She was a total stranger to me. Well, I say total stranger but I had seen her on numerous occasions manning the self-checkout stations. She was always very attentive to those self-scan machines and there had even been a couple of times when she was beside me before my red light even came on for assistance (I don't know why I do those things--- I always need help). It was like the other times- she was busily pushing in her little code to make the machine happy again and then she asked the question. You know, the one that no woman EVER wants to be asked unless they are glowing from actual with childness. "Are you expecting?" I think I surprised her with the heartbroken look on my face. We both stared at each other awkwardly because she realized I was not. "No. I'm not." I couldn't see my face but I couldn't imagine it being more red than hers. She stuttered for a minute and then said in an exceptionally obnoxious southern accent "Don't take offense, hun, I was just going to help you lift your groceries." I said something ridiculous afterward like "Oh, no problem. Thank you for asking!" (Who says that??) And then I left in a hurry for both of our sake. Man, oh man, was my Ed going crazy. That was grounds for so many behaviors and all of them were running through my mind. Just a laxative or two, go for a run in response to that question, drink a boatload of water to flush some of that "pregnancy" away, eat a big giant brownie because I already look pregnant so it doesn't even matter. Yep, I gave them all consideration. But, in the end I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered why it mattered so much. Why did I care so much what that lady thought? I was pregnant. 7 months ago. For 9 months. And it was worth it.
I did put that shirt in the back of my closet.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Two Years Later...
Two years since I started treatment at Renfrew. That seems impossible.
When I started, I wondered what it would be like to say "two years
later".
I relapsed. Not yesterday. Or last week. But, I relapsed. I can't even really clearly define when the thoughts started happening again, but they did. It was kind of like that annoying fly you can't get out of your car. You roll your window down when you notice it's there, but it keeps buzzing around, dodging the exit you've provided. Eventually you get tired of the noise from the outside so you just roll the window back up and try to forget about the fly being there. I did that. I started hearing Ed. At first I fought it, but after a while, I just got tired and let him stick around for a while. Unlike a pesky fly, Ed was actually serving a purpose during a stressful few months (or so I thought). A new baby, our 7th move in 7 years, dealing with breastfeeding failure again, 2 weddings, living around old triggers again, the list went on and on.
Luckily, I created a lifelong bond with some amazing girls while I was in treatment. During my relapse, I met up with a couple of them at different times. I wasn't intending to talk to them about my behaviors because I wasn't ready to give myself up, but both girls pegged it. When I started telling one of them about my laxative use, her face fell. I was trying to brush it off. I told her it was minimal and had only been going on a short while, and I tried to justify using them to get through all of the "tough stuff." As she was listening to me, I could tell she wasn't buying any of it. In treatment, I quickly learned that part of my healing style is to talk openly about everything. It's almost like when I say things out loud it breaks a spell. It breaks the silence the and the grip my eating disorder has on me. This happened as I was talking and watching my friend's face. Hearing the words come out of my mouth almost shocked me. I started bawling. My friend asked me what was going on. I told her I was scared because I liked the way I was feeling taking them again. I started explaining all of the stressful things going on in my life that led me to that place. She listened. She nodded. Without skipping a beat, she then proceeded to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. She reminded me about how good I felt taking laxatives in the beginning because it was like a drug. It was pushing down the stress, the emotion, the worry, the anxiety. She then reminded me about my trip to the emergency room. She reminded me that I didn't want to be back there and that the story where I take laxatives excessively just doesn't end well no matter how good it feels in the beginning. She told me she had come to realize in her own journey with an eating disorder that life happens. Life will always happen. There will always be stressful events. The question is, how will we cope? It was true. I could either continue in the downward spiral that would soon spin out of control, or I could make a plan, and back up. I didn't like it. My emotional self wanted so badly to believe that my eating disorder could offer the most comfort, but my logical self knew it just wasn't true. Logic won. My friend made a plan with me. I was to check in with her at my typical "laxative taking time" and talk through wanting to take them. Within a week, I was back on track. I feel like myself again. I'm working actively to work through emotions that were causing me to want to take laxatives again. And here I am, over two months since my relapse, and I'm feeling great.
I don't think I ever would have guessed that my 2 year post would be about my first true relapse. I wish I could say I never think about my eating disorder. I wish I could say that I am completely healed, but what I can say is that I am 2 years later and relapse or not, I am stronger than I was when I started. Some of the ladies I was in treatment with asked how I got to where I was when I left. I think one of the biggest misconceptions is that we have no control. While those of us with eating disorders don't choose to have a disorder, we can choose to fight it. Part of my fight has been learning from the hard times, the relapses, the bad body image days. It's learning that perfection is unattainable but progress is not.
I wonder what two years later will look like...
I relapsed. Not yesterday. Or last week. But, I relapsed. I can't even really clearly define when the thoughts started happening again, but they did. It was kind of like that annoying fly you can't get out of your car. You roll your window down when you notice it's there, but it keeps buzzing around, dodging the exit you've provided. Eventually you get tired of the noise from the outside so you just roll the window back up and try to forget about the fly being there. I did that. I started hearing Ed. At first I fought it, but after a while, I just got tired and let him stick around for a while. Unlike a pesky fly, Ed was actually serving a purpose during a stressful few months (or so I thought). A new baby, our 7th move in 7 years, dealing with breastfeeding failure again, 2 weddings, living around old triggers again, the list went on and on.
Luckily, I created a lifelong bond with some amazing girls while I was in treatment. During my relapse, I met up with a couple of them at different times. I wasn't intending to talk to them about my behaviors because I wasn't ready to give myself up, but both girls pegged it. When I started telling one of them about my laxative use, her face fell. I was trying to brush it off. I told her it was minimal and had only been going on a short while, and I tried to justify using them to get through all of the "tough stuff." As she was listening to me, I could tell she wasn't buying any of it. In treatment, I quickly learned that part of my healing style is to talk openly about everything. It's almost like when I say things out loud it breaks a spell. It breaks the silence the and the grip my eating disorder has on me. This happened as I was talking and watching my friend's face. Hearing the words come out of my mouth almost shocked me. I started bawling. My friend asked me what was going on. I told her I was scared because I liked the way I was feeling taking them again. I started explaining all of the stressful things going on in my life that led me to that place. She listened. She nodded. Without skipping a beat, she then proceeded to tell me exactly what I needed to hear. She reminded me about how good I felt taking laxatives in the beginning because it was like a drug. It was pushing down the stress, the emotion, the worry, the anxiety. She then reminded me about my trip to the emergency room. She reminded me that I didn't want to be back there and that the story where I take laxatives excessively just doesn't end well no matter how good it feels in the beginning. She told me she had come to realize in her own journey with an eating disorder that life happens. Life will always happen. There will always be stressful events. The question is, how will we cope? It was true. I could either continue in the downward spiral that would soon spin out of control, or I could make a plan, and back up. I didn't like it. My emotional self wanted so badly to believe that my eating disorder could offer the most comfort, but my logical self knew it just wasn't true. Logic won. My friend made a plan with me. I was to check in with her at my typical "laxative taking time" and talk through wanting to take them. Within a week, I was back on track. I feel like myself again. I'm working actively to work through emotions that were causing me to want to take laxatives again. And here I am, over two months since my relapse, and I'm feeling great.
I don't think I ever would have guessed that my 2 year post would be about my first true relapse. I wish I could say I never think about my eating disorder. I wish I could say that I am completely healed, but what I can say is that I am 2 years later and relapse or not, I am stronger than I was when I started. Some of the ladies I was in treatment with asked how I got to where I was when I left. I think one of the biggest misconceptions is that we have no control. While those of us with eating disorders don't choose to have a disorder, we can choose to fight it. Part of my fight has been learning from the hard times, the relapses, the bad body image days. It's learning that perfection is unattainable but progress is not.
I wonder what two years later will look like...
Thursday, April 4, 2013
Take That
Since my last post several big things have happened.
In November, I was asked to speak at an event for the Aubrey's Song Foundation. That was big for me. Not only did I speak in front of a large group of people for the first time ever, but I spoke about something that is hard to talk about. In previous years, the eating disorder convinced me that if I had something to say no one would hear me because of my size. I wouldn't have even thought of standing in front of a group of people where I could be critiqued. Even though my first instinct was to say no to this opportunity, I needed to do it. I needed to focus on the reason for this event. I needed to stand proud and say that I'm beating this, not only for myself but for other men and women fighting these disorders and for those, like Aubrey, who have lost their battle. Ed tried to get in my head the minute I agreed to speak. He told me I should lose weight before getting up in front of such a big group. Just a few pounds won't matter. Everyone will listen to you if you're skinner. I had to talk to my husband about this one. He snapped me out of it pretty quickly and I was able to focus on the message and not the fact that I was the messenger. Public speaking still isn't my forte, but I did it, and I can check that off of my list of fears I've overcome since treatment.
You may be wondering how an eating disorder affects someone during pregnancy (or maybe you're not, but I'm going to tell you anyway). I stopped medicating around 6 months before I got pregnant, so that was an adjustment. Everyone seems to have an opinion about taking meds. For me, it was a tool I used to help cope with my eating disorder and anxiety when I stopped my behaviors and it helped me. When I took that tool away, things became a little unsteady at times, but once I got pregnant, knowing that someone was relying on me to grow made me feel like it wasn't an option to use behaviors. I think in some ways this made it harder, but I tried to remember the things I had learned in therapy when things got tough. My husband is a patient man. Couple pregnancy hormones and an unmedicated bulimic and you get a little bit of craziness at times, but we got through it, and I only purged one time in my 9 months of pregnancy. I'm proud of that and I want to go 9 more months, and 9 more, and 9 more. I just have to be honest with myself and keep checking in with my support team to make sure I stay on track.
We welcomed sweet Ruby on March 6th. She is beautiful. I keep thinking what a huge responsibility it is to raise a daughter. Not that sons aren't a big responsibility (especially little red headed ones), but the idea that someone is going to be watching me to learn the role of a woman scares me. I want her to know she's beautiful because she is loved first and foremost by God. I want her to be kind, generous, graceful, confident, and full of hope. I want her to see those things in me. I don't want her to be afraid of what people think. I have a lot of work to do.
The latest thing that's happened is that my husband got offered a new job in the same town as my sisters and only 30 minutes from my parents. This is something I've wanted for a very long time but never really expected to have, so I've been down on my knees the last couple of days saying prayers of thanks for this dream come true. However, as you can see, anytime there's something big going on, Ed decides to rear his ugly face and tell me I should start using behaviors in preparation. Don't you want to be skinny for this? Don't you think it will help manage stress?These are questions that my Ed likes to pose when there are upcoming events. You know what, though? Instead of entertaining those thoughts, I'm writing this blog. Take that, Ed.
In November, I was asked to speak at an event for the Aubrey's Song Foundation. That was big for me. Not only did I speak in front of a large group of people for the first time ever, but I spoke about something that is hard to talk about. In previous years, the eating disorder convinced me that if I had something to say no one would hear me because of my size. I wouldn't have even thought of standing in front of a group of people where I could be critiqued. Even though my first instinct was to say no to this opportunity, I needed to do it. I needed to focus on the reason for this event. I needed to stand proud and say that I'm beating this, not only for myself but for other men and women fighting these disorders and for those, like Aubrey, who have lost their battle. Ed tried to get in my head the minute I agreed to speak. He told me I should lose weight before getting up in front of such a big group. Just a few pounds won't matter. Everyone will listen to you if you're skinner. I had to talk to my husband about this one. He snapped me out of it pretty quickly and I was able to focus on the message and not the fact that I was the messenger. Public speaking still isn't my forte, but I did it, and I can check that off of my list of fears I've overcome since treatment.
You may be wondering how an eating disorder affects someone during pregnancy (or maybe you're not, but I'm going to tell you anyway). I stopped medicating around 6 months before I got pregnant, so that was an adjustment. Everyone seems to have an opinion about taking meds. For me, it was a tool I used to help cope with my eating disorder and anxiety when I stopped my behaviors and it helped me. When I took that tool away, things became a little unsteady at times, but once I got pregnant, knowing that someone was relying on me to grow made me feel like it wasn't an option to use behaviors. I think in some ways this made it harder, but I tried to remember the things I had learned in therapy when things got tough. My husband is a patient man. Couple pregnancy hormones and an unmedicated bulimic and you get a little bit of craziness at times, but we got through it, and I only purged one time in my 9 months of pregnancy. I'm proud of that and I want to go 9 more months, and 9 more, and 9 more. I just have to be honest with myself and keep checking in with my support team to make sure I stay on track.
We welcomed sweet Ruby on March 6th. She is beautiful. I keep thinking what a huge responsibility it is to raise a daughter. Not that sons aren't a big responsibility (especially little red headed ones), but the idea that someone is going to be watching me to learn the role of a woman scares me. I want her to know she's beautiful because she is loved first and foremost by God. I want her to be kind, generous, graceful, confident, and full of hope. I want her to see those things in me. I don't want her to be afraid of what people think. I have a lot of work to do.
The latest thing that's happened is that my husband got offered a new job in the same town as my sisters and only 30 minutes from my parents. This is something I've wanted for a very long time but never really expected to have, so I've been down on my knees the last couple of days saying prayers of thanks for this dream come true. However, as you can see, anytime there's something big going on, Ed decides to rear his ugly face and tell me I should start using behaviors in preparation. Don't you want to be skinny for this? Don't you think it will help manage stress?These are questions that my Ed likes to pose when there are upcoming events. You know what, though? Instead of entertaining those thoughts, I'm writing this blog. Take that, Ed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)