Digging Me Up

Conquering Fear (WSJ article)

2011-01-05T11:04:00.002-05:00

For those, like me, who often find Cognitive Behavioral therapy unhelpful, you may be interested in the article in the Wall Street Journal's Health Journal on January 2 which describes Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. This type of therapy centers on being mindful of negative thoughts, but not necessarily forcing them to change or argue with them.

I've been working on being more mindful for a few years - it was why I switched therapists a few years ago because CBT wasn't working for me. My current therapist is more in lines with this philosophy. To be aware of my feelings, acknowledge them, try to describe them if I can, and then ultimately share them with someone in my life.

I find when I remember to do this - breathe, feel the feelings, describe them (with perhaps an analysis of why I feel them), and share them, I tend to feel better and am better able to manage my eating disorder symptoms.

The trick for me is to remember to be mindful...

Hosting a parasite

2011-01-01T13:52:00.001-05:00

I just finished reading The Host by Stephanie Meyer and I couldn't help but see the connection with my eating disorder.

******Spoiler Alert*******

******Spoiler Alert*******

For those who haven't partook, The Host is set on Earth after an alien parasitic race has settled here. There are renegade humans left who have refused to be taken. One parasite (Wanderer) is implanted in one of the renegades (Melanie) in the hope that she would lead the aliens to the rest. Melanie is strong though and doesn't allow Wanderer to take over completely. Throughout the book, these two entities share one body and their thoughts and feelings often become intertwined.

In the end of the book, Wanderer willingly sacrifices herself so that Melanie can have her body back. Against her wishes but with her hopes, Wanderer is implanted into another human - one who had been taken over by the aliens for so long that the human inside her body was completely gone.

The similarities with eating disorders are striking. The longer one struggles with an eating disorder, the harder it is to fight. Eventually, the human gets lost and is unable to function without the parasite - like the human into whom Wanderer is implanted. She had been controlled by a parasite for so long, the human was completely gone.

Like the characters in the book, I feel like there are two entities inside me - Jeanne and Ed. I like to hope that Ed is the parasitic alien.

Unfortunately, real life isn't like the world in the book. There is no operation to remove Ed from my body. There are no medicines I can take.

I can keep fighting to keep myself alive with the hope that someday there will be a way to remove Ed completely. Like Melanie in the book, I can keep trying to stay in control of my body, biding my time until I can have my body and life back. Hope is a powerful thing.

Melanie was lucky - Wanderer didn't want to be a parasite. She willingly gave up her life to give Melanie her body, her life back. Ed isn't altruistic. He'll remain inside me until forcibly removed. But like Melanie, I won't willingly give up my body. I won't stop fighting. I'll keep trying to be me despite him. I will argue and yell at his voice and when I feel weak, I will ask for any help available to me.

And perhaps, someday, there will be a way to remove Ed from me completely.

Chronic conditions

2010-12-12T08:20:00.002-05:00

In my email to a friend, I asked when do you stop trying to cure a chronic condition. This friend replied back that we both know that at best, I'll be able to manage my eating disorder like I do my allergies and hypothyroidism. That talking and sharing and admitting to myself that I'm tempted are my pills to control the symptoms.

After almost 7 years of dealing with Ed, I think he's right.

I searched the web for more info in chronic eating disorders, but there is very little information. I found one site that mentioned hat eating disorders in adults can be chronic and that treatment shouldn't focus on eliminating the illness. He site mentioned how in one case the knowledge that she didn't have to get rid of Ed completely helped to her be symptom free for two years.

Why isn't there more information on this? Why haven't there been more studies?

Most of the books and blogs I read talk about cures. They don't call it that, but essentially thats what they are. These authors tell you that recovery is possible, that you can live life completely and totally without Ed. To me, that's the same as a cure - being totally disease free.

These authors tell us to never give up. To keep fighting Ed. That we can become recoverED, too!!

So what about those of us who have fought Ed for years with no sign of winning the war? We're older, more set in our ways, have more responsibilities - jobs, families, bills. We are highly functional, even when in the throes of the illness. We never have let our bodies become critically ill. Our diagnosis is often ED-NOS. We have learned to survive in the real world, even though most of our conversations happen inside our heads. Ed has been a helpmate more than a destructive force.

For years we struggle, feeling ashamed and guilty for not being able to beat Ed. And feel forgotten in all the talk about "recoverED."

I don't want to be forgotten anymore. I don't want to feel like a failure anymore.

I am not giving in to Ed. I still will fight like I always have to try to find other ways to cope. I will still take my medicine. But my end goal has to change.

Just because I haven't been able to live completely without Ed and may never be able to, doesn't make me a failure.
It makes me a survivor.

Is anyone else an adult who has been fighting and/or living Ed for years? What are your thoughts? Do you think it would be easier (you would feel better) if the focus of your treatment was on living with Ed rather than getting rid of him? Do you think that would help you manage the illness better (less slips and relapses)?

Vulnerability

2010-11-15T09:52:00.003-05:00

"Is it hard for you to be yourself? Do you find it tough to be vulnerable? What does being vulnerable mean to you?"

These questions were asked at the end of a blog post on PsychCentral.

My answers will be different from yours, but I think it's valuable to think about them.

Is it hard for you to be yourself?
Yes. I find it hard to be me. I worry that no one will want to be near the real me - especially with my anxieties and depression.

Do you find it tough to be vulnerable?
Absolutely. I've always been the strong one. Always the one people rely on. I think I have to be strong - always.

What does being vulnerable mean to you?
Being vulnerable means opening myself up to pain, to hurt, to injury from others. Being vulnerable means taking risks - especially the risk that the other person won't like what they see and leave me alone. Being vulnerable means facing my fear of abandonment.

What does being vulnerable mean to you?

Give it some thought.

NY Times article on BMI - no, duh!?

2010-09-03T09:41:00.001-04:00

I saw this article in the NY Times today and all I can say is, "No, really?"

It's about time there was some press about how the Body Mass Index doesn't distinguish between lean muscle and body fat.

Nourishment

2010-08-29T21:52:00.005-04:00

I'm reading Eating in the Light of the Moon and just started the chapter on nourishment - physical versus emotional. "Until [a woman with disordered eating] is able to distinguish physical hunger from symbolic hunger, she remains vulnerable to deception."
I'm learning the difference.
When I became pregnant last year, I decided to listen to my body. After all, it had carried my healthy baby boy, why couldn't I trust it to carry my baby girl? I had some ups and downs, but I managed through my pregnancy to be ED behavior free.
My baby girl was born and, like my son eight years before, I decided to nurse her for a year.
I'm halfway through that year and I've had to sit with my feelings. I'm feeding my baby and won't use ED behaviors. That would hurt my baby girl. I won't starve her, so I won't starve myself. That leaves me with my feelings and no way to cope except by experiencing those emotions.
Before my beautiful daughter came into my life, I was constantly doing. The moment my feelings became too much, ED was there, ready and waiting to catch me. Of course, his catching was always the beginning of a slide down a spiral slippery slope.
But now, I have my daughter who I have chosen to have be reliant on me for food. ED is not an option.
Over the past few months, since I've returned to work after my maternity leave, stress has been rising. I'm feeling more - loneliness, exhaustion, frustration, anger - work will do that. ED is still here - in my head, always dripping seduction. Though as uncomfortable as it is, I turn away from him and his false promises. And as tired as I get, especially by Thursday and Friday, I still don't give in. I'm learning to sit with my feelings - I'm learning that they do pass in time. The trick is to give them time. Not hours or days, and in some cases not even weeks. But even as these feelings linger, they do not remain intense forever. I don't need ED to ease the intensity. I don't need ED to get rid of them either.
Neither do you.
I needed the commitment of pregnancy and breastfeeding my daughter to shut out ED as an option for dealing with intense emotions. I'm learning how to nourish myself while I nourish her physically.
Find your own commitment to shut ED out. Share it with me if you'd like.
By committing to shutting out ED, you'll learn how to nourish yourself, too.

Numbers are just symbols

2010-08-10T14:50:00.003-04:00

So I haven't been blogging at all for a very long time - my almost 6 months baby girl is the reason.

So, last Friday, I broke down and went shopping for pants. Nice pants - the kind I could easily wear to work and yet, still be comfy in.

Off to the store I went. I carried three sizes of the same kind of two different style of pants into the dressing room. My little man waited outside. My baby girl was asleep in her sling. I carefully managed to try on all the pants without setting my little girl down (a major fete to be sure!)

Anyway, I ended up with the largest of the sizes of one style. The middle one was a bit too snug for comfort.

Needless to say, Ed (my eating disorder voice) grew very loud in my ear.
"That is a HUGE size! You should buy the smaller size and squeeze yourself into it until you've tightened your grip on your food and fit in them!"

Luckily, I don't have much time for Ed these days - what with a baby girl and a growing boy to raise.

But all this got me thinking... why are there numbers on sizes? Why can't a store just come up with an arbitrary symbol instead? I'm an "apple" at this store and a "foozle" at that one?

Wouldn't that be an amazing experience? To go into a store and not feel that any one size was better (or worse) than another? I'd be just as happy as a "foozle" than a "doodle," wouldn't you?

So next time we go into a store, maybe we should give the numbers our own arbitrary symbol? Because after all, aren't numbers just an arbitrary symbol that someone many many years ago dreamed up to make a standard point of reference?

Landing a leap of faith

2009-03-20T13:12:00.001-04:00

Today is the hardest day.
The day after the leap back onto the recovery wagon.
When you can still go either way - a safe landing or a splat on the road.
Today,the gilt of excitement from the initial jump has worn off and you are faced with the not so pretty underside.
Facing food.

Yesterday, I felt strong – bolstered by a friend my hubby to screech at ED, to have faith to stop running behind the wagon and just jump.

Today, I am hesitant – in mid-air and not sure where I’ll land. I've been wishing someone would hold out a hand.

But the reality is that no one can help eat the food in front of me.

I can ask for encouragement, reassurance, support, hand-holding, but the bottom line is only I can take the bite.

This part is up to me.

Jenni Schaefer wrote in Life Without ED that the next time you find yourself in front of a plate of food, don't try to liven it up, just eat it.

The courage is inside of me. It's inside of you, too. We don't need ED. My friend said that the louder ED gets, the weaker he is. He's screaming at me now.

So here it goes...

Fork you, ED.

Oprah

2008-12-16T13:12:00.002-05:00

Oprah.
Most people either love her or hate her.
Everyone knows her name.

Whether you love her or hate her, one has to agree that Oprah Winfrey is a remarkable woman. She seems to have everything anyone could want - wealth, prestige, influence. And yet, she beats herself up because she doesn't fit some romanticized ideal of a woman's shape and size.

I read "We Share Your Loss, And Your Gain" in the Washington Post today. The before picture which the author chose was one from twenty years ago, when Oprah was a smaller size (and twenty years younger.) When I saw this picture, I thought "Gosh, that looks so unnatural. It doesn't even look like Oprah." I clicked to the After picture, a more recent snapshot of Oprah at a gala. To my eye, she looked healthy, resplendent in a bronzy gown.

So why did the author insist on implying that Oprah's steady weight gain in recent years was unhealthy? Why did the author insist on implying that Oprah *should* be a size 8?

Why are we all so fixated on numbers?

I'll have to pick up the January issue of Oprah at the library and read what Oprah has to say on the matter. My hope is that she embraces herself and sends the message that none of us have to be thin to be successful. That success is measured who we are and what we do rather than what we look like.

I respect Oprah. I respect her because of all the people she has helped with the wealth she has earned by being a savvy businesswoman; not because she wears a particular size or weighs a certain amount.

This world needs role models. Women in particular need other women to light the way, to shout that health and beauty come in all shapes, sizes and colors.

Who'll shout with me?

Fat Talk Free Week

2008-10-14T09:12:00.002-04:00

Join me in celebrating "Fat Talk Free Week" this week.

And let's not stop with Saturday. Let's commit to ending Fat Talk every day of every year from now on. We are all beautiful no matter our size or shape. We deserve to celebrate our humanness!

Friends don't let friends FAT TALK!

In the moment

2008-08-26T20:28:00.003-04:00

Today, I got to the bottom of my inbox. I haven't seen it's bottom in almost a year.

It was an amazing sight. A momentous occasion. So much so, I composed a haiku:

An empty inbox
A piteous sight for some
Unimagined joy.

I tried to hold onto the joy of my empty inbox along with the sense of accomplishment which accompanied it. It took tremendous effort on my part. Because lurking beneath the joy was the fear of impending doom. The knowledge that the mail person would harsh my mellow all too soon.

But today, I fought back. I refused to let my mellow by crushed. I exhilarated in my accomplishment - showing all my empty inbox, enjoying the moment.

Make hay while the sun shines, my friends. If you do, you'll care not whether it rains on the morrow.

Don't Give Up, You Are Loved

2008-07-07T20:29:00.002-04:00

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

2008-06-28T09:03:00.005-04:00

"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?

2008-06-18T09:19:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-19T20:04:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-18T14:26:00.002-04:00

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

2008-05-10T22:00:00.001-04:00

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

2008-05-08T20:35:00.001-04:00

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?

Six Word Memoir

2008-05-03T21:58:00.002-04:00

Angela over at Here and Now tagged me with the six word memoir challenge.

The instructions:

1) Write your own six word memoir
2) Post it on your blog; include a visual illustration if you’d like
3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible
4) Tag at least five more blogs with links
5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!

My six word memoir is this:
"Patience. I'm a work in progress."

I thought limiting myself to only six words would be extremely difficult, but then I thought of one of my favorite quotes. "Please be patient. God isn't finished with me yet." This quote was on one of my first eyeglass cases (pink flexible plastic with Holly Hobbie on it.)

I don't believe in singling any one (or five) blogs out, so if you are reading this, consider yourself tagged. 8-)

Enjoy!

Evolution of Trust

2008-05-01T10:58:00.001-04:00

Good With Cheese wrote an amazing post entitled “A Day in the Life” which describes one day in her life practicing health at every size (HAES.)

I saw my nutritionist (Pat) yesterday and I showed her my food journal – packed with all sorts of food. I remarked to her how scary this is. How freaked out I am about it. “I haven’t let myself get ravenous and I haven’t eaten past full. How can I be eating SO much???”

Pat responded, “You are a classic example of how much wisely-chosen food one can eat and still maintain.”

Over the past week or so, I haven’t deny myself anything that I’ve wanted. I’ve focused on enjoying each bite. I’m working on not picking up the next bite before I’ve finished the last. (I’m still a work in progress.) I’ve listened for what my body asks and, to the best of my ability, I feed it. Whether it be oatmeal breakfast bars or a smooth piece of caramel or a dish of all natural pecan praline ice cream or a crunchy ripe apple with peanut butter or resting a sore foot/ankle.

Yesterday, I didn’t feel like eating any of the veggies in my house. So I didn’t pack any. Instead, I treated myself to some steamed veggies at work – because I needed the comfort that warm veggies gives me.

I admit that I dropped the ball last night when I went to dinner at a friends house. I was out of my comfort zone. Surrounded by “scary” food and feeling completely like a fish out of water. I disconnected from my body for a time. It’s a defense mechanism. One that I anticipated. So this morning, I made sure to take a little extra time to reconnect, honoring my needs to be gentle with myself, both mentally and nutritionally. I am treating myself with compassion – as I would anyone else.*

Despite all the stress I’ve been under lately (both at work and internal,) I’m holding fast to this truth:

That I deserve to be nourished fully. I deserve to do whatever it takes to take care of me.

I’ve been saying this for a long time. Years, actually.

But the most amazing thing has happened over the past week or so – I’m not paying lip service anymore. This truth is seeping out from the inside. My instinct to care for myself is awakening.

The panicked calorie totalling that enveloped me in the beginning part of the past week, moved slowly to idle curiousity. And after Pat’s assurance that I’m maintaining my weight, I find that, at least for the moment, when I’m in comfortable, predictable surroundings, I trust myself.

I still am working on that trust when I’m out of my usual element.

And that’s okay.

Right now, I’m not in any rush.

* I wonder if this is the type of love and compassion that Aimee Liu speaks about in her recent blog posts over at Life After Recovery (Love, To Live and Love, To Live II)? If it is, it’s wonderful.

Ain't nothing like the real thing

2008-04-27T10:27:00.002-04:00

The latest kick around my workplace is PB2. PB2 is a powdered peanut butter produced by Bell Plantation. It's essentially the by-product when peanuts are squished to make peanut oil. Reconstituted with water, PB2 is ideal for those times when carrying a jar of regular peanut butter is inconvenient - hiking, camping, long-term storage. And I'm happy to report that the website emphasizes these uses for their product. Kudos to Bell Plantation for that!!

But somehow, someone thought of using this product every day as a substitute for peanut butter. And apparently, it is all the rage around weight watchers circles.

So, it begs the question, can it really be used as an everyday substitute for peanut butter?

On the insistence of a friend (who gifted me with a jar from her order,) I replaced my morning tablespoon of peanut butter with a serving of PB2. I followed the directions and reconsituted it with water. It smelled and spread just like the regular variety. Tasted a little different, but still was very yummy.

But you know what?

Most days, I foudn myself eating more throughout the day.

How, do you ask, can that be?

Because my body needs the fat in real peanut butter. My brain must have fat to function.

One of the women who extolled the virtues of this product in a spin class a few weeks back said, "And if you are still hungry, you can have another serving and still eat less fat and calories!"

Oh isn't that wonderful???

No. It isn't wonderful.

My body needs fat. If I deny it the essential fatty acids it needs, it will insist that I find it by sending cravings that will not go away until satisfied.

I'm slowly learning that if I give my body the real deal (full fat, full caloried versions of the foods that I love,) I enjoy it more. I feel fuller longer.

I'm slowly learning that I really can trust myself around food. That my greatest fear of losing control and eating until I'm the size of the moon (into which my eating disorder played to keep me starving myself) won't ever happen.

I'm learning that it is okay to eat. It's okay to enjoy real food - natural peanut butter, ice cream with caramel and nuts, cakes with fresh fruit and cream.

The real thing won't hurt me.

And you know what?

There really isn't anything like the real thing.

Your own half acre

2008-04-12T11:06:00.002-04:00

I'm in the middle of reading another Geneen Roth book. (Okay, I'm addicted. But in my defense, she truly is an amazing writer!)

Once again there are so many passages that move me from all the books that I've read by her (so far) and someday, I'll share them all with you. But for now, I'll leave you with this one from "The Craggy Hole in My Heart and the Cat Who Fixed It: Over the edge and back with my dad, my cat, and me." (New York: Harmony Books, 2004.)

"My friend Annie once told me that not everyone wants life to be a mountaintop experience. She said that we all get our emotional half acres to tend while we are alive. Some people grow potatoes, and some grow roses, but it's not our business what someone else does with their half acre." page 114

When my husband and I owned a house and an almost acre of land, I eventually started a garden. I carved out a section from the semi-wilderness that was once the former owner's garden (specifically, the length and width of one roll of black plastic.) I turned the soil by hand. (Talk about therapeutic... this was in the early days of my recovery.) I planted the already started plants and watched them grow.

My philosophy was this - I won't plant/grow anything that I couldn't eat. Flowers (except for the bulbs that the former owner had planted) had to be edible. So I didn't have many flowers for beauty sake.

Looking back, it makes a lot more sense.

I was beginning my (very long) road through recovery. ED still had me in his grip and some of the first issues I dealt with (needed to deal with) were my beliefs about me. At the time, I didn't think I deserved anything. I needed to earn everything - burn each calorie I wanted to eat, work for every dollar I spent. Feed others first, provide for their needs, and reluctantly take the scraps for myself.

It makes sense that the plants in my garden needed to be useful to be wanted. Because that was what I believed was true for me. I needed to be useful to be wanted, to be given what I needed in life.

The next year, my garden changed a little. I planted a few sundrops (yellow flowers that I was told would grow like made in the shady spot I wanted to fill.)
You can't eat sundrops. I planted them anyway. And on Father's Day, I plucked a bunch as a centerpiece for the dinner I made my husband. (First course, salad from the swiss chard and basil I grew in my garden.)

And guess what? My mindset about myself had changed a little, too. I was beginning to see that everyone deserves to have her needs filled. Needs are just that - necessities without which we can not live. I was beginning to understand that food, water, air were not the only necessities in life. I started to see that love was a big necessity - one that a person should not need to earn to receive.

Three years have passed since I last prepared a garden for spring. My hubby and I (blissfully) no longer have land to maintain. (Hurray for apartment life!) But if I did have a garden this year, I think I would plant my favorite veggies (a variety of tomatoes, cucumbers and squash, sweet cherry and banana peppers, swiss chard and spinach, and pumpkins,) a healthy crop of herbs (basil and parsley, dill and spearmint,) and a bounty of flowers - some for cutting and bringing indoors, some for the beauty they provide outside.

Beauty is the embodiment of love. In nature, it can be the vibrant color of a violet, the brightness of a cherry blossom, the gentle ripple on a lake. Even the violent crash of lightning which illuminates the sky for a split second or two. Like air, we need to breathe it in, let it saturate every cell in our body. We need to allow ourselves to enjoy it wherever and whenever we are.

After five years of journeying through the land of recovery, I still need reminders to stop and smell the roses. But at least my garden has them now.

So what is in your half acre?

Breaking free...

2008-04-07T13:22:00.002-04:00

I've been reading Geneen Roth books for a few weeks now.

I had been digging my heels in for too long over it. Many people along my journey have recommended her books to me, but I demured. "I'm not a binge-eater, so how would her books help me??"

But I had a coupon to an online used bookstore. Four of her books were $4 each, so I took the plunge and splurged.

The first one I read was "When Food Is Love." Next, I picked up "Appetites." So many passages of both books spoke to me. Someday, I'll share them with you (along with the whys.) But the reason I bring this up today is due to a discussion I had this morning with a friend/co-worker (will call him Touchdown.)

Touchdown has been on and off Weight Watchers for years. Losing weight, then gaining back more. You know the cycle. For the past year or so, Touchdown has worked out with the same trainer I have; he's also taken many of the fitness classes offered at my work.

To my eyes, he looks healthy and fit.

He still wants to lose I forget how many pounds. (He was/is one of the ringleaders in the Biggest Loser contests at work.)

So this morning, we had a meeting over a project that I pawned off on his boss who then assigned it to him. So after we discussed our next actions with the project, he asks me if I've ever seen the weight-loss guy on TLC. "I Can Make You Thin."

I reply that I've never watched it. I try not to watch those things (although that's like trying not to watch a plane crash in front of you.) I ask him to tell me more about it.

He explains that the premise of Paul McKenna is that you can eat whatever you want when you're hungry, but you need to take a bite, put down the fork, and enjoy it. Then, before taking another bite, you need to assess your satiety/fullness.

I said to Touchdown that it sounded just like Geneen Roth and that I've been trying to do that for a long time now. But for me, it's taking me a lot longer to get the hang of it because of the connection that food and emotions have in my life. (aka - eating disorder.)

So he's been on the "program" for a few days and he is amazed at how little food it takes to satisfy him. He mentioned how he used to eat 2 turkey subs with mustard and veggies (not because he particularly likes turkey subs with mustard, but because it was "healthy" and "good.") One day (after implementing his new philosophy,) he goes to the same sub shop. He listened to his body which told him that he really wanted an Italian sub with hot pepper oil. So he ordered one. And (low and behold), he was satisfied with only half the sub. When he was hungry again later, he finished it.

I said that it was wonderful! But the philosophy, the "program" has been around for ages. I showed him the Geneen Roth book that I'm currently reading ("Why Weight?") and said that Geneen has been around since the late 80s - saying almost the exact same things (only she called it "Breaking Free.")

I also mentioned that the premise is similiar to "French Women Don't Get Fat" by Mireille Guilano who talks about setting your table, sitting down to eat, and enjoying each bite as if you were trying to describe the taste, texture, feel to someone else.

He was amazed that these programs/philosophies haven't gotten more press.*

So I told him that these programs/philosophies/approaches/premises are truly wonderful and they do work. For most people.

For me though, I need to be careful.

Because when I am in the throes of my eating disorder, ED using these tactics against me. [See an earlier post] I told Touchdown about how I used these same tactics to "savor" one container of yogurt or "enjoy" one cucumber slice. It can be quite dangerous for me, if I don't remember that the other premise of these authors is that you eat until you are full.

For a few weeks, I was playing the numbers game with myself (counting calories, weighing myself almost every day, obsessing over it.) Always eating the minimum amounts (set by my nutritionist) at least, but berating myself for eating more. As with every time I slip, emotions played a huge part. Specifically not wanting to feel them.

Last week, I met with a new therapist for the second time. All sorts of feelings were unleashed. My first reaction was to leash them back up (by controlling/obsessing over what I eat.) But I was tired of doing that. I was tired of the constant beatings because I wanted an extra serving of this or one of those.

I had finished all of "When Food Is Love" and most of "Appetites." Through these books, I remembered that controlling food is only delaying the inevitable. Being "good" and only eating enough to stay alive will not win me love. Being thinner will not help me heal.

So, I broke free. Starting eating everything I wanted, whenever I wanted. I was frightened that I'd never stop. For the first few days, I'd have one serving of an item I craved, feel satisfied with it, then then move on to the next craving. Craving after craving after craving. I was petrified!!

But not once throughout this whole week, have I felt stuffed to the gills sick.
Because once I was full/satisfied, I stopped.

Feeling full is frightening for me. Incredibly so.

Because feeling full is admitting to myself that I deserve nourishment. That I deserve to take care of myself. That I deserve to be loved.

Being full reminds me that there is a part of me not quite full yet. The part of me that is wounded, still. That needs to heal. That still feels pain and suffering. That part that is not at peace.

I don't like being reminded of that part. This is the part that I've spent decades trying to deny existed. Because it wasn't supposed to exist. Not in my life. Not in my family.

But it did.

And still does.

But I can change that.

Just like I am teaching myself to be okay with feeling full after eating my stomach's desires, I can teach myself to feel and be okay with feeling full of feelings.

Just like I am breaking free of controlling food, I will break free of controlling emotions.

Someday, I will eat, feel, live freely.

*The more I think about it, the more I'm not amazed. The diet/weight loss industry is too huge and controls a LOT of advertising dollars, from which TV shows, magazines and newspapers covet.

No Mistakes

2008-04-03T10:29:00.002-04:00

'Today is a new day with no mistakes in it yet.'
-paraphrased from Miss Stacy in the CBC/PBS/Sullivan version of Anne of Green Gables

I don't necessarily believe in mistakes. When we do something that doesn’t work, we’ve learned a valuable lesson. We have learned that if this something didn’t work, perhaps that something will.

Life is all about trials and errors. Look at all the proverbs:

“That which does not kill us makes us strong.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven.”
“Fall down seven times, get up eight.”
“Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and try all over again.”

These sayings and the theme behind them wouldn’t have survived if we didn’t need reminding.

I know that I need lots of reminders, but I am learning. Five years ago (gosh, has it been five years since I relapsed?,) I would binge after weeks of starving. I’d kick myself aftewards, starve and exercise more to punish myself for losing control. Which of course would always lead to another binge. Cycling along the bumpy road.

But over the past five years, I’ve been learning with each cycle. The most recent lesson I’ve learned is this:
It’s all in how you spin it.

After reading about a few “binges” in my food journal, my nutritionist suggested that I stop calling what I do binging. Because I don’t really binge. Either I am having a normal reaction to deprivation or I am simply overindulging. Neither are binges. She told me to think of it as “relaxing.” Just as I’ve been trying to incorporate a day or two of rest into my exercise routine, it’s okay to relax my control over food once in a while.

Yesterday (and last night especially,) I relaxed into a normal response to deprivation. For a few weeks, I’ve been trying to be “good,” to not eat as much as I had been (while still eating “enough.”) Over the weekend, I “binged.” So I tried to be “good” again on Monday and Tuesday. But yesterday, I decided that I had had enough. So I relaxed. Instead of berating myself for eating everything my heart desired, I told myself that I need to show myself that it can have everything it wants, whenever it wants. My intention is to not deprive it again. So I ate and enjoyed every morsel. Today, I’m not feeling so desperate. I still made out a plan for the day, but I incorporated many of the things that I truly enjoy (and hadn’t been allowing myself lately.) And I have spun the “plan” into a “guideline.” If I decide to substitute or not eat everything or eat more, that’s okay by me. I’m breathing and concentrating on what I’m truly feeling.

I’m eating mindfully. One bite at a time.

Have my actions changed?
No.

Have I planned for more or less food?
Not really.

It’s my mindset that has changed. And instead of feeling depressed and deprived, I feel brighter and satisfied.

I may be a slow learner, but I never stop learning.

So, be gentle with yourself today. Remind yourself that there are no mistakes in life, just lots of lessons to learn.

Off her Rocker

2008-03-28T13:46:00.002-04:00

I'm exceptionally susceptible to weight loss articles these days and was intrigued when one of the Yahoo headlines was "Keep It Simple, Keep It Off." So I clicked the link and read the blog post by Debbie Rocker, a fitness expert (supposedly.) In this post, Debbie instructs the reader to "take emotion, psychology, and personal history out of the equation, and let’s look at the simple rules of weight loss."

The next four bullet points are 1) weight loss is like a bank account - spend more = weigh less, 2) exercise more to achieve point 1, 3) eat less to achieve point 1, and 4) eat less and exercise more to achieve point 1 faster.

Looking at "just the facts" looks a whole lot like my eating disorder behaviors. ED loves this formula! Absolutely loves it. Eat less and exercise more and you will be thin. "Every day you need to eat less than the previous day. Every day you need to exercise more," ED tells me.

The problem is that while one may be able to take emotion and psychology out of the equation, one CANNOT take out our genetic make-up - which is in fact a part of our personal history. Our genes carry the blueprint for our metabolism, our skeletal structure, our muscular potential. No matter what we do, we can't escape our genes.

This formula of "facts" is dangerous. Not taking metabolism into account will mislead people into thinking that if I eat nothing and exercise, I will always lose weight. And that is just not the case. Eating too little will eventually cause a metabolic slowdown and will store every calorie that is ingested to survive through the famine.

Our bodies are intricate machines which we are only beginning to understand. However, I wish Debbie would have brushed up her knowledge of human physiology to include all the facts.

Testosterone exposure in the womb?

2008-03-05T11:44:00.003-05:00

I don't have a lot of time to flesh this post out, but I had to post something. I just saw this article at Science Daily "Testosterone could Guard Against Eating Disorders."

Needless to say, I'm intrigued. I read the article and the findings are based on the study of twins in utero (fraternal twins with one of each sex compared to twins of same sex.) Not really what the headline promised.*

But questions resonate in my mind.

How can this be used to prevent EDs?
How would a mother know if her fetus is exposed to enough testosterone?
What is enough testosterone?
Is there a fix after birth?

I suppose we just need to wait a few decades to find out...

*I applaud any and all research that leads people to wake up to the fact that eating disorders are biologically based. I just wish the headlines wouldn't be quite so misleading... this one made it sound like the researchers were close to prescribing testosterone for patients with EDs. (But then, maybe it's just my exhausted brain that misread it.)

A reason for the season - NEDAW 2008

2008-02-26T19:02:00.004-05:00

It's NEDAW - National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. On a whim last week, I signed up to be a NEDAW coordinator. I thought I'd start small - organize a jeans giveaway at my dance center around mid-March to support a local women's shelter in the area. Nothing big, but something. Every little bit helps, right?

Well, in between my busy-at-work days and too-exhausted-to-think-straight nights, I started composing an email to the dance center owner to ask for her buy-in/support/etc.

In the meantime, I received an email from a mom whose daughter suffers from bulimia. She was looking for support groups in our area for parents with children who are suffering.

What's interesting is that she assumed that I was like her - with a child who suffers from an ED.

So I replied that while I am a mom, I am the one who suffers (and have since college,) but that I'd be willing to start a support group. Organize it, facilitate the first couple meetings to help those interested figure out the best way to proceed, and then back out (if they want me to.)

I thought about my reply... Do I really want to get this involved? Can I really be so full of myself that I might think that I could start and potentially lead a support group? I mean, I still haven't completely pulled myself out of this most recent slip after all.

But then I thought, who better to start and potentially lead a support group for parents? As a sufferer, I may be able to offer perspective of what their children might be experiencing. As a mom who is trying very hard not to pass on my ED to my son, perhaps I can jump in with ideas if none of the other parents have ideas.

Everything happens for a reason, right? Maybe this was the reason I signed up to be a NEDAW coordinator this year?

So, I'd love to hear advice as I start on this new venture... Has anyone out there started a support group (of any kind) before?

Rest in peace, Polly...

2008-02-20T19:08:00.002-05:00

I heard about Polly Williams death from one of Rachel's posts (either at the Disordered Times or F-Word), but it hit me tonight when I read the L.A. Times article on her. Polly was 33 years old. Born in 1974.

Just like me.

Wow.

I thought she was older than me when I saw her in the documentary "Thin."

Wow.

It's scary. Death. How it happens at any age. But for some reason, when someone who is my age dies, the fear overwhelms me. The fear of death, of nothingness, of end.

Deep breath, Jeanne. Now isn't the time to think about the terrifying things like what happens when your body stops functioning. Not now when life is stressful enough and you are grasping onto the slippery recovery wagon. Not when you have been working so hard to hang on. Be gone nightmare.

Polly, wherever you may be, I wish you peace.

Biggest Loser in the workplace

2008-02-04T13:02:00.001-05:00

So, a group of coworkers are having a challenge. Who can lose the biggest percentage of body weight in six weeks. Winner (or "loser") gets the pot o' money.

Needless to say, I have major issues with this whole thing.

Aside from the fact that hearing about people losing weight (or trying to lose weight) is as difficult for me as a recovering heroin addict sitting around watching friends shoot up, I have major issues with people competing to change their outsides.

Of all the problems in our world, it annoys me to see people focus on a physical attribute. Think about it this way - has anyone heard of a tanning contest? Who ever gets the darkest tan wins? Or has anyone heard of a whitest smile contest? Or the longest hair challenge? (Who will cave first and chop their hair???)

No. Of course not.

So why the focus on weight???

We know why. Our society's obsessions.

I'd like to see a different kind of challenge. How about "the biggest giver" where volunteering is rewarded?

But a contest like that wouldn't even get off the ground. Not in the United States of America. Not in 2008.

Does that mean that change can't happen?

Absolutely not. Every change starts with one person. Just one person with an idea who talks to one person at a time.

So how will I change the world today?

First, I'm taking care of myself by working hard to make sure that I get the nutrients that my body needs to function (and not letting the constant chatter of losing weight throw me off balance.)

And I'll continue to focus on using my voice (not my body) to express my thoughts and feelings. So while my eating disorder screams at me to show these numb-nuts the dangers of focusing on body size and weight, I will ask them not to talk about discuss the challenge in my presence and I will tell them why. I will keep opening up, keep talking about my struggles to anyone who'll listen.

I will lead by example to the best of my ability.

Put your oxygen mask on first...

2008-01-16T08:36:00.001-05:00

As some of you know, I've slipped off the recovery wagon and am fighting tooth and nail to get back on.

I haven't been reading many blogs lately. Those that I do find time to read, I often do not comment on.

I often feel guilty about that.

On my private blog (send an email to diggingmeup at gmail dot com if you'd like an invite!) I've been asking for support and encouragement. A lot.

And I often apologize to my readers/friends for not being able to reciprocate.

Yesterday, as I was about to type yet another apology, I stopped. "Put your own oxygen mask on first before helping your child/loved one/neighbor."

Last year, I took my son on his very first plane ride. I buckled him in and we listened as the flight attendants went through the safety instructions. They were talking about the oxygen masks when one flight attendant made a point of coming to me and reiterating, "Make sure you put yours on first before helping your son with his."

I smiled politely as I thanked her, but inside I scoffed, "What the hell, lady? Do you honestly think I'll take care of myself before my precious child??? Dream f-ing on!!"

But as I go through (yet another) slip in my recovery, I realize the truth in that statement. If I don't take care of me first, I won't be around to take care of anyone else.

So, if I'm quiet in our neck of the blogosphere for a while longer, please know that I think about each and every one of you often with lots of love and tons of support. And when I get back on that recovery wagon, know that I'll be taking the reins and driving by your house to help you.

Nutritionist expectations

2007-12-15T09:43:00.000-05:00

I posted something similar on my private blog (if you'd like an invite, please email me!) but I thought I'd post it here as well.

I have an appointment with a new nutritionist on Monday morning and I want to make the most of it. What I'm looking for (what I believe I need right now to get back on track) from a nutritionist is the following:

a) give me structure (aka a plan to increase how much I'm eating on a gradual basis so as not to freak me out completely (and thus get obstinent.)) [With no calorie counting necessary.]

b) give me challenges (like you need to eat x before working out; or when you go out to dinner, order y; etc.) so that I can enlist my hubby, friends, fitness pros - all people who are willing to help me get back on track.

c) and hold me accountable for said plan and challenges.

Those of you who have experience with nutritionists (especially "good/helpful" ones,) does this sound reasonable? Or am I hoping for too much?

Reminder - digging me up in the dark

2007-12-09T18:42:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone,

I just wanted to remind you that I do have a private blog as well which has more of my life in it. If you are interested and would like to continue digging with me, send me an email to diggingmeup at gmail dot com or just include your email in the comments.

always,
jeanne

I love Love (Hewitt, that is!)

2007-12-03T21:23:00.001-05:00

"To all girls with butts, boobs, hips and a waist," she wrote, "put on a bikini — put it on and stay strong." - Yahoo news story

Rock on, Jennifer Love Hewitt! Rock on!

I couldn't have said it better myself.

Mindful eating

2007-11-27T15:58:00.000-05:00

Dr. Stacey has a great exercise for mindful eating.

As I was about to comment on the post, I realized that my response was all about me. So I decided to post here instead.

My initial reaction to this exercise (where one selects food on what one wants to eat rather than what one should eat) was that I want to try it tonight.

But then, I often have this response when I read similar mindful eating exercises.

And I never follow through.

Why?

I jump to excuses:
1) I don't eat meals at work - I eat lots of snacks throughout the day which keeps me from feeling stuffed and sleepy.

2) By the time dinner rolls around, I just want to get it over with as quickly as possible so I can have a few minutes of quality time with my hubby, son and myself before bed time.

Both bogus really.

I eat lots of snacks throughout the day because I'm afraid of feeling "full." On a scale of zero (being ravenous) and twelve (being overcome with nausea because I am SO STUFFED), I usually hover around a five or six. Never really starving, never really full. My safe zone.

For me growing up, dinner time was rarely enjoyable. My whole family ate together. Supposedly good, right?
Wrong.
Paint a big red target on my chest because I was a huge target for my brothers and their often cruel "teasing." The faster I ate, the faster I could go back to the sanctuary of my room. Add to this the fact that I was less than fond of many of my mother's choices for dinner. Is it any wonder that when you fast forward to today, I am still overly anxious about sit down meals. Pots and pans of food on the table in front me... just the thought sends my pulse racing. Dinner is something that I just want to get through - even now, when I have thoroughly enjoyable conversations with my hubby and son. Even now, when almost everything on the table is something I enjoy (and when it isn't, I can make something else. Because I'm cooking. I'm in charge.)

I do try to work on that. I slow down when I realize that I'm shoveling the food in. I focus on the conversation or start one up. Funny how I rarely remember to breathe... Maybe that could be my next step?

The other reason I shy away from trying mindful eating exercises is that my ED often used that as a ploy to get me to restrict even more. "Jeanne, think about what you're eating before and as you eat it. Chew each morsel. Savor it. You see? You don't need to eat so much..." as I finished a crumb of something or other.

That voice still seduces me... Lures me with the sweet sound of keeping my hunger level closer to two (rather than the five or six where I have taught myself to hover comfortably.)

So instead, what I try to do is mindfully eat those foods that are "treats" - that my body doesn't necessarily need to function (like macro- and micro-nutrients) but that my body, mind, and soul do need to survive (my comfort foods.)

Someday, I hope to be able to tackle a complete meal, a meal that is eaten in a state of awareness and full of thought.

But for now, I do what I can. After all, just as the road to paradise starts with one step, the road to complete mindful eating begins with one bite.

Another chance to rally!

2007-11-25T11:14:00.000-05:00

Rachel brought my attention to another tragic death among fashion models. I agree with her that eliminating the skeletons who pose as models from the fashion industry will not cure eating disorders nor prevent them, I do agree that it is a step towards promoting healthy body image in all women.

I just sent this message on the Council of Fashion Designers of America's website:
"I urge you to adopt and embrace regulations that will make fashion reflect reality, like using the body mass index to screen models. Women are not clothes hangers, models shouldn't be either. Fashion should be worn by women, otherwise it's called art and should be hung in a museum. Please, stop the insanity."

Please add your voice as well. Let our voices be heard!

"Now you can see who you can be" - oh really?

2007-11-19T10:31:00.000-05:00

Has anyone else seen the commercial (aimed at pre-teens, tweens and early teens) for DigiMakeover? Their slogan is "Now you can see who you can be."

The idea is that a girl takes a picture with the DigiMakeover camera and then uploads it to the TV/computer where they can digitally retouch the photo. In the commercial it shows the girls changing the hairstyle, the hair color, etc.

But will it stop there? Will there be a button to eliminate zits? Will they add on a feature to show a girl what a rhinoplasty would look like on her face? Or botox or whatever else plastic surgeons get paid to do these days???

Whatever happened to playing "beauty parlor" when little girls do each others' hair in different ways, just for fun???

Why does one need to "see" who she can be? To me, that shouts that a girl's worth is based on her looks.

Am I the only one who takes issue with that?

If everyone jumped off a bridge...

2007-11-18T13:55:00.000-05:00

I probably wouldn't.

But I have to add my support of NEDA's "2007 Every Body is Beautiful Auction" which is going on as we speak!

Bid often.
Bid high.

And even if you don't win, you still helped raise money for NEDA. 8-)

Appointment went well; worrying about trolls, redefining this space

2007-11-03T15:38:00.001-04:00

My appointment with John went well. I found the place just fine (even though i couldn't find the directions and map I printed out.)

Note to self: when one way streets are involved, always be sure to print out directions to get home.

I drove around the city for a few minutes, trying to figure out how to get on the major route that would get me home. Eventually, I found the visitor's center and asked and made it home safe and sound.

My appointment, as I said, went well. We recapped the past few months and he reassured me that I'm doing well.

And that's what I needed to get out of the appointment, for the most part.

Oh, and John apologized for being hard to find. He had left on the original phone number I had for one month after he moved to the new place - which meant it got turned off this week. I told him not to worry - I'm a librarian! 8-)

So now, I have lots of details to my appointment which I plan on posting in my private blog. Because I'm worried about being attacked like others on the culdy have been recently.

So far, no one has bothered me. Of which I'm grateful, believe me. But I also need to be comfortable. And I'm just not comfortable having my very personal encounters on full view to mean-spirited anonymous trolls who may be reading this post right now, silent for now, but lurking in the shadows waiting for that moment when my guard comes down to strike.

What I'm getting at is this:
Digging Me Up will now be reserved for my public displays of defiance. For when I need to use my voice against the injustices of this eating-disordered world. For when I need to shout my accomplishments to the rooftops.

My private blog will dig into the nitty gritty of me and my issues. If you aren't already invited and you are interested in reading the week-to-week (I just can't do daily posts consistently,) send me an email (diggingmeup at gmail dot com) or post your email in the comments here.

Thank you all so much for your support!!!

A little off kilter...

2007-11-02T13:33:00.001-04:00

I allowed myself to give in today.

I worked out with my personal trainer this morning, then went to a half hour basic metabolics class at noon.

The class was relatively easy - it was basic forms that the instructor will build on as the class moves on each week.

But I feel off balance.

I feel guilty for taking an extra half hour today - when my work is piling and piling up with no relief in sight.
I feel guilty for being completely unmotivated to work today.
I feel guilty because my workout with my trainer seemed easier. And Mike (my trainer) admitted that he went easy on the strength work in favor of more cardio to test how much pounding my ankle could take. (The ankle that I sprained over the summer.)
I feel guilty because I wanted another exercise high. I've been so tired lately.

So what lies beneath all the guilt?

I feel anxious about my appointment with John tomorrow. And not necessarily because I'm not exactly sure what I'm going to say (I have a general idea - recap me telling my mom, how I compartmentalized it all in order to handle my husband's crisis, how I now feel like I'm on square one with some things (not with my ED, that I've kept at bay (for the most part) throughout this all.)

I'm anxious because I'm going to his new office. In a city that is over a half hour's drive from my house. In a city that I've only breezed past as I made my way north to visit family.

And even though I'm planning to leave over an hour before I need to be there (which is 15 minutes early so I can fill out paper work for the office,) I'm still worried about not getting there in time. Getting lost amongst the one-way streets.

And so, I used exercise to lower my anxiety levels - if only for a little while.

How do I know that's what I did?

Because when I got back from class, I wolfed down my lunch and then panicked.

And got out a scrap of paper to write down everything that I ate so far and everything that I had brought with me. To make sure it was enough, but not too much.

I threw the paper away after I realized what I was doing.

I don't need to obsess over calories.

I am able to trust my body. I've been doing it for months now (more or less) and my body hasn't acted any different. My clothes still fit the same at all the same places on my cycle.

So, I'm taking a few deep breaths.

And I'm going to plunge back into work. And get as much done as I can. And if that means that I only organize my desk (which has become overrun, like it does by Friday every week,) so be it.

I can only do my best.

And that is ALWAYS good enough.

Pays to be a librarian

2007-10-31T08:53:00.000-04:00

John is a hard man to find.

I tried calling the number that I had for his private voicemail (one that he assured me would always work no matter where he went.)

"This number is no longer in service."

I knew that he had joined a practice (he had previously been freelancing.) I knew where. I just, for the life of me, couldn't think of the name of the practice.

Google failed me - because John doesn't list his phone number.

So I turned to my insurance, hoping to find a clue to the practice that he joined. I never imagined that my insurance's doctor finder would have updated information.

But it did.

So I called John's new office.
The practice he's with now is large - has many therapists. And has an on-call therapist as well.

I made an appointment for Saturday. He has Saturday hours now! Unfortunately, his new office is at least a half hour drive away from where I live. Ugh.
But on the other hand, maybe that will be good - give me some drive-time to decompress before returning home.

I'm a little nervous about my appointment - I mean in some ways it seems anti-climatic and totally after the fact to talk about telling my mom.
But I also know that I slammed the entire event (feelings included) into a box and if I don't take them out in a safe place, they will haunt me. Like ghosts on Halloween...

Guilty Pleasure

2007-10-28T13:06:00.001-04:00

Well, life is good.

For the past few nights, I've been indulging in one of my guilty pleasures - watching "Dancing with the Stars" on abc.com. I LOVE the player the fact that they are posting the whole shows. I FINALLY get to watch a season of it!!

And, I'm addicted. Part of me would love to watch Grey's Anatomy and get into Samantha Who? and all the other shows that they are posting, but besides there being only 24 hours in a day, I don't need to escape into TV shows anymore.

When I was younger, I escaped from my life every single chance I could get. I watched TONS of TV and read HEAPS of books. And when I wasn't reading or watching, I was pretending I was a part of the TV life or the novel. I needed to imagine people showing me that I was loved and cared about. I needed to pretend that I was accepted.

I don't need to live life vicariously anymore.

So why do I watch "Dancing with the Stars?"

Simple. To refine my dance movements!!

8-)

My husband is buying me a pole for my "all-year-round" present. I pick it up at the studio this week and install it next weekend.

I can't wait!!!

8-)

Oh, and on Friday night, my son fell asleep early (like dinner time.)

So what did I do most of the night?

Watched "What Not to Wear."

I usually hate reality shows, especially the makeover shows. But this one, I like overall. Clinton and Stacy emphasize that every body is beautiful; that you need to dress the body you have, not the body you want. That when you dress to fit your body, you FEEL better about yourself and thus exude confidence which is infectious.

And as I watched three women become transformed over the three episodes that I watched, my own new-found love of my body increased.

We are all beautiful!

Pole divas don't need ED

2007-10-24T20:08:00.000-04:00

Once again, I apologize for the delay. Work has been crazy lately and the last thing I've wanted to do when I get home is type. lol

But, I can't leave everyone in suspense any longer.

My graduation and recital were awesome!

Graduation night (Thursday) was our regular class night. The only ones there were my classmates and my teacher. We warmed up to all of our favorite songs and then jumped right into performing. I went second that night. But anyway, I nailed my routine!!!

Pose where I hold onto the pole with one hand and my inner thighs - check!
Peter pan spin into a flying body spiral - check!
Rollerskating spin - check!
Handstand to the pole with flirt and pose - check!
Invert with one leg out, then switched to have the other leg hang down, then turn around and slide down (upside down) - check!
And all the spins and moves in between - CHECK!

What a rush! All my classmates cheered and hooted and hollered and at the end, some even stamped the floor for a thunderous applause!

When I finished, my teacher told the class that I'm her most special student - because I was with her from her very first Intro class at the studio (even before she officially taught a class!) She also added that after the class I had said that I had to sign up for her class (which was absolutely true!) She then presented me with my camisole (she gave each of us a personalized one) with the letters O. G. on it - for Original Gangster. I was beyond touched.

Since I got my routine out of the way, I hooted and hollered for everyone else. Everyone looked awesome!

So, after everyone performed, we all stood in a line and while we made a massage train, my teacher asked each of us to say what was the best thing about our time at the studio. We all said, "besides every one of you, ..." For me, I said (paraphrasing,) "besides everyone of you, it's the fact that I no longer look in the mirror and cringe. I do a little hip circle and love the sexy beast I see."

Then my teacher passed out the black thongs and champagne! I didn't stay to drink - partly because our class had run over and I didn't want Todd to worry; but also because I don't drink.

All week, I had been planning for the recital. I organized a gift from all my classmates and me to our teacher, arranged to have a curtain call (so that we could surprise our teacher with said gift,) and I even composed a poem. Unfortunately, I couldn't get anyone else to recite the poem and present the gifts.

So, after class on Thursday, I was more nervous about being the "spokesdiva" than about performing my routine in front of a) Todd (who has never seen any of my moves, since I don't have a pole in our apartment... yet) and b) in front of strangers.

I got to the studio early - because I couldn't hang out in our apartment with my parents and Jack - I was way too nervous to sit still. I stretched and warmed up and then we had an "official" warm up. My teacher called all of us into the office. With the door closed, she pulls out a bottle of Goldschlogger (spelling?) and tiny shot glasses and starts pouring while she goes over the details of the evening. She reminds us, as she passes out the shots, that the recital was all about having fun. No one except the ladies in that room knew what our routines were "supposed" to be and we love each other anyways. I tried to pass on the shot saying that I haven't had a drink since before Jack was born. (That shocked everyone.) They responded that it's about time that I had one. So I accepted a half a glass. We toasted and I sipped. Whoa, nelly! It singed my mouth!! That's when I was told, "You need to down it in one."

Call me a prude, call me square, but I've never (until last Friday) had done a shot. Ever. So I downed it. In one. And felt warm and giddy over my accomplishment. Because I did it.

So then, my teacher kicked off the public part of the evening by introducing the first dancer. I came next - and my introduction was a lot like the night before. My routine this time was amazing - even though I didn't nail my routine. My teacher told me that I covered well though. I threw in a few extra spins at the end to make up for the few things that I missed.

In the middle of my routine, I heard Todd yell out, "Holy Sh*t!" (Remember, he had never seen any of my moves before.) It was the best thing - because even though I missed my handstand and a few other things, I was still amazing the hell out of almost everyone in that room.

After that, I wasn't anxious anymore - I knew I'd recite my poem just fine.

And I did.

Once I was finished and we passed out the gifts (the group one to our teacher, and a framed copy of my poem to the owner of the studio,) we group-hugged. Then I passed out copies of my poem to all my classmates. The owner of the studio (who hadn't opened her gift) came up to me and said, "I have to have a copy of that." I told her she already did.

Afterwards, we all went out to a new restaurant (that has 4 or 5 bars!) and celebrated. People I didn't even know who had come to the recital to support others came up to me to compliment me on my routine and my poem!

8-)

And that night, once Todd and I came home and got into bed, I relived the night.

And not the mistakes that I made - which is what I would always do in the past. I relived the confidence I felt as I recited my poem; the pride that I felt when I heard Todd's exclamation of awe. I was jazzed and couldn't stop smiling at myself.

And since that night, I haven't been able to stop smiling at myself.

For the first time. ever. I feel RECOVERED.

I'm a Pole Master now. A black thong. I accomplished that. All by myself. In this body.

So yeah, I may never lose my "baby" pouch belly and I may have muscular arms that look bulky, but ta-damn*! I'm a sexy beast!!!

I love me. And damnit, I'm going to nourish my body and soul.
8-)

[I'll post my poem to my private blog (Digging me up in the dark - just email me for an invite.)]

* ae - was this your phrase? Because I used it in a quote for the recital program and all the women LOVED it! In fact, the owner is incorporating it into her vocabulary, she loved it so much.
So thank you!!

Stay tuned...

2007-10-22T09:10:00.000-04:00

Just a quick post to say that I am doing okay - just been a busy weekend between my recital (I was great!) and my parents' visit.

I will come back and give you all the details of my recital. So stay tuned...

8-)

Upon graduating

2007-10-15T19:59:00.000-04:00

I'm extremely anxious and nervous.

I graduate from Level 6 in my pole dancing class on Thursday. (Friday is the recital where we can invite family and friends. I invited my hubby, obviously. lol)

It's hard to believe - I started out at the end of January in Level 1, learning the Fireman (and variations like the Martini and Ballerina) and the Showgirl. I was hooked. My teacher was amazing - always saying how beautiful we all were, how sexy.

I moved on to Level 2 - I learned the Half-Pint and Chair. I went through my first thonging ceremony (at the end of each even level we earn a thong. At the end of level two, I was a nude thong.)

Level 3 got a little more challenging - with spins called the Black Widow, Corkscrew and Peter Pan. Level 4, we went inverted - upside down, kids. Up that's right. At the end, I earned my red thong. (and a pretty one it was! lol)

In level 5, the inverts got more complex. Let go? Let go with my hands and hold on by my what? No way - my inner thighs aren't that strong. Nuh-uh.

And now, here I am, almost at my graduation from the final level. After Thursday, I'll be a Pole Master; a black thong. I've selected music ("Have you ever really loved a woman" by Bryan Adams,) choreographed my own routine with my favorite moves (like the open-legged corkscrew) and one that I created (a Peter Pan to a Flying Body Spiral.) I've nailed (most of) my handstands to the pole; I've gotten comfortable enough with my invert to let go a little; I've even tried a new move (the Superman pose) that I'm going to try to throw in my routine.

And yet, before I wrote all this down, I felt like a clutz and the dumpiest, fattest woman in the class (if not the world.)

Now, after writing all this down, I still feel dumpy and fat, but damn if I don't sit in wonder at all that I've accomplished.

The women in my class nicknamed me "Scary bitch" - because I'm the first one to take off a layer of clothes (of course, I also am the one that usually has the most layers on...) and I'm also the first one to try any spin (just not the inverts. I get woozy when my head is closer to the ground than my butt, you know?)

I'm not exactly sure what i meant to get out of this post. Sometimes, it feels good to ramble, I guess.

I'll ask my hubby to snap some photos of me at my recital on Friday. I'll post some on my other blog (the new private one - just send me an email to
diggingmeup at gmail dot com
and I'll send you an invite.)

well, off to check on the culdy...

I'll leave you with my level 6 song.

A second blog

2007-10-14T18:12:00.001-04:00

I have created a second blog - a private one where I can freely "talk" about those things that happen that I'm not entirely comfortable sharing with (potentially) the world. (Or that family/friends are uncomfortable sharing with the world.)

If you would like to read "Digging me up in the dark," please send an email to:

diggingmeup at gmail dot com

Never fear, I will still continue to post here. 8-)

Thank you all for supporting me!

Doomed to dumpiness

2007-10-13T17:40:00.000-04:00

AE most recent post mentioned about her feelings of being unconventional.

I can't remember a time when I felt conventional. Normal.

I rarely feel that I belong.

Most recently, on Thursday night in my dance class. I felt outside. The other women get together for purse parties and happy hours, sushi and dinner. And while I was invited to the purse party, I couldn't go - my family needed me.

And when I dance, I feel like the fattest one there. Wait, that's because I AM the fattest one in class.

I feel short and dumpy next to the tall and elegant and the petite and adorable.

Short and dumpy. It's how I've felt my entire life. Even next to people who are my own height.

I feel like I always say the wrong thing. It seems like I'm the only one who farts, the only one who can't do certain moves, the only one afraid.

And it only is magnified in class. Maybe because in the level that I'm in (6 and last) we work on solo routines. so instead of being able to fade into the crowd, I'm in the spotlight. And the spotlight burns.

Last Thursday, I watched most of the other women's routines. All of them were beautiful. Some more so than others, but all seemed to move smoother than me.

When I danced, my thighs skidded down the pole (making a completely embarrassing noise) instead of gently (silently) sliding down. I plopped onto the ground instead of gracefully landing softly. After taking my t-shirt off, my camisole rode up and the top of my shorty shorts flipped down a bit revealing my bulbous belly.

In short, instead of feeling beautiful and elegant dancing around the pole to "Have you really ever loved a woman" by Bryan Adams, I felt like a herd of elephants plowing into the pole.

All through my routine, I heard murmuring from my classmates. Only once did I hear what they said. It was while I was taking off my T-shirt or maybe my outside pair of shorts. It was something like, "We love that about her." (meaning the fact that I'm usually the first one to strip.)

When I finished my routine, my classmates all applauded (some even pounded the floor.) A few told me that my routine was awesome.

So why do I think that they are lying to me in the "let's make the fat girl feel good about herself" way?

Ugh. And I had been so "good" the last few nights - not having dessert if I wasn't really hungry and here I sit tonight with ice cream curdling in my tummy. Okay, so it was a serving size portion with a little trailmix cereal and some whipped cream on top. Hardly anything that will break the bank, but still. I can't stand that I succombed when I wasn't really hungry.

So what's really going on? Why am I focusing on food? Why am I berating my body?

I'm nervous about performing my routine in front of my class on Thursday and then in front of my husband (and lots of other spouses and invited guests) at the recital on Friday.

I'm scared that my husband will take seeing my routine as an invitation to things that I'm not ready for. Especially after the month that I've had (and am still having.)

Life has gotten in the way of my dealing with my issues. Specifically the ones I have with intimacy. I've had a month's reprieve, so to speak, and now, my husband is giving me signals... Signals that i'm not ready for. Signals that I don't want him to give. Not now.

I feel so fat. So ugly. So disgusting. I wish... I wish I knew how to throw up the ice cream I ate.
***

I have to say. I love my apartment. We're on the third floor and have an awesome view of fireworks. There's an amazing show going on tonight - in October no less!

But, it's bedtime for my son (and me.) May you all have sweet dreams!

Protecting the father

2007-10-09T21:09:00.000-04:00

A few of you brought up the fact that I am the gatekeeper. I am the keymaster. I am the keeper of the keys. I can tell my dad if I want to. This is my story to tell to whomever I need.

But I don't want to tell my dad. I want to protect him. He's been through so much the past few years - his mom (and close friend) suffering (and dying) from cancer; his father spewing venom at him constantly (blaming my dad for every bad decision my grandpa has made.)

But then there is a part of me that wants him to know - who wants everyone to know.

But then, telling him doesn't mean that it will be out in the open. Telling my mom and oldest brother (JJ) proves that.

So I've set a realistic expectation. My mom knows. My other brother knows.

For now, that's good enough.

And if my dad brings up brother, Tom, and it bothers me, I can say something then. I reserve that right.

And it is my right. One that I'm choosing not to exercise, right now.

It's okay.

I don't need to tell him right now. I'm sleeping better (perhaps because I'm exhausted dealing with other things, but still.) I am still managing my ED well - not restricting, not overexercising, not stuffing myself beyond full.

I'm okay.

Am I ready yet???

2007-10-08T15:50:00.001-04:00

I'm not sure.

I'm not sure if I'm ready to talk about the conversation with my mom. I've had to bury it and keep it buried for so long now, it seems like it isn't worth the effort.

But then, I think, "Jeanne, if you don't, it will bite you on the ass someday. You know it will. You have to close the circle to close the door on this event."

So, here we go...

My parents arrived on Friday night. I waited until Sunday to bring up the subject. My parents and I took my son to his elementary school's playground and as my dad and Jack were playing, my mom and I sat on a bench to watch.

I don't remember exactly what I said - I know it was similar to what I had rehearsed.

My mom was stunned.

She asked a few times when it happened, who was in the house, etc. Understandly, she felt guilt and worry that this bad thing happened to her daughter on her watch. I tried to reassure her that there wasn't anything she could have done, even if it did happen when she was downstairs.

I explained what I did remember. I explained that this is why I reacted the way I did when she brought up my brother and his family visiting around the fourth of July next summer. I explained that I am still angry and will be for a long time. That I don't want to hear about Tom, I could care friggin' less about what happens to him.

I told her that I needed her to know, but that I was leaving it up to her to decide how much (or if) dad could handle.

I felt relieved after telling her.

afterwards, my mom, the woman who rolled her eyes when I told her that I was dancing with a pole, let me show her a few of my spins and even teach her how to do the Fireman.

8-)

Later on, when my mom and I had run into the grocery store for something (I can't remember what now,) she told me that she decided not to tell my dad anything. "It happened so long ago, not to minimize what happened. And while you had to tell someone, I don't think he needs to know. And besides, he did apologize." (or something to that effect.)

I agreed, reluctantly. It's my mom that I talk to every week (or so.) It's my mom that would have brought up my brother to me. I don't talk to my dad very often and usually, when I do, it's about pictures or cooking or something. And I figured I could always tell Dad myself later, if I didn't feel better (meaning if my dreams continued to disturb my sleep, or if my ED got worse...)

I have to say that I was (and am) angry that my mom minimized what happened to me. (Anytime anyone says, "Not to minimize it," s/he IS minimizing it.) I think I understand why she did it - it's my mom's M.O. really. Minimize or ignore it and it will cease to exist. Brush the crumbs under the rug, shove the clutter into the closet, close the door on the pigsty. Her hiding imperfections has always annoyed me.

And I'm angry that she is accepting his (my brother's) apology. As if saying, "I'm sorry" somehow heals the wounds in an instant - the twenty years of pain that I've survived. The twenty years of self-loathing. The twenty long years of punishment I sentenced myself to, thinking I was the one who did wrong.

Forgive me, but "I'm sorry" doesn't slice the marmalade in my book.

So, where do I go from here?

At some point, I want to see John (my therapist.) If nothing else, to close the circle there.

After all this, I feel fat. And ugly. And not being able to workout, dance and walk as normal the past three weeks hasn't helped me feel lean and beautiful either. And neither has my "binges." (Definition of binge for me is eating whatever I want (usually sweets or nuts or breads) until full. I'm working on realizing that that isn't a binge, even if I "feel" disgusting aftewards.)

And I realize that all of that means that I'm depressed. And only part of it is due to repressing feelings around the conversation I had with my mom. And much of it has to do with why I had to repress my feelings. (Feel free to email me at diggingmeup at gmail dot com for details that I'm not able to share here.)

Well, that's all for now.

Thinking of everyone here on the culdy...

Apologies...

2007-09-27T08:25:00.001-04:00

I'm sorry to be silent for so long.

One of the members of my family was in a medical crisis and needed me. We finally got some answers (after a lot of advocating and pushing on my part) and, while we aren't out of the woods, we at least see a path out.

I'm happy to say that through this almost 2-week crisis, I only restricted for a little over a day. All things considered, I'm pretty damn proud of myself. The rest of the time, I took care of myself and my family in the best way I could.

I still haven't let out about my talk with my mom yet. When I have had a few moments, I've pushed it back down because I wasn't sure if I'd have enough time to do it justice. Once I get enough rest for a few days (and when I'm sure the worst is over with my family member,) I'll recap what happened.

Thank you all for your thoughts over the past few weeks.

Quickie...

2007-09-18T20:58:00.001-04:00

I can't write much right now - too much going on for me to be coherent.

I'm okay though. I did tell my mom and it went as well as I expected. I haven't had time to process any of it though. As soon as I do have some time, I will come back and fill you all in. (writing helps me to figure out my thoughts.)

Thank you to everyone for all your support and encouragement.
8-)

Taking care of me

2007-09-14T14:06:00.000-04:00

On my recent post, hayley commented that I seem to very good at taking care of myself.

Yup.

But I didn't always.

I used to be the very last person I would ever consider taking care of. Everyone else's needs came before mine. Not just my son's needs (which naturally come first until he is ready to take over,) but everyone's - even our dog's needs came before my own. I thought I deserved to be everyone's slave; needed to be punished. And when I failed at meeting someone's need, I hated myself even more and found more creative ways to punish myself - restricting food and sleep (the later so I could get more done for other people.)

I was miserable - all of the time.

It took me until I was almost 30 years old to realize that if I continue to restrict more and more of my needs, I will die.

I didn't want to die. (Still don't.)

So I found help for my eating disorder - the most obvious sign that something was wrong with me.

Learning that my needs were valid took a long time. A very long time. I started small. Feeding myself some bare minimum of nourishment each day progressed to staying home from work when I was sick.

I practiced these things for a few years all the while I dug into my psyche for the whys - what did I ever do to think that I needed capital punishment. Did I murder? No. Did I pillage? No. Did I maim or abuse? No.

Over and over again I thought about these things. Digging, digging deeper and deeper.

Until I found that I was the one who was wronged. I was the one who was abused.

And I didn't want to believe that.

But I was miserable enough to talk about it with a therapist (John) and I found out that it was true. All of it.

That was my true turning point. To realize that I was a victim. I never deserved the torture I gave myself for so many years.

Ever since then, I've been almost incapable of harming myself. At least not for long.

For the same reason I can't kick my dog or take the food away from my son.

I deserve to be loved.

And I have found that the most reliable person in my life, the person whom will never ever ever desert me - is physically unable to leave me

is

me.

So who better to rely on for my care? Who better to know my needs and see that they are met?

If I don't do it, who will?

That isn't to say that I am an island, because I am far from it. My husband is always there waiting to help. I just need more practice in asking for it (and not feeling incredibly guilty about needing.)

But then, I'm still a work in progress...

Places, everyone! Places!

2007-09-12T14:10:00.000-04:00

My parents are coming to visit this weekend.

Usually, I'd be completely excited, especially since the weather sounds like it will be warm and sunny and there are lots of festivals to go to around the area.

But this time, I face the weekend with trepidation.

Because if I'm ever going to tell my parents about my abuse, this is it.

On my walk today, I rehearsed (and rehearsed and rehearsed) what I'll say to my mom. The basic spiel is:

Mom, I have something that is really hard for me to tell you. It's really hard for me to talk about. But keeping it secret is hurting me. It's the main reason I have an eating disorder, which I'm managing very well now.
When I was 11 or 12 years old, Tom, my brother, sexually molested me a few times. He confirmed it and apologized for it last fall. But I'm still angry.
I need you and dad to understand and respect that I am angry at him. And while he and I can be civil (like my visit in July,) it hurts me deeply.

If necessary, I'm prepared to elaborate:

"Yes, he apologized. Yes, I accepted his apology, but that doesn't mean that I'm not angry for what he did to me. He could have ruined my life. I almost lost my marriage. I developed a disease that could have killed me. I've hated myself and my body for as long as I can remember. That makes me angry. And I have every right to feel that way."

"True, it happened over twenty years ago, but for me, it's like it happened last fall, when I was strong enough to handle the memories."

If she asks, "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Just understand that it hurts me to hear about Tom right now. Respect that I'm angry at him."

And if she struggles with this information, I'll say,
"Mom, I understand that this information is a lot to take in. There isn't really anything you can do, other than realize that I don't want to hear about Tom right now. I've talked with Johnny about this, asked him for advice on how to tell you. He didn't seem to think I should tell you any of it, but I thought that gave you far too little credit. I don't want the family broken up, but I also can't live with this secret pain anymore. I don't deserve that. I didn't do anything wrong."

I can't think of any other questions she may ask or statements she may make.

And I do realize that not once have I thought about how I would react should I get a supportive reply.

And I do realize how sad that may seem, however in my recovery, I've learned that 'tis better to lower one's expectations than to constantly be disappointed. Better to stop banging my head against the cement wall.

So, I'm extremely nervous about doing this. I'm worried that I'm missing a potential scenario (like the world blowing up in my face.) A voice in my head keeps saying, "You're making a mountain out of a molehill. Why are you stirring all this up? Why are you going to break your mother's heart over something that happened so long ago?"

But then I remember the weird, disturbing dreams that I have every single night.
And I think about how tired I am all the time. And how I've been fighting my eating disorder and depression and bad body image.

I don't want to hide anymore. Not from myself. Not from my husband. Not from my parents.

Not anymore.

So I drown that voice by practicing my "speech." And I focus on the relief I will feel after I tell my mother.

Because no matter what her reaction is, I will have done it. The truth will be out in the open.

And it will be a relief. At least on some level.

Can I boot Barbie into the 21st century already???

2007-09-11T19:10:00.000-04:00

Last night, I saw a commercial for the Barbie Fashion Fever Shopping Boutique set.

Like watching a B movie, I sat with my jaw dropped. Stunned.

I couldn't believe it.

Load twenty-odd outfits for Barbie into the spinning rack (tops on top, bottoms on bottom) and spin the rack to choose an outfit.
Then swipe your credit card... and to boot, it tells your daughter her balance.

I'm speechless.

I looked up the description:

Shoes, shades, and stylin' outfits! This is the hottest boutique in town, and it's yours to run! Set up shop, choose your fashion passions and spice them up with the trendiest accessories. Your boutique even has a register to swipe your Fashion Fever™ card and send your dolls home with the latest head-turning looks!

I suppose I should be glad that Barbie is now attempting to teach girls the meaning of a dollar.*

but am I the only one who takes issue with the stereotype that Barbie perpetuates?

Actually, I shouldn't single out poor Barbie. Have you seen all the toys - both for girls and boys? I walk into Target and it saddens me. The "boy" toy aisle is filled with toys with various weapons (guns, blasters, light sabers, batarangs, numchucks.) In the "girl" toy aisle, well, I need sunglasses just to get near the neon pink and purple bedecked shelves.

Then, in between, are a few rows of the "gender neutral" toys. The ones that are almost always child-free.

Why is that?

When Jack was a baby, I had thought about providing him with lots of "gender neutral" toys.
Until he turned 6 months old.
That was when he started sleeping with cars instead of a yellow rubber duck. (Jack never got into stuffed animals. Still doesn't like them.)

I never pushed cars on him. It was like cars were in his blood.

From that point on, I gave up. Toy guns? We've got'em in various sizes. Action figures with grenades and blasters? Got'em.

We also have lots of blocks.
Which my son turns into a) weapons, b) vehicles, or c) all of the above.

When I was his age, I turned blocks into houses - complete with kitchen table and chairs.

Are these differences in our genetic make-ups? Does it have to do with the missing leg of the Y chromosome?

Or are the stereotypes in our culture so pervasive that they have infiltrated our minds at such early ages?

And if it's the later, what hope do we have to change, not just the gender stereotypes, but the unreal body image ideals???

* I just saw the commercial again. Scratch this. The credit card "never runs out of money." ::rolls eyes::

The voice of a princess; the roar of Mama Bear

2007-09-07T21:30:00.000-04:00

I'm sorry that I've been incommunicado lately. I took some time off - mainly to spend lots of time with my son and husband. We bowled, we shopped, we watched movies, we swam. It was an amazingly relaxing long weekend.

I did have a rather scary "feeling my feelings" moment last Friday night which left me incredibly raw and numb for a few days (another reason I stayed away.) But I lived through it. It didn't kill me, so perhaps it made me stronger?

Anyway, as I was trying to catch up on the numerous blogs I (make a poor attempt to) follow, I came across a post on The Disordered Times about Princess Diana. I left the following comment:

Diana has always held a special place in my heart. She is my role model (although I just realized it after reading this post.) I strive to be everything my son needs me to be (which includes healthy in mind and body.) And I'm not afraid to use my voice anymore. Only good comes when one speaks eloquently on topics one feels passionate about, as Diana did many times in her life.

My latest foray into the world of passionate speaking brought out the bear in me. Tuesday was Jack's first day of kindergarten. I had planned for it to be a bittersweet day - a day when I expected to smile as I said goodbye to my son at his classroom, then cry a few tears once I got back to my van before going on my merry way to shopping, lunch, and a movie.

Best laid plans often go awry.

The best way I can explain it is to share with you the letter which I wrote to the principal of Jack's elementary school (and which I copied in the school board representatives.)

Dear Principal,
I have just returned from the elementary school after dropping my son off on his first day of kindergarten.

I am appalled and too angry to speak to you over the phone.

I also couldn't speak because my voice was raw and hoarse as I emitted primal screams of RAGE when I returned to my van.

I pulled onto school property on time, 7:38 am – 2 minutes before I was told that I could drop my son off.

The parking lot was a disaster area: cars parked on both sides of the fire lanes; inconsiderate people not yielding the right of way to oncoming traffic. Five precious minutes I sat motionless in my vehicle, waiting for an accident to happen in this "safe environment" that the school's mission statement purports this to be.

I arrived in the school at 7:48 am with my son. I was told that I needed a visitor’s pass to walk my son down to his room. Once I received directions as to how I could obtain said pass, I was ONE minute past 7:50 am by the time I got to one of the two people at the front desk in the office. I was unable to walk my son to his classroom because I had patiently waited in line both in the parking lot and in the office. My son was frightened and scared, rightfully so as he was in a school building that he had seen only once in his life for barely an hour. His fear increased into tears when a stranger had to walk him to his classroom because the parking lot was in chaos. Never before when I have left him at new child care centers has he cried like he did today. His exciting first day of kindergarten was ruined by fear because of a rule that doesn’t allow parents to walk their kindergartners to their classroom. His first real experience with the school ruined by a rule that caused me to leave my son in a stranger’s care; a stranger to this minute because this office person never introduced herself to either my son or me.

I mentioned to this office person that the school needed more parking. I was told by this person that the lot has never had enough parking, had been that way for years. If this is the case, why have you done nothing to alleviate the problem? Why haven’t you hired parking lot attendants? Why haven’t you redirected some of the volunteers to direct traffic? Why haven’t you converted the soccer field into auxiliary parking for the day? Why haven’t you placed volunteers with visitor passes and a sign-in book at all entrances, front and back, to the school on especially the first day when you should know there is more confusion? If it is such a known problem that the parking lot is inadequate, why are you unwilling to do anything to fix it? Why are you so complacent to allow the chaos to continue? Why are you so willing to risk making our children's first day a negative and unsafe one?

I am sure I am not the only parent who left your school today in anger and frustration. The parking lot monstrosity ruined my son’s first day of school. Completely and utterly ruined it. Not only that, the parking planning ineptitude ruined any good feeling or school spirit I had about this school.

What will you do about this situation going forward?

May I be the last parent to regret entrusting my child to the care of Newton-Lee Elementary due to the atrocity that you call a parking lot.

I wrote this letter after I returned home, at the beginning of my three hours of torturous worry about my son. When I left him in the office, he was starting to cry. Was he having a good time? Was his teacher able to comfort him? How was he doing? Did this ruin his day? Will it scar him for life?

I was able to talk to Jack when he arrived at his daycare around 11:15 - and it turned out that he had a good time; he hadn't been crying when he arrived at the classroom. Thank goodness.

However, my morning was completely ruined. I did still manage to get to a movie (I saw Becoming Jane - very good, if you are into period movies and/or Jane Austen.)

BUT

My letter certainly lit some fires. The principal tried to call me all afternoon (unfortunately, they mistyped my phone numbers.) Both school board members replied to my email (and forwarded my email to the superindendent.) One mentioned that he will make sure that designs for new schools take the parking situation on the first day of school into account.

The next morning, there was a staff member directing traffic in the parking lot. The morning after that, there were staff members at another entrance with a visitors log book and passes.

I felt my rage - I let lava explode out of me, but then I put it to work for me. I used my voice and I was taken seriously. I made a difference, not just in my life, but in the lives of so many other parents and children.

And it feels good.

So while I may not have speech writers to string words eloquently together, I am able to induce change.

One little voice.
One mother protecting her child.
An entire school's processes changed.
A whole school district rethinking how elementary schools are designed.
All from one letter from a concerned parent.
All because of me.

Definitely a lesson worth temporarily losing my physical voice over.

Need to purge (in a healthy way)

2007-08-31T22:01:00.000-04:00

I need to get some things out...

****Warning****

The below may include triggers (food with some amounts, urges, etc.) Proceed with caution and care for yourself.

****End Warning****

I've been sitting (knitting furiously while watching Charmed DVDs) with the urge to throw up all night. Not that I know (or have ever known) how to make myself throw up at will. I physically can't do it.

It's not that I really binged either. Granted, I challenged myself today. I gave in to my craving for really good steak fries and a chicken wrap (I highly recommend Red Robin.) And I still ate dinner and I still had a homemade sundae with 2 scoops of ice cream and whipped cream and sprinkles and almonds.

And now I feel full. Not stuffed. Just full.

And I hate it.

But what I hate more is the incredible sadness that I'm feeling.

My son starts kindergarten on Tuesday. We (Todd and Jack) met his teachers today and saw (and played in) his classroom. And then we went out for lunch (afore-mentioned Red Robin) then we went bowling. We had an awesome time, despite my son slipping and whacking his head. (Did you know that the reason you stay in front of the line on the alley is because the lane is oiled for about half of the way to the pins? I learned that today... I had always thought that the fould line was just to keep things fair among competitors. Whoddathunk?)

So anyway, all day, I've been fighting back tears. I called my grandma and talked to her for about a half hour. She sent me a card and I wanted to thank her. My grandma is 94 years old (well, at least for another few weeks...)

Until around 4 when I couldn't hold them back anymore. I went to the bathroom and cried.

My son is going to school.

Time is going too quickly. Way too quickly.

If I'm lucky, I'm about a third of the way through my life.

One third gone.

Never to return.

And how did I spend this time???

Up until recently, I've spent it hating myself. Torturing myself. Punishing myself with feelings of shame and disgust for something I didn't do. For something that happened TO me. Was done to me.

And I feel incredibly sad.

I just want to cry.

As I mentioned, I've been watching episodes from Charmed. One of the Charmed Ones* (Piper) had the power to freeze time.

How I envy her sometimes. Sometimes I just want to freeze everything but me, if only for a few minutes, to give me time to truly experience everything. Give me time to cry when I'm in the moment of feeling sad (without anyone else seeing.)

I'm embarrassed by how sad I feel. I mean, really, what happened to me happened over 20 years ago. All kids start school. Everyone grows up; it's natural. the way of things. Everyone gets older...

I have no intention of ever wishing for Jack to stay small. And yet, I can't help but wish that time would Slow. down.

Give me time to process. Give me time to feel. I'm new at this feeling all feelings thing. It takes me a long time to process what I'm feeling, let alone let myself show it.

Give me time to live. After spending 30 years frozen.

and what really sucks. The thing that makes me so angry?

I never got to enjoy the time when one can let her/his feelings flow and everyone else be damned. That time, as a kid, when you can cry when you are hurt and sad, laugh outrageously when you are happy, stamp and kick and scream when you are angry. Like today, when my son whacked his noggin on the floor at the bowling alley... He seemed to carry on and on. I held him and rocked him (Todd sat next to us and held his hand.) And I just let him cry. He was scared more than hurt, really, but you know? That was okay. Eventually, he stopped. (after only a prompting from Todd and me to take a few deep breaths.) And he felt so much better. Because he let it all out. He wasn't worried about people staring at him or what someone would think. He felt and let it out. And then it was done.

I was proud of him.

And Todd and I, too. Because we let him. Even though we were brought up to think that "one shouldn't make a scene."

We did good.

***
Sorry... brief pause there (not that you noticed. lol) My son wanted a hug. He asked me, "Does everyone close their eyes when they hug?"

I never noticed before that moment, that I always close my eyes when I hug or am hugged. I asked Jack, "why do you think that is?"

"I dunno."

I told him that I think people close their eyes so that they can focus on feeling the hug without being distracted by sight. For me, I focus on feeling the love flow between me and the other person.

Okay, I admit, it's rather cosmic, karmic, metaphysical. But if you've never tried it, try it. It really is amazing the glow you feel when you imagine the love flowing back and forth. Strengthening. Comforting.
***

My son is tired... Time for bed. For mommy, too...

Spades are trump

2007-08-30T11:52:00.000-04:00

I just had to post.

I'm proud of myself. Shocker, I know!

I got a cruddy night's sleep last night between weird dreams (no they haven't gone away, they are just more restful now, thankfully) and a dog that wouldn't shut up. This morning, I worked out with my personal trainer (a day earlier than normal, since I won't be at work tomorrow.) I had planned on going to the kickboxing class at noon in addition to my dance class tonight.

At 11:50, I opened my cupboard and started shoving my (still sweat-soaked from this morning) workout clothes into my bag. And I sighed. I asked myself, "Do I really want to go to kickboxing?"

The dialogue that ensued went thusly:

"Not really."
"But I should try to use the class to connect with my anger; and I told my trainer that I had planned to go."
"But I'm tired. And I really don't want to be exhausted at my class tonight. We perform in groups for each other tonight - I'm "graduating" from level 5 after all! I'm going to need my strength - the routine is strenuous, after all."

So, I'm not going to kickbox today.

And I feel GREAT about my decision!
For the most part, anyway.
ED, damn him, is always there to whisper (but you should, you should - mentally, emotionally, and physically... And you have been eating and eating, you know...)

But you know what?

Fork you, ED!

Fork you!!!

I'm almost done reading the book Intuitive Eating by Evelyn Tribole and Elyse Resch. Many of the principles are things I've already been incorporating (or trying to) into my life, like rejecting the diet mentality, honoring your hunger, making peace with food, challenging the food police, feeling your fullness, discover the satisfaction factor. Pole dancing is helping me to respect my body. And I'm really working hard to only exercise when I feel up to it and to only do what I truly enjoy. Today, I scored massive points!!

It's hard for me to give up those "shoulds," though. Damn hard.

But I see it as this - I'm not getting any younger. I must take care of me.

Must trumps should.

Has to.

Every time.

Instincts? Use 'em if you've got 'em...

2007-08-28T21:45:00.000-04:00

So, I saw John tonight (Tuesday.)

I told him about my conversation with my brother, Johnny. My thoughts/feelings about it (see previous post) as well how I think my brother is underestimating my parents' ability to handle things (details.)

Basically, he told me that my instincts have been right all along in this process; there is no reason to think they would be wrong this time.

He told me that I was brave. That many people wouldn't have fought this hard.

He said that anytime someone goes into something knowing its the right thing for that person to do, the outcome is usually good. The fact that I know that I need to tell my parents is enough to bet on a good outcome.

We talked about why I need to tell my parents; what I need from them. I said that I just need them to know. It would be nice if they understood - especially if they understood my anger towards Tom. I don't need them to believe me - I know that the abuse happened; Tom confirmed that. It would be great if they hugged me and said that they loved me and all that, but I know that's a fairy tale. And I'm okay with that. I don't expect emotional support from my family anymore. Sad? Sure, it is, but it's healthy for me.

He taught me how to break bad news to someone - just like cops are trained. John confirmed that telling someone this kind of thing is all in how you spin it.

So, basically, I tell my parents something like:

Mom, I have something difficult to tell you. I talked to Tom about it last fall and he confirmed that it really happened. I talked with Todd and even Johnny, and now I need you and dad to know. [pause]
When I was around 11, Tom sexually molested me at least twice. It's the reason I have an eating disorder, the reason I almost lost my marriage.
I just need you to know.

From here, I can tell her my feelings - anger at Tom which is normal and may last a very long time; I can explain how Tom and I can be civil when necessary. And if needed, I can remind her that eating disorders are deadly diseases - I could have died. I almost lost my marriage because when Tom did that to me, he caused me to lose trust in others, in myself. I have every right to be angry.

So, now, I wait til my parents come to visit me. (John agreed that face-to-face would be best for this kind of thing.) Hopefully, that will be sooner rather than later... I'm the kind of person who likes to get things over with as quickly as possible. Especially when the things stand in the way of my health and happiness.

One disease to diagnose us all?

2007-08-28T14:45:00.000-04:00

The Washington Post ran an article today by Maia Szalavitz called, "So, What Made Me an Addict?"

The article is long and involved (and rather convoluted, in my opinion.) Here is my thought:

What if alcohol/drug abuse and eating disorders are merely different symptoms of the same disease?

The more I read about sufferers from alcohol/drug/etc. addictions/abuse and eating disorders, the more similarities I find. Most sufferers find a behavior to use as a coping mechanism. Most sufferers need to find other ways to cope to recover (usually by reaching out and connecting with others.) Most sufferers start out with low self-esteem which needs to grow in recovery.

So my next question is this: why is the medical community spending lots of time and money trying to figure out the details of each "symptom" separately? Is anyone investigating the whole disease?

Personally, I think changing the name of the National Institute on Drug Abuse to the National Institute on Diseases of Addiction would be wise, perhaps they could "prove" that there is one disease which encompasses all these things. And then, maybe with the combined numbers of all sufferers put together, treatment options will open up for everyone, especially for those whose insurance won't cover at all or not enough of the treatment needed.

Just a thought...

My journey, thus far - what recovery means to me*

2007-08-27T14:52:00.000-04:00

J.L. posted some very thought-provoking questions on her blog today. Instead of filling up her comment box with lots of "me, me, me," I thought I'd post my answers here.

"But when do you get to say that you’re fully recovered? Is that ever something that happens?"
I don't know. For me, I'm not sure I'll ever be "fully" recovered. However, I do think that I *am* recovered now. Although I pine for the days when I could use my ED behaviors, I don't use them. I find another way. I suppose, for me, "fully" recovered will be the day when I don't consciously have to talk myself down from my gateway behaviors (like keeping a food journal, using exercise as a way to compensate (punish myself) for eating...)

"Will there ever be a time in my life (for longer than a few months) when I will be 100% happy with my body, and eating/working out?"
To be honest, I don't know of many people who are 100%, 24/7/365 okay with their bodies/eating/exercising. That doesn't mean that it doesn't happen. For me, my goal isn't to be always okay with my body. My goal is that on those days when I don't feel okay with me, that I still take care of myself - by eating what I need, by moving how I need, by resting as much as I need, by being gentle to myself.

"When will I not turn to my ed if I’m stressed out?"
For me, I still turn to my ed when I'm stressed, I just end up turning away immediately - for example, today at work. I have a zillion projects with various deadlines. As I started to pick one, I had a sudden and strong urge to write down everything that I've eaten today. I pulled out a sheet of paper, got the pen, hunched over both on my desk,... and stopped.
I wrote in my private diary instead - about the stress that I felt and why. I reminded myself to breathe, to stretch. That it will all get done in time. I had (and have) plenty of time.
I think someday, I won't turn to my ED anymore - I'll know to breathe and stretch and cope in other ways without turning to ED first. I'll know all the reminders that I don't need my ED to deal with my feelings. Even the emotions that seem overwhelming.
I'm still practicing. Everyday. Sometimes every minute. Sometimes I get it, and sometimes I don't. But the point is to keep moving forward, keep striving to be better.

This isn't a question, but...
"[Talking about events in the past is] not going to change anything. It’s only going to make me think about it more, and that’s something that I’m trying NOT to do!"

For me, when I am feeling a lot and trying not to (whether the feelings come from here and now events or ones that happened decades ago,) that is when I want to use my ED the most... I've learned that letting some (if not all) of the feelings out does help. Sure, thinking about events in the past won't change them - the events are done and over, but the feelings are in the present. Those feelings are HERE and NOW and they won't go away until they are given "the light of day."

And that is incredibly scary. Bringing feelings out in the open. Sharing them. Feeling them.

I'm still working on that - my anger, my sadness - especially surrounding my abuse, especially letting others (and myself) in on the rawness of my emotions. And that is probably why I still turn to my ED in times of crisis (even though I don't use it anymore.) I'm looking for comfort. For numbness. For oblivion.

But oblivion doesn't cut it anymore. Not for me. Not now.

I've found so much more strength in the arms of a loved one, in the words of a friend (that includes everyone on the cul-de!,) in the thoughts of my true self. I just can't go back to ED's cold and empty promises. That incredibly lonely existence that I lived for too many years of my life.

I won't.

Recovering, for me, means learning to enjoy life in the gray.**

Living, for me, is about sharing myself - my real self - with those who love me (myself included.) My true thoughts. My heartfelt feelings - whatever they may be.

I'm learning that people who truly love me, who truly care, won't run away from me. The real me isn't a hideous beast after all.

She's just human.

*okay, so the title sucks. I can't be clever all the time.
**And now that I think about it, "fully" recovered is awful black and white, isn't it? Why do I have to be "fully" recovered? I'm getting better, not striving to be best. And isn't the point of recovering to get better?

Baby kicking my way to anger...

2007-08-24T11:45:00.000-04:00

Well, I kickboxed yesterday.

It's really hard for me to use the moves to emote anger during class. There are mirrors everywhere so whenever I kick or punch, it looks like I'm hitting myself.

And for once in my life, I don't want to hurt me.

Shocker. I know.

So after class, I found a corner in the upstairs aerobics room without mirrors (and away from the glass wall that looks down upon those in the fitness center) and shadow-boxed.

And felt a tiny nibbling of emotion.

So, I imagined Tom standing against the wall (in 2D) and I kicked. Punched. Repeated.

For a good five minutes, I wailed at the imaginary picture of Tom. I saw my crescent kicks hit near his chin, my side kicks connect near his solar plexus, my punches near his chest.

And felt the nibbling turn into niggling.

And stopped. It felt wrong. It felt weird. I was uncomfortable.

So I stretched, enjoying the feel of my body as the muscles lengthened and relaxed. And practiced my handstands against the wall (pole class move - but there is no pole in the fitness center, so I use the wall instead.) I gloried in the strength of my abs as I controlled my legs up to the wall and let them move one at a time away from the wall and back again before coming down, gracefully.

I was gentle with myself.

All in all, I think it was a good first attempt. I know the anger is there, I just need to slowly work my way past the discomfort.

I just need more practice. Maybe when the fitness center is completely empty and I can vocalize my grunts and shouts...

Oh, and I tried kicking the punching bag. Uhm, bad idea when no one is holding it still and the bag was not positioned in the center of the hole in the drop-ceiling... Luckily, I wasn't directly underneath the fine powder snow fall, or it would have looked like I have dandruff!

Anger is such an unnatural feeling for me. Okay, so maybe unnatural is the wrong word. Uncomfortable is better, but doesn't get to the intensity of the feeling I have when I try to get in touch with anger.

"I'm a lover, not a fighter."

I often think that describes me well, except that lovers often get angry. Lovers are human, too, after all.

I'm proud of myself for realizing when I had enough. For being gentle with myself afterwards - luxuriating in my body. It was almost as if I was letting my body know that I'm not trying to hurt it. Like I was reassuring the little Jeanne inside that the anger isn't meant for her. That I will protect her and keep her safe. That I understand that she is innocent. She didn't do anything wrong. She doesn't deserve punishment - in any form, be it restricting, stuffing, or nasty insults.

Maybe that's why I felt the need to go shopping for a new outfit for my dance class that very night (after I nourished myself with dinner. At which, I'm also proud to say, I veered from my safe foods and tried a new sandwich.) A little bit of pampering to show me that I'm proud of me.

Make no mistake though, guilt still finds its way into my life. After my dance class, I had a snack - I wasn't ravenous, but knew that it was a long time til morning and I danced hard that night.

And I immediately wished I hadn't eaten. My stomach hurt. I wanted to get rid of it (not that I know how to do that, despite the numerous times I had tried in the past.) So I distracted myself, found safety and comfort and love in my husband's arms.

And today, after working out with my trainer, I've been eating almost continuously. It still scares me - this trusting my body, intuitive eating thing. So I furiously wrote down everything that I've eaten and everything that I planned to... And then stopped before I finished the list. And crumpled up the paper. Threw it away.

I don't need to do that anymore. I can be okay with feeling uncomfortable with my emotions. I can trust myself. I can feel pride with my accomplishments (and yesterday, I had a few what with attempting to channel my anger and then nourishing my whole self (body and soul) afterwards.)

[Deep breath]

I'm okay.

Apple's faux pas

2007-08-23T09:12:00.000-04:00

While I've been digging into myself these past few weeks, Apple came out with a new slogan to market the new iMac.

I wasn't going to post anything about it, but today, I came across this post at Apple Gazette. I read through some of the comments and got angry. Michael (the author) as well as many of the commenters believed that the Alliance for Eating Disorders Awareness went too far in its press release about the influence of Apple's slogan on those with or having the potential to have an eating disorder. "I have to say that I’m a little disgusted by these people," Michael writes.

I left this comment:

True - this one ad may not push a person on the very precarious border of an eating disorder over the edge.

The problem is in our society - where people are obsessed with weight and appearances. With this slogan, Apple is reinforcing the culture's message that one must be thin to be accepted and beautiful, powerful and desired.

And that is where the danger lies. Not just to those genetically predisposed for eating disorders, but for everyone. For all the children who grow up believing that they must look a certain way, be a certain size to belong, to be accepted, to be loved.

That IS dangerous.

I, for one, do not think the AEDA overreacted or were being hypersensitive. I see them (AEDA and NEDA and all the other associations who are trying to change the world for the better) as standing up to a society gone mad. Where normal is equating size with worth.

I am glad that Apple has taken this seriously. I applaud them for changing the iMac's slogan to "All-in-one."

Sometimes the sun rises at sunset

2007-08-22T20:37:00.000-04:00

I feel better.

I figured out that part of my depression came from more than just the conversation with my brother and the future conversation with my parents.

Tonight, I spoke my fears (about another event unrelated to the abuse) out loud to my husband. And not only that, I actually cried in front of him. Before he cried. And I didn't stop myself.

Okay, these probably don't seem real kudos-worthy, but for me they are HUGE steps.

Usually, I only cry when someone else cries first, and then only for a few seconds before tamping them down and "getting a hold of myself."

And this was the very first time that I talked to anyone (aside from my T), about my fears - as I was feeling the fear.

And the most amazing part of all this for me is that I didn't give into my desire to binge the last few days. And while I stayed away from mega sweets (because those are my entry into binge mode foods,) I didn't restrict either - I didn't skip lunch or breakfast or snacks.
I didn't use my ED to cope. I felt the depression, allowed myself to scratch through to the fear underneath, and then exposed it to the light of day by telling my husband.

And he was incredibly supportive and understanding and wonderful!

And while I am still depressed (as everyone has reassured me that it is expected after all I've been dealing with (and continue to work on,) I feel better.

I almost feel ready to try facing my anger (at my brother, Tom.) Tomorrow, I'm taking a kickboxing class at work. And they have just installed a punching bag in the fitness center at work. If I get into the class, maybe I'll linger for a few minutes and work on my anger at the bag...

Thank you so much everyone - really, I don't know how I would get through this without all of your encouragement and support, love and friendship. You all are amazing people. Thank you!

Gloomy, both in and out

2007-08-22T07:40:00.000-04:00

Depress.
According to American Heritage Dictionary of the English Language, Fourth Edition (2006 by Houghton Mifflin Company,) To depress means "to lower in spirits."

I am depressed.

My sleep is back to normal - which for me means being woken every now and then by my son or nature. I still dream weird and wacky dreams, but at least I feel like I've slept.

But I'm still tired. I'm still down. I'm still...

depressed.

That horrible, awful word.

That terrible, horrible feeling.

When I'd rather be curled up at home, preferrably in my bed, and dozing in and out of dreams. Trying to let whatever it is that is bothering me surface, swirl, become illuminated. And perhaps fit nicely into other pieces of the puzzle that is my mind.

But alas. I have no time for such meditations... no matter how beneficial they might be. At least, I don't have time right now. (I'm on a short break at work, before I dive back into the mess on my desk.)

So I compartmentalize once more. I put my feelings into a box - not to get rid of them. Not this time. Now it is more of a place holder, to be retrieved when I have more time.

But I never seem to have more time, do I? Until I'm overwhelmed to paralysis and non-function that I make time.

The urge to stuff (binge) is so strong today. And the gloomy weather isn't helping.

So I take lots of deep breaths.

And try my damnedest not to obsess about food.

***
I wrote this post yesterday - just never published it.

The same is true today though.

I hate that I feel so glum. And yet, I don't want to put on a false-happy face. I won't do that anymore. Not for anyone.

So I sit with these glum feelings, and feel quite morose and melancholy.

Maybe later, I'll give myself some time...

Therapeutic walk...

2007-08-18T11:20:00.000-04:00

I went for a walk this morning after breakfast - just around my in-laws' sub-development (which has a few cul-de-sac's. ;-)

Anyway, I started thinking about what I'll tell John at my next appointment. Of course, I'll start by recapping my conversation with Johnny.

And then I started processing my thoughts/feelings about it.

My brother gave me the family line - "Hide everything that isn't perfect; protect the family before yourself; preserve the status quo at all costs." His qualification, "Well, if you need to stir things up, then do it," is a nod to the fact that I am an adult and need to decide for myself, however he would prefer that I keep this between Tom and me. Don't upset the status quo - no matter the costs to you. Sacrifice yourself for the good of the family.

Well, I'm done with doing that.

Besides, I don't think my brother is giving my parents enough credit. I think that if I spin it right, my parents can handle it. If I make sure to say that:

-> Tom confirmed that this did happen.

-> I didn't do anything wrong and yet, my life was nearly destroyed by it - I almost lost my marriage; I could have died from my eating disorder. (And, no, I'm not being melodramatic here, mom.)

-> I hate that I feel like I'm living a lie. It hurts too much to have to keep this secret.

-> I talked to Johnny about this - he advised me not to tell you both, not to upset you, not to stir things up over something that happened decades ago between Tom and me. But I don't think that is fair to any of us. I don't think he is giving you enough credit.

-> Tom and I are civil when necessary - I don't want to destroy the family over this, but I am very angry at Tom and probably always will be. And I wanted you to know why.

And then I need to ask them what I need from them... support, understanding, whatever it is that will help me (I haven't given it a lot of thought yet.)

I still need to mull this over some more - and definitely talk to John about this at my next appointment (a week from Tuesday - since he's on vacation next week.) John has a wonderful way of seeing other options I may not have thought about and he is definitely my go-to man when I need to spin things carefully.

I wish he had been my therapist when I told my parents about my eating disorder - I may have gotten a completely different reaction from my mom if I had worded it differently... *

Oh well, I have John on my side now. That's what matters.

* I don't think I ever wrote about this experience... When I first got into therapy, I called my mom and read her a letter that I had written about how I seeking therapy for a relapse of the eating disorder I had in college (but was undiagnosed back then.) She asked me why I couldn't "snap out of it" like I did in college. Then I told her how I had always wanted to please her, be loved by her, be perfect. She told me that I misinterpreted everything.
I caved at that point - and gave up.

Made the call...

2007-08-16T13:35:00.000-04:00

I did it. I talked with my brother, Johnny. I called not long after Todd (my husband) left for an appointment. He would have stayed, but I needed to do this alone. I don't know why - I guess I just felt better not having someone listening in.

I left messages for johnny at his home/office and on his cell. He called me right back. I feel like I bumbled through (so many things I would have said differently, more composedly, but maybe it was better this way.) I started by saying that he knew I had an eating disorder and was seeing a therapist. Well, I remembered some things from our childhood and Tom confirmed them.

"what things?"

"Tom molested me."

"Who?"

"Tom."

And then in typical Johnny fashion, "I didn't do anything, did I?"*

I reassured him that he didn't.

"Well, I didn't know anything about it."

Yeah, I know. Tom and I were alone when it happened.

So then I told him that I feel like I'm living a lie and I'm sick of it. And then I asked him about how I should tell mom and dad.

I could see him rear up from 400 miles away. "Why do you have to tell them? You should talk to a counselor, I'm not a counselor. What did your counselor tell you to do? You're just going to stir things up. But if you need it to be stirred up, ..."

I said that I am talking to a therapist and that he won't tell me what to do - he just helps me figure out what I'm feeling and why. I said that it hurts every time that mom and dad talk about Tom. Understandably.

"Well, they probably talk about the girls more." "It happened years ago; it's between you and Tom. They don't need to know."

True, but they bring up Tom.

"Well, then tell mom and dad not to talk about Tom. Or whatever you want them to do. But don't get into the details."

Then I asked, "But what if they ask why?"

"Tell them you don't want to talk about it."

I told him that he wasn't telling me anything that I didn't already think about.

He said he'd call me back later when we could talk some more (it sounded like someone was coming or one of his dogs needed attention or something...)

And then, right when we were about to hang up, he said, "Take care of yourself."

I replied, "You, too." And I really meant it.

And then I started crying. Sobbing. I walked into my room and laid on my bed and hugged my pillow and cried. And for once, I didn't try to figure out why. I started to, but then stopped myself. I just let the tears come. Let the sobs rack my body.

Then I got up after a few minutes, grabbed a few tissues and then asked Dusty (my furry canine son) if I could hold him. He's a Lhasa Apso - almost 10 years old and rather crotchedy most of the time. He imprinted on Todd, not me; he doesn't often cuddle with me. But with some token protest growls, he snuggled with me on the couch. I pet him while I let more tears come. More sobs out.

And after a few minutes of that, I took a few deep breaths and started to write this post. I needed to get it all down while it was fresh in my mind, you know?

I was right - Johnny is a great guage for how my parents would react.

He took it better than I thought he would - he didn't tell me that I was nuts or anything. He took what I said seriously.
And he didn't tell me anything that I hadn't already thought about - what good would telling mom and dad do? etc.

But I feel better having told Johnny. Someone else in my family knows besides Tom and me.

I feel a little lighter - like a tiny bit of this burden has been lifted.

And I have to say that I'm proud of myself for letting myself cry - and especially for not trying to figure out why. I just felt the wave of emotions and rode the tears that came with it. [That was something else that John mentioned last night that would be good for me to do more often. (Although he specifically said that I shouldn't bottle up my emotions in front of others, particularly Todd. He said it would be healthy for me to feel my emotions fully in front of him.)]

Anyway, "the first transport is away.**" I took another step.

And I think I'll wait to talk to John again (in two weeks) before taking any more major ones.

*****ADDITION******
I didn't send the email to Tom yet. Not sure I'm going to, at least not until I figure out what (if anything) I'm going to do about my parents. Johnny won't say a word to anyone, I know that - he doesn't tell anyone anything ever (more or less.)

* I'm paraphrasing for most of johnny's quotes - I remember some things exactly, but most I remember the jist of what was said...

** Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back reference.

Pieces of the puzzle are fitting...

2007-08-15T21:05:00.001-04:00

I saw John tonight. I feel better. (Not all better, not even remotely, but clearer.)

I walked into his office and the first thing he asked was, "How was your weekend up North with your brother?"

To put it clinically, I described to him my symptoms (restless sleep, compartmentalizing, etc.) I told him how I felt a hole when I saw my brother - because this was the brother that I liked the most (which isn't really saying a whole lot since both of my brothers treated me fairly rotten over the course of my life.) I told him how I am afraid to feel, that I don't want to feel these things, but I'm miserable holding them in. Everything I could think of.

Through our conversation, he fit the pieces together.

Since I had been doing really well (living a healthy life, for the most part*) for months before my visit up North, so he said that my anxiety has to do seeing him again. He said that I dealt with my abuse the best anyone possibly could - he said that I have no reason to relive it.

John figured out that I feel miserable because I'm keeping a secret. That I'm taking responsibility to protect people (my brother, my nieces, my sister-in-law, my parents, etc.) who it is not my responsibility to protect. I didn't do anything wrong; I don't need to protect anyone but myself (and consequently, my son and husband.)

He also said that I am trapped - Tom is family; there is no way around not seeing him, not having some kind of relationship with him (even if it means that I'm angry at him.) If it had been a friend, I could tell the whole family, everyone (in theory) would rally around me and we'd cut off relations with said friend. But since Tom is family, if the fact of the abuse leaks out (and John said that inevitably it will slip out someday,) people will take sides - possibly (probably) not mine. It's messy. And it sucks.

So we talked some more. I emphatically stated that I can't live life like this anymore. Stuffing my feelings in boxes and shelving them. I just can't. It's like I'm living a lie by keeping this secret. The stress and anxiety of keeping this secret is killing me.

He said I can either keep what happened to me a secret from my family and live with feelings bottled up (which means that I probably end up coping by using my ED once more) or I can tell my family.

"Either way sucks," he said. An understatement to be sure.

I remarked that it was funny that he said that. A few nights ago, Todd and I were talking and Todd mentioned that he would love to reenact the battle of New Caprica with my family. I said something along the lines of, "If there's fighting to be done, it'll be me doing the fighting." While I had always said that this is my fight, this was the first time that I said, point blank that I would actually fight (and not find a peaceful solution.)

I also mentioned that last week (before my parents came down for a visit,) I thought about saying to my mom, "So, Mom, suppose I tell you that I remember being molested when I was younger. What would you say?"

John asked me what I imagined her response would be. I said that I didn't. I stopped it right there because I couldn't imagine going through with it (which I didn't.)

We talked about who would be a good starting place. My parents? No way. I figure at best my mom will shake her head, tell me that I misinterpreted it all, roll her eyes, and remark, "Crazy Jeanne again."

So, I figure my oldest brother (Johnny) would be best.

John said again (and a few times throughout the night,) "I know, it sucks." Yup.

I asked John, "So let's assume that I am going to tell my oldest brother. Because, knowing me, that is what I'll do. What do I say? 'Hey Johnny, I know I never call, but I just wanted to tell you that Tom molested me when I was younger.'"

John and I chuckled. He advised me to start by saying that I have something serious to talk with him about and asking if he had time to talk. Once we agreed on a time, John said it will be easier to tell him. The other thing he said was to be sure that I told Johnny that Tom has confirmed that it really happened.

I said to John, "My reply to Tom (after I had confronted him, after he apologized and validated my memories) was that no one else needs to know. So I should tell him that I'm telling Johnny."

John said, "After you talked to Johnny."

I look puzzled. Shouldn't I give Tom the heads-up?

John replied that you don't want to worry that Tom called Johnny first and poisoned the waters. He said that it would be fine to send Tom an email right after talking to Johnny. "Write the email and as soon as you hang up Johnny, click Send."

Deep breaths.

John said that I had all the pieces when I walked in the door. I knew what I needed to do. I said, "You give me too much credit. I had the pieces, but I needed you to help me figure it out."

Towards the end of the hour, John said, "You are very brave."

I said, "I don't feel it right now."

He replied, "You're in a difficult situation." He said that a lot of people would just continue to shelve these feelings.

I nodded, "Yeah, but six months from now, I'll look back and realize how brave I am."

So, I left his office feeling better. I have a course of action that feels like it's the right thing to do. For me - because as John said, there is no right or wrong answer here.

I'm hoping to get a hold of Johnny tomorrow - maybe leave work early. Because like every other step in this process, once I figure out what I need to do, I want to do it and get it over with. With the hope that I'll feel better - some relief from the hell (depression, anxiety, stress) I'm in.

I don't want to hide anymore. I am not my abuse, but it did happen. It wasn't my fault. And I deserve support and love. I didn't do anything wrong.

*John said that I'll always have residuals - all survivors of abuse do (for me it's my negative body image, the reactions I have when I'm touched in certain ways, etc.); the residuals don't have to disrupt my everyday life though. When they do (like these dreams,) it means that there is something else happening (and most likely, it'll be something in the present. Since for me, I really did deal with the past and that the past isn't what seems to be bothering me.)

Rehearsing...

2007-08-14T12:54:00.000-04:00

I see John tomorrow.

I'm scared.

Scared that he won't be able to help me, that I won't be able to start a path towards relief (and restful sleep,) that he'll shrug and tell me, "Your life is good, learn to live it."

I'm scared that he will be able to help me, that I'll have to face the memories, the feelings, that I might lose control of myself or that I won't and thus, won't move forward.

And yet, I can't imagine not going through with this. I won't live this way for the rest of my life. I refuse.

Sure, my life is good - I have a wonderful husband, an adorable son, a lovable (even though he is old and crotchedy sometimes) furry son. I have a good job, a beautiful apartment, health care to beat the band, etc.

But I feel broken. I still compartmentalize just about everything in my life. I try to live in the moment, feel what I feel, but I don't often succeed. I can acknowledge what I am feeling (which is a big step for me,) but I'm not really feeling most emotions.

I'm still not really feeling my feelings - especially over the past few weeks when my dreams have disturbed more than my rest.

So, what am I going to say to John tomorrow? (aside from the common pleasantries.)

"John, I'm not done dealing with what happened to me - the abuse. My mind and body are telling me through the disturbing dreams that I can't remember but which rob me of my sleep that there is more I need to do. More I need to process.

"I need your help. First to work through my fear of letting my guard down - giving up control; then to work through actually feeling the feelings around and about being abused.

"I can't compartmentalize this anymore. I won't.

"Can you help me?"

I think that sums it up fairly nicely...
Short and I think covers the ground.

I feel a little less frightened, now that I have an idea of what to say.

Somebody spot me

2007-08-13T12:29:00.000-04:00

As I read this post from h4h, I realize that I'll never be ED-thought free, I'll never be completely comfortable in my skin, until I resolve (? is that the right word) the feelings I have about and around being molested.

So I wonder, if I hadn't been abused, would I have had an eating disorder? Interesting question...

Does it really matter?

Not really.

But it is interesting to note that the most progress I've made in recovery has been since I opened up about the bits of abuse that I remember. Once I told Todd about it, it was like a weight lifted from my shoulders - I wasn't hiding anything any more. I was me - and someone loved me no matter what had happened. And that knowledge made it easier to eat when I was hungry, to trust my body's signals. To then trust a nutritionist when she told me that really, my body does know what it needs. I was able to let go of numbers - calories, weights, bmi's, grams.

Over the last few weeks, I've found myself wanting to count calories, to restrict, to binge. Anything to feel less exhausted. I haven't. I don't plan to. Because I don't want that life anymore. I don't need my outsides to match my insides for others to know that I'm hurting.

And I know that the only way to feel less exhausted is to face my memories - head on, no chickening out.

Of course, the thought frightens the hell out of me.

Facing my memories means letting my guard down. I'm not one to relax easily - physically or mentally.

In high school, I was in all the musicals as well as in chorus. Part of the warm-up would be to make a neck massage chain. I have a talent for giving neck massages - friends would line up at rehearsals for me to massage their necks and backs.

I hated receiving them. I used to say that I was terminally tense because about five minutes after my muscles would relax, I would be in serious pain as my muscles tensed right back up.

I've had similar experiences with the few massages that I've had as an adult. It's like my mind rebels against relaxing.

And if my mind doesn't want my body to relax, who thinks it will allow itself to relax?

Meditations, visualizations - never work. I end up disconnecting myself. Fear stops me. Fear of what might pop up once my guard is let down.

Maybe this is why I'm not getting a restful sleep? My mind is fighting against the relaxation that my body needs, for fear of what may surface. Maybe this is why I seem to have more energy than I had all day right before I go to bed?

But what am I afraid of? What could possibly be worse than what I have already remembered?

Answer: my feelings. Rephrase: feeling my feelings fully.

For me, that's a nightmare.

So, here is where I'm at right now:
I need to truly face my feelings/memories.
This thought scares the begeesus out of me.
I need to find a way through the fear of first feeling these (powerful) emotions, then allowing myself to show them.

But maybe finding a way through the fear is to just do it (ugh, hate that nike slogan.)

Seriously though, maybe it's just about saying, "Okay, I don't like this, but damn-it, I'm doing it anyway" and doing it, over and over, until it's not so scary.

Like in dance class, we have spotters to help us with a new move before we are cleared to practice on our own. And we do the move over and over with the spotter, until we're comfortable with it. And the we repeat it on our own, until it feels almost natural...

So, hopefully, John can be my spotter on this.

Although, I'm beginning to wonder about my spotter - he hasn't returned my second voicemail yet (the first he answered - with a time I couldn't make, so I called him back and left another message to try again. He hasn't called me yet. So, this morning, I left another message... I guess this is the main problem with seeing a therapist whose private practice is his second, part-time job... [sigh] I hate phone tag. But I'll keep trying, even if I have to call everyday.)

***
Update:
John called me back and we set up an appointment.
8-)
And yet, 8-( - because now I have no more excuses...

Tagged again...

2007-08-11T08:05:00.000-04:00

Carla tagged everyone, so I decided to answer - the questions were intriguing. Enjoy!

1. You’ve always wished for it, and your wish has come true: There’s now a twenty-fifth hour in the day, but you have to spend it the same way every day on something you don’t have enough time for now, and it can’t be for sleep. How will you spend this extra hour every day?

The first half hour would be stretching/Yoga; the second half hour would be reading/writing.

2. As if that weren’t enough, an extra day has been added to the calendar, and you can insert it anywhere you want, except the day immediately before or after a holiday, and you have to spend it the same way every year. How will you spend this extra day each year, and when on the calendar will it appear?

Hmmm... I'd put it in August - another nice summer day. Ahhh...

(When I lived in upstate NY, I might have picked the extra day for January so I wouldn't have to go out in the bite-your-ass cold for one extra day. lol)

3. Someone is giving you an extra twenty dollars per week (or its equivalent, if your country uses a different monetary unit) to spend any way you want, but you have to spend it the same way every week, and it has to be on yourself (no charity or gift-giving, and no investing or saving!). How will you spend this extra twenty dollars per week?

Take another dance class with it. 8-)

4. Wow! When you woke up this morning, you noticed that someone snuck in and added a new room to your living space! The room is for your exclusive use, and it can serve only one FUN function (and it can’t be used as a bedroom or storage). What fun activity will be reserved for this new room?

No question. A room that had mirrors on one wall with deep purple paint on the others, rubber flooring, a disco ball with appropriate spotlights, a sound system with unlimited iTunes access, and a pole. 8-)

5. A magic backpack appears at your doorstep. It will hold any one thing you can normally carry by yourself, it will render that item weightless, and it will collapse to the size of a small pack of gum. What will you carry in it?

This is a tough one... I'd love to pack up my best friend and carry her with me, but that really wouldn't be fair to her. SO...

Uhm, a cooler. So I can easily carry cold drinks or yogurt with me.

My workout spins circles around yours...

2007-08-10T10:25:00.000-04:00

Okay. I think I've teased about this in other posts. So, time to 'fess up.

I'm a pole dancer.

Yup.

You read that right.

Me, Jeanne the librarian. Swings on a pole once a week at her dance class. Have since January.

And I absolutely love it.

The class is all adult women - 12 students, 1 teacher. The studio is usually dim, disco ball spinning, bouncing light off the mirrors and the 13 silvery poles. Deep purple velvet curtains hang from the windows. Black rubber floors cushion our feet (whether heeled or (as I have lately) bare.)

Right now, I've mastered the invert - going upside down on the pole. We've been working on letting go with our hands while we are upside down... Something I'm not very comfortable with, to say the least!! Which actually makes the women in my class laugh - because I'm usually the one who is game for taking off outer layers of clothes.

So, you are probably wondering (if you've gotten your jaws off the ground,) why, in all that's holy, would someone recovering from an eating disorder WANT to learn to pole dance, let alone strip????

In early January, before I started taking classes, I was completely insecure about my body. I hated my sexu@lity, my sexu@lness and everything that made my body feminine. And I wanted to change this legacy that my brother and cousin left me. I wanted to take back my body and love it.

My instructor, Stephanie, is amazing. From the moment I stepped into my first class, she made me and each and every woman in the room feel beautiful. Even in my long sleeves and yoga pants that covered every inch of my skin, I felt alluring.

It's funny, looking back now. I had forgotten how uncomfortable I was with dancing in front of others. The only way I could really get into the moves was to close my eyes. (Something I still do from time to time, but I don't need to anymore.)

As I've progressed through each level (the studio where I go has six levels of classes before one becomes a Pole Master,) I've become bolder. And I've let it show. For class, I wear a tight pair of short shorts and a T-shirt that molds to my curves. Both match my 6-inch platform, red-white-and-blue heels. (Which I haven't worn in weeks because of my ankle. 8-( )

But where I've noticed it the most is on the inside. When I look in the mirror and I see the chubby little girl from long ago, I do a hip circle and suddenly, I'm a hot momma who can swing on a pole! Yeah, baby!

I walk taller. I feel the strength inside of me.

I like my body. And sometimes, I even love it, if only for a few moments.

The point is that I am slowly claiming my body for myself - relishing the strength of my muscles, cherishing the miraculous wonder that is me.

Sheila Kelley says it best in her book The S Factor, "I love to pole-dance and strip... I don't do it for money, and I don't do it for strangers. I stripdance for myself... I do it because it makes me look and feel extraordinary. Because it lets me soar high above the world and its troubles. Because when I dance, layers of self-doubt and self-consciousness fall away to reveal my true, powerful self." (page ix)

And while I may still cover up my true self in my day-to-day life, I know that she exists now. And with every gracefully landed spin on the pole, I come closer to letting her see the light of each and every day.

Grab the shovel

2007-08-07T20:16:00.000-04:00

"Much of the rape that goes on in the privacy of dorm rooms is initially mutual and playful and leads into something confusing and painful - a direct result of our lack of practice communicating about and understanding the complexities of sex. *
"*This is not to say, of course, that violent, straightforward rapes do not go on, or that the victim is at fault. It is simply to point out that rape can be as confusing for the rapist as it is for the victim, and further, that the confusion often stems from a lack of education, preparation and sobriety." Page 112 from Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters by Courtney E. Martin.

I'm in the middle of reading Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters. Tonight, while soaking in the tub, I read the passage above and stopped.

Take out dorm room, put in parents' den...
Take out initially mutual and playful...

Could the rest be true about what my brother did to me? He probably was as confused as I was - it's not as if his education about these things was any more detailed than mine was, after all.

But then, how does it help me to think about him?

It doesn't.

But how can I not?

When John (my therapist) and I first discussed the abuse, I mentioned this fact that my brother's education was sketchy at best.
John replied that teenage boys steal magazines, they don't molest their little sisters.

So why am I insisting on letting him off the hook for molesting me?

Because I want to resolve this quickly in my mind. And the easiest thing to do would be to accept some of the blame so I can forgive Tom.

But I'm innocent. I didn't do anything wrong. None of the blame is mine.

It was suggested to me that perhaps I should try hypnosis or guided imagery or something...

I think about ae and the process that she has found with her therapist. From ae's descriptions (and my understanding, which can be completely off, ae - forgive me if I get this wrong and please correct me,) her therapist guides her as she goes back to the events of her abuse in order to reconnect with the feelings.

With each post that she publishes, I envy her bravery.

I'm afraid to go back. I'm afraid to remember. I'm ashamed of what happened. I don't want to remember.

But I can't live in ignorant bliss anymore. I'm not ignorant to being molested. I do remember - bits and pieces. And the bits and pieces haunt me sometimes. Coming out at odd moments and in strange ways - like the interrupted meditation last week, the crying wave in the fitness center, the illusive dreams that rob me of energy, the cyclical depression,...

John once told me that your body will protect you from anything it doesn't think it can handle. He explained that the memories popped up last year because I was strong enough - I had taken charge of my life.

At that point, I was strong enough to handle the knowledge that it was real. I was molested; it wasn't a dream. And I was strong enough to tell my husband. And to confront my brother and ask for an apology. I was strong enough to deal with the grief and the sadness that ensued.

But not the anger. Although I acknowledged that it was there, for the first time. I don't think acknowledging that there is anger inside me, holding the anger at arm's length, is enough. As faith realized, I have never owned this anger. I haven't yet experienced it fully.

So, maybe this wave of depression is my body's signal that I'm strong enough to handle more?

Maybe I am ready to dig deeper...

Now I just have to figure out how.

Too tired for cleverness

2007-08-06T11:09:00.000-04:00

So my dreams are still intensely strange. The ones I remember have to do with work and/or juggling appointments while dragging my exhausted butt around.

Certainly not ingredients for a restful night.

So, what else is going on - besides the usual work/appointment juggling and (blissfully) minor car woes that happen every day to everyone?

I've been trying not to think about my conflicted feelings towards my brother. And yet the more I avoid it, the more my brain needs to process the everyday events in my life, leading to dreams and unrestful night sleeps.

I left a message for John (my therapist) to schedule an appointment, but I haven't heard from him yet (not necessarily unusual, since he moonlights with his private practice.)

So, I decided that I best write down what it is that I want to talk to him about. (For me, writing down what it is I want to say, or in some cases, running through an entire dress rehearsal in my mind, before my appointment helps me to focus my session on the things that I need to resolve.) Usually, I write this in my private journal... but, I felt a little better after talking to my husband about it on Friday night, so maybe I'll feel a little better sharing it with you? Burdens shared are lessened and all that?

The conflict comes from this:
My brother did some horrible things to me when I was young. Decades later, I'm angry at him for all the pain he caused me, all the problems (eating disorder, sexu@l disorder, trust issues, etc) that came from what he did. I feel righteous anger. I was innocent, after all, by my brother's own admission. I didn't do anything wrong.

And yet, ever since college, he has been so damned nice. To me. And now, he has been so damned accommodating - with my confrontation, with my ground rules for visits,... It infuriates me that he is so damned nice; that I feel guilty for feeling angry at him.

I feel like he is stealing my anger away from me.

When I talked to Todd about this, he asked me, "Why do you want to hold onto your anger?"

Good question. I answered that I need to hang onto my anger right now; to help me remember that it wasn't my fault, that I wasn't to blame. Because right now, it is so easy for me to fall back to the "I didn't say no; I didn't stop it so it must be my fault" lines. Lines that I know, intellectually, are crap, but that my heart would rather believe than to believe that someone I trusted would betray me that way. Especially when that same person who betrayed my trust decades ago is now acting (being?) so trustworthy - agreeing and following my ground rules; understanding...

I think that this shouldn't be so confusing - I mean, Brother + bad thing = brother is bad. But is it really so black and white?

In the rest of my life, I've been working on seeing the many shades of gray. Food is neither good nor bad; life isn't pass or fail... So, doesn't it make sense that this issue isn't black and white?

But then I think back to when John and I first really talked about the abuse. He asked me, "When I think about what happened to me, do I feel that it was good, bad or gray?"
I answered, "Gray."
He replied, "No. There is no gray. It was all bad. None of it was good."

So, I think I need to ask John, "If that is true, then why do I feel gray about my brother?"

And most importantly, how do I resolve this inside of me?

I hope John is on his A-game, whenever my appointment is...

Tagged again

2007-08-05T13:30:00.000-04:00

I've been tagged by Carla...

1. Who’s your favorite of the Looney Tunes characters?
Wyle Coyote, super genius.

No matter what that poor guy does, that damn Road Runner is also screwing with him - always just out of reach...
Elusive, just like full recovery...
But Wyle doesn't give up - he always has new tricks to try, new traps to use, new Acme products to utilize. He doesn't give up.

2. What have you done too much of lately?
Hmmmm.... I haven't done too much of anything lately - I'm constantly bouncing from one thing to another, never giving enough time to any one thing because there is a list of things that need attention.

3. When did you last play cards?
July 15 - at my brother's house, with my nieces and grandma. We played Uno, Go Fish and some other game. Loved every minute of it!

4. Where were your keys the last time you couldn’t find them?
In my husband's pockets... lol

5. Why didn’t you do today everything you were supposed to?
Why are you accusing me of being lazy????
Seriously, I finished everything that I could. I am only one person and I have to take care of me, first and foremost - and that includes not stressing over the perpetually growing and never possible to be completed "To Do" list.

There's no crying in the gym... Right?

2007-08-03T12:58:00.000-04:00

I'm working really, really, really hard to just let myself feel what I feel when I feel it.

Somedays, it's easier than others.

Today was one of the harder days...

I worked out with my personal trainer and halfway through my workout, I just wanted to sit and cry. Granted, every muscle in my body was beyond fatigued and SCREAMING, but that isn't necessarily unusual when I workout with my trainer - I pay him to fatigue my muscles so that my body makes more muscles and thus, I get stronger.

But I never wanted to cry my eyes out before when it happens. I was extremely embarrassed, but would have been completely mortified if I had broken down into sobs in front of my trainer. I choked down my tears. And wheezed for like a minute. Scared me. I felt like I was having an asthma attack (not that I have ever had asthma...) So I swallowed my emotions and finished the workout (which I think was a touch easier than my trainer had originally planned. My trainer is good.)

I probably should be disappointed in myself - for not going with the emotion, however I am a firm believer in "there's a time and place for everything." In the middle of a gym with someone I have a professional relationship is NOT the place. The middle of an intense workout is definitely not the time.

Over the rest of my workday, my thoughts drifted back to the tears.

Why?

Add to it that I had a strange reaction to a relaxation exercise my dance instructor led us through last night after our workout. I was laying on the mat, on my back, palms up, and was trying to soften various body parts as my instructor directed. Then she told us to imagine a huge smile, a nice big cheezy one, but not to actually do it. "Feel the energy in your face, spread it to your head, your neck, your chest, your ..." and so on down the body.
The energy didn't get beyond my head before it was gone.
I tried to get it back.
And then I felt incredibly uncomfortable. Almost panicky.
I opened my eyes to bring me back to the moment.
Luckily, the exercise ended.

But my reaction bothered me. It was more that I am just a naturally tense person who has never learned to relax. It felt more than that.

But what?

I'm not sure I'm ready to dig it up.

I told my hubby about both things - the pseudo-asthma attack, the interrupted meditation. He said (among other extremely supportive things, of course,) "Go see John."

I know he's right. I know I should call up John, make an appointment, talk to him about all of this.

I'm hesitant.

I'm making excuses - it's PMS; it's just the end of a stressful month; it's just...

But there is the worry that maybe it's more than that.

But then, I don't really doubt that it might be something more and probably about my brother and the CSA.

I'm just scared. Scared to dig any deeper than I have already. I know it happened; isn't that enough?

My mind is telling me that it might not be...

And it's happening now because I'm even stronger. I'm not using my ED to cope anymore. I'm taking care of me better than I ever have.

So, I guess I need to make that call to John.

To sleep, perchance not to dream

2007-08-02T15:30:00.000-04:00

I'm so thoroughly exhausted.

And I'm not exactly sure why.

Okay, that isn't true.

I've been having strange dreams every night for over a week now. Ever since I stopped taking ibupr0fen for my ankle... I wake up feeling tired and disturbed as the details of the dreams vanish.

I know that my mind uses dreams to help me process emotions/events. I wonder if remembering the dreams would help me figure out what it is that my mind is processing...

I feel like I spend my days in a bubble. I think I'm depressed. Again. I don't want to socialize (except with my son and husband,) I have no motivation, I just want to sleep (although that could have lots to do with my lack of restful sleep.) ... I feel numb and yet, tears spring to my eyes at the mention of something remotely sad. Like just now, I was reading an article about the bridge collapse in Minnesota. I got to the part about the kids in the school bus and I just wanted to burst into tears. I went into the ladies to cry, but by then the tears wouldn't come.

Which is why I'm writing.

So if this is depression and not just exhaustion, why am I depressed again? What is my mind trying to process with these dreams???

What emotions am I not willing to acknowledge that need an outlet?

I suppose the good thing is that I'm coping without using food or exercise. Even though I've thought about it... But I know it won't help, so I don't.

So what is really going on inside of me?

I'm not sure I want to know. I'm not sure I want to dig right now.

More importantly, why haven't I told my husband? Why am I ashamed that I'm depressed? What is so wrong with it? Why do I immediately think that something is wrong with me?

Can't someone be depressed just because? Is it such a horrible thing? Isn't depression just another emotion? Neither good nor bad? Just is?

So maybe my depression is just a compilation of a lot of "little" things that I haven't thought much of because each alone are "little" - a friend at work leaving, work with no base-touching with my boss for a few weeks (to keep me in the right direction, especially on projects she's asked me to be involved with,) not able to walk with the same vigor because my ankle is healing slowly (well, in relation to my expectations,) missing the daily interaction I had with the friends that I made at my son's former childcare center, thinking about how my parents and my in-laws aren't getting any younger (my mom-in-law just turned 60) ...

All sad things. Naturally depressing. Normal.

And maybe I am feeling it more acutely because I haven't shared this with my husband? He has so much more energy and he is happier. I really love seeing him so excited! I guess I just haven't wanted to bring him down, and yet, I have been (unconsciously and innocently) bringing both of us down, haven't I? By not stopping and figuring out what it is that is bothering me so that I could share it with him.

I suppose I should take my own medicine sometimes - "Take care of yourself first or you won't be able to care for anyone else."

I'm glad that I am being true to myself, letting myself be, feeling what I feel even when I don't have time to think about the whys.

[deep breath]

But wow.

Amazing how much better I feel just writing this down (with the intention of publishing it, after I email it to my husband.)

Tagged for Monday Madness

2007-08-02T14:20:00.000-04:00

Carla tagged me with Monday Madness. I've been avoiding answering these; I really want to give the answers thought and lately, I haven't wanted to delve into the depths to dig up anything.

But avoidance never was a viable long-term coping mechanism... So here it goes.

1. Are there any weird "food rules" you have?
When I listen to ED, I have lots of "food rules," most of them are "weird."

Jeanne, however, doesn't have rules around food or eating. Guidelines, definitely - based on my nutritionist's recommendations, but I try not to follow it rigidly. I try to allow my body's signals to guide me as well.

2. When you were growing up, what ONE thing did your parents always remind you of, when it came to meal time (or cooking)?
Don't waste food.

3. Is there anyone you know whose food you won't eat (for one reason or another)?
Personally, I steer clear of unidentifiable food of any origin. I need to know what is in something before I will agree to try it.

4. Is there anything you "specialize" in cooking, that people actually ask for?
My husband asks for so many things that I make! But I think he would agree that my sauteed veggie dishes are particularly yummy.
Oh, and a co-worker devoured my banana bars with cream cheese frosting.

5. When you were growing up, what one meal do you remember as being your favorite?
Mish mash.
Okay, it was a creation of my very own. I would mix equal amounts of Spaghetti-Os and Campbell's baked beans with a little mustard and a lot of ketchup. Sometimes, I would then put the mixture into two slices of bread and eat it like a sandwich.
Interestingly enough, I've tried this a few times in my adulthood and for some reason, it just doesn't taste the same. 8-(

But yeah, that was my favorite... [wistful, watery smile]

Maybe because I remember my grandpa, grandma, and I making it together when I would get my week's vacation at their house each summer.

Sometimes, I miss those days. Life seemed so uncomplicated when I was five/six.

Unscientific, perhaps, but revealing...

2007-08-01T14:30:00.000-04:00

I admit it. I've been reading the Dilbert Blog faithfully, ever since Scott Adams was a keynote at a conference I went to in June. He is just an amazing character - even more interesting than Dilbert himself.

Today, Scott posted a question on his blog - asking his readers to respond to two questions:
1. Standing in a fog, you glimpse a doorway. Do you go through the doorway?
2. What is your gender?

I generally don't post comments unless I feel that I could add something worthy to the conversation, and even then, I still hesitate to post. For some reason, after a few moments of hesitation, I chose to answer his questions.

1. I hesitate.
2. Female

Later today, he posted his observations about the first post. To sum it up, he thinks that men plow ahead unless there is something explicit in the way (like a big sign that says, "Do not enter,") where women may need more of an invitation. He theorizes that this is why men negotiate and receive higher salaries.

Interesting, to be sure.

In my reply on the second post, I said that I often hesitate before posting comments. I am reminded of a sign that my father had in his classroom about proving ignorance by opening one's mouth. I can't remember the exact quote, but the point is that if you don't open your mouth, ill-formed (implication - dumb) thoughts can't escape to prove that you are not intelligent.

The only time I post comments on others' blogs is when I feel what I have to say would be worthwhile, supportive, thought-provoking. I worry about saying the wrong things, at the wrong times, in the wrong ways. After all, I was never invited to read in the first place, let alone butt in with my pennies.

So many times in my life, I've been mocked for things that I've said innocently enough.

In elementary school, I was Hermione Granger (with glasses, but no bushy hair.) I raised my hand; had most of the answers and was willing to share them. Not because I felt superior or because I wanted to gloat that I knew something no one else did. I wanted to help the teacher move the lesson along. It was painful to see the teacher patiently wait for an answer. It was painful to wait to learn more about a subject.

One instance in particular stands out in my memory. In fifth grade science class, we were talking about the parts of the eye. Cornea was mentioned. I raised my hand to share, "I had herpes on the cornea of my eye." The class started laughing. I was puzzled. I knew that herpes was the medical term for a coldsore. That coldsore virus messed up my cornea, which is why I have worn and will always wear glasses. Of course, I didn't know that to every other fifth grader, the word herpes was only ever used to refer to the STD.

This wasn't the first or only time that my "big" mouth (as my family referred to it) got me into what I viewed as trouble.

Somewhere around junior high, my classmates started picking on me. "Neanderthal" is the insult that resounds in my mind - when I went to school with unshaven legs and crop pants. "Porky Pig" - the chuckled comment from my teacher after I stuttered over the challenge spelling words for the next week - Psychology, Psychiatry, and another psy- word that I can't remember over the sounds of classmates giggling.

I became self-conscious. I only wanted to hide.

And I stopped volunteering answers until it was excruciating to sit in the stalled classroom any longer. It just wasn't worth embarrassment. It wasn't worth the pain.

I was silenced.

So here am I. Twenty odd years later. Still tentative in expressing my thoughts, let alone my feelings. Even to the most trusted person in my life, my husband.

Just like with this blog, I often wrap my feelings into a nice neat bow; a rallying cry or a rebel yell, a conclusion. I rarely have shared the raw emotions. When I can compartmentalize them no longer, I release some of these feelings in my private journal - the one which only I am allowed to view. Because I'm ashamed of them.

Because it shows the truth.

That even though I am far along my road to recovery where I choose not to cope with stress (emotional, physical, what-have-you) by using food, my emotions are not all dressed up in boxes with ribbons and bows. I am not perfect.

And I'm not quite okay with that...

Yet.

Whoda' thunk? Jeanne as Rebel

2007-07-31T13:58:00.001-04:00

"Fashion's influence on the standards of femininity keeps us anxious, uncertain, and dependent. Sexism in fashion is dictatorial and unforgiving of individual variations in body shape and weight, or personal preference. It takes on a tone of "fashism," unapologetically sapping women's freedom, creativity, self-esteem, health and wallets." page 187 of The Body Myth by Margo Maine and Joe Kelly

***

I was in the fitness class that's offered at work today. As we were all crunching our abs into knots, one woman told us about her trip to Jamaica, and how gross so many women looked in bikinis on the beach.

"They shouldn't make bikinis in sizes larger than 12!" The other women agreed.

And while I do identify with their overall chagrin at many clothing choices made by people of all ages and sizes (most quite unflattering, all in the name of "fashion,") I said (something like,) "But you have to admire the fact that those women are obviously comfortable in their own skins."

And I was resoundedly booed.

Okay, so no actual boos were issued, but more descriptions followed about the sagging this and the bulging that in tones of utter disgust.

I tried.

[sigh] Failed miserably.

But I did try.

Somedays it seems like everyone is obsessed with weights and sizes. The instructor for class wouldn't take off her T-shirt because she had "gained five pounds." WHERE??? I think I even asked her.

I mean if this remarkable mid-thirties woman can't even be comfortable in her body that helped to win her second place in a figure competition, what hope do any of us have???

It's days like this that I wonder if being a rebel is worth the effort.

But then I think about how miserable I was - counting calories in and burned, weighing myself, worrying for days about what to order at a celebratory dinner with my family to the point where I would plan every detail - restaurant, menu choice, quanity ahead of time thus missing out on the joy of serendipitous restaurant finds, denying myself the pleasure of a scoop of chocolate hazelnut gelato in Little Italy ...

Rebelling is definitely worth the effort.

Wasting food...

2007-07-28T09:39:00.000-04:00

Thanks to my Google Alert, I found Jonathan's post on his blog, Wasted Food, entitled "Eating Disorders and Waste."

He replies to a post by Karen Koenig, author of The Rules of Normal Eating entitled, "Rational Eating Beliefs."

I had half a mind to post the following reply to Jonathan:

You don't get it.

Depending on what type of eating disorder one has, leftovers in the fridge may fuel a binge (and possibly a subsequent purge by vomiting, laxative abuse, or starvation.) Worrying about taking too much food may lead to feelings of guilt and shame and consequently, not enough food is taken and the body turns to its organs for fuel.

Many people with eating disorders feel that eating is a waste of food. We don't feel that we are worth nourishing. When in the throes of an eating disorder, I would never take seconds - even if I was still hungry. I didn't want to "waste" food that could be used to fuel someone else - someone more worthy of living.

While recovering from my eating disorder, I needed to allow myself to "waste" food. I needed to learn how to listen to my body to figure out when I was hungry and full - because I had lost that connection. I needed to learn to believe that it was okay to miscalculate and take too much. It reinforced the belief that it's okay not to be perfect.

Now that I'm recovered, I gauge better how much food I need. I'm not afraid to take seconds if I'm still hungry. I save leftovers and am not worried that it will fuel a binge.

And I teach my son to listen to his body and give him the choice of what to do with the uneaten bits on his plate. "Do you want to save it for later? Or should I throw it away?" He almost always wants me to save it. But it's his choice. He is worth more than a few bits of food.

And so am I.

I didn't post this comment.

Why?

Because my husband said it best, "He won't ever get it."

Very few people who have never suffered or supported someone who suffered through an eating disorder will ever understand the torments in our minds. The feelings of worthlessness, the feelings of shame and loathing that accompany every minute of the day and crescendo at mealtimes.

Waste food?

Yeah, I waste food and I don't even bat an eyelash. I refuse to give food the power to shame me anymore.

I'm more than what I eat.

I'm it?

2007-07-27T07:57:00.000-04:00

I've been tagged? Carla tagged... me? 8-O
I've never been tagged before... so forgive me if I do something wrong. lol

1. What are your nicest and ugliest articles of clothing?
Let's see... my nicest would be my ball gown that I bought to attend an inaugral ball at the National Press Club. Very elegant.
My ugliest? The only piece of clothing that I didn't get rid of when I moved last year is my graduation gown when I received my Masters. Has the most hideous sleeves on earth.

2. What are your favorite and least-favorite things about the city/town you live in?
My favorite thing? Hard question because there is so much that I love about my town. My first thought was "my favorite thing is that my husband, son and dog are there," but they would be with me no matter where I lived, so that isn't specific to the current town. Uhm... I would have to say that my favorite thing is the convenience of everything - mall down the road one way, outlet mall the other, Super-Target a few minutes drive, awesome grocery store that I can walk to, major metro just a short hour's drive away (on the weekends...)
The least favorite thing - traffic.

3. What were the longest and shortest durations of your romantic relationships?
Define romantic relationship?
Assuming that this means a connection in which one fantasizes about spending the rest of one's life with the other person, I would have to say the shortest was about one month.
The longest? Twelve years and ten months***... and counting! 8-)

4. Who are the oldest and youngest people in your family?
Define family? lol
If you mean my extended non-furry family... (meaning no animals. lol)
My grandma is 94 years and 10 months old.
My niece is just over 2 years.

5. Who are your neatest and messiest friends?
Never thought about it... All my friends are like me, I suppose - both messy and neat, depending on which room of the house we're discussing.

And I'm going to add a question to this...
6. How do you feel about being tagged?
As I mentioned, I'd never been tagged before.

I've seen mentions of tags on other blogs where I would immediately be flooded with longing. "Pick me! Pick me! I know the answer. I will play my hardest. I won't disappoint. Please choose me!"

So after the initial shock and the "me? No, not me. Can't be me? But who else is named Jeanne? Really? She tagged me?" I felt wanted. I felt seen.

I'm relatively new around this corner of the blogosphere. I've read and commented, posted and responded, lurked and butted in with my pennies, but this is the first time that I've felt that I belong.

We all want to be picked for the team. We all want to identify with others and say, "Yes! I'm with someone." There is strength there, in the numbers...

It's not about the numbers?

Absolutely true - when the numbers are used for comparisons.

But when the quantity isn't what matters, when the quality is cherished, when there is no more than/less than, there is strength.

So, thank you, Carla. Thank you for tagging me. Thank you for helping me realize that I belong.

So, in no particular order,

Mr. H4H
ae
Sarah (but carla already tagged you)
Ms. Em
Elissa
Faith
Disordered girl
Todd
carrie
sarah
carla (I know, you tagged me)
t
eve (carla beat me to you)
faith
rachel
roark
authormomwithdogs
cindy
Biby cletus
lindsey
and anyone who has read Digging Me Up under the Cloak of Invisibility

I tag you.
Because we all belong.

*** I originally had 9 years and 2 months, however my hubby reminded me that that is just how long we've been married. We've actually been in a relationship since Sept. 30, 1994 - the day he took (what he thought was) a huge leap straight towards crash and burn and asked me out. Just goes to prove that great rewards come from great risks. ;-)

Searching for ...?

2007-07-26T13:01:00.000-04:00

Carrie posted an interesting commentary about the similarities between women's and girls' clothing.

Amazing, isn't it? And what's really effed up is that many girls look forward to having curves... then something happens to many of those girls and they no longer want the curves. Or if they do, they want them on a thin body.

In my case, the something was that I was abused and didn't want to look feminine/sexy for fear that I would elicit more abuse. The beginnings of my negative body image and the thickest root of my eating disorder.

Fast forward to March of this year.
On a family vacation to Florida's Universal Studios, I wanted to buy myself a souvenir. I always need T-shirts since my better ones I wear to work (with skirts.) So I looked in the Marvel Land shops (we spent a lot of time in the comic book heroes shops. lol) I looked around at all the adult shirts. BORING! All of them were uni-sex, which really means that they look best on guys. I wanted something more feminine and cute; flirty. They also carried other characters - Storm (from the X-men) with the word ELECTRIFYING, the Hulk, and one other that I can't remember.

The shirts were exactly what I was looking for!

Except...

It was for girls (as opposed to women.)

I sighed and moved on, but I kept going back to the rack with those shirts. I found the XL and held it up to my chest (to see if it would stretch around my far-from-girlish curves. Which it would.)

I hemmed.
I hawed.

I bought myself two of them - the Spiderman and the Storm.

I liked the message - I'm amazing. I'm electrifying. I'm feminine. I may be 32, but I'm still cute! Damn straight and no apologies!

When I wear one of these shirts, I feel confident. [I was about to write sexy, but what is sexy really, but self-confidence in one's whole being?]

But what is sad and disturbing is that I found these clothes in the girls' section. The lines between the ages have blurred so much... Or is it my perspective that is changing? Could it be that I am (desperately) clinging to my youth? Afraid of appearing aged?

Or am I just acting my age? I'm in my early thirties - I AM young. I AM youthful.

So what if I have lots of "grown-up" responsibilities. Why does that mean that I have to give up frivolity? Why does it mean that I can't play on the playgrounds (with or without my son?) Why is Dumbledore seen as "mental" for enjoying Bertie's Every Flavor Beans from time to time? Or for saying fun words that make people smile? None of it detracted from the knowledge that he obtained; from the wisdom which connected the dots.

I may be 32, but I'm not dead. While I have lots of knowledge and have made many connections in my life, I haven't lost my sense of fun, my love of laughter. I refuse to grow-up, if growing-up means that I give up fun and laughter.

Damn straight and no apologies!

Isn't that what self-confidence is all about?

"Nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak!" (from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone)

Inside my head

2007-07-24T07:40:00.000-04:00

"'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?'" Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows by J. K. Rowling, page 723

I lost track of how many times I was told, "It's all in your head" with the implication that I was making it up/dreaming/hallucinating. And not just from my mom who sent me to school with colds, rarely takes pain meds herself (and used to scoff at people who needed to), and asked me why I couldn't just "snap out of" my eating disorder relapse.

When I was in high school, I had a cavity in between my two front teeth. The dentist (my parents' choice and one who would have reminded me of Steve Martin, had he had even an ounce of humanity) gave me a shot of novocaine, gave it a few minutes, then said, "Make a fist if it hurts." He started drilling. Not a few minutes in, something didn't feel right, so I made a fist. He stopped, sighed in exasperation, gave me another shot, and continued drilling. After another few minutes, something felt wrong. I made a fist.

The dentist stopped, sighed heavily in exasperation, and said, "It's all in your head."

He continued to fill my teeth as tears streamed down my face.

My poor dad - this was the first time he had ever taken me to an appointment. I came out of the room, crying and swearing, "That son of a b---h; I'm never coming back here again."

No surprise that I fear dentists, huh?

But like Dumbledore tells Harry in the quote at the beginning of this post, just because something is in one's head does not mean it isn't real. Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there.

It's taken me most of my life to believe that my emotions are real and valuable and natural. Just because no one can see my anger, my fear, my pain, my happiness, just because these things are inside of me, doesn't mean that they aren't real.

After I accepted these things are true, really accepted them, my recovery seemed easier. These beliefs sustain me because I am the mistress of my life. I have choices to make everyday. I choose to own all of my choices - whether anyone sees them or not.

So now, when stress rises in my life, I choose to breathe. I choose to write as a way to organize my thoughts so that I can prioritize. I choose to let go the things that can't be changed (like the actions/thoughts/beliefs of others.) I choose to ignore the voice that tells me that self-injury with food is the answer.

I am the mistress of my life. I am always in charge. Though I may delegate my authority, I refuse to relinquish my power to anyone. Inside my head or out.

This is my core belief.

What is yours?

Confusion leads to anger... will anger lead to hate?

2007-07-19T15:01:00.000-04:00

Enough sitting around looking at the hedges... My stress bucket is overflowing; time to relieve some of the emotions.

I am angry at my brother - what he did was horrible and impacted my life in so many ways; still impacts how I view my body and intimacy. I've had to and continue to work so damn hard on healing from what he did to me when I was an impressionable pre-teen.

And yet, I see him as he is now - a man in his mid-30s, father of 4 beautifully amazing girls, husband to a woman with Crohns (among other medical problems,) seemingly devoted, dedicated, adoring and caregiving...

I can't help but wonder why he ever touched me the way that he did. Why did he molest me?

Is this a mask that he wears - this seemingly saintliness? Or is this the real thing - a man who regrets his actions and attempts atonement?

My heart leads me to believe that he is the real thing - he truly regrets the torment he put me through and lives his life as "good" as he possibly can to somehow, someway make up for the pain he caused me, his only sister.

When I first discussed these events with John, my therapist, I had said that I wanted to know why Tom molested me. He replied that there was no good reason for what he did to me. "It was all bad."

Absolutely true.

But a part of me would like to have that dialogue with Tom - someday in the distant future. I think I deserve to know why the hell he didn't think about what he was doing; why he cared so little about me; why he treated me as less than human. I wonder if knowing his not-ever-going-to-be-good-enough reasons will ease my anger? I wonder if knowing why, from his perspective, will help me heal...

But then, there was no good reason for him molesting his younger sister. None. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. Zero.

So would hearing any reason help me feel less anger? Or would it just piss me off more to have validated that there is no good reason?

I feel so angry. I have every right to. John said that I may always be angry and that is absolutely okay.

So why do I want to get rid of my righteous anger?

Because my brother is a nice guy...now.

I hate that. It would be a hundred times easier if he was slimy or cruel or evil.

But he isn't. There is good in him, and damnit, he lets it show.

So, is anyone surprised that I feel for Padme and Luke?**

* I've been watching a lot of Star Wars lately. For those in the dark, my main man, Yoda, says "Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering."
** Even though Darth Vader did some terrible things, Padme and Luke believed that there was good in him and could be turned back to the light.

What a magnificent leaf on that hedge...

2007-07-18T13:22:00.000-04:00

This past weekend, I trekked back to my hometown to visit family and friends. My goals were to spend some quality time with my grandma (she'll be 95 in September - and still sharp as a tack, although a bit slower walking as ever;)connect with my bestest girlfriend ever and catch up on things; and to have my son play with his bestest friends from his "very old school" as he puts it.
Goals accomplished. Weekend enjoyed thoroughly!

As I think I mentioned in previous posts, I had a rather large challenge to overcome. Seeing my brother, Tom, the one who molested me when I was younger, for the first time since my email confrontation and his verification that the memories were real and actually happened.

The Monday before, I emailed Tom - gave him the ground rules: No hugging me; no touching me; no lengthy conversations; and no being alone with my son.

He agreed to them; said he understood.

Which of course, flared my confusion (how can I be angry at such an understanding, nice man?) into anger (how can such an understanding, nice man have done what he did to me so many years ago?)

Anyway, to make a long story shorter - he respected my rules. I did speak to him once on Sunday afternoon - a compliment on not burning the burgers (like my dad used to.) I wanted him to know that I appreciated his acceptance of my conditions.

I just emailed him to thank him for following my wishes and that it has gone a long way towards rebuilding my trust.

So now that I've been home for a few days and have had time to digest (no pun intended,) I am left feeling... fat. Which usually means that my emotions are brimming to the rim. Although, I'm not uncomfortable about feeling fat. I know it is just a metaphor. I know that I'll sort through my emotions eventually and in my own good time. No rush. No need to flip out.

Sometimes, just acknowledging that I'm in the middle of a complex labyrinth is enough; to sit down, breathe deeply, and rest, perhaps examine the hedgerows that line the maze for a while...

And that's quite okay.

Crutchless!

2007-07-16T16:08:00.000-04:00

This is going to be a really short post - I just got back from a weekend with the extended family, but I wanted to report that I am limping without crutches!

YAY!
8-)

Wonder Woman

2007-07-12T13:04:00.000-04:00

I've been on crutches for less than a week and I'm feeling increasingly and decidedly un-wonder-woman-ish.

I'm currently reading The Body Project. Fascinating stuff, especially for someone who is a living history hobbist. The book observes the progression of woman's "body projects" from Victorian times to the late 1990s. The premise is that as women have become more "liberated," they have become increasingly more obsessed with their bodies.

Makes perfect sense to me.

Growing up, I was encouraged (by the media, mainly) to dream big. Women could have careers and families! Hurray! Go women! WooHoo!

Right?

Wrong.

And let me tell you why.

There are still only 24 hours in each day. And only 7 of those days each week. And only 52 weeks in each year.

So, where the women in the 1950s (and before) were able to have one full-time job - being parent/spouse/housekeeper, the women today are expected to be parent/spouse/housekeeper AND hold down a 40+ hours a week position.
And not only that - said position should be a "career." Meaning that women should be devoting numerous hours above and beyond, so that they can become respected/reknown/worshipped in their chosen field.

Sorry, am I the only one who's missed where this is freeing?

Now, some women (of which I am one) are lucky enough to have a partner who wants to share the load of being parent/spouse/housekeeper. And that is wonderful and I absolutely love him for it.

However, ingrained in my brain is this notion that I can do it all. Not only can I do it all, I should do it all. And not only should I do it all, I should do so with a smile. Oh, and by the way, I should also be thin and beautiful, too. "Bring home the bacon; serve it up in a pan" baby.

I tried living this (misguided) ideal. Gave it my all for many years.

Until the stress triggered my eating disorder.

So I had to choose. If I continued to "do it all," I would eventually kill myself from malnutrition. There isn't enough time in the day to do everything AND take care of myself and since I was so obviously failing at doing everything, I didn't feel worthy of being taking care of (by myself, let alone by anyone else.)

SuperWoman and almost certain death at a young age or SimpleWoman and possible long life?

Hmmm... Tough choice.

After three long years, I have become very comfortable with my decision to become SimpleWoman. And the simpler the better.

I've said it before - life isn't about numbers. Well, a corollary to that is:
life isn't about how much we can accomplish before we die. For what good are these accomplishments if we don't take some time and bask in the glow?

All accomplishments count. I'm proud of myself for giving birth to my son after 15 hours of labor (a major event in my life, to be sure.) But I'm also proud of myself on days like today, when I've desperately wanted to write down everything that I have eaten and will eat (so that I can reassure myself that I haven't overeaten and/or restrict)and I don't (I'm writing instead.) Subconsciously, I recognized that I was stressed (lots to do at work before a long weekend) and instead of coping with the stress by obsessing about food, I used a different mechanism. I'm writing this post.

For me, being able to take the time to assess my mental state, choose a healthy way to adjust it, and acknowledge (and celebrate) the accomplishment of it all is absolute freedom. Liberation to the nth degree.

This is life at its best. And I am basking in the glow of every minute.

How many SuperWomen can say that?

Embarrassment and humility

2007-07-10T13:01:00.001-04:00

I remember a few of my girlfriends in fifth and sixth grade spraining their ankles. I was fascinated by their experiences, especially with their use of crutches. I wished I needed crutches, too.

Sick and twisted?

Perhaps.

I envied these girls because everyone saw what was wrong with them and rallied to help them. They were able to have their books carried, their lunches delivered, their needs met with a kind smile and no questions asked. The girls that were afflicted with sprained ankles were popular and beautiful, graceful - deserving of the attention and care. This solidified in my mind my unworthiness. In my mind, I was neither beautiful nor graceful and thus, it made sense to me that my needs were not met unconditionally.

So I learned to rely on myself. "I can do it," was (is) my motto. "Yes, I can." Because if I was undeserving of care, then I better be able to care for others (and myself, when everyone else's needs are met.)

So how ironic is it, now that I've accepted that my childhood was less than ideal and it's one of the reasons that I've become the fiercely independent woman before you, that I find myself with a sprained ankle and subsequently, on crutches?

As the strong, fiercely independent woman that I am, I am incredibly humiliated. Not only of how I sprained my ankle (I was jogging across the street, pushing my son in his stroller, when my foot landed on the back wheel of the stroller which grabbed and yanked, hard,) but also with the sheer mechanics of mobility on crutches. (Thud, thud, thud...)

But you know what I find even more embarrassing than asking my five-year-old son to carry a glass of milk to the table for me?

Having my husband help me do the things that up until Saturday night, I did without thinking - like carry food from the kitchen to the table, or take our dog outside to pee.

I can explain away my son's help by saying that I am empowering him to be self-reliant.

I have no such recourse to use with adults.

My husband has been amazing the past few days - offering help left and right. The more I said "no, thank you, I can do it," the more he offered, until he realized just how hard this situation is for me.

I am the consummate caregiver, ready to shower a person with his/her every need, and within reason, his/her every wish, and suddenly I'm not able to fulfill this role. Flounder - it's what's for dinner.

But through my recovery, I have learned that it is more than okay for me to ask for what I need. So, I do ask for help - when I absolutely can think of no other way to work the situation so I can do it myself. But I do ask even though I feel like the embarrassment will slay me. I ask even though the little girl inside cringes in fear of being denied her request, ridiculed for her audacity for asking, and/or harrumphed with the annoyance of her (petty) needs.

Spraining my ankle is a true lesson in humility for me.

Humility is defined as "the state of being humble" where a humble person is then defined as "someone who does not think that he or she is better or more important than others." (Definition from wikipedia)

For many people, this means that they need to come off their self-built pedastals and mingle with the great "unwashed."

For me though, this experience is bringin hom the fact that I am just as important as others - I am deserving of help when I need it.

And true, it is embarrassing to not be full-bodied and able, but most people have these moments. It doesn't make me unworthy; it just makes me human.

So I will rise up to take my place among the other mortals and hobble my way around on crutches, until I can stand up on my own.

Defining ED

2007-07-06T12:54:00.000-04:00

On CookieGirl's blog, she brought up the debate about eating disorders as choice or as external force/cause.

Personally, I've always subscribed to the notion that ED behaviors are the symptoms. I used ED behaviors to numb myself when I felt overwhelmed by emotions. It used to be my coping mechanism of choice; leading me to believe that I was in control of at least one thing, when everything else felt like complete chaos. (Of course, that's a lie.) Through my recovery, I've learned to cope in other ways.

Does that mean that I've cured my illness?
No.

Are eating disorders curable?
I don't think so. And let me tell you why.

Even though I am symptom-free, I still have negative thoughts. I still have feelings that overwhelm me. I will always have these thoughts and feelings. This is the disease. I think of myself as in remission from my illness.

My medicine, which I take as often as needed, is to challenge those negative thoughts the moment they pop into my mind. To focus on the positive. To distract myself. If necessary, I pull out the other meds in my cabinet - deep breathing, stretching, walking, writing, talking - to keep my disease in remission.

Like the antihistamines for my allergies, I will need to take these medicines for the rest of my life. The dosages and frequency may change, but I will always need to be vigilant. As a person with cancer is reminded to continue screenings on a periodic basis to be sure the cancer remains gone, I too must continually screen myself for any hint of my symptoms returning.

And I do screen myself regularly. I take breaks during the day to breathe, to get up and move, to connect with another living being, to stretch. At these times, I take my medicine - I remind myself that life is about living, not numbers. That I'm not alone. That I'm beautiful and strong, intelligent and loving, caring and thoughtful.

So what's in your medicine chest?

Rebel Yell!

2007-07-05T11:16:00.000-04:00

All right, I'm back again with an article by the Associated Press. "Review Finds Nutrition Education Failing."

The article starts by stating how the US government is spending a billion dollars (this year alone) on nutrition education - with most of the programs flopping like beached flounder. The article then proceeds to pull in expert opinions that there is nothing to be done. Kids will continue to choose donuts and "junk" food no matter what anyone says, especially after the age of 10.

What is never mentioned in this article (or any of the articles I find on child obesity) is any information on intuitive eating (the idea that one listens to one's own body for hunger cues and then acts upon those cues.)

When my son was born, I vowed to him that I would go with the flow - no pushing, no demanding. When he was ready, he was ready and I would support and love him no matter what. [The only thing was that he had to be potty-trained by kindergarden, but that wasn't my rule.] When he is hungry, I ask him, "Sweet or savory." And then list his choices from there.

Sure, sometimes he says "ice cream" or "cupcake" or "cookie," when he wants sweets. But almost as often he mentions "banana" or "apple" or "berries" or "oatmeal."

No matter what he answers, I either get it for him (or point the way to it.) His body knows what he needs and it's asking for these things for a reason.

Lately, (he's five and half years old now,) he's been asking often, "Mommy, are chips junk food?" or "Will this Hershey kiss make me sick?"

My reply is always, "If you eat too much of anything, it will make you sick. As long as you listen to your body, eat when you're hungry, stop when you're full, you'll be just fine."

But our conversation leaves me extremely disturbed and incredibly worried. I'm assuming that he is learning about these things at his daycare (or from the TV, which now has commercials about the dangers of "junk" food and being sedentary.) Which is all fine and dandy, except that since I had an eating disorder, that may predispose my son into having one as well. I have worked so hard for the past five plus years to instill in my son a sense of trust in his own body and I feel like all my effort is being flushed down the drain by all these agencies who are shoving "healthy" eating down our throats.

To me, "healthy" eating is where no food is forbidden. Where one eats when one's body says that it needs fuel, and feeds it exactly for what her/his body asks, then stopping when the body is full. All humans are born eating "healthy." All of us, no exceptions. But sometime during our formative years we are taught otherwise. Many are forced into the "clean plate club" and/or the "three squares a day rigidity."

I've spent the past three years struggling to return myself to the innocence, the naturalness of intuitive eating. I've fought to allow myself to enjoy cookies and cupcakes and cakes and ice cream and candy - whenever my body tells me it needs it. I'm now battling to add fat back into my diet.

I would never wish this war on ANYONE.

And yet, here are government-sponsored programs and classes countermanding everything that I'm fighting for.

I often feel like a lone crusader striking back at the infidels who want to mess with my child's innate sense of self-nurturing.

I invite all other crusaders to yawp a rebel yell!

AAAARRRRHHHHH!!!

Now, all we need is a catchy rallying cry. One that can be sung from the rooftops of the world to call the people to arms against those who are trying to confuse our babies into believing that there is one almighty structure for fueling our bodies, who are diverting our babies from the trust in themselves with which they were born.

How about:

Back off! My body knows what I need!

No, needs to be shorter... My mind is blank for war cries.

Any ideas?

Independence Day

2007-07-04T09:06:00.001-04:00

My Declaration of Independence

When a relationship becomes destructive to one of the members, the injured party has the right to dissolve all ties to the aggressor. It is her right as a human being to state the reasons which cause her to separate herself from the tyrant.

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all humans have the right to live freely and happily. When someone obstructs a fellow human from achieving these ends, it is just and necessary to eliminate the despot.

Edie has spent decades coming between Jeanne and true happiness to the extent that Jeanne’s very life is in jeopardy.

The evidence is as follows:
 Edie has thwarted every attempt by Jeanne to find true happiness.
 Edie has repeatedly and inexhaustibly denied Jeanne one of the basic necessities of life – food.
 Edie has stolen all emotions from Jeanne.
 Edie has altered Jeanne’s perception of reality so that Jeanne no longer is able to believe what is true.
 Edie has ripped away Jeanne’s ability to trust.

In short, Edie has imprisoned Jeanne for over twenty years without trial and due process.

Often, Jeanne has attempted to confront Edie and list her grievances. Her petitions were never addressed and worse, Jeanne received additional punishment for her courage. For these transgressions, Jeanne must view Edie as the enemy.

Jeanne, therefore, solemnly declares her independence from Edie. She is free and is absolved from all allegiances to Edie. All connections to Edie must be severed.

Jeanne is a free and independent woman – free to eat, free to live in peace, free to do and act as other independent beings do.

And for supporting this Declaration, Jeanne pledges her life, her fortune and her sacred honor to her family and friends who sign this petition.

***

I wrote this statement in 2005.

I offer it to you on this 231st Day of Independence (in America) with a challenge to those suffering and struggling.

How will you (or how do you) declare your independence from ED?
What wrongs has the ED tyrant in your life committed against you?
What do you want out of life?
And how will you make that happen?

Because the choice is yours and yours alone.
Choose independence.
Choose to live.

Fork or spoon?

2007-07-03T08:07:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow (here in the States) is Independence Day. "The Fourth of July."

The (disputed) day when the Declaration of Independence was signed (if not sealed and delivered,) declaring the citizens of the colonies of America to be free from (what they viewed as) the tyranny of England's rule.

In the summer of 2005, after reading Life Without Ed by Jenni Schaefer, I wrote a declaration of independence of my own. From my eating disorder. I even had the people in my life sign it in solidarity (as Thom Rutledge recommended in one of the exercise sections.)

For a while, I looked to that document for inspiration in my fight against this illness. I struggled to separate myself from the ED while simultaneously digging at the roots of my almost-non-existent self-esteem. I reached out for help, countless times.

And all through my inner battles, I made time to help others - mainly through message boards (like Something-fishy.) And all the time, there was a soul trapped that I couldn't reach. Anorexia had destroyed her body, but worse, it decimated her will to live.

My husband's cousin, Krissy would have been 28 years old today.

I remember the Christmas before she passed. I told her about my eating disorder; I gave her my phone numbers and email so that she could contact me if she wanted someone who would understand.

She never called.
Never emailed.

I had often thought about calling her, but never overcame my insecurities. (I hate talking on the phone.)

When she died, I had fleeting moments of regret, of guilt. I should have called. Why didn't I see beyond my own suffering?

I wasn't alone in my thoughts. In the aftermath of her passing, my husband and the rest of the family, and I'm sure, her friends as well, all wondered what they could have done to stop her from taking her own life.

I gently responded that there wasn't anything anyone could have done - she needed to want help. And when in the depths of an ED, there seems no way out. So dark is the depression, so suffocating is the despair. I understood. I had been there.

I understood, but didn't help her. I couldn't help her. I just wasn't in a place to help anyone then, not until I recovered myself.

A few weeks after her funeral, I asked my mother-in-law to take me to her grave. I stood near it and talked to her, like I was never able to in life. I thanked her for saving my life the year before (I had just begun to realize I was relapsing when her liver gave out. After seeing how devastated and scared my husband and his family was, I spurred into action to fight my own ED before I ruined my health forever.) I cried for her. I cried for me. I remember feeling envious of her - from my mid-recovery view, she had the liberty to choose death rather than continue the struggle. At the time, I was too blind to see that I did have a choice, lots of choices.

Now that I'm on the solid ground of "recovered," I see that she probably envied me. She probably thought how lucky I was to have choices, to have a child who needed me, to have a husband so in love with me (and I with him) that I never would consider death an option.

Amazing in its irony, isn't it?

We all have so many choices every day - so many forks (and spoons and bowls and plates) in our paths. The best thing is there is no Miss Manners to tell us which one we need to use. We are the masters/mistresses of our lives.

So, what choices await you today?

Which utensil will you choose?

How will you choose to live your life?

A different sort of message from John Edward

2007-07-02T21:44:00.001-04:00

"If you meet with obstacles, you try to overcome them. You fix what you need to fix to reach what you believe is your goal. If you still can't fix it, if you're hitting a wall, it probably means you're not doing what you're supposed to be doing. Change careers. Change direction. You're meant to be doing something else." pages 27 - 28 Crossing Over by John Edward. (www.johnedward.net)

Right/Write on, John!

I've been re-reading Crossing Over since I haven't had a chance to get to the library to pick up some books I reserved. This book is about the journey John Edward took to get his show on the SciFi network. (For those of you unfamiliar, John Edward is a medium - a person who connects the living with the dead. Supposedly. If you believe in life after death. Which, honestly, I want to believe, but am skeptical. Just call me "Doubting Jeanne" and show me a sign (or two or three.))

Anyway, on a higher level (no pun intended,) I respect John Edward immensely - regardless of what I believe or hope. When something isn't working right, he changes it. He hasn't been afraid to try something new or different - even if there are cynics and others waiting to shoot him down. He believes in his message - which is that human consciousness lives on, that love transcends the physical world - and he will do whatever it takes to get his message through.

Later in this book, he writes,

"In any career, if you make it about the work first, the money will take care of itself. You don't have to be a spiritual person to embrace this ethic. And you don't have to be a Wall Street shark to lose sight of it. Especially if you also allow yourself to fall prey to some of the other human impulses: competition with peers, resentment at being left behind, the desire for control and power." page 51 Crossing Over by John Edward

This is not only true about careers/jobs, but also about life and choices. If you are true to yourself and strive to do the next right thing (whatever that next right thing is at any given time,) then everything else will fall into place.

It is when we compare ourselves with others, when we feel compelled to control anything and everything we can, that we fall. Countless times through my recovery, I've looked at the super thin models and actresses and wished for their bodies. I've walked into a room full of women and sorted them by weight and declared myself "fat." And then I'd take my "fatness" and starve and exercise - my attempts to control it, because I thought the rest of my life was spinning beyond my realm of influence.

I started making the biggest strides in recovery when I realized all this and relinguished control (if only for a while) to someone else so I could remain in charge. The best example is how I allow Mike, my personal trainer, to control the numbers in the fitness center (the number of pounds I lift, the level of incline I run, the speeds I move at.) But I remain in charge - I can take back control whenever I wish. I just choose not to. I don't need to. I trust Mike, so why tempt myself with numbers?

Life isn't a contest. There is no prize for the thinnest or richest or strongest. The prize is in the savoring of every moment.

Locker Room Chat

2007-07-02T15:34:00.000-04:00

Why do many women feel the need to pray to the almighty scale??? And worse, go about exclaiming how much penance she needs to inflict upon herself to adhere to the scale's wishes???

I was in the locker room today, changing before a body sculpting class in the fitness center at work. A colleague in the IT department (who is also changing)remarks about how "bad" she was this weekend.
I asked her to define "bad," as I think about what she could possibly consider "bad."
She says, "I had a piece of fried chicken. And half a hamburger..." while camping.

8-O

I reassured her that she was not "bad."

She then said that it was "bad" because she didn't lose any weight last week. (Apparently she had been losing two pounds each week.) She then stated her hope of losing two pounds this week - to make up for last week.

Oh, and there's more!

She went on to tell me that it was easy losing weight the first few weeks.
I informed her that water weight was easy to lose, which is what the first few pounds on any "diet" tend to be.
I then said, "It's not about the number on the scale."
She replied, "It is for me."
Subject dropped along with my jaw.

My first reaction was to retort, "Yeah, well, it's your life. I'm recovering from an eating disorder and I'd rather not talk about things like this."

I didn't. Partly because I didn't want this woman to know. [Although, if she continues to discuss diets/weight/numbers/scales/etc., I will tell her to lay off and why.]

I pity this woman. Her self-esteem, her sense of worth is chained to the number on the scale.

I remember that life all too well.

After that conversation, I had fleeting thoughts about what I've been eating and how lazy I was this weekend (no exercise for me because I strained my neck on Friday. Note to self: I'm not a teenager who can do a headstand without sufficiently warming up. lol) I even had a flicker of guilt for my "glutteny" this weekend when I ate a few cookies.

But then, after a good mental shaking, I stopped. I don't want that life. What is so "bad" about enjoying a cookie?? (especially a really yummy one?) What is so "terrible" about a piece of fried chicken? What is so "awful" about a whole burger, let alone half of one????

Nothing.
There is nothing wrong with any of it.

I know I've written a lot about my favorite mantra - "It's not about the numbers." I've needed a little more reminding than usual myself about that lately, but I've also been hit with how big a hangup our culture has with numbers - weights, bmis, calories, paychecks, housing prices, etc.

I'm annoyed by it all.

Wouldn't it be great if life on Earth was similar to Star Trek: Next Generation's Earth? One big happy world family, no money, food for the asking, people encourage to explore new worlds and seek out new life... I wonder if that also applied to inner lives and the world of the psyche as well? Hmmm...

Yet another doctor devised "diet"

2007-06-29T07:41:00.000-04:00

Melissa Hershberg, a former Miss Fitness Manitoba is now a doctor (less than one year out of med school) who has a diet book on the market. [Read the article.]

So, why am I blogging about it?

Because it erks me. Really erks me.

The more MDs promote "diets," the more credence is lent to the whole "diet industry," thus confusing society more while increasing focus on the numbers.

Does anyone else find issue with this???

When will society learn that it's not about the numbers!

Life is not about the number on the scale, or on the tag in your pants/dress/shirt, or even in your bank account. Life is about the "little things" that add up to so much more. It's the smile you give as you pass by a stranger. It's the hug you give and receive from loved ones. It's the tender kiss on the top of a head. It's the quiet morning. It's the sleepy evenings.

It's all these things and more.

So does anyone have any ideas on how can we get the world to focus on life instead of numbers???

My idea (which I'm working feverishly on) is to challenge everyone who talks to me about numbers. So if someone says to me, "I want to make more money/to lose weight/to drop a dress size." I ask them why. If the answer isn't to become healthy (either physically or financially,) then I talk about my philosophy. "It's not about the numbers."

Oh, and I blog. ;-)

It's a real crawl - this way of changing the world a person or two at a time.

I'm open to suggestions.

Find Your Slim????

2007-06-27T15:33:00.001-04:00

Okay, I know I'm posting a lot today. I'm having a little down time a work (for a change...)

Okay, I just found this post in iVillage - "Slim Fast's Find Your Slim Contest" and I just have to speak out.

The premise is that a woman goes online, uploads a photo of herself, selects a "realistic" goal weight, and then in a few months, reports back.

However, the first paragraph of the post states:
"Stop thinking you have to squeeze into a size two...you have the right to define your own realistic goal weight and get the help you need to achieve that goal."

Am I the only one who sees the paradox?

If you have the right to set a realistic goal weight, isn't it conceivable that that weight is where you are right now?

I'm so fed up (okay, bad pun) with those in the diet and fashion industries who use adolescent schemes to make people (not just women) think they are ugly and fat and need to lose weight or tone up or conform to some unreachable, unhealthy ideal of beauty!!

Beauty is what's inside!!!

And while I try to nourish my body with the nutrients it needs (vitamins, minerals, protein, fatty acids, complex carbs, etc.,) I also respect that my body knows better than my brain what it needs.

I read a post in the Science and Speculation blog entitled, "Intuitive Eating" the other day. The blog lifted an article by Brock Vergakis of the Associated Press. This article described how Steven Hawks, a health science prof at BYU, scrapped dieting and taught himself how to listen to his body - eat intuitively. He eats when he's hungry, for what he is hungry, and then stops when he's full. Simplicity at its best.

So, I'd like to send a message to all those who find themselves on "diets."
Stop. Look. Listen.

Stop dieting - losing weight does not happiness guarantee.
Look around you - what in this life really makes you happy. Is it really the number of the scale or on the tag of your pants?
Listen to your body, to your true self, to that inner child who is begging to be let free - only then will you find happiness. Your body knows what it needs to survive - listen to it.

And each time you find yourself thinking about your weight, thinking about what you should or shouldn't be eating, Stop. Look. Listen.

Oh, and if you should forget sometimes, give yourself a hug and try again. Because it's never too late to do the next right thing.

Reassurance and grounding

2007-06-27T09:58:00.001-04:00

As I think I blogged earlier, in January, John (my therapist) and I agreed that I was healthy. We parted ways with the understanding that if I needed him, I just had to call.

Last night, I saw John for the first time. With all the emotions budding about my trip to Buffalo in a few weeks, I knew that I needed help. In the past, I would "tough" it out and see how far I could get on my own. Inevitably, ED was there to help me get through. I would starve and binge until I was miserable, and then I would ask for help from a real live person.

This time, I vowed it would be different. The moment I felt my anger and anxiety rise, I decided to call John and schedule an appointment. I needed to talk about what I was feeling, and not just with my husband (who is priceless for listening,) but from someone not intimately involved. An impartial third-party, so to speak.

John is the best person I have for that.

So, last night, we talked about my trip to Buffalo in a few weeks and how this is the first time I will see Tom in person since I confronted him, about how I had been able to compartmentalize when I talked with him on the phone on holidays, but that this felt different, and about how I was thinking of sending Tom an email of ground rules for my visit.

From John, I received reassurance that my gut was right. That I have every right to feel everything that I'm feeling. He said that there is no time limit on my anger. In fact, I probably will always feel angry towards Tom and that it's okay and natural. It's natural for this visit to trigger all these emotions and more. And, he said, this won't be the last trigger in my life.

John liked my idea of emailing Tom with ground rules for my visit (to include no touching, no hugging, limited communication, and no alone time with my son.) He reminded me that I need not think of Tom's feelings about any of this - they are irrelevant. What matters is making this visit as comfortable for me as possible, because I didn't do anything wrong.

I left my appointment feeling confident and purposeful; recharged and ready; grounded.

I'm incredibly proud of myself - for my recognition of my feelings, for my proactive response, and most importantly, for not letting ED in this time.

John simply confirmed (validated for me) what I already knew in my depths - that I am strong and healthy now.

And it feels wonderful.

Anorexia: The Little Things

2007-06-27T09:55:00.001-04:00

I just watched a very inspiring video on YouTube by Kat (eniwekwe) where she spoke about how one doesn't need a major motivator to want to recover; Life is enough. And what is life if it isn't the little things - the feel of the warm summer sun on your skin; the whisper of a sigh; the chill of a tall glass of iced tea...

I couldn't agree more. Life is all about the moments.

Unfortunately, when someone is in the throes of an eating disorder, these moments are rarely appreciated. For me, I had the supreme motivator of all - my pre-school son. The knowledge that he needed me (and would always need me) kept me driven towards recovery - no matter the cost. It has been only in the last year or so of my three year journey that I've been able to appreciate the little things, and want to live to experience more of them. It's been in this last year that I've learned to live in the moment, for the beauty that each moment gives.
Learn from the past, dream for the future, but live in the now.

Shuffle off to...

2007-06-26T13:51:00.000-04:00

In a previous post, I mentioned that I'm heading up North to visit my family. Not real interesting you say.
But what if I tell you that this will be the first time I see my brother since he apologized to me (and thus, confirming that what I remembered about the molestation sessions were honest to goodness real.)
I'm feeling all sorts of things - anxiety and anger being high on the list, but also indignation.
I'm indignant.

Here's my thought train - hang on for the bumpy ride.

Here I am, 400 miles away from any extended family. I moved here by choice. [And I don't regret it a bit.]
BUT
There my brother sits - a few miles away from all kinds of family (and thus support,) getting free babysitting whenever he wants, getting free meals for his large family (4 girls, wife, mother-in-law, grandfather-in-law) every single week.
Worse, he is portrayed as the ultimate in fatherhood.

Now granted, my parents do their best to even it out when they come down to visit my family and me.

But I still feel indignant.
Because I didn't do anything wrong.
And yet, my brother assured me that I was the only one he abused that way. So maybe he isn't so bad after all. And he was a minor as well when he did those things to me.

But it was still wrong. He had no right to touch me the way he did.

And the argument goes back and forth in my mind...

So, here I sit - with lots of conflicting emotions.

My main reason for going back to my hometown is to visit with my grandma (who's almost 95 years old and will never be able to travel to visit me.) I'm also going to visit with one of my best friends (who also is unable to visit me right now.)

But part of me wants to go up there to prove a point (to myself? to my brother?) That Tom didn't run me out of town because of what he did. That I'm still a part of that family and by-gum, I didn't do anything wrong.
That I have no reason to hide.

Todd has offered (many times) to go up there with me. I've asked him not to go - mainly because I need solid ground to return to (or call while I'm up there.) I liken it to rowing out into shark-infested water...

I don't anticipate anything happening. I can be civil - been very civil on the phone on holidays.

But this will be face to face. And my skin is crawling with the thought of it...

What's Your Theme Song?

2007-06-22T09:09:00.001-04:00

My therapist asked me once if I had a theme song - a song that defines me.

I thought about it (after wiping the puzzlement from my face) and couldn't think of one all-defining song. Many songs have spoken to me over my life; a different one for every stage of growth. For instance, Billy Joel's "Code of Silence" from The Bridge CD (I think) really spoke to me when my I first began to uncover the pain inside. But it wasn't a theme song for long. I changed that.

I thought about all sorts of songs - my taste in music is rather broad; my mixes often combine Creed, Billy Joel, Richard Marx, Nickelback, and Bon Jovi with John Denver, Michael Buble', Kenny Rogers, and Celine Dion. And then I usually throw in some Mozart or Beethoven.

Anyway, I digress.

On my drive home from therapy that night, I heard my theme song on the radio.
"Bitch" by Meredith Brooks.

"I'm a little bit of everything all rolled into one.
I'm a bitch; I'm a lover;
I'm a child; I'm a mother;
I'm a sinner; I'm a saint;
I do not feel ashamed."

Yup. That just about defines me.

And the best line of all, "You know you wouldn't want me any other way."

I carry the lyrics with me in my purse, so if I ever need a pick-me-up, I just sing the song in my head. Amazing, really - how one melody can empower us with so much strength.

So, what's your theme song?

Take that ED!

2007-06-20T09:45:00.000-04:00

Last night, I ate more than my usual, in other words more than I had planned. I wouldn't call it a binge since it was only a tablespoon or so of soynuts and a serving of my new favorite cereal, but I'm still feeling incredible anxiety over it. And fear. I feel like I've gained a hundred pounds overnight. I think I need to exercise for hours, or maintain constant movement to burn off the extra calories.
And the urge to restrict is extremely strong.

So what's really going on?
I'm excited that my parents are arriving today. I'm excited about Jack's graduation. I'm worried about how unfocused I've been the last few weeks at work - worried that my unproductiveness will reach my boss and I'll be reprimanded or something.
I'm worried that I'm forgetting something really important at work.

The last worries are rather far-fetched considering that I am doing everything that I need to do, meeting all deadlines, answering all requests in a timely fashion. It's just that things have slowed down a bit from the frenetic pace of the past two months. That isn't to say that I'm not busy, I just think that I've learned how to juggle better, more efficiently.

It's around 8:30 in the morning. I'm eating my cereal. One small piece at a time and when I pick up more than one piece, my ED lashes at out me.

So I've picked up my spoon. [The ED survivor's equivalent of giving the one-fingered salute.]

Take that ED!

8-)