battling an eating disorder; you just have to figure them out". Her statement (and combined with the fact that my mind is already overactive and analytical to a fault) propels me to pick apart these scenarios and tried to find the meaning, the "big picture", the lesson.
So what is going on here? Why has "social eating" begun to save my ass from ED hysteria as of late?
Here's what the overactive, analytical mind has come up with...
- I pick up cues from others when eating around them. How much to eat. What to eat. How quickly/slowly to eat. Rather, when by myself, I overthink, overanalyze, get frustrated, throw in the towel.
- I am a social person. So I talk a lot. I can either be focusing on conversation or the fact that I am eating- not both. Because of my personality, I choose to focus on people. So food becomes what it should: something to chew on and nourish me.
- Alcohol helps me eat. Not the best therapy approach and Dr. Joe kind of hates my non-ED addictions. But whatever. For now, it works.
- When I leave a gathering of friends, people I love, people I trust...I feel fulfilled. I am not lonely. I am not abandoned. Therefore, self-destruction has no place (cue the harp and choir music...it's all good).
Man, I am just oozing with recovery and self-exploration lately. I guess this is how people finally break free of this cycle for good.
Huh.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Why I Can't Just "Start Eating" Sometimes
Just when I think I have the ins and outs of my eating disorder all figured out, another puzzle piece drops down from out of nowhere. And then I'm forced to figure out the following:
Today, while staring at some food and contemplating my own issues with it, I started to wonder why it is always so difficult to begin to eat again once a pattern of starvation sets in. Sure, there is the physiological explanation that the body simply "adjusts" to the lack of food and begins to find other avenues for energy. But as with all aspects of disordered eating, there is more to the story than just the scientific reasoning; in fact, that's the easy piece. The psychological piece of the puzzle is liket the odd-shaped interior piece that requires some extra effort to place.
For me, it all boils down to control and the significance it plays in my life. Mama K (who now considers herself more of a "Big Sis" than a mother, thus allowing for more fun and irresponsibility in our somewhat complex friendship) often says "well, just start eating again" when I fall into patterns of meal-skipping and starvation. So it is her simplistic advice that got me wondering: why is that first step towards getting back on track so difficult?
And another puzzle piece then fell from the sky.
When I slip back into relapse, it is generally not intentional or even weight-driven. It starts with stress, a busy schedule, and a few skipped meals or morning/afternoon snacks. The hunger sets in, and it's a familiar, "cozy" place...because I have established a pattern of using starvation and/or other self-destruction as a coping mechanism during turbulent times in the past. Once ED is in your past, it takes serious work to stay on the straight and narrow. So letting it slide a little becomes comforting, taking added stress off an already full plate.
By the time I catch myself slipping back into extended starvation, I usually have already started to lose weight. Thanks to distortion, the weight loss begins to feel "right". So the pattern continues a little longer...then a little longer...and then before I know it, I am no longer M but Anorexic Girl yet again.
Then, I am forced (by either myself, a friend, or a medical professional) to take that first step back towards the meal plan. And I fall to pieces when presented with a perfectly acceptable "safe" meal straight off The Original LA Meal Plan. What is up with that? I know the food is "acceptable". I know I'm in such a caloric deficit by that point that a small meal isn't going to put a dent in weight gain. So what is it?
Imagine starving for over a week. I know it's not normal and most people have never and will never come close to that sensation. But try to imagine it. And then imagine being faced with food. What would be your biggest fear?
That you won't be able to stop once you start eating...because your body is in desperate need of FOOD.
The reason it's so hard to break the pattern of starvation is the fear associated with overeating...aka "losing control"...aka being "gluttonous" and "undisciplined". As if one cracker, or even 10 crackers, might lead to devouring the whole box.
Which it probably would.
Because the body is starving.
And then I'd hate myself for not having any sense of self-control.
So the anorexic continues to starve. It's just easier to starve than to try and stop when the body is screaming "more food, more food, MORE FOOD!"
Part of Dr. K's motivation for my brief yet critical summer hospital stay was to "break me out of the eating disorder cycle". At the time, I thought I knew what she meant, although I clearly did not. Her rationale now makes sense: taking that first step is by far the hardest, but crucial to breaking the cycle. And it's almost necessary for it to be supervised or coached...because otherwise, the body takes control over the mind and all of the physical hunger, emotions, control, malnourishment...they all collide at that moment and make it nearly impossible to think clearly.
- How the hell am I supposed to make room for the new puzzle piece now that it's here?
- How did I put the puzzle together without realizing this piece was missing in the first place?
Today, while staring at some food and contemplating my own issues with it, I started to wonder why it is always so difficult to begin to eat again once a pattern of starvation sets in. Sure, there is the physiological explanation that the body simply "adjusts" to the lack of food and begins to find other avenues for energy. But as with all aspects of disordered eating, there is more to the story than just the scientific reasoning; in fact, that's the easy piece. The psychological piece of the puzzle is liket the odd-shaped interior piece that requires some extra effort to place.
For me, it all boils down to control and the significance it plays in my life. Mama K (who now considers herself more of a "Big Sis" than a mother, thus allowing for more fun and irresponsibility in our somewhat complex friendship) often says "well, just start eating again" when I fall into patterns of meal-skipping and starvation. So it is her simplistic advice that got me wondering: why is that first step towards getting back on track so difficult?
And another puzzle piece then fell from the sky.
When I slip back into relapse, it is generally not intentional or even weight-driven. It starts with stress, a busy schedule, and a few skipped meals or morning/afternoon snacks. The hunger sets in, and it's a familiar, "cozy" place...because I have established a pattern of using starvation and/or other self-destruction as a coping mechanism during turbulent times in the past. Once ED is in your past, it takes serious work to stay on the straight and narrow. So letting it slide a little becomes comforting, taking added stress off an already full plate.
By the time I catch myself slipping back into extended starvation, I usually have already started to lose weight. Thanks to distortion, the weight loss begins to feel "right". So the pattern continues a little longer...then a little longer...and then before I know it, I am no longer M but Anorexic Girl yet again.
Then, I am forced (by either myself, a friend, or a medical professional) to take that first step back towards the meal plan. And I fall to pieces when presented with a perfectly acceptable "safe" meal straight off The Original LA Meal Plan. What is up with that? I know the food is "acceptable". I know I'm in such a caloric deficit by that point that a small meal isn't going to put a dent in weight gain. So what is it?
Imagine starving for over a week. I know it's not normal and most people have never and will never come close to that sensation. But try to imagine it. And then imagine being faced with food. What would be your biggest fear?
That you won't be able to stop once you start eating...because your body is in desperate need of FOOD.
The reason it's so hard to break the pattern of starvation is the fear associated with overeating...aka "losing control"...aka being "gluttonous" and "undisciplined". As if one cracker, or even 10 crackers, might lead to devouring the whole box.
Which it probably would.
Because the body is starving.
And then I'd hate myself for not having any sense of self-control.
So the anorexic continues to starve. It's just easier to starve than to try and stop when the body is screaming "more food, more food, MORE FOOD!"
Part of Dr. K's motivation for my brief yet critical summer hospital stay was to "break me out of the eating disorder cycle". At the time, I thought I knew what she meant, although I clearly did not. Her rationale now makes sense: taking that first step is by far the hardest, but crucial to breaking the cycle. And it's almost necessary for it to be supervised or coached...because otherwise, the body takes control over the mind and all of the physical hunger, emotions, control, malnourishment...they all collide at that moment and make it nearly impossible to think clearly.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Slooooooow Down and Chew
Whether I want to admit it or not, my body is still recovering from the marathon. I was riding high all last week, the adrenaline still pumping and feeling like an indestructible steel statue. Over this weekend, however, my body decided to just be done with the whole thing, throw in the towel, and shut down. It's just screaming "MERCY!".
So I gave in. If there is anything I have learned in the last year or so, it's that my body talks to me. I ignored it for a long time, but now I listen when it screams and bitches and moans and digs in its heels.
Don't get me wrong. I still exercised a decent amount this weekend both on the bike and running. But I backed off because I've come to the realization that it really doesn't do any good to push. In fact, my success at the marathon can probably be chalked up to the fact that I moved healing and rest to the top of the to-do list in the weeks leading up to the trip and race. I used to think my body liked and appreciated the pounding; but in reality, it seems to perform better when I take the time to let it be every now and then.
This is the new "zen" me. Well, the closest someone as high-strung as me can get to "zen".
I'm reading a book my naturally "zen" and "hippie-esque" boss (her and JN would be fast friends) threw on my desk the other day: Eating Mindfully. Mind you, I have to be careful with food-related books, as the content can sometimes trigger restriction or obsessing over what I eat (the complete opposite of what we are trying to do here). But LA, who knows me best, gave me the green light to read this one and got all giddy the way she normally does when she hears the slightest reference to geeky nutrition stuff.
So I'm only a few pages into Eating Mindfully and I'm already buying into the philosophy, which basically states that we have become a society of mindless eaters. So true.
While restriction was pretty much the name of my game at the height of my eating disorder, I still had moments during which I ate quite mindlessly. Granted, I usually caught myself, beat myself up with guilt, and ran to the bathroom to "get rid of it", but I do remember moments of "weakness" (that's an eating disordered reference by the way...there is no "weakness" associated with allowing yourself to eat something) during which I was shoveling anything and everything into my mouth after days of starvation.
Haven't you ever sat in front of the television and suddenly found yourself at the bottom of a bag of chips? Or at the movie theater slurping the last little bit of a gajillion-ounce Pepsi only to think "holy shit...is all that Pepsi now swishing around inside of me..."?. Or reached for a third, fourth, fifth slice of pizza just because it was in front of you?
That's mindless eating. We all do it.
So my new goal for this week is to eat mindfully. Listen to my body (which is screaming at me "recovery, please!"), eat when I'm hungry, eat what I'm craving, and take the time to enjoy it. In reality, we should all be doing that.
Last week brought several days at work during which I "forgot" to eat lunch. I am currently wrapped up in a lot of projects, and when my crazy mind gets going, it's hard to stop and "enjoy" a sandwich or something. I finally emailed LA one day when I was up to my ears in stress and said something along the lines of "I want to punch everyone in the face, I am way too stressed, I am drowning, and I haven't eaten lunch and don't see any time in the near future to do so."
After she finally convinced me to eat (with really nothing more than an email saying "please go eat"...but I listen anyhow, because she's, well, like my mom), I inhaled my turkey sandwich and carrots and returned to work. Almost immediately, the thoughts starting creeping in: Fat. Gross. Sloppy. Sluggish.
But, alas, thanks to my months and months and months spent in therapy...I understood it. I hadn't taken the time to eat mindfully. Therefore, eating too quickly made me 1. feel unnaturally full, and 2. like a ravenous pig who cannot control her urges. Both are psychological triggers for a previously anorexic person to purge, restrict, or over-exercise later on.
I was so proud of myself for figuring this out.
And the philosophy of Eating Mindfully confirms what I figured out. When we don't take the time to listen to our bodies, rush through meals, neglect to truly enjoy the food...we engage in all kinds of psychological battles with ourselves and start to think:
So I tried out some of the suggestions this book has offered me already (even though I'm only on page 8 or something), and zoned in on the flavors, textures, and nutrients within the foods I ate this weekend. I chewed slower, tried to enjoy it (kind of hard for me, given the ED past), and just went with the flow. And I have to say, it made eating a lot easier.
Why do we assume that because we eat a "junk" food we must either 1. eat it all (as in: "Might as well!") or 2. eat so little that we barely enjoy it (as in: "I will have ONE Dorito...)?
Really, it's not that black and white. And the most balanced approach to food, as with most things in life, is somewhere in the gray. Everything in moderation, but with awareness and reflection at the root of the action.
So my issue was with anorexia. Yours might be with overeating. Or maybe it's just an over-obsession with food or body. Whatever it is, we can all benefit from paying a little more attention to the food in our mouths. After all, it's hard to deny that a strong psychological link exists between what we eat and how it makes us feel.
So I gave in. If there is anything I have learned in the last year or so, it's that my body talks to me. I ignored it for a long time, but now I listen when it screams and bitches and moans and digs in its heels.
Don't get me wrong. I still exercised a decent amount this weekend both on the bike and running. But I backed off because I've come to the realization that it really doesn't do any good to push. In fact, my success at the marathon can probably be chalked up to the fact that I moved healing and rest to the top of the to-do list in the weeks leading up to the trip and race. I used to think my body liked and appreciated the pounding; but in reality, it seems to perform better when I take the time to let it be every now and then.
This is the new "zen" me. Well, the closest someone as high-strung as me can get to "zen".
I'm reading a book my naturally "zen" and "hippie-esque" boss (her and JN would be fast friends) threw on my desk the other day: Eating Mindfully. Mind you, I have to be careful with food-related books, as the content can sometimes trigger restriction or obsessing over what I eat (the complete opposite of what we are trying to do here). But LA, who knows me best, gave me the green light to read this one and got all giddy the way she normally does when she hears the slightest reference to geeky nutrition stuff.
So I'm only a few pages into Eating Mindfully and I'm already buying into the philosophy, which basically states that we have become a society of mindless eaters. So true.
While restriction was pretty much the name of my game at the height of my eating disorder, I still had moments during which I ate quite mindlessly. Granted, I usually caught myself, beat myself up with guilt, and ran to the bathroom to "get rid of it", but I do remember moments of "weakness" (that's an eating disordered reference by the way...there is no "weakness" associated with allowing yourself to eat something) during which I was shoveling anything and everything into my mouth after days of starvation.
Haven't you ever sat in front of the television and suddenly found yourself at the bottom of a bag of chips? Or at the movie theater slurping the last little bit of a gajillion-ounce Pepsi only to think "holy shit...is all that Pepsi now swishing around inside of me..."?. Or reached for a third, fourth, fifth slice of pizza just because it was in front of you?
That's mindless eating. We all do it.
So my new goal for this week is to eat mindfully. Listen to my body (which is screaming at me "recovery, please!"), eat when I'm hungry, eat what I'm craving, and take the time to enjoy it. In reality, we should all be doing that.
Last week brought several days at work during which I "forgot" to eat lunch. I am currently wrapped up in a lot of projects, and when my crazy mind gets going, it's hard to stop and "enjoy" a sandwich or something. I finally emailed LA one day when I was up to my ears in stress and said something along the lines of "I want to punch everyone in the face, I am way too stressed, I am drowning, and I haven't eaten lunch and don't see any time in the near future to do so."
After she finally convinced me to eat (with really nothing more than an email saying "please go eat"...but I listen anyhow, because she's, well, like my mom), I inhaled my turkey sandwich and carrots and returned to work. Almost immediately, the thoughts starting creeping in: Fat. Gross. Sloppy. Sluggish.
But, alas, thanks to my months and months and months spent in therapy...I understood it. I hadn't taken the time to eat mindfully. Therefore, eating too quickly made me 1. feel unnaturally full, and 2. like a ravenous pig who cannot control her urges. Both are psychological triggers for a previously anorexic person to purge, restrict, or over-exercise later on.
I was so proud of myself for figuring this out.
And the philosophy of Eating Mindfully confirms what I figured out. When we don't take the time to listen to our bodies, rush through meals, neglect to truly enjoy the food...we engage in all kinds of psychological battles with ourselves and start to think:
- I cannot control myself. I am disgusting.
- I overate AGAIN. Fatass!
- Gluttonous pig.
- My gut is sticking out, and I am certain I instantly gained 12 pounds from lunch alone.
- (Enter other damaging food-related self-talk here...)
So I tried out some of the suggestions this book has offered me already (even though I'm only on page 8 or something), and zoned in on the flavors, textures, and nutrients within the foods I ate this weekend. I chewed slower, tried to enjoy it (kind of hard for me, given the ED past), and just went with the flow. And I have to say, it made eating a lot easier.
Why do we assume that because we eat a "junk" food we must either 1. eat it all (as in: "Might as well!") or 2. eat so little that we barely enjoy it (as in: "I will have ONE Dorito...)?
Really, it's not that black and white. And the most balanced approach to food, as with most things in life, is somewhere in the gray. Everything in moderation, but with awareness and reflection at the root of the action.
So my issue was with anorexia. Yours might be with overeating. Or maybe it's just an over-obsession with food or body. Whatever it is, we can all benefit from paying a little more attention to the food in our mouths. After all, it's hard to deny that a strong psychological link exists between what we eat and how it makes us feel.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
A New Kind of Swagger
Running 26.2 miles truly gives you a new kind of swagger. I feel, having now completed a marathon, that regardless of time or perceived level of "success", the step you take across the finish line is the first step into a whole new version of yourself.
I don't care who you are. Even the most humble person develops at least an ounce of cockiness after completing one of the greatest athletic challenges of all time.
So what happened? What was the race like? You want the gory details? Hell if I know. I was half out of my mind towards the end, and the second the finish line was in sight it was as though a giant eraser just cleaned out all memory of pain or distress or self-doubt. I sort of remember the pain in my quads, Linkin Park blaring through my iPod, and throwing a Gatorade cup on the ground in anger when I saw the mammoth Hill Intended to Kill You at mile 25.
Dr. Joe, always relating life to sports so I can understand it, told me once that life mimics the marathon. There are so many highs, lows, challenges, victories, experiences...it is ever-changing. When you "hit the wall", you have to just keep going, knowing that another "runner's high" may only be a mile or so away. Running a marathon, like in life, requires a lot of hope and grit and faith.
I finished my first marathon in 4 hours, 24 minutes...only about 20 minutes behind my initial pre-injury goal. I bawled my eyes out when I crossed the finish line, so much so that the race official thought I was hurt. All of the physical pain of the previous four hours fell away instantly, and here's the amazing thing...a great deal of the emotional pain of the last year or so fell away with it. It was the most incredible and life-changing experience I have had to date.
And what does someone recovering from an eating disorder do once she finishes a marathon? Not what you may expect: I ate like there was no tomorrow. Sweet potato fries, pulled chicken sandwich with an amazing Southern barbecue sauce, cole slaw, potato salad, potato soup, jello shots, wine, ice cream cone, countless slices of pizza, salad, fried (yes, I said fried) ravioli, Belgian waffle, scrambled eggs, fruit, cupcakes, Starbucks...
And then when I arrived home a day later...
More cupcakes (compliments of LA), a veggie burrito, glasses of chocolate milk, Turtles from my student assistant...
I couldn't get enough. But you know what? I enjoyed it. I really did. And I talked to JN last night on the phone and can honestly say I can let it go. I realized, in talking to JN, that the body I sometimes try to "fix" is the same one that carried me through 26.2 miles of running (something, let's be honest, very, very few people ever attempt to do...let alone complete). So, hey, ya know...if it wants some foods it usually doesn't eat...whatever.
And carelessly swallowing large amounts of junk food without too much of an afterthought is just one small facet of the new swagger.
The other facets of the new swagger come from a renewed confidence and trust in myself. Running a marathon taught me that when I'm faced with immense struggle, only I truly have the ability to pull myself through it. Tangible proof (in the form of a marathon finish) that I do, in fact, possess that ability is a bit of a game-changer looking forward.
Over the last several weeks (months, actually), I've picked up on a common theme that has been peppered into conversation, comments, emails, etc. It's come in different forms and isn't always cut and dry (in fact, rarely so bluntly stated, but often implied): you only run these distances because you have an eating disorder.
Um, no. But thanks for your concern.
I may have used running as a vehicle to burn loads of calories before. But just because I still run (or RUN...capital letters imply the sheer insanity of the mileage) does not mean the motivation is the same.
I run for the rush of the finish. I run because I enjoy the confidence gained when completing the goals I set for myself. I run because my good friends run, and it's a way to stay in touch with each other (what else do you think we do when we run for hours together?). I run because I crave intensity in my life and exercise is how I choose to use my energy. I run because I like to do the things other people are afraid to try. I run because I like challenges. I also run because, well, I'm kind of good at it. So why the hell not.
It takes some time spent in eating disorder therapy to let go of the previous motivation for exercise. But just because someone lets go of the disordered motivation for the activity doesn't mean she needs to give up the actual activity. There's a difference.
So completing the marathon has given me the swagger to brush that implied belief aside when I sense it behind the "concerned" words of others. Some will always see me as weak, sick, and eating disordered. That's fine. I get it. I'm still thinner than most women my age, I still eat healthfully, sometimes slip back into old thinking (but always reach out to LA, JN, or Dr. Joe immediately, like I've been trained to do), and continue to exercise more than the vast majority of the general population. Those are the things people will see on the outside and use to form their judgments and opinions. I can accept that. But that doesn't mean I need to stop what I'm doing, especially if I'm confident that I'm a better, healthier person now than I was a year ago.
LA reminded me once that many people think that weight gain and eating junk food is a a sign that a formerly anorexic person is "healed", but that those outward signs are not at all indicative of whether or not someone has overcome their eating disorder. Rather, it's the stuff people cannot see: the change in motivation for exercise, the self-acceptance, the improvement in body dysmorphia, the movement away from a need for perfection. Only the individual (and maybe the support team who has been there all along) is able to see, feel, and experience the real change and growth.
Swagger comes from knowing inside that you've become a better, stronger version of yourself...whether those on the outside can see it or not.
I went to physical therapy yesterday and consulted with my therapists and doctors about my recent problems with my leg. Given the success of my first (and what I thought was my only) marathon, I've been given more...as long as we correct some of the orthopedic issues with orthotics and continued physical therapy.
So I'll be doing another. And who knows how many more. There's also a 50K on the books for this summer, and a host of other half marathons and fun races with friends. I'll be continuing to run a lot of miles to train for them because I want to have the best shot at achieving those accomplishments; not because I am a "former eating disordered" person.
I am now a marathon finisher. I am a runner. I now run because that it where I choose to spend my energy and time and competitive spirit. That's the bottom line.
I'm also a lot of other things: loyal friend and wife, a writer, a professional, a leader... I'm not defined by running, but it is something I enjoy a great deal. It has also saved me and helped me to grow as a person and brought amazing people into my life. It's given me the mental strength and resiliency to overcome nearly anything I encounter.
A weak, sick, person cannot complete a marathon.
But I just did.
Food for thought.
I don't care who you are. Even the most humble person develops at least an ounce of cockiness after completing one of the greatest athletic challenges of all time.
So what happened? What was the race like? You want the gory details? Hell if I know. I was half out of my mind towards the end, and the second the finish line was in sight it was as though a giant eraser just cleaned out all memory of pain or distress or self-doubt. I sort of remember the pain in my quads, Linkin Park blaring through my iPod, and throwing a Gatorade cup on the ground in anger when I saw the mammoth Hill Intended to Kill You at mile 25.
Dr. Joe, always relating life to sports so I can understand it, told me once that life mimics the marathon. There are so many highs, lows, challenges, victories, experiences...it is ever-changing. When you "hit the wall", you have to just keep going, knowing that another "runner's high" may only be a mile or so away. Running a marathon, like in life, requires a lot of hope and grit and faith.
I finished my first marathon in 4 hours, 24 minutes...only about 20 minutes behind my initial pre-injury goal. I bawled my eyes out when I crossed the finish line, so much so that the race official thought I was hurt. All of the physical pain of the previous four hours fell away instantly, and here's the amazing thing...a great deal of the emotional pain of the last year or so fell away with it. It was the most incredible and life-changing experience I have had to date.
And what does someone recovering from an eating disorder do once she finishes a marathon? Not what you may expect: I ate like there was no tomorrow. Sweet potato fries, pulled chicken sandwich with an amazing Southern barbecue sauce, cole slaw, potato salad, potato soup, jello shots, wine, ice cream cone, countless slices of pizza, salad, fried (yes, I said fried) ravioli, Belgian waffle, scrambled eggs, fruit, cupcakes, Starbucks...
And then when I arrived home a day later...
More cupcakes (compliments of LA), a veggie burrito, glasses of chocolate milk, Turtles from my student assistant...
I couldn't get enough. But you know what? I enjoyed it. I really did. And I talked to JN last night on the phone and can honestly say I can let it go. I realized, in talking to JN, that the body I sometimes try to "fix" is the same one that carried me through 26.2 miles of running (something, let's be honest, very, very few people ever attempt to do...let alone complete). So, hey, ya know...if it wants some foods it usually doesn't eat...whatever.
And carelessly swallowing large amounts of junk food without too much of an afterthought is just one small facet of the new swagger.
The other facets of the new swagger come from a renewed confidence and trust in myself. Running a marathon taught me that when I'm faced with immense struggle, only I truly have the ability to pull myself through it. Tangible proof (in the form of a marathon finish) that I do, in fact, possess that ability is a bit of a game-changer looking forward.
Over the last several weeks (months, actually), I've picked up on a common theme that has been peppered into conversation, comments, emails, etc. It's come in different forms and isn't always cut and dry (in fact, rarely so bluntly stated, but often implied): you only run these distances because you have an eating disorder.
Um, no. But thanks for your concern.
I may have used running as a vehicle to burn loads of calories before. But just because I still run (or RUN...capital letters imply the sheer insanity of the mileage) does not mean the motivation is the same.
I run for the rush of the finish. I run because I enjoy the confidence gained when completing the goals I set for myself. I run because my good friends run, and it's a way to stay in touch with each other (what else do you think we do when we run for hours together?). I run because I crave intensity in my life and exercise is how I choose to use my energy. I run because I like to do the things other people are afraid to try. I run because I like challenges. I also run because, well, I'm kind of good at it. So why the hell not.
It takes some time spent in eating disorder therapy to let go of the previous motivation for exercise. But just because someone lets go of the disordered motivation for the activity doesn't mean she needs to give up the actual activity. There's a difference.
So completing the marathon has given me the swagger to brush that implied belief aside when I sense it behind the "concerned" words of others. Some will always see me as weak, sick, and eating disordered. That's fine. I get it. I'm still thinner than most women my age, I still eat healthfully, sometimes slip back into old thinking (but always reach out to LA, JN, or Dr. Joe immediately, like I've been trained to do), and continue to exercise more than the vast majority of the general population. Those are the things people will see on the outside and use to form their judgments and opinions. I can accept that. But that doesn't mean I need to stop what I'm doing, especially if I'm confident that I'm a better, healthier person now than I was a year ago.
LA reminded me once that many people think that weight gain and eating junk food is a a sign that a formerly anorexic person is "healed", but that those outward signs are not at all indicative of whether or not someone has overcome their eating disorder. Rather, it's the stuff people cannot see: the change in motivation for exercise, the self-acceptance, the improvement in body dysmorphia, the movement away from a need for perfection. Only the individual (and maybe the support team who has been there all along) is able to see, feel, and experience the real change and growth.
Swagger comes from knowing inside that you've become a better, stronger version of yourself...whether those on the outside can see it or not.
I went to physical therapy yesterday and consulted with my therapists and doctors about my recent problems with my leg. Given the success of my first (and what I thought was my only) marathon, I've been given more...as long as we correct some of the orthopedic issues with orthotics and continued physical therapy.
So I'll be doing another. And who knows how many more. There's also a 50K on the books for this summer, and a host of other half marathons and fun races with friends. I'll be continuing to run a lot of miles to train for them because I want to have the best shot at achieving those accomplishments; not because I am a "former eating disordered" person.
I am now a marathon finisher. I am a runner. I now run because that it where I choose to spend my energy and time and competitive spirit. That's the bottom line.
I'm also a lot of other things: loyal friend and wife, a writer, a professional, a leader... I'm not defined by running, but it is something I enjoy a great deal. It has also saved me and helped me to grow as a person and brought amazing people into my life. It's given me the mental strength and resiliency to overcome nearly anything I encounter.
A weak, sick, person cannot complete a marathon.
But I just did.
Food for thought.
Friday, February 25, 2011
All In
Very rarely in life are we faced with the decision to go all in or save the chips for later. If you were to really think about your life, most of life's defining moments allow you to still hold on to some chips: an emergency fund, Plan B, or a safety net.
While running a marathon is not akin to the birth of a child, or my wedding day, or accepting my first professional job...it's still up there. Perhaps it's the meaning I myself have attached to the miles and the accomplishment. Whatever the explanation, possessing the ability to run long distances holds a certain significance in my life.
While it has never been mentioned in my blog before (mostly because I didn't see its relevance until now), I was born with a bone disorder that caused some significant problems in my legs as a child. I developed tibial torsion, and my right tibia was reconstructed when I was 13. I spent that entire summer unable to walk, but returned to swimming almost as soon as I was recovered. Two summers later, the plate and hardware were removed from my leg and I went on with my life. Never used it as an excuse. Never really even disclosed it to anyone or spoke of it at all. I pushed it far back in my mind and plowed ahead with my life, the only evidence of struggle a fairly large scar on my shin.
I had absolutely no issues with this leg when I started running half marathons. It was only natural to move into the full marathon distance, so I just went for it. I truly forgot about my limitations; that I do not have the same capabilities as everyone else.
While I endured a stress fracture on my tibia before, I started to feel more discomfort within the last week or so, and the excrutiating pain had begun to shoot up my shin, into my knee, and even my hip. On Monday, the physical therapist focused entirely on pain management, and urged a doctor to get me in on Wednesday for some x-rays and evaluation.
While meeting with the doctor, I was told that I have about 30 miles left on my leg in its current condition. The previous stress fracture remains, as well as evidence of some smaller ones in other areas. Continuing on in this state for too much longer is putting me at risk of a break. A true break on the tibia, given my history, would require a rod be placed in my leg to reset it.
From a purely medical standpoint, according to the doctor, running the marathon in 9 days will probably not cause anymore damage that what is already present. Considering my recent mileage, running 26.2 miles is just another drop in the bucket.
But my mind started going...30 miles minus 26.2...leaves 3.8 miles to spare...
"You have about that left on it...it's just going to hurt like hell," And in his words "the large majority of doctors would tell you not to run on this at all..."
Then the real bomb...The inside of my tibia will always be at risk of fracture due to its poor alignment, no matter what we do. For this reason, the road marathon is an extremely high-risk pursuit for me in the future.
I can be a runner again...after what the doctor and physical therapist call "some serious work" involving biomechanic adjustments and orthotics and perhaps some more reconstruction. But I cannot be a marathon runner.
Unfortunately, that's precisely what I wanted to be.
I didn't think when I registered for this marathon that it would be both my first and last. I didn't question my ability to finish it or even my ability to hit my goal time (which was a bit of a lofty goal for a first-timer..but within reach). I saw this race as an entry point into a string of races that would eventually lead me to qualify for the great Boston Marathon, lots of finisher's medals, and colorful stories to share. The stuff marathon runners live for.
As the doctor put it earlier this week: I can think of these 30 miles as poker chips at my disposal.
I can go all in now and endure the pain...knowing this is the closest I may ever get to completing a road 26.2.
I can save the chips for later...knowing I may never get to use them in the future due to the risk involved.
When I left the sports medicine center that morning a few days ago, I was crying. A lot. I couldn't process the information and it didn't seem real. Sure, it's just running. But running has grown to mean a lot to me. And running full marathons...well, I think I've made it quite clear what that means to me too.
Mama K was my first and only phone call that day. I braced myself for what I was certain was coming: "M., this is just ridiculous now, it's not worth it. Just throw in the towel, it's okay. You don't need this accomplishment."
Instead she quietly listened, thought for a moment, and finally just said: "I think this might just be one of those times you have to go all in."
I'm not going to say Mama K's response was what gave me the willpower to forge ahead with this (stupid) race. But I realized her voice was just confirming my own thoughts, giving the reassurance I needed to give this goal a shot...even when the chips are seriously stacked against me.
I saw Dr. Joe last night for an appointment and filled him in. Another person who tends to err on the "cautious" side, I was anticipating that he would try to talk me down off this ledge with his patient and completely rational voice. Instead, he looked at me with somewhat sobering and very genuine eyes and said "M., I am very, very sorry. I know how much running future marathons meant to you."
And Dr. Joe, a runner himself, proceeded to coach me on how to give myself the best shot of completing my one and only marathon.
26.2 miles that I honestly don't know if I will be able to finish. 26.2 miles even the doctor isn't sure I will be able to finish, no matter how much grit and willpower I have. The pain may be too great.
In the end....this is one of life's "all in" moments. I am given one shot at something I want. Regardless of what happens, I'm all in.
It just means that much too me. Whether it should or not. It just does.
While running a marathon is not akin to the birth of a child, or my wedding day, or accepting my first professional job...it's still up there. Perhaps it's the meaning I myself have attached to the miles and the accomplishment. Whatever the explanation, possessing the ability to run long distances holds a certain significance in my life.
While it has never been mentioned in my blog before (mostly because I didn't see its relevance until now), I was born with a bone disorder that caused some significant problems in my legs as a child. I developed tibial torsion, and my right tibia was reconstructed when I was 13. I spent that entire summer unable to walk, but returned to swimming almost as soon as I was recovered. Two summers later, the plate and hardware were removed from my leg and I went on with my life. Never used it as an excuse. Never really even disclosed it to anyone or spoke of it at all. I pushed it far back in my mind and plowed ahead with my life, the only evidence of struggle a fairly large scar on my shin.
I had absolutely no issues with this leg when I started running half marathons. It was only natural to move into the full marathon distance, so I just went for it. I truly forgot about my limitations; that I do not have the same capabilities as everyone else.
While I endured a stress fracture on my tibia before, I started to feel more discomfort within the last week or so, and the excrutiating pain had begun to shoot up my shin, into my knee, and even my hip. On Monday, the physical therapist focused entirely on pain management, and urged a doctor to get me in on Wednesday for some x-rays and evaluation.
While meeting with the doctor, I was told that I have about 30 miles left on my leg in its current condition. The previous stress fracture remains, as well as evidence of some smaller ones in other areas. Continuing on in this state for too much longer is putting me at risk of a break. A true break on the tibia, given my history, would require a rod be placed in my leg to reset it.
From a purely medical standpoint, according to the doctor, running the marathon in 9 days will probably not cause anymore damage that what is already present. Considering my recent mileage, running 26.2 miles is just another drop in the bucket.
But my mind started going...30 miles minus 26.2...leaves 3.8 miles to spare...
"You have about that left on it...it's just going to hurt like hell," And in his words "the large majority of doctors would tell you not to run on this at all..."
Then the real bomb...The inside of my tibia will always be at risk of fracture due to its poor alignment, no matter what we do. For this reason, the road marathon is an extremely high-risk pursuit for me in the future.
I can be a runner again...after what the doctor and physical therapist call "some serious work" involving biomechanic adjustments and orthotics and perhaps some more reconstruction. But I cannot be a marathon runner.
Unfortunately, that's precisely what I wanted to be.
I didn't think when I registered for this marathon that it would be both my first and last. I didn't question my ability to finish it or even my ability to hit my goal time (which was a bit of a lofty goal for a first-timer..but within reach). I saw this race as an entry point into a string of races that would eventually lead me to qualify for the great Boston Marathon, lots of finisher's medals, and colorful stories to share. The stuff marathon runners live for.
As the doctor put it earlier this week: I can think of these 30 miles as poker chips at my disposal.
I can go all in now and endure the pain...knowing this is the closest I may ever get to completing a road 26.2.
I can save the chips for later...knowing I may never get to use them in the future due to the risk involved.
When I left the sports medicine center that morning a few days ago, I was crying. A lot. I couldn't process the information and it didn't seem real. Sure, it's just running. But running has grown to mean a lot to me. And running full marathons...well, I think I've made it quite clear what that means to me too.
Mama K was my first and only phone call that day. I braced myself for what I was certain was coming: "M., this is just ridiculous now, it's not worth it. Just throw in the towel, it's okay. You don't need this accomplishment."
Instead she quietly listened, thought for a moment, and finally just said: "I think this might just be one of those times you have to go all in."
I'm not going to say Mama K's response was what gave me the willpower to forge ahead with this (stupid) race. But I realized her voice was just confirming my own thoughts, giving the reassurance I needed to give this goal a shot...even when the chips are seriously stacked against me.
I saw Dr. Joe last night for an appointment and filled him in. Another person who tends to err on the "cautious" side, I was anticipating that he would try to talk me down off this ledge with his patient and completely rational voice. Instead, he looked at me with somewhat sobering and very genuine eyes and said "M., I am very, very sorry. I know how much running future marathons meant to you."
And Dr. Joe, a runner himself, proceeded to coach me on how to give myself the best shot of completing my one and only marathon.
26.2 miles that I honestly don't know if I will be able to finish. 26.2 miles even the doctor isn't sure I will be able to finish, no matter how much grit and willpower I have. The pain may be too great.
In the end....this is one of life's "all in" moments. I am given one shot at something I want. Regardless of what happens, I'm all in.
It just means that much too me. Whether it should or not. It just does.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Next Up: Tackling Body Dysmorphia
Body Dysmorphia: Failing to see your body as it truly is. Painful body image. Distortion.
One of the benefits of becoming my former dietitian's favorite-client-turned-friend is my newfound access to one of her former colleagues, JN. Welcome to the team, JN. Unfortunately for JN, I cannot afford to dish out sign-on bonuses. Although LA, Dr. K., and Dr. Joe may come knocking if the new chick collected one while I was essentially dropped in their laps with a host of serious issues in tow.
JN can best be described as a dietitian with a twist. As a wellness coach, she blends nutritional guidance, yoga, and body image counseling to help girls like me who, well, have no idea what they look like and really need to cut the "I hate my body" crap in order to fully recover from disordered eating.
JN and LA know each other from their work at an outpatient eating disorder clinic about 30 minutes north of here. Dr. K also knows JN and perked up a little when I reported that I would be working with her on some body image issues, as she is probably waiting for the day she no longer has to waste energy trying to conceal my weight during office visits.
Tonight's meeting with JN was actually the second. About two weeks ago, LA drove me to my first appointment with JN (which, for them, was like a little reunion), and the three of us discussed my treatment thus far, my lingering food issues, and why I can't just love my freakin' body already. Unlike the first time I met with LA, I actually opened up to JN with ease, probably because:
1. I am eating and no longer brain-starved, so therefore was coherent (unlike my first meeting with LA back in the day).
2. LA was there. I have major trust issues (duh...we know this), but knowing LA trusted New Girl helped me actually form meaningful sentences. I am convinced I would have sat with my arms crossed had LA not been there to telepathically coax me along.
3. I genuinely want the help. I know the body dysmorphia- while the hardest to overcome- is the like the eating disorder's obnoxious twin. Not seeing my body clearly and not wanting to eat are a package deal; one leads to the other and vice verse.
Tonight, I flew solo to JN's office and talked to her myself like the mature, 28-year old that I (sometimes) claim to be. Given the injury issues, I have been slapped in the face with the eating disorder yet again, and while trying to resist, have skimped a little on the food this week. When I realized I may have to back off from running, I instinctively snipped away at my daily food intake to "compensate" (normal people can do this, I cannot). Out went the second waffle I normally eat every morning, the cheese that goes with my morning apple, the hummus that accompanies my raw vegetables. I was gently reminded by JN that I need to stick to the plan.
Tomorrow, I'll eat two waffles again, re-introduce hummus to my veggies (I'm sure they missed one another) and chomp on some cheese. I get it. I remembered why I have to do that. My bad.
In addition to the food piece (which is never ending, really), part of my work with JN includes some yoga principles and body awareness. Think: the "my body is a temple" kind of stuff my "I love pain and cardio and competition!" mind generally doesn't handle well.
But I need it. I know this.
At least every other day I have a mini-meltdown related to what I see in the mirror or how I "feel" inside my body. I tend to always feel sloppy, lazy, "soft", pudgy...you name it. It's very black and white. For example, yesterday I wore a pair of my "sick" pants (worn while at my lowest weight) to work. They still fit, but are a little more snug than I would typically wear my pants.
The pants are a size zero Tall. They are from a store that does vanity sizing...but still, a zero nontheless (those things used to matter to me). However, because they were snug, I immediately thought to myself: "well, here we are...you knew this day was coming sooner or later. You are now a size 14 and can no longer fit into anything. Congrats. You suck."
If I had truly become a size 14 overnight...could I really have even fit into the zeros? Um...NO. Hel-lo distortion.
Likewise, JN caught a glimpse of this distortion last evening while in her yoga room. When asked to "place my feet hip's width apart", I instinctively spread 'em quite widely.
JN giggled. "Well, if that isn't an indicator body dysmorphia, I don't know what is! Um...your hips are not that wide."
I looked at my feet, set at least twelve inches to the outside of either hip. I laughed. I really thought that's where my hips were; a clear indication that I am not exactly experiencing my body as it truly is.
JN is going to attempt to help me just "be"...something I really never "am" (if that makes any sense at all). Now that I have restored some weight, learned to eat again, and have stopped trashing my body, it's now time for Step Two: minimizing the anxiety over trying to fix my body, trying to find peace with my natural weight "set point", and learning to be an intuitive eater.
And I should probably work to locate my hips, come to terms with that fact that I don't go from zero to 14 2.5 seconds after eating a piece of candy, and to see what I really look like with all the distortion stripped away.
And so I've turned down another street on this journey and added another eating disorder professional to my growing collection. But I like these people, and I eventually want to shed all of this crap...so I'm going to let them all stay just a little longer ;)
One of the benefits of becoming my former dietitian's favorite-client-turned-friend is my newfound access to one of her former colleagues, JN. Welcome to the team, JN. Unfortunately for JN, I cannot afford to dish out sign-on bonuses. Although LA, Dr. K., and Dr. Joe may come knocking if the new chick collected one while I was essentially dropped in their laps with a host of serious issues in tow.
JN can best be described as a dietitian with a twist. As a wellness coach, she blends nutritional guidance, yoga, and body image counseling to help girls like me who, well, have no idea what they look like and really need to cut the "I hate my body" crap in order to fully recover from disordered eating.
JN and LA know each other from their work at an outpatient eating disorder clinic about 30 minutes north of here. Dr. K also knows JN and perked up a little when I reported that I would be working with her on some body image issues, as she is probably waiting for the day she no longer has to waste energy trying to conceal my weight during office visits.
Tonight's meeting with JN was actually the second. About two weeks ago, LA drove me to my first appointment with JN (which, for them, was like a little reunion), and the three of us discussed my treatment thus far, my lingering food issues, and why I can't just love my freakin' body already. Unlike the first time I met with LA, I actually opened up to JN with ease, probably because:
1. I am eating and no longer brain-starved, so therefore was coherent (unlike my first meeting with LA back in the day).
2. LA was there. I have major trust issues (duh...we know this), but knowing LA trusted New Girl helped me actually form meaningful sentences. I am convinced I would have sat with my arms crossed had LA not been there to telepathically coax me along.
3. I genuinely want the help. I know the body dysmorphia- while the hardest to overcome- is the like the eating disorder's obnoxious twin. Not seeing my body clearly and not wanting to eat are a package deal; one leads to the other and vice verse.
Tonight, I flew solo to JN's office and talked to her myself like the mature, 28-year old that I (sometimes) claim to be. Given the injury issues, I have been slapped in the face with the eating disorder yet again, and while trying to resist, have skimped a little on the food this week. When I realized I may have to back off from running, I instinctively snipped away at my daily food intake to "compensate" (normal people can do this, I cannot). Out went the second waffle I normally eat every morning, the cheese that goes with my morning apple, the hummus that accompanies my raw vegetables. I was gently reminded by JN that I need to stick to the plan.
Tomorrow, I'll eat two waffles again, re-introduce hummus to my veggies (I'm sure they missed one another) and chomp on some cheese. I get it. I remembered why I have to do that. My bad.
In addition to the food piece (which is never ending, really), part of my work with JN includes some yoga principles and body awareness. Think: the "my body is a temple" kind of stuff my "I love pain and cardio and competition!" mind generally doesn't handle well.
But I need it. I know this.
At least every other day I have a mini-meltdown related to what I see in the mirror or how I "feel" inside my body. I tend to always feel sloppy, lazy, "soft", pudgy...you name it. It's very black and white. For example, yesterday I wore a pair of my "sick" pants (worn while at my lowest weight) to work. They still fit, but are a little more snug than I would typically wear my pants.
The pants are a size zero Tall. They are from a store that does vanity sizing...but still, a zero nontheless (those things used to matter to me). However, because they were snug, I immediately thought to myself: "well, here we are...you knew this day was coming sooner or later. You are now a size 14 and can no longer fit into anything. Congrats. You suck."
If I had truly become a size 14 overnight...could I really have even fit into the zeros? Um...NO. Hel-lo distortion.
Likewise, JN caught a glimpse of this distortion last evening while in her yoga room. When asked to "place my feet hip's width apart", I instinctively spread 'em quite widely.
JN giggled. "Well, if that isn't an indicator body dysmorphia, I don't know what is! Um...your hips are not that wide."
I looked at my feet, set at least twelve inches to the outside of either hip. I laughed. I really thought that's where my hips were; a clear indication that I am not exactly experiencing my body as it truly is.
JN is going to attempt to help me just "be"...something I really never "am" (if that makes any sense at all). Now that I have restored some weight, learned to eat again, and have stopped trashing my body, it's now time for Step Two: minimizing the anxiety over trying to fix my body, trying to find peace with my natural weight "set point", and learning to be an intuitive eater.
And I should probably work to locate my hips, come to terms with that fact that I don't go from zero to 14 2.5 seconds after eating a piece of candy, and to see what I really look like with all the distortion stripped away.
And so I've turned down another street on this journey and added another eating disorder professional to my growing collection. But I like these people, and I eventually want to shed all of this crap...so I'm going to let them all stay just a little longer ;)
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