I keep waiting for the perfect day, the perfect, hour, the perfect moment to pick my writing back up. It's like when you let a lot of time go by without talking to one of your closest friends. The more time that passes, the harder it is pick the phone up. Where do you start? Do you act like the last weeks/months/years never happened and just start fresh or do you fill them in? Those of you who know me well, know that I love to tell stories. You also know that I kind of think of life as one big giant story, so I basically can't not tell you what's been happening. Sorry. It's just the way it is. So, I'm going to back up a little bit.
I don't even really know where it started but somewhere along the way I began comparing myself to well, everyone. Having to move back in with my parents as an adult (with husband and child) didn't help this situation. When we could finally move into our own place, I promised myself I wouldn't look back. I would always be grateful for whatever we had, even if it wasn't as much as other people had. I remember Stuart's enthusiasm as he told me about this quaint little historic home he had found. I drove two hours to look at it in the middle of January. It was rainy and cold. I cried when I saw it. I would like to say I was crying tears of joy that God had blessed us with an opportunity to live on our own again and allowed us to find a place less than a mile from Stuart's office. I wish I could say I was crying because I could imagine all of the precious memories we would make in that run down, green carpeted, slightly slanted old house. But I wasn't. I was crying because it looked shabby. It was cold. It didn't have central heating and cooling. It was dirty. After a minute or two I pulled myself together. I remembered I had prayed for this day. I pushed down the worry of what others might thank and I prayed a prayer that I would be grateful, that I wouldn't complain, and that I would have a humble heart.
We lived in that old place for around a year. On a lot of days I forgot how run down it was. I spent my days in that house and yard, playing with my 3-year-old, and watching him create his childhood memories. I stood behind him as he rode his little red tricycle down the side walk to the town square. Stuart and I laughed as he marched into Pa Bunk's health food store in his cowboy hat and came to expect a free chocolate milk every time. Every cowboy needs a drink, afterall. I grew our precious baby girl in that house. I listened to rainbow relaxation and swayed back and forth to practice bringing her into the world.
When I last saw my therapist she asked me if I was still writing , and I told her I didn't really have any new material. It's true that (I hope and pray) my hardest days with my eating disorder are behind me. But, life is still hard sometimes, y'all (and also joyful, confusing, tiring, comical, and a dozen other things).
When I started this blog over three years ago, I remember feeling strong, brave, and uninhibited as I typed out the story of my recovery. I remember also having conflicting feelings of fear every time I hit "post." What if people laugh? What if people don't get it? What if people think it's only for attention? Those were questions that ran through my mind every time I finished. All of those questions were valid, and I'm pretty sure that all of those things happened at one time or another- sometimes even by people who knew me best. But, somehow, it didn't matter. Each time I wrote, I felt like I could keep going, keep fighting.
After a while, my story was at a stand still. I was so much better than I had been. I stopped using behaviors, besides an every once in a while stressful week of lapses, but even though the behaviors were gone, the struggle was still there. I think it's this "in between" time that was the hardest for me. I knew better than to go back to behaviors, but I was still learning how to do life without my disorder, and there were days that felt like I would never be normal again.
They say recovery happens in phases. First you take away the behaviors. Then you work through the emotions (the reasons you were using the behaviors). Then finally, your positive body image and self esteem follows. I'm still waiting for that positive body image to stick, but I'm working on it, little by little.
If you've invested time in my blog in the past, or even stumbled upon it today, thank you. I hope when I feel that gumption come over me in a few more months or years, we'll meet back here and catch up again.
