anniversaries and healing

Today I want to celebrate a little bit.  It's an anniversary for me but not one most people would celebrate so just bear with me a little while I explain.  On this day 3 years ago relapse hit full force.  Typically one doesn't remember the day things started going south but I do.  I had been allowing disordered thoughts, actions, and habits for more than a year but then something snapped.  July 24, 2010 I drove to the airport to pick up a friend and suddenly every single calorie in my drink attacked my brain.

I panicked and restricted.  I restricted severely.  I exercised until my body collapsed.  It wasn't pretty.  It was among the darkest times of my life.  So why on earth would I want to celebrate the anniversary of the day relapse became official?  Well, because I don't remember the date that I started recovery.  I can celebrate today because I can clearly see how different my life is now than it was on this day 3 years ago.

That is part one of this post.  Where I was then.  And now for where I am today.  

I recently did something brave, something really brave.  Something I thought was a gift for my husband but turned out being a gift for myself as well.  I did a boudoir photo shoot for Hubby's birthday.  This is the 3rd time that I have purchased a package, and the first time that I finally had the courage to actually use it. I just have never been able to convince myself that my body is beautiful enough to take pictures of it.

In a random and quick burst of bravery I called and made the appointment.  Somehow I made myself  show up for the photo shoot.  I'm not particularly modest but I am uncomfortable in my skin.  How on earth that happens I don't know.  My hesitation wasn't about posing in my underware, it was about not liking my body. I'm not really sure if that makes sense but it does in my head.

It was a different experience than I could have even imagined.  It was actually fun.  It was empowering.  I felt pretty even in my own skin!  I didn't tell Hubby I were I was going.  I didn't even tell him after I had done it.  For two weeks I kept the secret.  Finally the day of the consultation I had a friend watch the kids, told Hubby I had a surprise for his birthday and drove him to the photographers.

He was SHOCKED.  He was amazed.  He loved all of it.  And then I was able to finally tell him what had happened to me through the experience.  I was able to tell him how I thought I was giving him a gift but how I had been able to relax and be ok  with my body during the shoot.  I told him how healing this experience had been for me.  I don't know if I can even fully express the healing this brought to my soul.  And at that moment he informed me that I was the best gift I could have ever given him.  The gift wasn't the pictures, the gift was me.  The gift was seeing me smile.  The gift was watching me begin to heal.

What's posture got to do with it?

I have so much going through my head.  So much that God has been working on in my heart.  And I sit down to write about it and the words just won't come.  I can't tell you how many times I've started a post  only to backspace the entirety of it.  It all makes sense in my head but the words sound jumbled when I try to say it.

God has been dealing with me on things like my hatred of a set schedule and why I feel so strongly about it.  Things like having gained weight since last summer and trying to keep a healthy mindset about accepting my  new body.  And things like understanding what posture means to me and how my posture reflects my body image.

Yeah, strange huh? I slouch to avoid standing out.  I just want to blend.  I just want no one to notice me.  And yet I want to be known.  Not noticed but known.  And I just can't have both.

I think I'm ready for another blog challenge.  I need to get out of my rut.  I'm thinking deep but I'm writing not so much.  I just can't seem to quite embrace the words right now.  I want to hash it out but I want to hash it out by talking rather than writing this time.  It's getting late and my brain is starting to wander. 

What about you?  How are you doing right now?  What is important to you?  What to you want to talk about or write about?  Are you realizing new things about yourself? 

worth it

The depression has been dark.  Hubby has been kind.  Yesterday was one in a series of days that he took care of me both physically and emotionally.  In the quiet darkness of our bedroom, I lean into his arms.  I whisper thank you for taking care of me today.  He brushes hair from my face, leans into my ear and whispers back the last words I heard before sleep came, "You're worth taking care of."
Words he repeated again by mornings light, just to make sure that I had heard them.  I shake my head, I don't understand.  But I am grateful that he does.  I'm worth the effort, even though sometimes it is great. 

memories on the verge of darkness

It's there.  It's on the verge of my consciousness.  It wants to be dealt with.  I have no idea what aspect of it still lingers to be dealt with so I keep stuffing it.  I don't want to deal with it.  I don't want to feel it.  I don't want to think that those little things that have been randomly triggering it could be the Lord's gentle leading to let Him heal that part of my life.

It is so much easier to just keep it compartmentalized.  Well, not really in the long run, but for the part of me that knows the huge sopping puddle I become when these things surface, it is easier.  It is easier to set it to the side than engage in the feelings that have been threatening to surface.

So there you have it friends.  I know that when small things start triggering, and when my dreams contain multiple re-tellings of things I want to forget, that at some point I will either choose to face the feelings or I will run and hide until the feelings overcome me.  It will happen.  I've never actually chosen to face the feelings.  I usually let them hunt me out and destroy me for whatever their time frame for healing is.

So maybe this time will be different.  Maybe because I see it on the horizon, I will not need to hurt to the extent that I have in the past to heal.  I say that with a laugh.  The pain isn't in if I allow my feelings now, it is in allowing feelings I haven't ever allowed myself to fully feel.  I don't look forward to healing.  I don't look forward to rebreaking a bone to allow it to heal properly.  I don't look forward to the pain on the horizon.

Right now, I'm still running from it, hoping that this time I can outrun it.  Right now I will continue to stuff it all down and go about my day to day.  I still have to go to work.  I am still a wife and mother.  Those things don't get to be put on hold when I feel, though God knows I wish they could.  And when the day that I know is coming does indeed come, could you still love me and hold me up and encourage me that the pain won't last forever?  Would you remind me that God will carry me through the darkness, that He won't leave me, and that this will bring about healing? 

damn good mom

I've been off today.  I think my girly time is around the corner.  I've just been emotional all day long.  It's been one of those days where I question and second guess everything that I do.  It's been one of those days that I ask God WHY He thinks I'm the perfect person to parent these three angels he entrusted to me.  I've been really discouraged as a mom for a few days now.  I wonder if I'm ruining my kids beyond repair (ahem, can we say therapy bills?????).

Tonight I took the kids to Chic Fil A for dinner.  Another tired mom sat across from me.  She had 4 boys.  Her older 3 were the exact ages as my 3 boys and then she had a toddler.  You could see the tired etched in her face and hear the loneliness in her voice when she struck up a conversation with me.  "You have all boys too?"  I totally didn't feel like being social.  But I also know that look, the one that begs "Please tell me that I'm not the only one who feels like my life is spinning out of control right now!" 

We talked for a while.  Her husband has been away on business.  She was cooped up in the house all weekend during our blizzard with 4 kids and no husband.  He used to travel more often.  He used to travel to China and would be gone for 3-5 weeks.  And this time should have been a breeze because he was only gone 5 days.  He comes home tomorrow.  She had gotten out of the routine of having him traveling often and this time just seemed overwhelming to her.  I had no judgement for this tired mamma making the best of what she had. Our kids played, sometimes beautifully, sometimes needing to be reminded that ninja moves in a tiny play area are not ok because someone will probably get hurt.

While we talked, my baby came out crying.  The kid in the red shirt pushed him down and told him he couldn't have a turn on the slide.  I looked hesitantly over my shoulder to see her relieved and shaking her head.  None of her boys were wearing red, it wasn't her kid.  We kept socializing.  My middle comes out crying that the boy in the red shirt is calling him a nerd.  Yeah, that was the evening.  The red shirt bully wouldn't leave them alone.  He was either verbally or physically antagonizing them the entire time.

I'm not a politically correct mom.  I thought I knew that already but I didn't.  In the car on the way home I got the whole story.  It involved a plea for niceness, a demand for an apology and finally chasing the red shirt bully down, cornering him and making him kiss one of my kids feet.  Now mind you, I had not heard this while it was going on and this was the after news.  I had to stifle a laugh to hear my sweet middle son tell this story.  He was so animated.  My response?  Uh, did I mention that I'm not very politically correct?  I told him I bet that kid will think twice before he pushes a younger kid down again and I bet he never calls anyone a nerd ever again.  Wrong answer?

I didn't think so but I had them retell the story to Hubby just to make sure.  I had the benefit of masking my laughter while driving facing away from my kids at night.  Hubby no such luck.  He tried so hard to keep a straight face.  And finally we both cracked and laughed together.  So I posted on FB.  Less detail.  More criticism.  I was hurt to tears by the judgement I received.  My feelings of the past days must have been right, God was slightly confused when He chose me of all the women in the world to parent these boys.  Someone else would have taught them how to react with just words and no smack down.  But I was also really hurt that the criticism came from someone who hates when she is criticized by someone who doesn't know all the facts.  It would have been easy to judge my fellow mom tonight at the restaurant, but instead I listened to her story.  I heard her exhaustion.  I heard her questioning if she was doing right by her kids.  I could empathize.  Why wasn't I given the same kindness I had just given to someone else?

My husband and friends went to battle for me, all so much nicer than I would have been if I had handled it on my own.  They defended me without ever attacking her.  The evening got better.  And then my oldest came up the stairs (he was supposed to be sleeping) just to say, "Mom, I just wanted to tell you that I love you!"  And there it hit me.

I am a damn good mom.  I love my boys with every fiber of my being and they know it.  I won't let them hide behind mean words or hurtful actions.  But I will support them when they stand up for themselves and each other.  I'm a good enough mom that my kids felt safe in telling me that they had fought back.  I'm a good enough mom that even though I had been a little sharp with the kids most of the evening, they still all wanted me to cuddle with them at bedtime and my oldest wanted me to stay to talk for a while.  I'm a good enough mom that my kids feel safe enough to tell me when they hate me, they know I'll love them anyway and tell them that it's ok because I love them enough for both of us.  I'm a good enough mom because my boys know I'd drop anything to be there for them when they need me.  I'm a good enough mom to give consequences, even when it means disciplining me as well (no video games today for such and such behavior hurts me at least as much as them).  I'm a good enough mom to follow through on the consequences I do give out.  And I'm a good enough mom to say I'm sorry, I was wrong, will your please forgive me when I blow it.  I'm a damn good mom and God knew exactly what He was doing when He paired me with these three completely different personalities and asked me to take care of His children for a while.  And it took someone pointing to my insufficiencies as a parent for me to be able to see that even though I'm far from perfect, I am indeed a good mom.

voice free

I know the voices aren't gone forever.  I know sometimes they will still try to exercise their power.  But for now they are quiet and I am grateful.  The change happened so quickly that I don't know what happened or even when.  I just know there is no voice accusing me, no voice berating me, no voice torturing me, no voice gripping me with ice hooks demanding that I abuse my body.  It has been so long since I have felt this kind of contentment that I don't remember when I last felt it.  There is peace, contentment and joy I had long forgotten.

And I am so very thankful, no matter how long or short it may last!

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.

reprieve

God has graciously given me an emotional reprieve.  For the last several days, instead of bringing up more of the junk in my heart to work through, He has just showered me with grace.  I love how God knows when we can't take anymore and then cares for us. 

I know this time of just basking in His love is temporary.  I know this simply because my heart still has a lot of refining to do.  Not that He stops loving us, please don't hear that!  It is just simply different right now.  I know the hurts will still be there when I need to keep pursuing healing.  Right now though, I am enjoying laughing again.  Right now my brain knows there are things to work on, but my heart is not heavy.

I am thankful for a break in the hurt.  I am thankful for the opportunity I had today to laugh, fully and loudly.  I am thankful that for this moment in time, even if it turns out to be just a moment, that my heart doesn't hurt so deeply that I swear it could fall out of my body at any second.  It isn't a chore to smile today.  There aren't unshed tears lurking behind my eyes waiting for a chance to spring on me.

I have to blog this today.  I have to remember that God is gracious to me, that He gives me periods of rest in the fray.  I need to remember the next time that life feels unbearable for a period of time so long that I have forgotten what happy feels like, that peace and grace and smiles and laughter will also mark my journey. 

A week ago, I wondered if I'd ever feel joy again.  I wondered how long I could feel like a hot iron was searing into my heart.  I wondered if I was ever going to do more than cope.  And today I know, that though the battle is not over, I still have capacity to feel something besides hurt and lonliness.  And that brings me hope!

new day, new mercy

Lamentations 3:22-23
 ²² Because of the LORD’s great love we are not consumed,
   for his compassions never fail.
²³ They are new every morning;
   great is your faithfulness. 

I blew it yesterday.  And today is a new day.  Today He gives me new mercy.

Psalm 143:7-8

⁷ Answer me quickly, LORD;
   my spirit fails.
Do not hide your face from me
   or I will be like those who go down to the pit.
⁸ Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love,
   for I have put my trust in you.
Show me the way I should go,
   for to you I entrust my life.

Lord, help me today to honor you with my body and with my choices.  Let your love keep me from being consumed with the hurt and hatred that try to overtake my heart.  I am so glad that You remain faithful even when I am not.

I didn't hit the panic button!

Last week could have been devastating to recovery, but it wasn't.  What I thought would be a week wrought with food panic was a week covered by the grace of God.  I did not one time panic about the food I was eating!  Let me repeat that because as many of you know it is indeed HUGE. I did not one time panic about the food I was eating! 

I have had several people notice the ribbon in the wing of my butterfly tattoo.  One asked if it was a fish, I said no it's an awareness ribbon.  She asked if it was for breast cancer.
After a quick pause I answered, "It's actually for Eating Disorder Awareness."  Her response was interesting to me.  "Do you have an eating disorder?"
"I'm recovering from one."
"Wow, so that explains how you lost all that weight so quickly this past summer. I wanted to be like you and then I decided you were maybe a getting a little too thin."
"Oh. Um, so you noticed that too?"
"Yeah, how could we not notice?"

In thinking about it, I find it to be funny the difference in men and women.  Women around me noticed.  Men did not (or if they did, they pretended not to.)  My pastor was surprised, his wife nodded and said, "Yeah, you are looking a bit thin, Missy." My husband noticed, of course, but that is not a fair call because he sees me naked so of course he would notice!  Many of the women around me were concerned.  I got comments like, "You're not eating with us?" more than once.

I thought I was being discreet.  I mean really, how could it be obvious to others?  It wasn't obvious to me until I went to the hospital.  Isn't it funny what ED does to your brain?  I would easily notice it in someone else and yet I expected no one to notice it in me.  I didn't see it in the mirror (remember Why does the mirror lie?) so it seemed unreal that others would see it.  In looking back though, I don't know why I thought my disease was invisible.

I guess because I felt invisible, I felt that my disease was also invisible.  If they can't see me, then surely they can't see my hurt both physical and emotional.  I know that triggers are always a breath away.  I am so grateful for the online support I have found with others who struggle.

Here is what I have learned about eating disorders (especially anorexia).  Way too many people suffer from ED.  Many more people are committed to recovery than I had ever realized.  Many more people are afraid of recovery than I wish to mention.  We all suffer differently and yet the same.  While one is doing in-patient care for months, another is finding support groups nearby.  One trusts God, another trusts self.  We all hurt.  Some look the part of the emaciated little girl, some look normal and healthy while slowly dying.  Some were smaller than me some were bigger than me and yet we all felt like we were not small enough.  It is not age confined.  I have talked to young girls, teenagers, college students, newlyweds and even other 30 something moms like me.  While the media may give an age range that is more likely to struggle with ED, it is not something that ends when the stress of grad school ends or the days of up all night with the baby end.  It is not confined to the poor or the rich.  It crosses every socioeconomic barrier, every age barrier, every religion barrier, every time zone.

Recovery is harder than the hardest work.  It is harder than giving birth, harder than surgery, harder than any physical condition I have ever had to overcome.  Recovery is harder than giving in to the addiction, it is harder than meeting a deadline, it is harder than the most daunting tasks I have ever undertaken.  It is harder than parenting and harder than loving.  Recovery opens up a part of you that you never want to be seen and then you have to keep it open in order to allow healing.

Recovery to me means I have to keep letting people in, even when all I want to do is shut them out.  It means believing my husband when he says I'm beautiful.  It means knowing that I really do want to be around for my kids and my hubby even when I think I don't want to live.  It means not looking at calories or sugar grams when I indulge.  It means giving to others even when I am afraid that I have nothing worth offering.  It means trusting that God has a plan and a purpose for my life, even when I can't see it.  It means being willing to let go of my hurt rather than let it control me.  It means being happy for every baby step I make.  It means rejoicing when I have a week that I didn't panic once about food.  It means telling people I am a recovering anorexic, not that I am anorexic (big and difficult distinction there!). It means finding ways to cope with fear, pain, anxiety and stress in healthy ways not destructive ways.  It means not allowing myself the euphoria that I experience when I restrict.

I'm not foolish enough to think that one great week means no more bad weeks, but I am happy to know that I have finally reached a point where I can have a great week not just a great day!