What NOT to Say

In case you ever need to know this, in case you don't already know this, I have some news. I have news of something you should never say to a recovering anorexic ANYONE. "Oh look at you having another donut." Don't say it in an office. Don't say it in front of other people. Don't say it in jest. JUST DON'T SAY IT!

I am grateful that I'm in a stable food place because a year ago those words would have spiraled me. They would have spiraled me whether said about me or said about someone else in my presence. They would have shamed me. This year they frustrate me but are not spiraling me.

Yes, I had a second donut that day. No, I won't allow myself to feel guilty that I had 2 donuts on my sons birthday. The words were not intended to be hurtful. They were intended in a "good for you, go get 'em" kind of way. She doesn't even know my history.

And THAT is why to not say food shaming words to ANYONE. You have no idea if the person you are talking about has had food difficulties. You have no idea if someone else who hears you talk has food issues.

I don't look like I battle an eating disorder, many of us don't. Please be cautious with your words. Even when they are well intentioned they can wound.

live free or die trying

My day started yesterday with scripture going through my head.  Thank God that it did because I needed that to carry me through the rest of the day. (I'm just writing right now, not looking up the reference because I'm on a limited amount of time.)

"It is for freedom that Christ has set you free."

Hmmmmm, freedom.  What does it really mean to live free?  I pondered the question through the morning.  I looked up the definition of free in my lovely Webster's Dictionary on my desk. 

 

free: adj  1.not imprisioned or constrained 2. not under necessity or obligation .....

4a.not affected by a specified circumstance or condition......7a. not being occupied or used

freeing 1.to set at liberty 2. to release or rid 3. to untangle or clear

 

Free.  I'm not feeling very free right now.  How do I live in the freedom that Christ has given me?  How do I live not imprisioned to eating disorders?  What exactly does that look like?

 

Ok, now fast forward to later in the day.  I'm surrounded by people who have decided that mexican is the fare for the day.  Already struggling, this was a bit of a freaky choice for me but I was bound and determined to get over myself and enjoy the time together.  But then they talked about weight, hunger cues, body image, NUMBERS, and everyone had an opinion about eating disorders that they felt the need to share.  It isn't what you think it is.  It isn't about what you think it is about. 

 

Is it about weight and size?  Yes, but not in a vain sort of way, because it isn't actually about weight and size at all.  I don't care what the measurements say, what society says, what friends say, I am convinced that my hips are huge.  What I see when I look in the mirror, though not truth, is still what I see! It isn't really about society saying skinny is good, but it is about the fact that I feel like the less physical space I take up then the less people will see me.  I sometimes really do long to be invisible and let no one see the hurts inside of me.

 

I texted Hubby, I told him that I wanted to run and hide.  I told him that I wanted to curl up under the covers.  I told him that I just wanted to get drunk.  Yes, go ahead and hold that shocked face and wag your finger at me.  Good Christian girls sometimes just want to get drunk to escape their reality too!  I wanted to escape but there was no where to escape to. 

 

Did they know that the voices in my head were already loud?  Did they know that the conversation made the voices turn to screaming and demeaning?  The orange inside of my head hates that I still ate with them.  The orange inside of my head is telling me that I'm not worth taking care of.  The orange inside of my head is angry, really really angry.  And she is letting me know it.

 

And somehow in the midst of it all, I still find a little part of me that really wants freedom.  There is a little part that wants to not live affected by a specified condition.  There is a part of me that wants to live not under necessity or obligation.  That voice needs to start talking louder than the voice of slavery and quickly.  That seed of longing needs to produee something bigger than the seed of hatred that demands that I am not good enough and that I need to be punished.

7 almonds a.k.a. screw the new health class

I swear that if I hear one more person tell me that you can only eat 7 almonds for your liver to function properly, that I will scream!  If I hear one more conversation in the lunch room about sugar grams, fat grams, appropriate forms of protien, I may pull out all of my hair! But hey, at least I could make bald a new fashion statement, right? 

I think that for the next 6 weeks of this stupid health class I will be enjoying lunch anywhere but the lunchroom!  Sitting at my desk with my oatmeal and facebook suddenly seems like the best option EVER.  I want to scream at the top of my lungs.  I want to tell people that sometimes there is such a thing as "too healthy".  I want them to know that sometimes people like me take knowledge of health and distort it and use it as a weapon against my body instead of a tool to help my body.

I still read labels.  I still refuse certain ingrediants.  And I also am trying really hard to balance that with moderation.  You know, the kind of moderation that says it is ok if someone brings in cookies to work to have one in spite of the fact that there is no label for me to read.  The kind of moderation that that knows that homemade veggie lasagna is still a healthy option, even though it has noodles in it.  The kind of moderation that has lacked in my life for a while now.

For the record, work is very orange enabling right now.  I could count my almonds like they recommend, or I could trust that my nutritionist knows what she is talking about when she tells me that 1/4 cup is a serving and to not measure or count but instead trust my intuition.  My health depends on trusting my nutritionist right now and not letting other voices interfere with the plan that she has laid out for me.  That is so much easier to say than to do.

How does she do that??????

I planned on skipping lunch today.  Yes, I am flat out admitting that I had every intention of having a low intake day.  I have been once again fighting the voice in my head (or maybe indulging the voice in my head) that swears that I can both live and restrict.  That voice is trying so hard to tell me that I can still be me, that I can still be a great mom, wife, friend and employee without the assistance of food. 

Let's be honest for a moment, I know the voice is lying and yet I still feel the need to listen when it speaks.  I still feel like I could be the different one, that my disease wouldn't steal from me.  I still feel like if I could be down x pounds before my doctor's appointment that I would be "happy" with myself. 

And then my work friend happens along on the days that I have no intention of eating and she just seems to KNOW.  Once it was a friendly, "Hey, have you taken your lunch yet?"  Last time it was the one I blogged about with a touch on my knee and a "You ok?"  Today it was the offer of splitting the cost of Chipotle.  How did she know?  How did she know that today was the day that I needed to eat, that today was the day I had not one intention of indulging in lunch, that Chipotle was probably the only thing that could have tempted me?

I don't know, but I'm grateful that she brought me out of my head.  I'm grateful that she gave me perspective enough to see the faultiness of the voice in my head.  And I'm grateful that she went and got the food.  God must have known that I needed someone here who could pull me out of my head once in a while.  There is no other reason that I can think of that the only times she has mentioned food to me have been the days that I have really been struggling!

are they really watching my plate or is it all in my head?

Yesterday was a working lunch.  In other words, my work provides lunch and we eat while we continue our meeting.  I hate working lunches.  I despise them.  Yesterday had me desiring to run away, to cry, to swear.  Thankfully I was at a table of people I'm fairly comfortable with which eased my tension a little.  I always feel like people are watching me eat and it makes me really uncomfortable.  Which really, especially here where no one knows about my past, probably isn't happening.

At least this meal was Panera so it was sandwiches and salad rather than pizza or bbq.  Having healthy options should have made it easier but for some reason yesterday's lunch was still harder than usual.  My friend now works with me.  She sits in the cubicle next to me.  I really like having her there.  I was scared at first to have her there because having her there crosses the line of keeping work and personal separate. 

It means that someone in my office knows that some days I don't eat.  It means that someone in my office not only knows about it but was the one to get the text saying that I was in the hospital under 72 hour watch nearly two years ago.  It means that someone at work knows about things I don't want to share at work about my past. 

It also means yesterday when I was staring at my food contemplating for a few moments running away, that I got a quick touch on the knee and a concerned, "You ok?"  Wow.  That was a life giving moment.  I still excused myself to my cubicle to cry for a minute or two but I came back to my meeting and was able to eat the lunch.  That simple gesture helped me bring my head back in the game.

Maybe I still feel like everyone noticed my plate because I noticed someone else's.  I noticed the woman who ate only half of her sandwich (which they were half sandwiches to begin with) and gave her salad away and never ate dessert.  Maybe I feel it because I couldn't stop my leg from shaking violently once the food time arrived.  That was probably more of a tell than my plate.

I feel vulnerable.  Not necessarily in a bad way but still vulnerable.  I feel like there will come a point that my story is going to be asked about and as I've said before, if you ask, I don't lie. I am a little afraid of that but I'm learning that I trust majority of the people in my office.  I want to be known and at the same time I want to be invisible.  It is a scary spot.

I also yesterday realized that I think God brought me here to prepare me for what is next in my life.  I hope to work with this organization for a very long time.  I love it, I'm passionate about it, I feel called to be where I am.  I also feel like the stretching and growing that will happen here is to prepare me for the next step.  I don't know if that step will be within this organization or outside of it but I feel fairly convinced that this is training ground.  That is exciting and terrifying all in one breath.

And today I can eat lunch alone if I wish, with no one watching me.  Even if I do eat with others, knowing I don't have to eases the anxiety a hundred times over.

depression and recent observations

I'm really struggling right now. Depression has creeped into every inch of my soul. I want to be ok, but I'm not.  I have to keep putting one foot in front of the other but right now it is incredibly hard.  I don't want to get out of bed in the morning. I find myself praying on the way to the work that the chit chat is minimal and the phones are quiet just so that I don't have to talk to anyone.

On another note, I've been observing people a lot lately.  I've had questions. My friend and I have been discussing what is beautiful.  Like for instance the photo below.....


Once being curvy was a sign of wealth, it meant you could afford food.  Now being curvy is seen as a disgrace.  Why?  When did being a walking skeleton become better than looking like a woman?


I'm not any different.  I think those skinny gals look amazing.  I envy them.  Until I see Keira next to Marilyn.  And then I wonder where we went wrong as a society.  Marilyn Monroe must be the sexiest woman in history and by today's standards she would be a plus sized model and second class to the likes of Heidi Klum, Kate Hudson, Keira Knightly.  Why?

My friend posted this old advertisement.....


My friend made the comment that the skinny girl in the ad, looks miserable and hungry.  How true. My lament was that now we are trying to lose those same 10-25 pounds that women 50 years ago were trying to gain.  It isn't about being healthy, it's about being skinny.  If it were about being healthy, we wouldn't be afraid of carbs or every single calorie.  We would be balanced and sometimes chocolate cake would be ok.  We would eat real food and we would look like women not sticks.

And another thought.  Why are we as women so obsessed with getting the pre-pregnancy body back?  Nothing about our lives is the same as before pregnancy, why do we expect our bodies to be the same?  Why do we expect the body of a 12 year old instead of the body of a woman?  Why are we so damn afraid of curves?

Better question, why am I so damn afraid?  I see the walking skeletons, I don't think they are gorgeous.  But I still end up envying them.  I struggle to eat because I'm depressed and food seems so trivial right now.  I have found myself not even getting hungry and eating simply because oh yeah, it's 2 o'clock and I haven't eaten anything yet.  I just don't care.

I'm trying to care.  I'm trying to hang in there.  But really I want to crawl under a big rock and not come out.  I want to hide.  And I just want to sleep for a million bajillion years.  I'll be ok, I always am.  I've noticed a pattern, it is always worse in summer and near Christmas.  It will get better.  I'm ready for it to get better now.

Sorry if I rambled.  I'm tired and over it.  That is usually the best time to write to clear my head but also the worst because I verbally vomit all over the place. 

breaking the silence part 1

It has been a while.  I have struggled and grown, fought and been stretched.  I didn't intend to do any of those things, nor did I intend to do them alone.  The budget was tight this month and the tv/internet was the least important of the bills and therefore, I had no internet and ended up growing and stretching without you, my dear friends and sounding board.

I have to say this month has been one of the hardest and one of the most rewarding.  I had to come to terms with the diet talk at work.  Someone mentioned the person who had taught the class about "the diet" and I know her.  And the "diet" isn't a diet at all, it is a healthy living lifestyle class not a "I'm fat and need to lose 20 pounds" fad diet.  Here's where I had to realize my own insanity.  This class is a really helpful and informative class.  Much of what it entails I had already been doing in my own efforts to live healthy (before relapse) before I even took the class. The problem with it was in my own brain.  I took those healthy living steps in that class and made them into hard. fast. rules.  So though I was already mostly living them, suddenly they were RULES and I would rather not eat than break them.  I am the one who went too far, not the program.  It was my brain not the class that distorted it into what it became for me.  For most people I would recommend it in a heartbeat, just not for me or anyone else prone to eating disorder struggles.

My first three weeks at work were filled with tears.  I loved what I was doing, I loved the people when I saw them in their cubicles or in the hall or mail room just not when they were all gathered together.  I cried more in front of people in those three weeks than I think I have in years.  I just couldn't stop the tears from coming no matter how hard I tried.  I was tired.  I was lonely.  I didn't know where I fit in this tight knit group of people who all already know each other and have a history together and know each others stories.  I tried so hard to make conversation.  I would add something to a conversation and get a polite head nod and then they were back in their own little lives and the conversation went on as though I had said nothing.  They weren't trying to exclude me but I felt extremely excluded.

And then there was food.  Ahhhh, my old bitter enemy.  Rephrase, food isn't the enemy, how I feel about it is, how I interact with it is, how I use it to avoid my feelings is the real enemy.  I wasn't eating breakfast and barely eating lunch.  All I could think about was how I was going to cope in this very lonely place that I now work in four days a week.  Restricting was just the easy go to.  It felt wonderfully terrible.  I cannot think of a time before that restricting made me feel so guilty while still delivering the physical euphoria that I longed for.  I knew I wasn't taking care of myself but for the life of me I couldn't remember why I needed to move forward.  All I could think about was that I don't think I was really that sick EVER.  It couldn't have really been that bad or I would remember why I couldn't go back to it, right?

I have one vivid memory that is the only thing I can see in my mind as proof to myself that it was worse than I ever thought it was.  When I was in the hospital a very overweight woman looked at me and said, "This is what self hatred looks like, eating a weeks worth of calories in a day."  I pulled up my shirt and said, "It also looks like this, eating a days worth of calories in a week."  Three people in the room gasped when I lifted my shirt and showed my ribs.  The face of one person in particular is etched in my mind with the reaction given at seeing my ribs.  It is the only thing I have to remind myself that though maybe I couldn't see how bad it had gotten, it really was that bad.

I tried to remember the feelings but I couldn't.  I couldn't remember what being sick felt like and it really did start to glorify in my mind again.  Since I couldn't remember the feelings, I forced myself to remember the facts.  I may not remember what it felt like to wince in pain when my kids hugged me, but I know that I did.  I may not remember how my body felt when it hurt to just lay down and sleep, but I know that it did.  I thought about my mom-in-law smacking me with a newspaper and telling me I'd lost too much weight.  I thought about the clumps of hair that were constantly falling out. I thought about the worried and sorrowful looks Hubby would give me when he thought I wasn't looking.  I thought about the look on that persons face while I was in the hospital.  I thought about the friend who stopped me one day to ask how she could help because she knew of my past struggle and could see the current struggle getting worse and worse.



I never did feel it, but I forced myself to remember it, even as just black and white facts.  I never did FEEL why going back to sick was bad.  I just had to trust that I knew it.  And that right there friends, was when I realized that I can do this recovery stuff.  I couldn't feel a single reason to pursue recovery or to at minimum to hold steady enough to not relapse and yet I knew those reasons.


The next post is the kindness that I needed in the moment I needed it, the panic attack at work in front of my entire team, the words of wisdom that bring me back to you only a little shaken but not completely shattered.  But for tonight, I'm tired.  It's good to be back.  I've missed you guys!

excited and scared

I've been trying to be intentional about my sleep since starting my new job which means I have intentionally been avoiding my time warp blog.  But I need a quick reprieve before packing up lunches and heading to bed. 

I did get the new job that I had interviewed for.  Last week was my first week there as well as my last week at my other job.  It made for a tiring week, let me tell ya!  I absolutely love the new job.  I have never been more welcomed at a job.  I am so thrilled to be serving in this capacity for a non-profit organization that I whole heartedly believe in.  Not to mention that I am earning more and working more hours, which is always a plus!

I'm still a little scared though.  I've been mostly a stay at home mamma for quite some time and now I'm actually going back to "real" (I think I prefer to say "scheduled") work.  I've never worked in an office, in a cubicle.  I've never dealt with the ridiculous stress that an office lunch hour brings.  I mean, I brought lunch and I ate it, but all the while I was wondering what they were thinking about my plate.  Was this an appropriate amount of food?  Is there anything in my behavior that would have given my struggles away?  Is this how normal people spend their lunch breaks, eating together and chatting about life?  And no one dies of anxiety in doing it?

I have a lot of what if's going on.  What if I gain a zillion pounds sitting on my butt all day long? I won't be chasing my kids all day anymore. What if I relapse badly again and it becomes easily evident to those around me again?  What if I grow distant from the dear friends that I have now?  Oh that is a big one. 

Seriously, we have been in a similar stage of life.  Sure, most of them have kids younger than mine, but we are all stay at home moms.  How many impromptu play dates at Chic Fil A will I miss before they all have a common bond that I'm no longer a part of?  I remember when one of my good friends went back to work after years of staying at home.  I remember feeling like she no longer understood the day to day of nursing babies and changing diapers and all of the other things that were still a part of my every. single. day.  I remember feeling lonely when she wanted to tell me about her day in the work force, away from her children,when all I had to offer to the conversation was that my baby hadn't lost weight again or had tried a new food.  Not that we loved each other less, but we had less in common and it was the start of drifting apart. 

I know full well that that could very likely happen again.  My kids are all older than theirs and come fall will all be in school all day long.  I have freedom that I didn't have when they were younger.  Freedom to schedule coffee dates instead of McDonald's Playland dates, freedom to do things in the middle of the day without worrying about naps.  I also have the freedom to hold a professional job.  Will the differences in our lives, in our day to day, cause us to drift apart also?  I know it's the natural ebb and flow of relationships, but I am genuinely afraid of this.

I love my new job, but I am a little scared at how it could change my life.  I'm scared of not being able to see the sun whenever I want because I am in a cubicle.  I'm scared of sitting still for hours a day, because I have to.  I'm scared of not meeting my goals at work.  I'm scared that I'm going to burst into tears with the next person who is ridiculously kind to me.  I'm scared I will lose my friends and have to start over once again. 

And I'm equally excited.  I'm excited to open this new chapter of life and see where it takes me.  Like a novel I can't put down, that is how I feel about beginning a new season of life. 

the hard part of recovery

Do you want to know what is hard about recovery?  Believing that an 80 calorie granola bar isn't dinner.  Most people wouldn't even consider that tiny thing a snack, I tried to pull it off as dinner.

Wanna know what's hard about recovery?  When feeling full isn't the same as having enough.  Finding something else to eat while the voices in your head are screaming at you that you've already had something to eat. Needing a glass of wine just to get past the anxiety that dinner brings.  Telling people who love you when you hurt so badly that acting out sounds like the only possible way to make it through.

That is what is hard about recovery.

some days are harder

like today.

I've had plenty of random things trigger big emotions today.  I'm not a fan of big emotions, especially when several different ones hit me in just a few hours span.

On the way to work this afternoon I was overcome by sadness.  As I turned the corner to the street I work on, I saw two men on scaffolding and one man down below extremely exerted and struggling to lower the scaffolding.  In January, when Cousin died, he fell from scaffolding at work that he was helping his guys to take down.  It was the last thing they had to do before they went home for the day.  I gasped and tears immediately sprung to my eyes.  The sight and the subsequent intense emotion caught me off guard.

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At work, I checked my email.  There was one from my former pastor that had a link to something he had just written.  The short version of what he had to say was that depression is a symptom of trusting your feelings rather than God. The long version, to be honest, made me a bit angry.  When someone who has never dealt with depression tries to tell me why my depression isn't as big as it is or that it is my fault or that I'm just not enough of a Christian, I get really frustrated.

 I wonder if these Christians who believe that depression is a sign of sin have ever read the Bible. What about the prophet Elisha (or maybe it was Elijah, I still to this day get those two mixed up!) who sat beneath a tree and told God to just kill him, that his life was over?  God had to send an angel to tell him to sleep and eat and to minister to him. Or what about David, the man after God's heart? He was as extreme in his emotions as one could ever be.  How many times does he, in his hurt, cry out to God and beg God to kill him?  How many times does he ask God to kill his enemies?  How many times does he make comments about despair and agony within him?  And yet he knew God was faithful.  And yet he still worshiped God in spirit and in truth.  DESPITE the agony.  Why can I not still know God is in control and worship Him even though often times my soul is in despair?  Why is my hurt a sin in so many people's eyes? Wouldn't it be nice if people had to live a day in your skin before they were able to criticize your emotions?

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Many years ago I heard it said that once you have been stalked, you will always live with one eye over your shoulder.  At the time I didn't understand but thanks to abusive boyfriend, now I do understand that comment. Looking over my shoulder has been somewhat of a second nature to me for far too many years now.  I'm not terrified like I used to be.  I don't think every car or person behind me is out to get me like I used to.  I am aware though of any car that has been behind me, including lane changes, for more than a mile.  I have detoured on my way home from places just to be sure that I'm not being followed.  While most of the time I feel fairly safe, sometimes I don't at all.  Tonight was one of those nights.

I work in a really nice part of town.  We joke that you are more likely to get pulled over there for something minor because the police need something to do to kill their time since they don't need to be out stopping crime.  Tonight, however, the police didn't need to kill time.  I don't know what happened, but something did.  I saw 18 cops tonight, lights on, sirens off, blocking parking lot exits and several side streets in 1/4 mile radius as I was leaving work.  As I got on the highway, I saw 2 more that I hadn't seen who were parked on the sidewalk next to my building where the light rail station is.  They were definitely looking for someone. I was suddenly bombarded with icky feelings of insecurity and danger.

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All of that comes to top off the fact that last night I realized that think I have been subconsciously sabotaging my recovery for the past week or so.  I wasn't intentionally acting out but suddenly last night I realized that I have been restricting.  I haven't been concentrating on it, I think that is what is scary.  It comes so naturally that I don't realize I'm doing it sometimes.  I realized simply because I had very little wine last night before I was aware that it was affecting me.  I made a comment about being a total light weight last night and Hubby asked me what I had eaten.  As I started going through my day I realized I hadn't had much at all to eat, and then I went through the previous several days and suddenly understood why the wine got to me so quickly.  Had I not done that, I wouldn't have even realized that I was doing it.

I knew I have been unhappy with my body.  I knew that I don't feel anywhere near summer body ready.  But I also have known that having energy to enjoy my family again is better than fearing my body.  I thought that since I have been acknowledging my and validating both my body and my emotions that I was in a good spot.  And now I see that recovery still needs to be an active choice even when I think I'm handling things fairly well.

So that's my night.  There are a lot of emotions swirling around in there, and a lot of thoughts as well.  I'm not pushed over the edge, which is good.  I'm a little overwhelmed still by feeling and especially so many things in such a short span of time.  I'm reminding myself that feelings are ok, good even, and trying to embrace them rather than run from them.  It is a little (ok, a LOT) scary and difficult too.

beyond resolutions

I don't make resolutions.  I used to.  When I stopped making them, it was because I never kept them and then felt the shame and guilt of not keeping my promises to myself.  Honestly now, it just doesn't cross my mind until someone brings it up.  But I do have goals for my recovery/mental health for the year.  See, my goals involve changing the way I think about things. Behaviors don't change unless thoughts change first.  I want to change my thinking.

Things I'm currently working on shifting my perspective about.....

food. Specifically, whole foods.  I have been contemplating for months that our ancestors lived off the land.  They ate potatoes and did not become diabetic.  They ate corn and wheat and other grains without fear of carbs.  Most were farmers and they ate the chicken, cows, pigs and sheep that they raised. They even sometimes had sugar, not agave but real white sugar.  And it didn't make them fat.

fat.  I mean seriously.  I just said that living off of the land didn't make our ancestors fat.  The problem is that with today's standards, they would be overweight.  My Grandfather used to lovingly tell my Grandma that she was "pleasingly plump."  She was never fat or overweight in any way, but she had the curves of a woman.  She had hips, thighs, breasts, healthy curves.  If I could be half the beauty my Grandmother was in her prime...... Oh wait, to be that I'd have to accept that curves are beautiful.

beauty.  Today beauty is defined with a thin and trim body.  Women in general have body fat percentages that have fallen far below what is truly healthy for a woman. We have learned to despise curves.  Either we fear their power, oh so many of us do. ( I know I'm guilty there.  Curves bring attentions.  Attentions sometimes end in violation.)  Or we fear the numbers on the scale.  Or we fear the BMI or the fat percentage.  Or we fear the way we may be perceived by all the other curve haters we are surrounded by.  Beauty used to be femininity, now beauty is strength.  How does one reclaim the beauty of femininity?

love.  I have never earned my husband's love.  I have never earned my children's love.  I have never earned my friends love.  I have never earned God's love.  Simply because that isn't the way love works.  I don't have to earn it.  I don't have to be deserving of it.  I may not feel like I deserve to be loved but whether I believe I'm deserving or not, I am still loved. My perspective needs to be in learning to accept that love rather than to keep trying to earn it.  I cannot earn what has already been given freely.

There you go.  That is a glimpse into my brain.  That is a glimpse of areas that have been deep on my heart recently.  Those are areas that I am changing my perspective about, one truth at a time.  It may take a while but I'm still going to speak the truth.  Maybe someday soon I will believe the truth is for me too not just for everyone else I love.

cooking help

Ok, all.  I have to cook for my family.  It is just a fact of life.  A fact I have been running from for far too long.  I prefer homemade food.  There is a better chance of me eating it if I know what is in it.  And yet I tend to shortcut far too often just to escape the kitchen.  Then I'm overwhelmed with what I'm serving and don't eat it.  I end up nearly in tears and usually settling for carrots and hummus (if caught by Hubby).   So I need help. 

I cannot/will not do hydrogenated or hydrolyzed oils or proteins.  I panic about HFCS (high fructose corn syrup) and artificial colorings, specifically Red 40 and Yellows.  Sometimes I can handle bread, preferably homemade so I know none of the above culprits are involved.  Often times potatoes and other starchy foods freak me out.  I refuse to use artificial sweeteners, they are worse for your body than sugar is!  Those are my biggest rules.  Of course any given day a certain food or type of food or foods high on the glycemic index etc will freak me out.  But I'm working on being able to appreciate foods that have previously been taboo, like for instance a fully ripe banana or (on rare occasions) mashed potatoes. 

I can't guarantee the foods I make will not panic me once they are on my plate but I cope with the panic much more constructively when I can analyze that I am eating a meal that I made that is healthy.  That is where ya'll come into my recovery.  I need help planning meals!  I need family friendly dinners.  I have no idea how to cook anymore.  I used to be a pretty good cook.  I can't remember what I used to make, which meals my family raved over or why I used to enjoy cooking.  I have to get that back.  Otherwise I continue to perpetuate this illness.  Oh, I also am needing to slim my grocery budget a little.  It is costing me too much to to not be able to cook for my family.


So go for it.  Send them in.  Send me some family friendly, budget friendly dinner meals you love!  Please help me reclaim a love for cooking, or at minimum a tolerance of it!

better than I thought

Christmas went better than I could have thought.  I had a really bad stomach virus on Friday and spent the morning throwing up and the rest of the day sleeping.  I know that doesn't sound like it quite goes with Christmas going well.  However, having the crud forced me to rest and forced me to let my family take care of me.  It also forced me to baby my stomach the next day.  Ok so I still couldn't eat a lot but Malt O Meal in the morning and saltines with pumpkin butter to snack on throughout the day. I had to eat something small every few hours or else I started feeling really crappy again.  I even managed a small amount of Christmas Eve dinner at my in-laws house without an overload of guilt.  I just felt too crummy to worry about feeling guilty.  And so, in a matter of speaking, having a stomach virus may have just saved my Christmas.

My Christmas Eve attitude started out great but turned sour.  My kids made up for how wonderfully they had behaved on Friday when I was sick by fighting with each other ALL DAY on Christmas Eve.  They were cranky and at times downright nasty with each other.  They were ugly and defiant toward me at several points.  It was just rough.  I actually had quite the fight with my middle child about putting on his shoes right before we left for church.  By the time we were all in the car, we were going to be late and I was so cranky that I figured we might as well skip church.  It didn't seem right to go to worship when I was just pissed off about life. 

But my dear Hubby, being the wonderful man that he is, knows that Christmas Eve service is my favorite church service of the entire year.  Nothing touches my heart quite like gathering with fellow believers, others who are broken but trust Him anyway, worshiping, and singing Christmas carols by candlelight.  There is something about it that grabs my soul in a way that nothing else ever has.  I hunger for this one service all year long.  Hubby knows that.  He didn't let me back out.  And I'm ever so glad he didn't!

I've been having a really hard time feeling the Christmas spirit this year.  I've just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep through Christmas and wake up in 2012.  Christmas Eve at church, I finally felt the first glimmer of joy for the season.  The church service was enough to carry me through the big gathering of family at my in-laws house.  I smiled like I was supposed to.  I made it through in one piece!  Yay for that!

We got home and my grumps returned.  I was annoyed with Hubby for something dumb like being tired after working back to back graveyard shifts and taking care of a sick wife, or some such nonsense like that.  I don't really remember why I was annoyed with him but I was.  After he went to bed, I stormed around the house wrapping the last of the presents, halfway hoping that my temper tantrum would wake him up.  My house was a disaster, like what you would expect after nearly 2 weeks of sick family and the last of it being the parents.  But it made me even crabbier.  I finally gave in and went to bed.  I was so angry and depressed when I finally went to bed. 

I fell asleep with tears in my eyes praying for Jesus to bring me the hope, joy, peace and love that this season of advent is about.  He did.  I woke up to a clean living room, courtesy of Hubby who woke up early to make sure I woke up to a pleasant atmosphere.  What a guy.  I had felt really like a jerk for being disappointed with one of my gifts from last night.  My in-laws ALWAYS give me a Starbucks gift card and this year they didn't.  I didn't tell anyone, not even Hubby that I was disappointed with the substitution because it just felt rude.  They really were trying to get something they thought I'd enjoy.  Hubby told me that Santa had brought me a stocking stuffer but my real gift is coming next week in the form of a spa day.  I looked in my stocking to see a $25 Starbucks gift card.  I seriously cried.  He was so confused that I cried over a gift card.  It wasn't the gift card that brought tears, it was that God was bringing me hope.

I managed through Christmas breakfast with the in-laws and Christmas dinner with my folks.  I still couldn't eat the fudge or drink punch.  BUT  I did indulge in a couple of my mom's cookies.  She made my all time favorite cookies because "it just isn't Christmas without butterhorns".  I told her that several years ago; she remembered and she made them.  I did feel guilt but it wasn't overwhelming like it would have been 4 days ago.  There was even something almost comforting about those cookies.

On the way home I asked Hubby to drive a little to look at the lights and I realized why the cookie was ok and why I had asked to look at lights and why I love Christmas.  Almost every happy memory I have of my childhood is in some way related to Christmas.  My mom slowed down a little, she was less demanding of my perfection,  she criticized less and life at home was just easier.  Then there were cookies galore that I got to "taste test" for her, making trips to the USO to deliver cookies to the soliders on either Christmas Eve or Christmas morning, dressing up for Christmas Eve service and walking into church on my daddy's arm feeling like a princess, opening presents on Christmas day, reading to my hearts content for 2 whole weeks until school started back up, songs and Christmas movies and Monopoly with my brother.  I haven't tons of fond memories of childhood, but I have very few memories of Christmas that aren't fond.

I made it through Christmas and was even able to find some of the traces of joy that I know Christmas usually holds for me.  I'm not super, but I'm way better than last week. 

Merry Christmas!

where does my voice end and hers begin?

 I'm fine.

Lately the line between my voice and the voice of orange has gotten a little hazy.  It is hard sometime to know if I'm full or if orange thinks I've had enough to eat.  I know the voice above is orange simply because I feel like screaming it.  It is said in a poisonous way, filled with the venom of its hatred.  It has become a phrase that I have used multiple times with my dear Hubby, though not ever in the way it sounds in my head.  In my head it is snarky.  In my head it is angry.  In my head the voice screams, "I'm fine, quit asking!" every single time he asks about the amount of food I've taken or if I've had lunch that day.

That's not fine.  Fine has no problem telling him what I ate for lunch, because I did indeed eat lunch.  Fine doesn't resent him for asking.  Fine doesn't feel like tearing his head off for trying to take care of the woman he loves.  Fine would let me have a peanut butter cup without remorse, guilt or tears.  Fine wouldn't know how many calories are in each banana and each glass of milk.  *sigh*   I'm not really fine.

I'm not even sure when the line between our voices started to blur.  I only realized it was happening when I constantly felt like yelling "I'm fine, leave me alone!"  I'm not a yeller.  I usually can't stand the idea of yelling so when the voice in my head starts yelling drill sargeant style, I know it isn't my voice.  So the voice telling me I'm fine, can't be mine.  But the problem is that I'm not sure which voice is mine at the moment.  If orange keeps yelling, I'll know it's her.  By the same token, when she keeps yelling, it gets really hard to hear anything else. 

I'm thankful Hubby had to work an overnight shift today.  He didn't notice that I wore a belt with my jeans.  I tend to not be a fan of belts and he knows that.  They aren't that comfortable and they draw attention to the waist.  But today after the billionth time of pulling my jeans up, I went for the belt.  I has been months since I have needed a belt.  I don't feel like I have lost any weight though.  I don't feel like I am any smaller.  I don't feel like I look any smaller when I look in the mirror.  Hubby hasn't commented and neither had my mom-in-law.  Doesn't that mean I'm in the safe zone still?

Grrrrr.......I'm just confused and tired and well apparently not really all that fine after all.

I lied again

I lied.  Again.  There is partial truth to my story about going to Jimmy Johns last night.  It's pretty pathetic when you start to lie to yourself too.  See when Hubby suggested either Chipotle or Jimmy Johns for lunch, I really did cringe.  I have longed for a really good sandwich and JJ's has the best bread ever.  But I've been terrified of bread lately.  So on my way to work last week I got Chipotle instead of JJ's simply because I was afraid the bread would make me cry and I didn't want to cry at work.

Yesterday when Hubby asked, I pulled away.  I cringed.  And then I did it.  "Can we do Jimmy John's?  I have wanted it but haven't been able to have it lately."  Why haven't you been able to have it?, he asks.  One word from me.  Bread.  Bread, sweet, warm, beautiful bread.  Is there anything about fresh bread that isn't comforting?  The smell, the feel, the warmth, the taste.  And yet I can't be comforted by it.  Somehow I can only feel terror. 

The really sad part is that the reason I told the story the way I did yesterday is because I couldn't admit that I had actually ASKED for bread.  I hoped by lying to myself that I would be able to lie to orange.  Hoping that she wouldn't make me pay.  I lied, in all of the places, here, where it is supposed to be safe.  Here where I spill my feelings instead of journaling because I'm too lazy to grab a pen and write.  And I am annoyed that I didn't even feel safe being honest with myself.  Orange is a bitch.

forgiven

Obviously on Monday I blew it big time.  Yesterday was only slightly better.  I spent my morning feeling sorry for myself.  I spent my afternoon feeling guilty.  Food was not high on my priority list.  I was too busy beating myself up for giving in to my addiction.

See this is how orange works.  Doing well.  Doing well.  Then the voices.  You really don't deserve that nice meal that you just had.  Food is for sustenance not for fun.  Your husband shouldn't have spent the money to buy something special for in house date night.  It is frivolous.  How dare you enjoy that food?  You don't deserve to be taken care of.  You don't deserve to eat. The lies keep attacking until finally in a sheer panic, I give in and try to purge.  Maybe purging will shut them up. But it doesn't.

Then the next morning when I cannot swallow without feeling raw scratching in my throat, I realize what I've done.  And the voices start again but this time even more accusatory.  Look at yourself!  Look what you've done.  You know better than this.  What is wrong with you?  You're a worthless piece of sh*t.  You spent your night trying to get rid of food that your body needed.  If you aren't going to try to keep it down then why on earth should you eat it?  You have to pay for last night.  No you can't have breakfast.  How can you trust yourself to not go running to the bathroom to get rid of that breakfast?  No, better to not eat, at least until you can trust yourself again.  See, it's true, you are not capable of recovery.  You will always mess it up.  Just give in to it.  You aren't going to beat me so why not just surrender to me? Just let me destroy your body.  You are stuck.  You are mine.  You will never be free from my grip.  Even when you think you want something else, I will always be here waiting to hold your hand and take you back.

The lies of orange attacked me so viciously that I couldn't hear anything else.  I shivered my way through a miserably cold night at work.  I joked with my customers that it was ok that it was only 54* because shivering burns calories.  Who needs exercise when you work in an icebox?  They laughed.  I ached that I had seriously just said that.  I had hoped for time with a good friend after work but in God's grace and wisdom, she didn't get my message asking if I could come over for a bit. 

I decided as I neared home to turn on the radio.  Once again God used music. The only song I heard before arriving at home was Forgiven by Sanctus Real.

I love the end that says, "When I don't measure up to much in this life, Oh I'm a treasure in the arms of Christ."  See that is the amazing part of grace.  I blew it.  But God gently calls me back.  He reminds me that I don't have to carry the weight of what I've done because He has already carried it. As I thought of this, I remembered a verse that was very dear to my heart during my first go round with recovery.

Micah 7:8 (NIV)

  ⁸ Do not gloat over me, my enemy!
   Though I have fallen, I will rise.
Though I sit in darkness,
   the LORD will be my light.

Though I have fallen, I will rise.  Though I gave into darkness, the Lord will be my light. I blew it but He redeemed it.  I can't say I'm feeling perfectly fine right now.  But I can say that I am allowing God to minister to my pain and my guilt and my self condemnation.  I don't know how to do this but I do know that God knows how to carry me through this.  I know that His grace is sufficient to cover me.  I know that sometimes the lies will win in my heart but I know that His truth is bigger and can break through those lies.  If I know nothing else, I know this
HE IS FAITHFUL.

Thanksgiving

I made it through Thanksgiving with my emotions in tact.  I even didn't think I was going to die from the food.  Ok, I did have to stop thoughts of wanting to purge before they could become a full blown obsession.  It wouldn't have helped anyway, I was blessed/cursed with the inability to throw up.  I would have just gotten more mad at myself that I can't even do that. 

So all in all, it was not the worst day of the year.  I'm alive, I ate and I never considered slapping my parents!

How did you fare this year for Thanksgiving?

handling it

Hubby asked me yesterday how I was handling everything with my parents right now.  I smiled and said, "Oh, I'm not.  I'm not even trying to handle that right now!"  He is wise.  He already knew that answer but gave me the chance to tell him anyway. 

It is nearly Thanksgiving.  I have to spend time with them on Thursday two different times and then again on Friday.  I don't need to keep digging into how I feel about them right before having to smile and pretend everything is just peachy.

So I pretend anyway.  I choose to not dig up or handle how I feel.  It is still pretending.  But it is a different type of pretending.  It is pretending that something is not there rather than pretending that something is fine when it isn't. 

I ate 3 times today.  Not huge meals but still, it was food. 

I play the game

Things are getting under my skin more than normal.  I think it is because being frustrated is about as comfortable as I feel with my anger right now.  Occasionally things will make me angry but not the type of anger that makes me feel scared of my feelings.

One of the things I'm mad about right now is how well I can play the e.d. game.  Yesterday when I was talking with Hubby about some stuff, he was concerned that in taking care of all of the things that need care right now, that I will not take care of me.  But I play the game.  I smile and tell him that won't happen.  All the while knowing that I'm not taking care of myself right now.  I hide my lie well.

Like yesterday when Hubby took me to McDonald's for breakfast, I had the sandwich without even blinking.  Inside I was cringing but couldn't let him know that.  I smiled.  I pretended.  What he doesn't know is that while I faked it , smiling the whole time, that a mocha and a bagel rounded out the rest of my food for the day.  The bagel was a last minute thing simply out of respect for my pregnant friend who I was on the phone with.  Didn't seem fair to her for me to not eat when I know she doesn't feel like it but has to.

And usually my body will give me away but now even my body is playing along.  Rather than losing my sex drive, it has practically doubled.  So he can't tell that way.  When I'm hanging with him, I eat.  So he can't tell that way either.  I'm tired but that isn't really that abnormal.  I am playing my lie well.  I eat, just not enough.  That should make everyone happy right?  I mean they see me eating so they are happy.  And I know that I am not eating as much or as often so I should be happy as well.

But it makes me mad with myself that I hate dishonesty but live a lie.  Somehow, knowing when and what to eat to keep my stomach from betraying my secret by growling has come back as easy as breathing.  Somehow, smiling and pretending has become second nature again. I am doing the minimal amount to maintain.  I'm doing enough to keep questions and worries at bay but I'm not actually wholeheartedly pursuing recovery like I should.

What is the big deal?  Why does food feel like it is the enemy?  Why can't I just get my schtuff together and just do what I need to do???????  My brain can be mad all it wants, it can reprimand me, it can try to tell me it is no big deal.  But my body just can't seem to listen.  That is frustrating.

intuitive eating

The concept of intuitive eating is a really good one.  I like the idea of eating when I'm hungry, giving my body what it asks for and stopping when I'm full.  Here's my problem, I have ignored my hunger cues long enough that I don't think my body always does know best.  Today for instance, I haven't been hungry at all.  Ok, take that back.  I did feel a little hungry earlier, but it felt AMAZING!  I guess it is hard to trust my own body because I like the euphoria I feel right now, a euphoria induced by having not eaten today.  I need to take care of my body, but I just don't feel like it.  I know this won't keep feeling good, but it does now. 

I feel somewhat guilty that since I'm not being checked on that I haven't been keeping my promise to Hubby.  I rationalize it away but deep down, I know that the promise to eat was not a temporary one.  My meals have been inconsistent and I know that.  I need to want to eat for myself.  Eating out of desire to make my family happy and not worried is only going to take me so far.  At some point I have to be able to eat without being monitored.  I usually do for a time but it is so easy to fall back into old habits and addictions.