Don't Give Up, You Are Loved

When you feel down
When you feel like you can't go on
When you think you are all alone
When you think your voice will never be heard

When the road gets too rough
When the sun never seems to rise
When you fall and are too weak to reach out your hand

Listen to this song.
Look into Josh Groban's eyes.

And believe.

You are never alone.
Don't give up.

Must Read - This Is Who I Am

"I think if people are graceful and have some peace within them, then they are beautiful." Ellen, 52 (page 108)


Rosanne Olsen's book, This Is Who I Am is an absolute must read.* The pages are filled with women, each beautiful and courageous, and their thoughts about bodies and beauty. Every woman's story resonates in me. "I could have written that." "That was me." "That is me." "Will that be me?"

This book is a reflection of me. Of every woman.

I have yet to meet a woman who is completely in love with herself, her body, her being. The women in Ms. Olsen's book are no different.

And yet, their words are inspiring. Full of hope as they each strive for peace.

While each woman's words echoed in me, the most profound statement which sums up the theme of this book came from Jami, a wise woman at 19, "Perfection is a myth." (page 69)

Perfection most definitely is a myth. Beauty is found in the imperfections. In the wrinkles and cracks, scars and sags. It's in these "blemishes" that our uniqueness lies. Our uniqueness is what makes us beautiful. Each and every one of us.

Rosanne Olsen celebrates this uniqueness in the pages of this book. Her skill with the camera captured each woman's soul with gentleness and respect. The women glowed from the pages, making their words come alive. I could hear each woman speak to me, through their eyes, their expressions, their body positions.

I found myself talking to these women.
To Rae Ellen, 59 (page 56), who described her attempts to lose weight over the years, I cried, "You're beautiful just as you are! Stop the dieting cycle. Stop the yoyo!"
To LaRae, 25 (page 58), when I read, "Maybe I can inspire women everywhere to love themselves, no matter their size, naked or clothed," I shouted, "ROCK ON!"
To Susan, 48 (page 86), who wrote "It frustrates me that this is a lifetime challenge: the tongue versus the chin, the taste buds versus the circumference of my thighs." I moaned, "No! I refuse to believe that it has to be that way. I refuse to believe that one has to choose deprivation to be healthy."

The women in This Is Who I Am are powerful. Each is amazing. It is only fitting that Ms. Olsen chose to end this book with Maya Angelou's poem, "Phenomenal Woman." Each of these women are indeed phenomenal. I applaud their courage in showing themselves to the world - emotionally and physically.

I applaud Rosanne Olsen for her bravery. For showing to the world that beauty is inside each and every one of us.




* Excerpts from this book are available on the website. You are also able to order the book from there as well.

Backwards Bulimia?

Why is it always referred to as Binge/Purge? In that order?

Is it still bulimia if the order is reversed? What if someone compensates first then binges? What does that make this person?

Right now, that person would be diagnosed with ED-NOS. Eating disorder - not otherwise specified.

Or for those of us with that diagnosis, the netherworld of eating disorders.

While we are just as sick, just as needy, our needs are often overlooked. Because many of us aren't underweight. Because many of us haven't wrecked havoc on our physical selves yet.

But we deserve care.

We have needs that must be met.

And, at least in my case, not having my needs met was (and is) part of my problem. For me, my needs as a child were never met. I was (more or less) told that I wasn't to have needs. That I needed to be happy and smiling and almost perfect. So I coped by turning to and away from food. And developed an eating disorder in the process.

So now, as an adult in recovery, I am faced with a lifetime of needs that were never met coupled with a lifetime long habit of turning to or away from food in times of stress.

I consider myself lucky. My health insurance is one of the amazing ones - where I'm able to see a therapist and a dietician once a week for a co-pay. (Granted the therapist co-pay is twice the copay I give to my dietician or other "medical" doctors, but it is not outrageous.)

But I think about all the other people with less or no insurance coverage. How are they learning to have their needs met when the medical community won't even help them?

I imagine that they are still swirled into the dark fog of hell, believing that they are being greedy for wanting to be free from this disease when there is so much turmoil in the rest of the world.

If this describes you, please believe me when I tell you that you DESERVE help just as much as any other human being. Your needs are NEEDS - you cannot live without having them met. It's up to you to fight for them.

I believe in you.

New (more mature) faces of eating disorders

The voices of those of us well past our teen years are beginning to be heard.

"The new faces of eating disorders: Starve, binge, purge cycle on rise among mid-life women"

Now more awareness needs to be paid to those of us of normal weight who still struggle every damn bite...

Scary Stereotypes

Another blogger mentioned that Dr. Phil had done a show on "Scary Skinny." The show features women who suffer from eating disorders. Fine. Great. The more awareness and focus on eating disorders the better.

Except...

Most women with eating disorders are NOT scarily skinny. Many are not even close to being underweight. Some are overweight and even obese.

Many women with eating disorders are NOT teenagers. We are in our late twenties, thirties, forties, and older.

Where are the TV shows on us? The normal-weight adult women who are suffering just as much as those whose bodies are skeletal, just as much as those who are in their teens.

Where are the outreaches of help for us? We, the women who are fighting every single day, but for whatever reason, are somehow managing to appear "normal." Who continue to function as best as we can in our internal personal hells. Who fight every single day with no one the wiser. (Unless we use our voices to tell them.)

I'm one of the lucky ones. My health insurance includes mental health and nutritional health benefits. Are they perfect? No. But they are so much better than they had been at a previous job. I'm grateful.

I'm also at a place in my recovery where I am able to use my voice more and more. To tell people that while I may not look it, I am suffering. I am fighting. Some days are tough - especially when I'm dealing with the emotional roots of my disease. I am at a point where I recognize that my eating disorder served (and for the time being, still serves) a purpose in my life and that recognition takes the power away from the disease.

But there have been times when my eating disorder was in control. When I couldn't eat more, even though I knew I needed to. When food scared me.

And I was in my thirties for most of those times.

And I was a normal weight.

Eating disorders are not about the numbers on the scales. They are not about the sizes on the clothes. They are about what goes on inside the minds and bodies of those who suffer.

I challenge the media to start focusing on the majority of people* who suffer from eating disorders. The ones who are in the netherworld of ED-NOS (Eating disorders-not otherwise specified.)

For while our bodies are not horrifyingly sensational, our stories are equally poignant. Our struggles are equally arduous.



*because I haven't even discussed the men who suffer.

Reflective Pets

In the book of essays, "For Keeps: Women Tell the Truth About Their Bodies, Growing Older, and Acceptance" edited by Victoriz Zackheim, Clea Simon writes, "They say that children identify with their pets. That we see ourselves in these small, dependent animals, so much more vulnerable, like children, than any around us. So much softer." (page 241)

Growing up, my family had hamsters. Most of us were allergic to other kinds of pets. I never identified with any of the string of "disposable" pets that came to live in the plastic cages my mom and dad bought.

That is until I was in grad school. I was living at my parents' house at the time. My niece was just two years old, but she decided that my mom, "Nana," needed a hamster - just like that obnoxious purple dinosaur. Off to the pet shop my brother, future sister-in-law, and niece went. They picked out a little boy sandy-furred hamster for my mom (who named him Zippidy.) My niece, of course, needed one for herself. She picked out Zippidy's sister and named her Sandy.

Well, Zippidy and Sandy had a sister whom no one wanted. This little girl hamster was albino. She was also born without eyes. (Her eyelids were forever closed.)

My sister-in-law told me about this little girl. She also mentioned that the pet shop owner was willing to sell this little girl to a good home for half price.

I was a grad student and while my parents took care of tuition, I still worked part time to pay for my car and gas. (And try to save as much as possible for my future with Todd.) I really couldn't afford a pet. I really didn't have time to care for a pet - after all, I was a full time grad student who worked part time and still wanted to have some time with my fiance on the weekends.

But I was drawn to the pet shop.

I bought that little girl and named her Fluffy.

Why?

Because I recognized myself in that little furry creature. A critter who was different; someone no one wanted.

Unconsciously, I didn't want her to know the loneliness, the disappointment, the despair and sadness that I felt. This poor little eyeless hamster deserved to know love.

So Fluffy came home with me.

Fluffy not only had no eyes. I found out soon that she couldn't hear. She also would run in her wheel/ball until she passed out. (I called it narcalepsy.)

But Fluffy was far from disabled. She was determined to escape. She ran so fast in the wheel in her first cage that it vibrated off my dresser and crashed on the floor. Luckily, my mom and I found her in the maze that was my overly stuffed bedroom. We put her back in her cage and within minutes she was biting the clip that held the top in place, pushing up on the top, and climbing through.

I bought her another cage the next morning; this one with an interactive feeding tube. Within a week, she had learned to twist the cap on the tube and escape. (Zippidy inherited that from his sister.)

When all possible caps and lids were out of reach, she proceeded to try to gnaw her way through the plastic cage. And within a month, had created a hole big enough for her nose.

Cage number three was a glass aquarium with a metal screen top and "no climb" water bottle. Yeah, right.

You guessed it. She scaled the wall by climbing the water bottle. She would chew on the metal screen to try to get out.

So I could sleep, I placed a piece of cardboard between the screen and Fluffy. Fluffy chewed the cardboard instead. To conserve cardboard, I'd turn the square around. One of her creations looked like a graduate with a morterboard. Another looked like a chalice. Another looked like the head of that horrible purple dinosaur.

A little hamster, born without eyes, deaf and narcoleptic, was an artist. She created beautiful works.

Had I not loved that little girl, she would never have realized her potential.

Fluffy died almost a decade ago now. She lived with me for a year and a half (a normal life span for a hamster, in my experience.) But her "can do" spirit lives on. I think of her often when I don't think I can go on. When I think that I'll never be completely healthy.

I remember how my love saved a little furry artist.

My love (and patience) can save me, too.

Beauty break

Geneen Roth writes in her book, "When you eat at the refrigerator, pull up a chair,"

Sometimes, all it takes to remind us that life is infinitely spacious, luscious, and forgiving is resting your eyes on something beautiful.

We all need beauty in our lives.

True beauty comes in all sizes and shapes, colors and materials.

At home, it's easy for me to find beauty all around me. My son provides an endless canvas for beauty. All children do.

At work, it's more difficult. This morning I was in a place to want to see beauty. I took a few minutes to gaze at the beauty of newly hatched ducklings swimming in the shallow end of a pond. Their mommy, with vivid indigo markings, swam beside them, teaching them how to find food in the pond's bed.

Usually, I forget about beauty while I'm working. Stress clouds the world so that everything is out of focus. I have two posters hanging on my office wall; Dawn and Dusk by Alfonse Mucha (an artist in the art nouveau period.) I love Mucha's work; have attempted to copy a few with my less than proficient pen/ink and watercolor technique. But I forget to look up in the course of my all too often swamped days.

Occasionally, I will glance at the photos of my son and husband which I have strategically placed on my desk. But I find that instead of inspiring me, those photos only make me wish I was home with them.

So, I'm going to challenge myself to take a beauty break each day. Even if I have to put a reminder on my calendar.

How about you?

Do you take beauty breaks?