Well, it's been minute. (Sorry for dropping off the face of the earth.)
Things were pretty shitty for awhile and I didn't feel like I could really write about "recovery" given the state I was in. I went back into treatment in January and was just discharged this morning, so now (while trapped on a 4+ hour flight back to DC) seemed like a good time to re-visit this blog and share some of the insights and reflections I have from the time I spent in Denver.
I guess to start I am terrified. I don't feel "confident" or "ready", or how I had hoped or envisioned that I would feel upon leaving. My eating disorder is still super present and I know it's something that I will likely be struggling with for awhile, and even though logically I know that it wasn't even remotely realistic for me to expect myself to somehow overcome a 14-year long struggle in under 4 months, it feels disappointing.
I was really panicking over the last few days, especially last night as I was packing up. The feeling was almost comparable to walking into a big exam and being hit with "shit, I should have studied harder. I should have reviewed x, y, z again. I should have asked my professor about x. I should have memorized y and z." etc. etc. (you get the point) I felt the need to have everything "together", you know the saying "all tied up with a bow"? Like that. I wanted to leave feeling like I had "done it"/like I "had my life back". I get so easily fused with that desire that it's hard to take a step back and to consider that it might not work that way. Ever. It's hard to accept that I might never feel "done".
Honestly though, are any of us? Eating disorders aside, there are always struggles and challenges that we will face as human beings, always room to grow and learn and become. I'm not finished, but that's okay. I've come a long way from where I started, and that's proof that I'm still capable of coming a long way from where I am now. (or at least that's what I'm trying to believe)
I do know that I am capable, at this point, of making different choices that will lead me towards what I want, and that wasn't always the case. I know that I don't have to do what I have always done. I have the power to choose the way in which I respond to my environment and to my triggers. I'm trying to hold onto that, and I believe that if I can that will be a huge part of what gets me through this next stage of my journey.
I also know that today I left behind a team of people who will always care for and hold hope for me, people who want me to keep fighting. And as cliche as it might sound, that helps too. Because I know there will be moments when I can't do it for "me"/when I won't see the point etc.
I was completely honest throughout this treatment - not just in regards to actual behaviors but with my thoughts and urges and everything else that I would have kept to myself in the past. I think I've often been afraid that if I shared everything it would be "too much"/that I would freak people out or force them to give up on me/to judge me, and so it was just really "cool" (for lack of a better word) to share everything with these people and to still be met with compassion and caring and most importantly, hope. My dietician would always tell me that I was the only one there who felt hopeless about me (generally as I was sitting in her office crying about how nothing was "getting better"/there was "no point" etc.) and hearing that over and over again really impacted me. I have been learning, slowly, to hold some of that hope for myself.
In my honesty with others I was forced to also be more honest with myself. Speaking to my fears and struggles has made them feel a lot more "real", and I think that higher level of awareness is largely contributing to the fear I'm feeling currently. It would've been a lot easier to have convinced myself that all of this was good now/that I could handle it etc., but that wouldn't be real. And real is, ultimately, what I'm all about. I'm trying to remind myself that while difficult, this awareness is a good thing. That ultimately it will only serve me in moving towards what I want and avoiding what I am so afraid of falling back into.
There's that too. I'm really afraid of my eating disorder right now. Not to say that there aren't aspects of recovery that terrify me as well, because there definitely are, and I'm still struggling a lot with how shitty this entire process feels, but I know that the eating disorder would be worse. Another thing my dietician would ask me a lot was "which pain are you going to choose?" It's hard because my mind feels so programmed to believe that the eating disorder behaviors will always make things better, sometimes it honestly just feels instinctual because it so freaking ingrained in me, but when I can slow down enough to be intentional about what I'm doing and why I'm doing it, I know that I don't want any of what comes as a result of those behaviors. I know that as much as I don't want to eat this stupid meal plan and don't want to maintain this weight that feels completely intolerable, I more-so don't want to ever want to be where I was a few months ago, when every waking moment was consumed either with thoughts about food and calories or about killing myself. I can't live like that. My life has to be about more than oatmeal and baby carrots and dying. I'm not spiritual, but I have to believe that I am here on this earth for some greater purpose than destroying myself. So this pain is better. I know that. I'm learning more and more to rely on that to guide my choices. It doesn't make any of this easy, but it helps.
I feel like this post was a bit scattered, but to summarize I would say that while I'm scared and still struggling, I'm also still here and fighting. I've grown, and am not in the same space that I was when I entered treatment earlier this year. I am so glad that I didn't give up then, that I decided to try again instead, and I'm so so grateful to everyone who helped me along the way.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
It's Been Awhile...
It has really been far too long since I've written on this blog, and I'm sorry for how I've somehow let it completely fall to the way-side over the last few months. Between working and going to school full-time, my life has been a bit crazy and hectic of late, which in many ways has been strangely welcome, as I feel that I am finally creating a life that is more than the small existence I've known for so many years. Things are definitely far from perfect, and I do continue to struggle with various aspects of the eating disorder/am still trying to navigate through the challenges of recovery on a day-to-day basis, but I am building something that feels worth sticking around for, and that is so much more than I've ever been able to say for myself before.
I felt prompted to write on here after receiving the heartbreaking news yesterday that a friend, who I met in treatment several years ago, had passed away last week due to the ongoing struggle she'd had with the disorder. This friend and I hadn't maintained close contact after treatment, but I tried to check in on her every now and then and still attempted to keep tabs on her through social media. I knew that things were not necessarily going "well" for her, but I had no idea how bad things actually were. I don't have words to explain what it felt like to pull up her obituary, reading that she "died peacefully at home", and "was survived by her grandparents, parents, and younger sisters". It just doesn't seem real. And it shouldn't be.
I think that the sentiment is shared by all who knew her, and even those that didn't. She was only 25. She was bright, funny, caring, and so deeply loved by so many people. She deserved a future, a life that would have stretched on for many more years. Death is something we all struggle to make sense of, regardless of the deceased person's age or the cause(s) associated with their parting, but I think in cases such as this one it becomes even more difficult to grasp. I've read through some of the comments left on her online memorial page and her personal Facebook wall, and while I know that all of these messages were written simply to express love for this individual and her family, there were many that expressed sorrow over the fact that she had "lost her battle", how they wish they could have given her "the strength to keep fighting"- and that is what I wanted to take some time to write about this morning.
It is a common way that people speak about illness, especially mental illness - referring to the sick individual as a "fighter", encouraging them to "be strong" to "fight harder" and to not let the illness "win". It is meant, I am sure, as a means of encouragement or empowerment. To somehow communicate to the individual belief that they have the capability to "turn things around". But as someone who has been in that place more times than I would like to recount, I have never experienced it to be either of those things. (encouraging or empowering) Rather, it just exacerbated the beliefs I already held that there was something inherently wrong with me that I couldn't just "be stronger" and "fight my way through". Illnesses are not battles. There are times, of course, where there are parallels (my mental real estate does often feel like some sort of World War III) but it is not the same. I am someone who struggles with a mental illness. I am not a soldier or a warrior or a fighter etc. etc. And the same was true for my friend. She did not die last week because she lacked the strength to keep trying. And I don't believe that if she had been stronger or if she had "fought harder" that the outcome necessarily would have been different. She had an illness. I think that there are many factors that play into whether or not a person recovers, and I am not sure, given our experiences together and conversations thereafter, that she ever truly received the treatment she needed, but I don't see personal strength as being one of them. To imply such is to subtly (or not so subtly) shame those who remain sick and unable to "beat" their disease. It is truly no different than saying that someone with terminal cancer "lost their battle", or "could not keep fighting". The psyche is powerful, yes, but illness is far too complex to be "fought against" by sheer strength and will. It simply does not work that way.
I feel protective not only of my dear friend who passed, but of my other friends who continue to struggle. I do not want the (well-intentioned) "inspirational" messages to invalidate the larger reality of a disease that is outside of their immediate control, and more than anything I don't want this friend, or any of my friends, to be remembered as being "not strong enough to win their battle." Recovery does involve choices, hard ones, and lots of them - so I also don't want this post to communicate hopelessness or helplessness in the midst of struggle, but it is far more complex than just "fighting". My best friend took her life after spending over a decade struggling with both Anorexia and Bulimia, and one of the things she talked about with regularity was the feeling that she was defective, that there was "something missing" - because she wanted recovery so, so badly and tried time after time with every ounce of persistence and resilience known to mankind, and still couldn't seem to 'make it happen'. I think there is a wide-spread misunderstanding surrounding eating disorders and mental illnesses in general, that if an individual wants to get better badly enough, and if they try harder enough, they will be able to. And while I wish it were that simple, I don't believe that it works that way. I don't believe that every person out there is capable of recovery, and I think we need to stop speaking as though that is the case.
I hope this post doesn't feel discouraging or disheartening to those who read it, but having seen so many of these messages floating around on social media, especially in reference to someone whom I cared so much about, I felt the need to share my perspective. My friend did not get well simply because she did not get well. Not everyone does. She did not pass away due to lacking the necessary strength to get better, and I want her to be remembered not as someone who "lost her battle", but as the wonderful person that she was.
I felt prompted to write on here after receiving the heartbreaking news yesterday that a friend, who I met in treatment several years ago, had passed away last week due to the ongoing struggle she'd had with the disorder. This friend and I hadn't maintained close contact after treatment, but I tried to check in on her every now and then and still attempted to keep tabs on her through social media. I knew that things were not necessarily going "well" for her, but I had no idea how bad things actually were. I don't have words to explain what it felt like to pull up her obituary, reading that she "died peacefully at home", and "was survived by her grandparents, parents, and younger sisters". It just doesn't seem real. And it shouldn't be.
I think that the sentiment is shared by all who knew her, and even those that didn't. She was only 25. She was bright, funny, caring, and so deeply loved by so many people. She deserved a future, a life that would have stretched on for many more years. Death is something we all struggle to make sense of, regardless of the deceased person's age or the cause(s) associated with their parting, but I think in cases such as this one it becomes even more difficult to grasp. I've read through some of the comments left on her online memorial page and her personal Facebook wall, and while I know that all of these messages were written simply to express love for this individual and her family, there were many that expressed sorrow over the fact that she had "lost her battle", how they wish they could have given her "the strength to keep fighting"- and that is what I wanted to take some time to write about this morning.
It is a common way that people speak about illness, especially mental illness - referring to the sick individual as a "fighter", encouraging them to "be strong" to "fight harder" and to not let the illness "win". It is meant, I am sure, as a means of encouragement or empowerment. To somehow communicate to the individual belief that they have the capability to "turn things around". But as someone who has been in that place more times than I would like to recount, I have never experienced it to be either of those things. (encouraging or empowering) Rather, it just exacerbated the beliefs I already held that there was something inherently wrong with me that I couldn't just "be stronger" and "fight my way through". Illnesses are not battles. There are times, of course, where there are parallels (my mental real estate does often feel like some sort of World War III) but it is not the same. I am someone who struggles with a mental illness. I am not a soldier or a warrior or a fighter etc. etc. And the same was true for my friend. She did not die last week because she lacked the strength to keep trying. And I don't believe that if she had been stronger or if she had "fought harder" that the outcome necessarily would have been different. She had an illness. I think that there are many factors that play into whether or not a person recovers, and I am not sure, given our experiences together and conversations thereafter, that she ever truly received the treatment she needed, but I don't see personal strength as being one of them. To imply such is to subtly (or not so subtly) shame those who remain sick and unable to "beat" their disease. It is truly no different than saying that someone with terminal cancer "lost their battle", or "could not keep fighting". The psyche is powerful, yes, but illness is far too complex to be "fought against" by sheer strength and will. It simply does not work that way.
I feel protective not only of my dear friend who passed, but of my other friends who continue to struggle. I do not want the (well-intentioned) "inspirational" messages to invalidate the larger reality of a disease that is outside of their immediate control, and more than anything I don't want this friend, or any of my friends, to be remembered as being "not strong enough to win their battle." Recovery does involve choices, hard ones, and lots of them - so I also don't want this post to communicate hopelessness or helplessness in the midst of struggle, but it is far more complex than just "fighting". My best friend took her life after spending over a decade struggling with both Anorexia and Bulimia, and one of the things she talked about with regularity was the feeling that she was defective, that there was "something missing" - because she wanted recovery so, so badly and tried time after time with every ounce of persistence and resilience known to mankind, and still couldn't seem to 'make it happen'. I think there is a wide-spread misunderstanding surrounding eating disorders and mental illnesses in general, that if an individual wants to get better badly enough, and if they try harder enough, they will be able to. And while I wish it were that simple, I don't believe that it works that way. I don't believe that every person out there is capable of recovery, and I think we need to stop speaking as though that is the case.
I hope this post doesn't feel discouraging or disheartening to those who read it, but having seen so many of these messages floating around on social media, especially in reference to someone whom I cared so much about, I felt the need to share my perspective. My friend did not get well simply because she did not get well. Not everyone does. She did not pass away due to lacking the necessary strength to get better, and I want her to be remembered not as someone who "lost her battle", but as the wonderful person that she was.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Does "Having an Idea" Really Help?
First off, I want to sincerely thank all of you who shared my post on NEDA. Your support of me and this blog really means so, so much and I am so grateful for all of you.
After seeing all of the National Eating Disorder Awareness Week posts Facebook/Instagram etc. (and there have been a lot!) I wanted to write something more on here.
NEDA's theme this year is "I Had No Idea" and the majority of the posts that I've seen have followed that theme, with statements such as "I had no idea that my diet would lead to x, y, z" or "I had no idea that over-exercise was making me sick.."etc. and while I don't at all think that anyone really has an "idea" of what they're in for when first developing an eating disorder, there's something about all those posts that has just really rubbed me the wrong way.
These messages seem as though they're meant as "warnings" to someone who might be susceptible to developing an eating disorder. ("I didn't know that this would happen to me, but now that you do know, don't do it!) I see a lot of posts about prevention, articles stating that through increasing awareness we'll be able to decrease the number of people who suffer from the disorder.
It's a noble goal, no doubt. And I don't think there is anything wrong with efforts towards awareness. However, I don't believe that eating disorders are preventable, or that if people knew more about what they were getting into they wouldn't "choose" to develop the illness. Eating disorders, while definitely impacted by one's environment, aren't the result of environment alone. There are such strong biological and genetic factors that play into who gets sick and who doesn't that unless we're able to determine a way to alter a person's genetic makeup, we aren't ever going to be able to "prevent" eating disorders. And in talking about these disorders as though they are something an individual either chooses or doesn't, or as something that we can warn people about, we aren't doing anyone a bit of good. (quite the opposite, actually)
When I first began struggling, I had a lot of people try to "talk me out of it", told that I was going to die, that my body would start eating itself/that my bones would start decaying, that my hair would fall out etc. etc. I was told that I'd be sent to the hospital if I couldn't start eating at home (and was then told lots of horror stories about the hospital in effort to 'scare' me into getting my act together..), that I'd never be able to have kids when I was older (as a child my dream was to be the exact replica of my mom when I grew up, so that was a really big scare) and yet none of that information stopped my simple attempt at the Special K diet from spiraling into a full-blown mental disorder. You can't warn someone out of developing schizophrenia or OCD. The sick individual does not "choose" to be sick because they aren't aware of the consequences involved. No one chooses a mental illness at all. The disorder chooses the individual who is biologically pre-disposed to the illness, and yet somehow the majority of the efforts at "awareness" seem to be imply that it's the other way around.
I think awareness is important, but I see the purpose and goal of awareness as not preventing the disorder but as finding better methods to treat those who are already sick. Most all of the girls I've met in treatment have known that the eating disorder wasn't "a good idea", but that didn't stop them from continuing to struggle. And if the professionals treating those with eating disorders are operating under the assumption that these diseases are choices/something that a person could be warned against or talked out of, those being "treated" are left at a pretty scary disadvantage, because all good intentions aside, you can't treat what you don't understand.
As I've written before, I do believe that there are choices in recovery and I never want my writing to imply that I see the person with an eating disorder as being helpless in the face of their struggle, but I don't believe that anyone - ever - regardless of whether they are properly informed and aware of the risks involved - can choose whether or not to get sick. I wish we could prevent eating disorders with awareness, but it just doesn't work that way.
This feels like a rather disheartening note to end on, but if you take anything from this post I hope it is more compassion for yourself in your struggle. You didn't choose this. You couldn't have known better or been more aware. It wouldn't have mattered. (And for those who don't struggle personally, but love someone who does, I hope you know too that you neither caused the disorder nor could have prevented it or seen it coming/intervened earlier etc.) I would also really love to hear any of your thoughts and opinion - so please feel free to comment and share your input!
After seeing all of the National Eating Disorder Awareness Week posts Facebook/Instagram etc. (and there have been a lot!) I wanted to write something more on here.
NEDA's theme this year is "I Had No Idea" and the majority of the posts that I've seen have followed that theme, with statements such as "I had no idea that my diet would lead to x, y, z" or "I had no idea that over-exercise was making me sick.."etc. and while I don't at all think that anyone really has an "idea" of what they're in for when first developing an eating disorder, there's something about all those posts that has just really rubbed me the wrong way.
These messages seem as though they're meant as "warnings" to someone who might be susceptible to developing an eating disorder. ("I didn't know that this would happen to me, but now that you do know, don't do it!) I see a lot of posts about prevention, articles stating that through increasing awareness we'll be able to decrease the number of people who suffer from the disorder.
It's a noble goal, no doubt. And I don't think there is anything wrong with efforts towards awareness. However, I don't believe that eating disorders are preventable, or that if people knew more about what they were getting into they wouldn't "choose" to develop the illness. Eating disorders, while definitely impacted by one's environment, aren't the result of environment alone. There are such strong biological and genetic factors that play into who gets sick and who doesn't that unless we're able to determine a way to alter a person's genetic makeup, we aren't ever going to be able to "prevent" eating disorders. And in talking about these disorders as though they are something an individual either chooses or doesn't, or as something that we can warn people about, we aren't doing anyone a bit of good. (quite the opposite, actually)
When I first began struggling, I had a lot of people try to "talk me out of it", told that I was going to die, that my body would start eating itself/that my bones would start decaying, that my hair would fall out etc. etc. I was told that I'd be sent to the hospital if I couldn't start eating at home (and was then told lots of horror stories about the hospital in effort to 'scare' me into getting my act together..), that I'd never be able to have kids when I was older (as a child my dream was to be the exact replica of my mom when I grew up, so that was a really big scare) and yet none of that information stopped my simple attempt at the Special K diet from spiraling into a full-blown mental disorder. You can't warn someone out of developing schizophrenia or OCD. The sick individual does not "choose" to be sick because they aren't aware of the consequences involved. No one chooses a mental illness at all. The disorder chooses the individual who is biologically pre-disposed to the illness, and yet somehow the majority of the efforts at "awareness" seem to be imply that it's the other way around.
I think awareness is important, but I see the purpose and goal of awareness as not preventing the disorder but as finding better methods to treat those who are already sick. Most all of the girls I've met in treatment have known that the eating disorder wasn't "a good idea", but that didn't stop them from continuing to struggle. And if the professionals treating those with eating disorders are operating under the assumption that these diseases are choices/something that a person could be warned against or talked out of, those being "treated" are left at a pretty scary disadvantage, because all good intentions aside, you can't treat what you don't understand.
As I've written before, I do believe that there are choices in recovery and I never want my writing to imply that I see the person with an eating disorder as being helpless in the face of their struggle, but I don't believe that anyone - ever - regardless of whether they are properly informed and aware of the risks involved - can choose whether or not to get sick. I wish we could prevent eating disorders with awareness, but it just doesn't work that way.
This feels like a rather disheartening note to end on, but if you take anything from this post I hope it is more compassion for yourself in your struggle. You didn't choose this. You couldn't have known better or been more aware. It wouldn't have mattered. (And for those who don't struggle personally, but love someone who does, I hope you know too that you neither caused the disorder nor could have prevented it or seen it coming/intervened earlier etc.) I would also really love to hear any of your thoughts and opinion - so please feel free to comment and share your input!
Thursday, February 5, 2015
For NEDA Week...
As we're getting into February, I've once again been seeing lots of post on social media about National Eating Disorders Awareness Week (Feb. 22nd-28th) and while I don't mean to sound cynical, I really kind of wonder what people think their posts are going to accomplish, or what the week as a whole is supposed to accomplish. And I wonder if any of my friends who participate in the walks and fundraisers each year have ever actually questioned what the National Eating Disorders Assosciation as an organization is really accomplishing.
It's made me think of the article I submitted to Huffington Post earlier this year on my own experience and thoughts on NEDA, and I've decided to share it on here.
---
Having spent over 12 years struggling with an eating disorder, I had definitely heard of NEDA (The National Eating Disorders Association). I'd seen lots of girls with the “recovery” tattoos (the NEDA logo) and the social media posts advertising NEDA fundraising Walks. The hospital programs I had been treated at were decorated with NEDA posters about "loving your genes" and being "be-you-tiful.” However, I never had any personal contact with NEDA until June of 2013 when I was hospitalized at the ACUTE Center for Eating Disorders in Denver, Colorado.
This admission to ACUTE followed several months of denied access to the treatment that was necessary to keep me alive. (I had sought inpatient treatment earlier in the year, but was discharged after “using” my allotted 15 days of coverage.) I admitted to ACUTE on a Thursday in June at 58% of my ideal body weight. My liver was failing, and my glucose level hovered between 14-20 mg/dL (normal is 80-100). I was told that, had I not admitted when I did, I wouldn't have made it through the weekend. I could feel myself dying at that point - physically, mentally, emotionally - and it was terrifying. I didn't want to die, but, after months of trying, I knew that I couldn't save myself.
ACUTE is only a medical unit, used as a prerequisite to treatment when a patient is too medically compromised to participate in traditional inpatient programs. The plan upon my admission was for me to stabilize at ACUTE and step-down to an inpatient hospital with the hope that I’d be able to get more time approved by my insurance. Two weeks into my hospitalization, my case manager told me that I didn't have ANY inpatient days left for the year; unless they were able to help me find a scholarship, I would have to go home directly from ACUTE. I was told that this would buy me, at most, a few months to say goodbye to my family and loved ones, and that without further treatment, I would die.
I was encouraged to contact NEDA, who may have been able to provide me with resources to access treatment. I was terrified. The prospect of going home to die wasn't something I could really wrap my mind around, so I called their hotline.
I explained my situation and was told that they didn't offer treatment scholarships. It was explained to me that their funding went toward "promoting awareness" rather than funding treatment, "in hopes of creating a world in which eating disorders do not exist." (To which I thought, “Well, it looks like you’re about to have a world with one less.”)
I was confused, as I had always assumed that NEDA fundraisers and walks went toward helping people with eating disorders, and curious: if they aren't helping people with eating disorders directly, where does all of this money go? I did some research and what I found made me feel sick to my stomach:
-Lighting up the Empire State Building green and blue for National Eating Disorders Awareness Week in February. (NEDAW)
-Bringing life-sized Barbie mannequins into schools to illustrate that, if Barbie were human, she would have to walk on all fours.
-Circulating articles such as, "10 Reasons to Date a Girl in Recovery from an Eating Disorder” (I really wish that I was kidding..)
-Posters with pictures of toilet bowls that read "How Many People Will We Lose on This Diet Each Year?”
"Research" on "What percentage of American women wear lipstick?" and "What percentage of American women have been on a diet?"
-Documentaries on Photoshop and the evils of the media.
I could go on...
What I didn't find, however, were any efforts being made to actually help anyone struggling with an eating disorder. And honestly nothing to raise any sort of true awareness as to what an eating disorder is or what the experience of having one is like.
For NEDAW (along with lighting up the empire state building), they put out an info-graphic titled "The War on Women's Bodies: The Media, Body Hatred, and Eating Disorders." There is enough worth discussing in the title alone, but as I looked through it I realized that most of the information it provided was beside the point.
The first point on the graphic: "98% of women are not as thin as fashion models." Great. Next: "The average American Woman is 5'4'' and weighs 165 pounds. The average Miss America winner is 5'7'' and weighs 112 pounds" It continued from there, “What percentage of girls and women think they are fat?”etc, etc,
Nowhere on the info-graphic did NEDA highlight the percentage of people who die because they can't access the care that they need,or the percentage of patients kicked out of treatment prematurely due to lack of insurance coverage, or what eating disorders are, how they differ from “diets” and how they ruin lives.
Eating disorders are not caused by Barbie. Or the media. Or however much Miss America weighs. If they were, we'd all have eating disorders. They are mental illnesses. I wasn't getting diet tips from Self magazine prior to my admission to ACUTE. I was locking myself in my bedroom for weeks on end because I was afraid of 'inhaling' the calories that I believed would be in the air if I was anywhere around food. And I truly could not have cared less as to how much Miss America weighed. To be honest, I wasn't really even that focused on how much I myself weighed. Because at the end of the day, that's not what eating disorders are about. My eating disorder was driven by an inability to live with myself, a need to get rid of who I was. And then eventually, I just got so sick that it wasn't driven by anything anymore and I was dying and terrified but too stuck to do anything about it.
I needed help. And unfortunately, help wasn't there.
I know that I'm not the only one. I know that there are thousands of other men, women, and children in situations similar to mine. And they're not getting help either. That isn't okay.
It isn't okay that people are dying because they aren't able to access the treatment they need, and meanwhile the National Eating Disorders Association is spending thousands to light up the empire state building ("lighting the way to recovery").
Something needs to change.
I did eventually get the help that I needed (I went home, relapsed, got a new insurance policy at the end of the year, and went back) I still had to leave early due to insurance cutting out, but I was able to stay long enough to really begin doing the work of recovery, and even though things are remain very difficult, I'm strong enough now to continue doing that work on my own. Part of that work has included finding (and using) my voice, and seeing it as one that matters, and that's what I'm doing here.
It's made me think of the article I submitted to Huffington Post earlier this year on my own experience and thoughts on NEDA, and I've decided to share it on here.
---
Having spent over 12 years struggling with an eating disorder, I had definitely heard of NEDA (The National Eating Disorders Association). I'd seen lots of girls with the “recovery” tattoos (the NEDA logo) and the social media posts advertising NEDA fundraising Walks. The hospital programs I had been treated at were decorated with NEDA posters about "loving your genes" and being "be-you-tiful.” However, I never had any personal contact with NEDA until June of 2013 when I was hospitalized at the ACUTE Center for Eating Disorders in Denver, Colorado.
This admission to ACUTE followed several months of denied access to the treatment that was necessary to keep me alive. (I had sought inpatient treatment earlier in the year, but was discharged after “using” my allotted 15 days of coverage.) I admitted to ACUTE on a Thursday in June at 58% of my ideal body weight. My liver was failing, and my glucose level hovered between 14-20 mg/dL (normal is 80-100). I was told that, had I not admitted when I did, I wouldn't have made it through the weekend. I could feel myself dying at that point - physically, mentally, emotionally - and it was terrifying. I didn't want to die, but, after months of trying, I knew that I couldn't save myself.
ACUTE is only a medical unit, used as a prerequisite to treatment when a patient is too medically compromised to participate in traditional inpatient programs. The plan upon my admission was for me to stabilize at ACUTE and step-down to an inpatient hospital with the hope that I’d be able to get more time approved by my insurance. Two weeks into my hospitalization, my case manager told me that I didn't have ANY inpatient days left for the year; unless they were able to help me find a scholarship, I would have to go home directly from ACUTE. I was told that this would buy me, at most, a few months to say goodbye to my family and loved ones, and that without further treatment, I would die.
I was encouraged to contact NEDA, who may have been able to provide me with resources to access treatment. I was terrified. The prospect of going home to die wasn't something I could really wrap my mind around, so I called their hotline.
I explained my situation and was told that they didn't offer treatment scholarships. It was explained to me that their funding went toward "promoting awareness" rather than funding treatment, "in hopes of creating a world in which eating disorders do not exist." (To which I thought, “Well, it looks like you’re about to have a world with one less.”)
I was confused, as I had always assumed that NEDA fundraisers and walks went toward helping people with eating disorders, and curious: if they aren't helping people with eating disorders directly, where does all of this money go? I did some research and what I found made me feel sick to my stomach:
-Lighting up the Empire State Building green and blue for National Eating Disorders Awareness Week in February. (NEDAW)
-Bringing life-sized Barbie mannequins into schools to illustrate that, if Barbie were human, she would have to walk on all fours.
-Circulating articles such as, "10 Reasons to Date a Girl in Recovery from an Eating Disorder” (I really wish that I was kidding..)
-Posters with pictures of toilet bowls that read "How Many People Will We Lose on This Diet Each Year?”
"Research" on "What percentage of American women wear lipstick?" and "What percentage of American women have been on a diet?"
-Documentaries on Photoshop and the evils of the media.
I could go on...
What I didn't find, however, were any efforts being made to actually help anyone struggling with an eating disorder. And honestly nothing to raise any sort of true awareness as to what an eating disorder is or what the experience of having one is like.
For NEDAW (along with lighting up the empire state building), they put out an info-graphic titled "The War on Women's Bodies: The Media, Body Hatred, and Eating Disorders." There is enough worth discussing in the title alone, but as I looked through it I realized that most of the information it provided was beside the point.
The first point on the graphic: "98% of women are not as thin as fashion models." Great. Next: "The average American Woman is 5'4'' and weighs 165 pounds. The average Miss America winner is 5'7'' and weighs 112 pounds" It continued from there, “What percentage of girls and women think they are fat?”etc, etc,
Nowhere on the info-graphic did NEDA highlight the percentage of people who die because they can't access the care that they need,or the percentage of patients kicked out of treatment prematurely due to lack of insurance coverage, or what eating disorders are, how they differ from “diets” and how they ruin lives.
Eating disorders are not caused by Barbie. Or the media. Or however much Miss America weighs. If they were, we'd all have eating disorders. They are mental illnesses. I wasn't getting diet tips from Self magazine prior to my admission to ACUTE. I was locking myself in my bedroom for weeks on end because I was afraid of 'inhaling' the calories that I believed would be in the air if I was anywhere around food. And I truly could not have cared less as to how much Miss America weighed. To be honest, I wasn't really even that focused on how much I myself weighed. Because at the end of the day, that's not what eating disorders are about. My eating disorder was driven by an inability to live with myself, a need to get rid of who I was. And then eventually, I just got so sick that it wasn't driven by anything anymore and I was dying and terrified but too stuck to do anything about it.
I needed help. And unfortunately, help wasn't there.
I know that I'm not the only one. I know that there are thousands of other men, women, and children in situations similar to mine. And they're not getting help either. That isn't okay.
It isn't okay that people are dying because they aren't able to access the treatment they need, and meanwhile the National Eating Disorders Association is spending thousands to light up the empire state building ("lighting the way to recovery").
Something needs to change.
I did eventually get the help that I needed (I went home, relapsed, got a new insurance policy at the end of the year, and went back) I still had to leave early due to insurance cutting out, but I was able to stay long enough to really begin doing the work of recovery, and even though things are remain very difficult, I'm strong enough now to continue doing that work on my own. Part of that work has included finding (and using) my voice, and seeing it as one that matters, and that's what I'm doing here.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
On "Recovery"
I've had a really hard time deciding what I wanted to write about in this next post, (Per usual, I suck with decisions) I've been torn between a few different things, but I think I want to dedicate this space to writing about the idea of "recovery", as I think it's something that is often misunderstood by both those who suffer with eating disorders and their friends, families, and treatment providers.
"Recovery" is a term thrown about so often in the world of eating disorders and treatment that I think sometimes we don't really stop to think about what we're actually referring to.
"Is skipping that snack going to move you towards recovery?" "Do the next right thing for your recovery." "Recovery is so worth it - don't give up!" "Recovery is possible!" We hear these things all the time. But what is "recovery"?
Some claim that it is the complete absence of eating disorder thoughts and urges. Others will say that it's simply learning to live with the thoughts and urges and manage them in a way that doesn't allow them to interfere with the rest of your life. I think it looks different for everyone, and I feel like that is what we often overlook and fail to understand.
I would love to believe that it is possible for everyone, myself included, to "fully recover". And I know this might be slightly controversial and may sound pessimistic, but I don't. And truthfully, I think that the message that "full recovery is possible for everyone!" is often more harmful than it is encouraging.
While I am genuinely happy for the (few) girls I met in treatment who have been able to reach what they consider "fully recovered", I think it's important to recognize that they're a minority, and that most people with eating disorders do continue to struggle, at least minimally, for the rest of their lives. I do think that it's possible to go on and live a fulfilling life while still having those remnants of struggle, but I think it becomes difficult to really appreciate the joy and beauty that can be found amidst struggle when we are constantly told that we could have more, that we are "settling". I know that for myself personally, it has taken a hell of a lot of really hard work to get to where I am today, and while I may not be Jenni Schaefer (I have yet to make a "Recovered." t-shirt...), I am alive and am able to really be present in my life in a way that I haven't been able to in years. The eating disorder still takes up a good deal of my mental real-estate, and I'm definitely not free or comfortable around food, but at this point I have accepted that a brain with no eating disorder thoughts is probably not really in the cards for me, and I'm okay with that. I think of it as the volume on my phone. Last December everything in my head was blaring so, so loud that I couldn't hear anything else around me (and I felt like my eardrums were going to explode), and now, while the it's definitely still there, but the volume is low enough that it's just background noise. I can still hear and focus on other things, and sometimes I honestly forget that it's even there. I don't see it ever fully going away for me, and I no longer really have that as a goal. My goal is simply to continue building a life that is worth living in spite of it.
I have struggled in the past with comparing myself to other girls and women I was in treatment with who did seem able to "just snap out of it" while I continued to struggle. I don't think there's any way to completely make sense of how two people can enter treatment at the same time, both motivated and wanting "recovery", and yet each have such different outcomes. I do think, however, that there are certain factors that definitely play into it...age of onset, other co-morbid disorders such OCD, depression, anxiety, PTSD, how long the person was struggling before seeking treatment/how long they have been sick, what their home environment is like/what sort of support system they have etc. etc. (I could go on and on...) Every individual's struggle is unique to them, and while I think there is (some) understanding around that, I don't feel that we generally acknowledge that in the same way each individual's recovery is unique to them. Not everyone is going to be capable of achieving full freedom from the eating disorder, and if we all continue striving for that, I think we're doing ourselves a disservice. I also think that seeking to encourage or motivate someone who struggles by telling them that "recovery is possible! (insert random name) is proof that you really can move past it!" is not helpful. No one else can serve as "proof" that anything is possible for another individual, because in spite of the many similarities some of us may have with each other, we've none lived the same lives and we none share all the same experiences and struggles.
I don't mean for this post to be discouraging, or to seem as though I am advising people to stop striving towards a life that is more free of the eating disorder. I personally still hope to make further progress in the realm of what I feel safe and comfortable with, and being "in recovery" is something that I'm still working on daily. But freedom and recovery are things that will have very different definitions for different people, and I cannot stress enough the importance of acknowledging that.
I encourage those of you reading who do struggle to take some time to reflect on how you personally define "being in recovery", and what "recovery" really means to you. I've found that defining and owning my own personal journey, (and accepting that it isn't going to look identical to anyone else's) has been one of the most powerful and beneficial things I've been able to do for myself, and my hope is that you might have a similar experience in doing so.
I'm going to try to write my next topic later this week, so until then I'm wishing you all the best. Thank you again to everyone who reads this - you all are the best!
"Recovery" is a term thrown about so often in the world of eating disorders and treatment that I think sometimes we don't really stop to think about what we're actually referring to.
"Is skipping that snack going to move you towards recovery?" "Do the next right thing for your recovery." "Recovery is so worth it - don't give up!" "Recovery is possible!" We hear these things all the time. But what is "recovery"?
Some claim that it is the complete absence of eating disorder thoughts and urges. Others will say that it's simply learning to live with the thoughts and urges and manage them in a way that doesn't allow them to interfere with the rest of your life. I think it looks different for everyone, and I feel like that is what we often overlook and fail to understand.
I would love to believe that it is possible for everyone, myself included, to "fully recover". And I know this might be slightly controversial and may sound pessimistic, but I don't. And truthfully, I think that the message that "full recovery is possible for everyone!" is often more harmful than it is encouraging.
While I am genuinely happy for the (few) girls I met in treatment who have been able to reach what they consider "fully recovered", I think it's important to recognize that they're a minority, and that most people with eating disorders do continue to struggle, at least minimally, for the rest of their lives. I do think that it's possible to go on and live a fulfilling life while still having those remnants of struggle, but I think it becomes difficult to really appreciate the joy and beauty that can be found amidst struggle when we are constantly told that we could have more, that we are "settling". I know that for myself personally, it has taken a hell of a lot of really hard work to get to where I am today, and while I may not be Jenni Schaefer (I have yet to make a "Recovered." t-shirt...), I am alive and am able to really be present in my life in a way that I haven't been able to in years. The eating disorder still takes up a good deal of my mental real-estate, and I'm definitely not free or comfortable around food, but at this point I have accepted that a brain with no eating disorder thoughts is probably not really in the cards for me, and I'm okay with that. I think of it as the volume on my phone. Last December everything in my head was blaring so, so loud that I couldn't hear anything else around me (and I felt like my eardrums were going to explode), and now, while the it's definitely still there, but the volume is low enough that it's just background noise. I can still hear and focus on other things, and sometimes I honestly forget that it's even there. I don't see it ever fully going away for me, and I no longer really have that as a goal. My goal is simply to continue building a life that is worth living in spite of it.
I have struggled in the past with comparing myself to other girls and women I was in treatment with who did seem able to "just snap out of it" while I continued to struggle. I don't think there's any way to completely make sense of how two people can enter treatment at the same time, both motivated and wanting "recovery", and yet each have such different outcomes. I do think, however, that there are certain factors that definitely play into it...age of onset, other co-morbid disorders such OCD, depression, anxiety, PTSD, how long the person was struggling before seeking treatment/how long they have been sick, what their home environment is like/what sort of support system they have etc. etc. (I could go on and on...) Every individual's struggle is unique to them, and while I think there is (some) understanding around that, I don't feel that we generally acknowledge that in the same way each individual's recovery is unique to them. Not everyone is going to be capable of achieving full freedom from the eating disorder, and if we all continue striving for that, I think we're doing ourselves a disservice. I also think that seeking to encourage or motivate someone who struggles by telling them that "recovery is possible! (insert random name) is proof that you really can move past it!" is not helpful. No one else can serve as "proof" that anything is possible for another individual, because in spite of the many similarities some of us may have with each other, we've none lived the same lives and we none share all the same experiences and struggles.
I don't mean for this post to be discouraging, or to seem as though I am advising people to stop striving towards a life that is more free of the eating disorder. I personally still hope to make further progress in the realm of what I feel safe and comfortable with, and being "in recovery" is something that I'm still working on daily. But freedom and recovery are things that will have very different definitions for different people, and I cannot stress enough the importance of acknowledging that.
I encourage those of you reading who do struggle to take some time to reflect on how you personally define "being in recovery", and what "recovery" really means to you. I've found that defining and owning my own personal journey, (and accepting that it isn't going to look identical to anyone else's) has been one of the most powerful and beneficial things I've been able to do for myself, and my hope is that you might have a similar experience in doing so.
I'm going to try to write my next topic later this week, so until then I'm wishing you all the best. Thank you again to everyone who reads this - you all are the best!
Saturday, August 2, 2014
What I Would Say...
A few days ago my mom told me that one of her friends had called her to talk about her teenage daughter, who she fears is developing an eating disorder. My mom and I talked some about what the friend had disclosed, and the situation does sound very concerning. I don't know the daughter, and I doubt she knows who I am either, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about her (and her mom) since. Given that she doesn't know me, I figured it would probably freak her out if I were to try to write her personally (I've thought about it, trust me) but in the hopes that maybe she or her mother would come across this post, I wanted to write about what I wish I was able to say to both myself and to my parents 11 years ago when I first began struggling.
More than anything, I wish there had been some way that I could have shown my younger self the following years would unfold, where the decisions I was making then would lead me. I don't think I really understood what I was doing at all, and sometimes I think that if I had known I would've stopped before things got really bad. And yet as much as I want to believe that I would have, part of me is almost certain that I would've shrugged it off and convinced myself that I wouldn't let it get that out of hand, that I just needed to stay under a certain weight, under a certain number of calories, just had to lose however many pounds and then I'd stop. I would probably still have found a way to convince myself that I was in control. I'm not sure if there's any way to really help someone who is beginning to struggle realize the grave reality of where they're headed. Like I said, I don't know the girl my mom spoke to me about, but just hearing about her struggle from the perspective of her mother, I feel so helpless. It's watching a horror movie during the scene when the girl is about to open a closet door and you know there's someone in there with an axe and you want to be able to tell her "No! Don't do it! Don't open that!"..but you can't. There's nothing you can do that will stop the person in the movie from opening the closet and well, yeah. It sucks.
I was so, so convinced that I had control of it then, even though so many people tried to tell me that I didn't. And by the time I realized that I didn't, it was too late. I couldn't get out of it.
To my parents, there is so much that I would say. First and foremost that I do not in any way blame them, that they did not "cause" this, and that I really don't think that they could have done anything to prevent it. My eating disorder was not a by-product of over-controlling parents or too much pressure to measure up to certain standards etc. etc. My parents loved me, and while they weren't perfect, I know that they always had the best intentions in everything they did. When I first got sick, I remember my mom used to write me little notes all the time, and she would always ask me, "What can I do? How can I help you?", she told me over and over again that she would do anything, and she would beg me, that if I couldn't eat for myself, could I please do it for her? If I could go back and answer those questions now, I would tell her not to wait, not to give me "one more chance" (regardless of how much I begged her to) before putting me into treatment. I would tell her to never believe my promises that I would "eat more this week" or "try harder". I would tell her that I was sick with a mental illness and that I couldn't be reasoned with logically, and that this wasn't a problem that could be fixed by going to the store and buying all the foods that used to be my favorites/that this wasn't a diet I could just snap out of. It took my mom a long time to start calling my struggle "an eating disorder", even when I was first in treatment she referred to it as "my diet"/"my food problem" - I think it was hard for her to grasp that I was actually suffering from a mental illness, and if I could, I'd go back and try to help her understand/accept that. She used to tell me she just wanted "her Rachel" back, and I think one of the most important things I would tell her is that "her Rachel" never went anywhere/that beneath the struggle I was still there - always. It always broke my heart when she or my grandma would say that - because I felt like whatever I was wasn't acceptable, and I didn't know how to go back to "the old Rachel". I would also just want to apologize, to both of my parents, and really to everyone in my family - for the way I'd end up treating them throughout the duration of my struggle, for all the lies and manipulating and all the "I-hate-you-you-are-ruining-my-life"s/the screaming and crying over muffins, smoothies and ensures/all of that. I would apologize for interrupting the happiness that had always been a part of our family dinners, holidays, and vacations. I know that my struggle changed all of these things. More than anything though, I would thank them. I would thank them for all the things I hated them for at the time - sitting through all the crying and screaming and still making me eat, driving up to the school parking lot to eat lunch with me, dragging me to doctor's appointments, dragging me to treatment. I would thank them for not trusting me - for checking my ensures before I drank them to make sure I hadn't re-filled the bottles with water or cut off/re-pasted the "ensure plus" wrapper onto a regular ensure bottle (it happened..), making me shake it out before I threw it away, establishing the rule that "if they didn't see me eat it, it didn't count"...all of those things. Sure, it didn't save me. Ultimately I do believe that someone needs to truly desire recovery before they can actually get better. But my parents kept me alive until I got to the point where I could want it for myself. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have made it to my 12th birthday. So I think most importantly, I would tell them - and any parent who's child is in the beginning stages of an eating disorder - not to wait until that person is ready to get better, not to buy into the idea that until someone wants it there's nothing anyone else can do. When someone is drowning you don't wait for them to clearly articulate, "I'm having trouble swimming, could you please come in and help me?", you just dive in and grab the person, and (even if they're kicking and screaming) you would try and get them out of the water. I would encourage them to keep going, to not give up regardless of how hard I fought back.
(I would also tell my parents to try, as best as they could, not to take any of what I said at the time personally. I never hated them and never could hate them, I just hated that they were trying to take away from me what I felt at the time I absolutely needed.)
So, this was really long - but I hope that it helped anyone in a similar position to my mom's friend (or the friend herself if she ends up reading this). I would also add (last thing, I promise) that hope is one of the most powerful things you can offer to someone who is struggling. My parents refused to give up on me even when they had multiple professionals advising me to (and even when I was begging them to), and for that I am so, so, so grateful.
I'm not recovered, but I'm finally at a place where I'm able to, essentially, keep myself healthy and alive through my own choices. I can get a snack when I'm hungry/eat meals even if no one is watching etc. Food is still something I experience a lot of anxiety around, and to be honest, I'm not sure if that will ever change, but that anxiety is manageable now. I'm able to eat simply because I have a life that I want to stick around for versus because someone else is forcing me to, and that's pretty cool. I think, with the right support, it's possible for anyone to get to that point. So if you're struggling to hold onto hope for your child or if you are the one struggling and don't feel able to hold onto hope for yourself, know that I am holding that for you.
More than anything, I wish there had been some way that I could have shown my younger self the following years would unfold, where the decisions I was making then would lead me. I don't think I really understood what I was doing at all, and sometimes I think that if I had known I would've stopped before things got really bad. And yet as much as I want to believe that I would have, part of me is almost certain that I would've shrugged it off and convinced myself that I wouldn't let it get that out of hand, that I just needed to stay under a certain weight, under a certain number of calories, just had to lose however many pounds and then I'd stop. I would probably still have found a way to convince myself that I was in control. I'm not sure if there's any way to really help someone who is beginning to struggle realize the grave reality of where they're headed. Like I said, I don't know the girl my mom spoke to me about, but just hearing about her struggle from the perspective of her mother, I feel so helpless. It's watching a horror movie during the scene when the girl is about to open a closet door and you know there's someone in there with an axe and you want to be able to tell her "No! Don't do it! Don't open that!"..but you can't. There's nothing you can do that will stop the person in the movie from opening the closet and well, yeah. It sucks.
I was so, so convinced that I had control of it then, even though so many people tried to tell me that I didn't. And by the time I realized that I didn't, it was too late. I couldn't get out of it.
To my parents, there is so much that I would say. First and foremost that I do not in any way blame them, that they did not "cause" this, and that I really don't think that they could have done anything to prevent it. My eating disorder was not a by-product of over-controlling parents or too much pressure to measure up to certain standards etc. etc. My parents loved me, and while they weren't perfect, I know that they always had the best intentions in everything they did. When I first got sick, I remember my mom used to write me little notes all the time, and she would always ask me, "What can I do? How can I help you?", she told me over and over again that she would do anything, and she would beg me, that if I couldn't eat for myself, could I please do it for her? If I could go back and answer those questions now, I would tell her not to wait, not to give me "one more chance" (regardless of how much I begged her to) before putting me into treatment. I would tell her to never believe my promises that I would "eat more this week" or "try harder". I would tell her that I was sick with a mental illness and that I couldn't be reasoned with logically, and that this wasn't a problem that could be fixed by going to the store and buying all the foods that used to be my favorites/that this wasn't a diet I could just snap out of. It took my mom a long time to start calling my struggle "an eating disorder", even when I was first in treatment she referred to it as "my diet"/"my food problem" - I think it was hard for her to grasp that I was actually suffering from a mental illness, and if I could, I'd go back and try to help her understand/accept that. She used to tell me she just wanted "her Rachel" back, and I think one of the most important things I would tell her is that "her Rachel" never went anywhere/that beneath the struggle I was still there - always. It always broke my heart when she or my grandma would say that - because I felt like whatever I was wasn't acceptable, and I didn't know how to go back to "the old Rachel". I would also just want to apologize, to both of my parents, and really to everyone in my family - for the way I'd end up treating them throughout the duration of my struggle, for all the lies and manipulating and all the "I-hate-you-you-are-ruining-my-life"s/the screaming and crying over muffins, smoothies and ensures/all of that. I would apologize for interrupting the happiness that had always been a part of our family dinners, holidays, and vacations. I know that my struggle changed all of these things. More than anything though, I would thank them. I would thank them for all the things I hated them for at the time - sitting through all the crying and screaming and still making me eat, driving up to the school parking lot to eat lunch with me, dragging me to doctor's appointments, dragging me to treatment. I would thank them for not trusting me - for checking my ensures before I drank them to make sure I hadn't re-filled the bottles with water or cut off/re-pasted the "ensure plus" wrapper onto a regular ensure bottle (it happened..), making me shake it out before I threw it away, establishing the rule that "if they didn't see me eat it, it didn't count"...all of those things. Sure, it didn't save me. Ultimately I do believe that someone needs to truly desire recovery before they can actually get better. But my parents kept me alive until I got to the point where I could want it for myself. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have made it to my 12th birthday. So I think most importantly, I would tell them - and any parent who's child is in the beginning stages of an eating disorder - not to wait until that person is ready to get better, not to buy into the idea that until someone wants it there's nothing anyone else can do. When someone is drowning you don't wait for them to clearly articulate, "I'm having trouble swimming, could you please come in and help me?", you just dive in and grab the person, and (even if they're kicking and screaming) you would try and get them out of the water. I would encourage them to keep going, to not give up regardless of how hard I fought back.
(I would also tell my parents to try, as best as they could, not to take any of what I said at the time personally. I never hated them and never could hate them, I just hated that they were trying to take away from me what I felt at the time I absolutely needed.)
So, this was really long - but I hope that it helped anyone in a similar position to my mom's friend (or the friend herself if she ends up reading this). I would also add (last thing, I promise) that hope is one of the most powerful things you can offer to someone who is struggling. My parents refused to give up on me even when they had multiple professionals advising me to (and even when I was begging them to), and for that I am so, so, so grateful.
I'm not recovered, but I'm finally at a place where I'm able to, essentially, keep myself healthy and alive through my own choices. I can get a snack when I'm hungry/eat meals even if no one is watching etc. Food is still something I experience a lot of anxiety around, and to be honest, I'm not sure if that will ever change, but that anxiety is manageable now. I'm able to eat simply because I have a life that I want to stick around for versus because someone else is forcing me to, and that's pretty cool. I think, with the right support, it's possible for anyone to get to that point. So if you're struggling to hold onto hope for your child or if you are the one struggling and don't feel able to hold onto hope for yourself, know that I am holding that for you.
Monday, July 28, 2014
Choosing Recovery
First, I just want to say that I have been so overwhelmed (in a very good way!) by the responses I've received from so many of you over the past week. Thank you so much for reading and sharing my posts! I honestly don't have words for how much it's meant to me.
I've been thinking a lot about what I wanted to write about next, and given some of the responses and questions I've recieved in regards to my last post ("You Just Have to Want it More..") I thought I'd dedicate this post to explaining more about the role that I do believe motivation to change has in recovery.
I wanted to clarify that while I don't think anyone can simply "choose to recover", or want to recover enough to somehow eliminate the struggle, I do think we have choices to make on a daily basis, that will either move us towards the life we want to be living or further into the eating disorder. I know that I made a comparison to cancer in my last post - and while I felt like it was relevant in that specific context, I usually hate when people compare eating disorders to cancer - because it truly isn't the same. I don't beleive that anyone with an eating disorder is "terminally ill" or "chronic" (although I've been referred to as both by numerous 'professionals'), I believe that anyone, with the proper support and treatment, can achieve at least some degree of recovery. You're never completely powerless over your situation in the way that someone with cancer is. Even when I couldn't 'want it enough' to be able to eat, I chose to pick up the phone and call the treatment center. I chose to pack up my bags and go to the airport. I chose not to give up on myself. You always, no matter how sick you are, have the choice. Once I got to treatment I was faced with a million more choices. (per hour) Every meal, every snack, every second in-between. And it was excruciatingly difficult, because everything in my head would be screaming at me that it was none okay/that I couldn't do it/that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I put X, Y, or Z in my body, and I knew that if I didn't eat I could make all of it quiet down, but if I chose to keep eating it was just going to get louder/worse. I felt like I was torturing myself. The best way I can think to describe what it felt like to know that the eating disorder would take away everything I was feeling but to continue choosing recovery anyways is to compare it to what I imagine it would feel like to be drowning and to have a life preserver less than an arm's length away from you but to choose not to grab onto it. It was awful, but I chose to keep going anyways. I had moments where it really did get to me too much, and I felt like I couldn't make the choice, and I would resort back to the eating disorder - skip a meal/refuse to drink my boost etc. - but I chose to go back into the next meal and try again. I didn't give up.
And since I've been home the choices have multiplied. I'm no longer just called into the 'Colorado Cafe' to sit at a tray that's already been prepared for me. (which was not an easy task in and of itself) Now I have to make the decision of whether or not to eat while knowing that I could very easily not/that no one would know etc., and I have to decide what to eat, and how much to eat etc. etc. It's complicated. And the eating disorder is so, so simple. It's hard.
But I know that while the eating disorder does give that temporary relief, it is just that, temporary. In the end it only leads to misery. My friend, Danielle, who has been my best and most faithful supporter through all of this, gave me the following advice when I was in treatment, and it's something that I've really held onto in the months I've been home; "Yes, you're miserable now. But you were miserable then too. At least with this miserable, there's a chance that it won't always be miserable, or atleast not as miserable. The eating disorder will never be anything but miserable, and you and I know it only gets more and more miserable the longer you stay in it. Give this miserable a chance." And really, I think that's what it comes down to. Recovery isn't the exciting journey of self-exploration and discovery that I think it's often portrayed as. It's not "embracing your quirks" and "loving your genes" etc. It's eating and freaking out and hating yourself for eating and hating yourself for freaking out about eating (and essentially just hating everything) but continuing to choose to do it anyways because you know that you want more than what the eating disorder has to offer and you're willing to fight for it.
I don't believe that you can want to get better enough to make the process any easier. And it sucks, because it doesn't make any sense that you could want to get better and still hate yourself for eating, but as I explained in my last post, nothing about an eating disorder is logical, and I think part of recovery (atleast for me) has included coming to terms with that. I'm never going to make sense of the way my brain works. And wanting to make it work differently, unfortunately, isn't going to do anything. I can (and you can!) still choose to do what will move you forward in recovery even while it's screaming at you. And I can attest to the fact that while my brain is definitely not my best friend most of the time and I still struggle quite a bit, the act of choosing recovery over the eating disorder has gotten easier with time. I no longer debate with myself for hours over whether or not to eat breakfast in the morning, it's just what I do, sort of like showering or brushing my teeth. Over all, I'm okay. And there are so many things that I can do now that I wouldn't have been able to do before. I can hold a job, I can get to know my co-workers without them needing to know that I ever struggled, I can sit in the kitchen and eat dinner with my family (versus sitting on the roof crying because I thought the calories from their dinner had gotten into the air in my bedroom...), I can go to the mall with my sister, I can go out with friends, I can think about things other than germs and calories and dying. And that makes choosing recovery worth it, even when it feels miserable.
So, to sum it up - you do have to want it. You have to want it enough to make the painful choices that will move you towards it even when everything in you is screaming at you and telling you not to. You can't want it enough to make it go away, but you aren't powerless either, and you never will be.
I've been thinking a lot about what I wanted to write about next, and given some of the responses and questions I've recieved in regards to my last post ("You Just Have to Want it More..") I thought I'd dedicate this post to explaining more about the role that I do believe motivation to change has in recovery.
I wanted to clarify that while I don't think anyone can simply "choose to recover", or want to recover enough to somehow eliminate the struggle, I do think we have choices to make on a daily basis, that will either move us towards the life we want to be living or further into the eating disorder. I know that I made a comparison to cancer in my last post - and while I felt like it was relevant in that specific context, I usually hate when people compare eating disorders to cancer - because it truly isn't the same. I don't beleive that anyone with an eating disorder is "terminally ill" or "chronic" (although I've been referred to as both by numerous 'professionals'), I believe that anyone, with the proper support and treatment, can achieve at least some degree of recovery. You're never completely powerless over your situation in the way that someone with cancer is. Even when I couldn't 'want it enough' to be able to eat, I chose to pick up the phone and call the treatment center. I chose to pack up my bags and go to the airport. I chose not to give up on myself. You always, no matter how sick you are, have the choice. Once I got to treatment I was faced with a million more choices. (per hour) Every meal, every snack, every second in-between. And it was excruciatingly difficult, because everything in my head would be screaming at me that it was none okay/that I couldn't do it/that I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I put X, Y, or Z in my body, and I knew that if I didn't eat I could make all of it quiet down, but if I chose to keep eating it was just going to get louder/worse. I felt like I was torturing myself. The best way I can think to describe what it felt like to know that the eating disorder would take away everything I was feeling but to continue choosing recovery anyways is to compare it to what I imagine it would feel like to be drowning and to have a life preserver less than an arm's length away from you but to choose not to grab onto it. It was awful, but I chose to keep going anyways. I had moments where it really did get to me too much, and I felt like I couldn't make the choice, and I would resort back to the eating disorder - skip a meal/refuse to drink my boost etc. - but I chose to go back into the next meal and try again. I didn't give up.
And since I've been home the choices have multiplied. I'm no longer just called into the 'Colorado Cafe' to sit at a tray that's already been prepared for me. (which was not an easy task in and of itself) Now I have to make the decision of whether or not to eat while knowing that I could very easily not/that no one would know etc., and I have to decide what to eat, and how much to eat etc. etc. It's complicated. And the eating disorder is so, so simple. It's hard.
But I know that while the eating disorder does give that temporary relief, it is just that, temporary. In the end it only leads to misery. My friend, Danielle, who has been my best and most faithful supporter through all of this, gave me the following advice when I was in treatment, and it's something that I've really held onto in the months I've been home; "Yes, you're miserable now. But you were miserable then too. At least with this miserable, there's a chance that it won't always be miserable, or atleast not as miserable. The eating disorder will never be anything but miserable, and you and I know it only gets more and more miserable the longer you stay in it. Give this miserable a chance." And really, I think that's what it comes down to. Recovery isn't the exciting journey of self-exploration and discovery that I think it's often portrayed as. It's not "embracing your quirks" and "loving your genes" etc. It's eating and freaking out and hating yourself for eating and hating yourself for freaking out about eating (and essentially just hating everything) but continuing to choose to do it anyways because you know that you want more than what the eating disorder has to offer and you're willing to fight for it.
I don't believe that you can want to get better enough to make the process any easier. And it sucks, because it doesn't make any sense that you could want to get better and still hate yourself for eating, but as I explained in my last post, nothing about an eating disorder is logical, and I think part of recovery (atleast for me) has included coming to terms with that. I'm never going to make sense of the way my brain works. And wanting to make it work differently, unfortunately, isn't going to do anything. I can (and you can!) still choose to do what will move you forward in recovery even while it's screaming at you. And I can attest to the fact that while my brain is definitely not my best friend most of the time and I still struggle quite a bit, the act of choosing recovery over the eating disorder has gotten easier with time. I no longer debate with myself for hours over whether or not to eat breakfast in the morning, it's just what I do, sort of like showering or brushing my teeth. Over all, I'm okay. And there are so many things that I can do now that I wouldn't have been able to do before. I can hold a job, I can get to know my co-workers without them needing to know that I ever struggled, I can sit in the kitchen and eat dinner with my family (versus sitting on the roof crying because I thought the calories from their dinner had gotten into the air in my bedroom...), I can go to the mall with my sister, I can go out with friends, I can think about things other than germs and calories and dying. And that makes choosing recovery worth it, even when it feels miserable.
So, to sum it up - you do have to want it. You have to want it enough to make the painful choices that will move you towards it even when everything in you is screaming at you and telling you not to. You can't want it enough to make it go away, but you aren't powerless either, and you never will be.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)