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.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
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.
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