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.

Rearranging My Closet

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.

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...

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.

One Year Down

October marks one year since I started treatment at Renfrew. I've been going back and forth between celebrating and feeling a little disheartened. I've heard different things about eating disorder recovery and most of them include years of therapy to be fully recovered. I don't know how long I will continue therapy. I don't know what fully recovered even means, but today I'm choosing to celebrate because of how far I've come.

One year ago I was sick. I was never eating breakfast, rarely eating lunch, and I was taking so many laxatives in a day that I could not be anywhere without having to be slave to the restroom. When I type those things out it doesn't feel like I'm talking about myself.  I was weak. I was tired. I was moody. I wasn't a good wife. I wasn't a good mother. I wasn't a good sister. I wasn't a good friend. So, I would binge at night to feel better.  But oh, that meant I needed to work out. Then I would wake up and do it all again.  

Today, I am not sick. I  eat three meals a day more often than not. I don't take any laxatives. When I have to go to the restroom, I can wait like a normal person until there is a bathroom available. I have energy. I am a better wife. I am a better mother. I am a better sister and friend. I work out sometimes, but sometimes I don't and that's ok. I may be a little bigger, but I like to think it's because my heart is so full. I fall asleep at night feeling tiny kicks from the sweet baby my body is healthy enough to carry. I wake up every morning to the sound of my precious son's voice asking "How was your sleep, mommy?" And I'm able to smile and say "It was so good. What should we do today?" because I'm no longer a slave to my eating disorder.

I still have days where I look in the mirror and wonder if I'm seeing what's really there. I have days when I don't really want to be around people because I feel fat. On those days I have to remind myself that life is so much more than worrying about a number on the scale or a clothing size. It's about the many blessings in this life and the hope within me for the life to come.

So, yes, I think I'll celebrate this past year. I don't know what's ahead, but I know what's behind and I'm never going back there.

Taking On The World

It's been a while since I've written. As I was writing about my journey through recovery I started feeling guilty. I had so many people write to me and tell me how inspired they were to see the process unfold. I was astounded to read daily messages from women (and men) who struggled with the same things or even very different things, but who found strength in reading the details of my struggles.

So, why did I feel guilty? Well, I just don't feel that inspiring. As I was recalling my experience in treatment, I was doing so several months after the events actually took place, and while writing was a wonderful reminder of the hope I found at Renfrew, it was also a reminder that the ease of my recovery was short lived.

K, whoa, let me back up. This is not meant to be a downer post and I don't want to break any hearts or let anyone down. Intensive outpatient is a wonderful way to go for quick and intimate therapy. I have no idea what shape I would be in if it weren't for my time at Renfrew, but I know it wouldn't be pretty. With that being said, here are just a few things that I have discovered since my time at Renfrew that have simply made my recovery harder:

The diet mentality doesn't work for long term weight loss (I plan to talk more about this in a future post so stay tuned). Not only does it not work, but it's not an option for me because I get all obsessive crazy and start using behaviors that aren't healthy. But, just because I feel this way, doesn't mean the rest of the world does. So, dieting, calories, and weight are all still a common topic of conversation. Don't get me wrong. It's not as if every time someone talks about calories or losing weight I am freaking out (only some of the time). I think I just came out of treatment expecting the 8 weeks to be enough to shield me from triggering situations, but the reality is that I was stepping back into the real world where all of the triggering factors are still present. I remember I was talking with my friend from group about how Renfrew veterans we met seemed tainted and discouraged. "That'll never be us," we both said. I'm so thankful that she and I experienced the "let down" around the same time so we could help each other through it. When I brought up this discouragement to my aftercare therapist, she explained it like this: IOP was a jumpstart to recovery. It gave me knowledge, skills, and techniques to cope with every day life. However, I am combating years of thoughts and behaviors and realistically 8 weeks (or however many weeks) isn't going to cure my disorder. Recovery is a journey and it takes time and work.

So, for a little update, time and work are what I have been putting in these days. Back in January, I starting weaning myself from my medication because we knew we wanted to have more children in the near future, and I wanted to make sure I could function without medication before getting pregnant. There were ups and downs during the weaning process, and lots of prayers, but I have now been off of my medication for over 8 months and am proud to say there have been minimal use of behaviors. It's hard. I have realized eating disorders aren't something that go away quickly or easily (I know, bummer, right?). There is debate on whether one can ever completely overcome one, but I choose to believe that there is hope of full recovery. Plus, I have even more incentive now to keep going (as if I didn't have enough before), since I am expecting baby number 2 in March!

So, to sum it all up, I needed to update you all so I didn't feel like an imposter. Everything I wrote was true. I had a wonderful experience in treatment and left feeling like I could take on the world. In my euphoric state I just didn't realize I would really have to do that!

Feeling Free

The first week of no laxatives was very hard physically. Emotionally and mentally, I felt wonderful. My body, however, had stopped working the way it was supposed to because it had relied on the laxatives to do the work. Every time I ate, I felt as if I were going to throw up. The bloating, reflux, and heaviness was not fun, but I got through it. And I didn't slip up, even though it would have been easy to do.  I kept telling myself if I took laxatives I would have to start this all over. God made our bodies to be so resilient. When I think about the abuse I had subjected my body to for over a year, and then how it healed in such a short time, I can't help but be thankful. There are still times I wonder if there is damage done that I can't see, but I have to give those worries to God and let Him heal me in the way He sees fit.

I went to my last session with my therapist and she gave me a sheet with a picture of a stop light on it. In the green circle she wanted me to write what continued recovery/no behaviors looks like. I wrote "No laxatives." In the yellow circle she wanted me to write down what it would look like to need to reach out for help. I wrote "Take laxatives or use other behaviors." In the red circle she asked me write what relapse would look like. "Laxative or other behaviors for a period of time" is what I wrote. It was hard at that stage for me to even picture going back to that place. I felt strong and confident and in my last week at Renfrew I decided I wanted to take in everything and make sure I wasn't checking out early. I did just that. At every exercise I listened, participated, and smiled, thinking of how far I had come. There were new ones joining the group, and I prayed that they kept going. I felt like a new person was emerging and it was euphoric. I was sad to leave the women who had become almost like sisters in that short amount of time, but so happy to be leaving because it meant I was well.

On my last night at Renfrew I went in feeling so happy. They had their usual ceremony when a woman finishes at Renfrew. They passed around a carved dolphin and each woman placed a "blessing" in the dolphin for me.  I had written something I wanted to read, and I only cried a little (can you believe it?).

When I came to Renfrew 8 weeks ago, I was in a dark place, and I didn’t even know it. “Oh, these poor girls who have eating disorders,” I thought to myself on the first night. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I was one of those girls and that I needed to be here. Over the course of my treatment I have been continually supported by all of you, and because of that support, I have found a confidence that I have never known. There has been something empowering about having a group of women listen to some of my deepest darkest thoughts and not pass one ounce of judgment. Each one of you has been such a big part of my recovery, and I won’t ever forget what your encouragement here has given me. I hope one day you are all able to see yourselves as I see you—beautiful inside and out.

I am leaving here, knowing that I am beautiful today, just as I am, because I am me. When I came here, I was in the grips of something evil called Ed. I am still a work in process, but he no longer has a hold of me, and I leave here today feeling free.

I thank God for my time at Renfrew. It really did save my life. I didn't know what life after Renfrew would entail. I felt strong and unbreakable, but I had not yet encountered the stresses of life without an outlet and safe place 3 nights a week. Adjustments were to come but the knowledge and support I got while in treatment was to be my saving grace every time I stumbled. It was almost Christmas and I couldn't wait to enjoy the holidays with my family and not waste time worrying about the demands of my eating disorder. And I didn't. I watched my son's face light up when he opened his presents. I held my husband's hand. I ate with everyone and enjoyed it. I felt like it marked a new beginning in my life, and I couldn't help but smile and say prayers of thankfulness for the life I've been given.