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.

Swearing inside my head

This morning I am silently cursing the breakfast that stares me down. The breakfast that is one peach slice smaller than intended because of the panic in my head.

Yesterday I silently cursed my own body. The way it bruises too easily. The way it left evidence of the anxiety that I took out on it.

I long for complete healing. To never ever have days and moments of completely overwhelming anxiety that makes eating hard and self harm easy. But since this is a journey not a destination, I will press on thankful that I am further on my journey than I was a year ago.

recovery or recovering

Today I feel like I am "doing recovery" rather than recovering.  I think you have to have experienced recovery in some form for that to fully make sense.  I am tired.  But I'm tired because I'm depressed not because I haven't gotten enough sleep.

Yesterday, once again, I begged God to heal me.  I promised Him the world, just make this heaviness go away.  PLEASE!  Instead He filled my ride to work with songs about trusting God even through the pain, songs about how His love doesn't fail us even through the dark times, songs of reassurance but no songs of healing.

So once again, with a heavy heart, I am asked to trust what I cannot feel.  And I do.  And I will.  Even if the heaviness never leaves, He is God and He is good.

I saw this on Facebook last week.  I have to share it because it is true.

Yeah, I really am glad.  I'm glad you're here still.  I'm even glad I'm here still.  Keep pressing on.  Keep hanging on.  Keep doing recovery even when you feel like you are doing recovery not recovering.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other.  Keep doing the next right thing.  And next year we can all gather around each other and be glad that we are still here. 

Home

                 
Sometimes being home feels like being trapped.  When I was a kid being home was unpredictable.  Sometime it was wonderful, sometimes it was suffocating.  I spent many years feeling like home was suffocating.  The hurt was so big and the home so small that I could feel the entire house desiring to collapse on me.  I stayed over-busy venturing home only when necessary.  My home has always been far too small to hold the massiveness of my hurt.

Sometimes it still feels that way, but not usually.  My home is messy but welcoming.  Home means squeals of joy and my kids racing to see who can hug me first (bonus point, I think, are awarded if they can knock me over in my high heels!).  Home is safe now. 

When my hurt is too big for my house to hold, home is the mountains where there are no ceilings or walls trying to contain me.  Home is a welcoming, safe and peaceful house of a friend. 

If home is where your heart is, then I am truly home now.  Anywhere my husband and kids are is home. Home is anywhere there is peace and serenity.

Honesty

                                               








Honesty has always been easy and hard for me.  I tend to naturally lean towards being honest and yet I have been very burned by being honest.  I sometimes roll my eyes and tell Hubby that I'm a thirty something woman, on my own, married with a family of my own and yet I STILL lie to my parents. 

Growing up, honesty was frowned upon.  I realized early that my mom didn't want the truth, she wanted what she wanted to hear.  I got in trouble for any idea, opinion, or emotion that she didn't feel was the "right one".  I still to this day don't talk politics or religion with my mom.  I got tired of being told my thoughts are wrong, so I stopped sharing them.

I have for a long time though, with other people, held an open heart policy.  I may not always offer information but if you ever want to know anything about me, just ask, I won't lie.  I'm pretty open about most things in my life.  I tried to be honest when relapse hit.  I told some people I wasn't eating.  I didn't care that they wanted me to, I just cared that I had said it and therefore felt clear in my conscience because I wasn't lying.

I was still lying though.  I was claiming 200-400 more calories a day than I was actually consuming.  I was insisting that I wasn't sick.  I was sneaking exercise because Hubby had banned me from exercising.  He told me I wasn't getting enough calories to fuel my body for exercise and told me I wasn't allowed to exercise.  I would wait until he was in bed and then exercise for a couple of hours.  It was a lie but I couldn't make myself tell the truth, even though I still valued the truth and longed for the openness and honesty I had once lived.

In the early days of recovery I was honest with someone.  I was honest with my best friend.  I told her what I was doing when I was struggling with recovery.  I told her what I was doing that was keeping me trapped in my ed.  I told her what I did to hurt myself.  I told her because I desperately needed to verbalize it, to loosen its grip on me, to not let the secrecy build and become my enemy and the ally of my illness.  She left.  She was so angry with me, with how I was destroying my body, that she couldn't take it and she left me high and dry.  Being honest left me very broken.  I have only just last week ever told another person what kept me in bondage during that time.  I was afraid to be honest about orange, being honest had cost me my dearest friend.

I still treasure honesty.  I still tend to naturally lean toward the side of being too honest.  I know sometimes that will hurt me, but I also know that it isn't something that I ever want to change about myself again.  I don't ever want to get back to the point that I lie to everyone, even myself, to cover the pain I was feeling and the control that orange was gaining. 

In being honest, in sharing my struggles, I have grown.  In being honest, I have been able to talk to my dear friend who is battling her own food demons right now.  I have lost a lot, but I have gained so much more through honesty.  And I never plan to return to that girl who lied to give something the power to slowly kill me.

food for thought

Today's food for thought brought to you by Niece.  

"Religion is like a penis.  It's ok to have one and it's ok to be proud of it.  But it isn't ok to whip it out and start flailing it around.  And it's definitely not ok to shove it down someone's throat without permission." 

I'm sorry if this offends, but I loved her analogy.  It makes me think of a much more crass version of St. Francis of Assisi saying, "Preach the gospel at all times, when necessary use words."   I will say it loud and clear, I am a Christian.  I believe that Jesus Christ came to die a horrific death to free me from the bounds of sin and to redeem my life that I can stand before a holy God, unashamed.

 I also believe that Jesus offered grace to sinners.  When the woman was caught in adultery, He could have condemned her.  The law said He should have condemned her.  But He didn't.  He gave her grace and told her to go and sin no more.  He was known to hang out with people scorned by the religious folk of the day.  He didn't force anyone to believe in Him as God. He never demanded it as His right or insisted that everyone had to see things His way.  Instead He loved them and they chose Him willingly.

As a Christian, there is a line between being proud of my relationship with God and crossing that line to be rude and forceful with others.  Jesus wasn't rude or demanding. The Bible says that it is God's loving kindness that draws us to repentance.  It isn't spiritual rape, forcing our beliefs down someones throat without permission, that brings people to Christ.  It is when we act like Jesus did and love those who are hurt, when we minister to those who are broken, when we accept them just as they are not expecting them to be perfect, that makes a difference in the lives of people.

music therapy

The two songs ministering to my heart right now. 

Safe by Phil Wickham

Everyone and their brother has sung this old hymn.  I like the LeAnn Rimes version but Clay Aiken's was good too.  Mostly I love the lyrics and during a time of uncertainty with a situation with my job, it is very comforting to be reminded that no matter what happens, I know who holds my future.

I'm still married

I mentioned in my last post that staying married has been my greatest accomplishment in my life so far.  I also said I'd explain that comment, so here goes.

Ya'll already know my background so it isn't really a surprise when I say that the only way I really knew how to relate with men was either not at all or sexually.  The day I married Hubby was the day everything was going to be all better for me.  I had the unconditional love of an amazing man and I didn't need anything else.  We escaped to our hotel after the wedding and I locked myself in the bathroom with the guise of needing a bubble bath to help relax me because I was a little nervous.  Though I'd had sex and Hubby had had sex before, we hadn't had sex with each other so I really was a little nervous on my wedding night.

I took a really long bath, trying to avoid the inevitable.  I remember thinking "Oh my God.  I have to have sex with the same person for the rest of my life.  I don't know if I can do this."  I couldn't "relax" enough to do anything that night, I actually just cried.  Romantic night, huh, holding your new bride while she sobs in your arms instead of finally caressing the body you have spent years waiting for.  The next morning the same thoughts hit me.  And then this one, "Well, we haven't had sex yet so I could still get this annulled and then not break his heart by not being able to stay true." 

Rational? No. Legitimately what I thought? Yes. I had no idea how I was ever going to make it.  I was sure I didn't have what it took to be married, especially to such a great guy.  I spent years knowing I couldn't love him as much as he loved me.  I knew early on that if anything happened to me his world would stop but if anything happened to him I'd be sad and then move on.  I really wanted to feel like my world would stop if something happened to him but I couldn't.  I spent years wondering if he was going to get tired of loving more than he was loved and leave me.

In our first few months of marriage, my first test came along.  Hubby's boss.  Something about him sparked my interest.  In retrospect, I think I enjoyed his company and his sense of humor and didn't know how to respond to him in another way besides desire.  He had told us of the girl he had made out with who was someone's fiance.  I knew that if he could make out with his friend's fiance, he could make out with me, his friend's wife.  He didn't have that boundary in his head that would make me off limits.  My mind started concentrating on him a lot.  I desired him and knew that he wouldn't mind crossing that line and figured it could be a secret.

Here is where I realized that I did really love my Hubby not just loved that he loved me.  I would play in my mind having to tell him I had slept with his boss and could see how heartbroken he would have been.  I never wanted to be responsible for breaking his heart.  I held on to that fiercely.  It was my proof that I really loved him.  At least I loved him as much as I was capable of loving him.  I was pretty broken.  I worked in the same building as he did at the time.  I quit my job to avoid seeing and feeling for Hubby's boss on a daily basis.  I walked away from my greatest temptation because I didn't want to hurt Hubby.

I spent the first 3 years of our marriage waiting for the day when he would tire of my broken capacity for loving him and leave for a woman who had a whole heart to love him with.  During our infertility years I even told him if he wanted to leave me for a woman who could have his children that I would understand.  He still refers to that conversation as the only time he has ever been absolutely furious with me.  I knew that I loved him as much as I could, but I wondered if I would ever love him as much as he loved me, as much as he deserved to be loved.

I finally confessed all of this to him a couple of months ago.  Of course, he already knew, but it was nice to finally talk about it.  He wondered when we got married if I loved him or if I loved how he made me feel.  Did I love him or did I love being loved?  Did I love him or feeling safe?  Did I love him or that he would do anything to make me smile?  Did I love him or did I love that I didn't have to answer to my parents anymore?
Did I love him or that I was the center of someone's world finally?  He didn't know.  How could he, I didn't know. 

I would repeatedly find myself avoiding situations because I didn't want to have to tell him I'd been with another man.  Not wanting to hurt him was the proof of loving him that I clung too.  For far too long, it was all I had to assure myself that I loved him as much as I could.  As the years have passed, our friendship has deepened.  Our love has grown.  My love for him is genuine and deep now.  My world would stop if something happened to him.  I no longer need to cling to the fear of hurting him to prove to myself and him that I do love him.  It just flows naturally from every fiber of my being. 

We've known each other since I was 18 and I enjoy his company more than I even realized was possible back then.  Though I've been tempted in the past to step outside of our marriage, I no longer need the fear of telling him to be the thing that keeps me faithful.  I don't want to be with anyone else.  I don't think of other men in sexual terms anymore.  Hubby is my only lover and the only one I want to love for the rest of my life.  And I'm really thankful that he could see into my heart and love me even when I didn't know how to love him in return.

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!

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!

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!

something worth recovering for

God must have known I needed encouragement.  My little guy "had-ed a bad dweam" and only Mommy's arms seem to make it better.  Isn't he worth the pain of recovery?  Isn't he worth working through the crap so he can have his mommy healthy?

I did it

So many thoughts so little time.  So what do I share and still get my backside to bed to recover from no sleep last night thanks to staying up with a sick little guy?  While there is a lot on my mind, I guess I should update on the life events that have happened over the last month. 

I decided at a point that I was ok with Hubby touching me.  Not thrilled, mind you, but accepting of it.  He was wonderful, as he always is, and did nothing until I made the first move.  There is something about being the one in control that takes some of the fear out of "the event".  My body was no longer hyper sensitive and he had been patient.  I didn't want to take advantage of his patience just because I didn't feel like it.  Not being in the mood is quite a bit different from being traumatized.  So I kissed him a little longer than I had been and I wrapped his arms around me.  That is my sign when it is ok to touch me again.

And you know what?  That man was so very gentle.  And somehow being intimate with him was healing not damaging.  Somehow being with him made me feel safe again.  I can't even explain it because to me it doesn't make much sense, but it was like giving someone a broken vase and receiving it back fixed and filled with flowers.  It was a mental effort for me, a HUGE mental effort.  I had to recenter myself several times.  I had to force myself to stay in the moment, there with him, instead of retreating to my mental happy place.  It nearly made me cry once or twice to stay present, but I did it.  When my mind tried to shut off, I somehow reminded myself that this wasn't the men who hurt me and managed to bring myself back.

And it does help (sorry if this is tmi!) that while Hubby is wonderful about satisfying me, he doesn't get his feelings hurt if I don't "get there".  For a couple of times, I didn't want to get there.  That meant losing control of my body and that was just too scary for me.  I redirected a little, didn't get there and he wasn't offended by it.  Even in the deed, my body was mine.  He once again, ever so gently, brought my heart out of hiding.

I did it!  I rode the wave of emotion and didn't die from it!  Ok, so I thought I was going to at times.  I spent days crying or sleeping.  I refused to cook or clean.  I barely ate, I wasn't even hungry.  My dreams at night were riddled with suicide attempts.  I'm not sure that I wanted to die, but I didn't really want to live either.  I wanted to not exist.  But the point is, I did it.  I felt the emotion.  I didn't stuff the emotion, even though I really wanted to.  And in the end, I actually do feel somewhat better.  I made it through another emotional hurricane, and yeah maybe lost some windows and downed some trees but it didn't wipe me out.......this time.

coming to terms

I am realizing that I am coming to terms with my feelings.  The grief is still there but it is not all consuming like it was last week.  I guess it is true that in fully feeling this that I am starting to see some relief.  I'm a far cry from great but I'm not emotionally floundering either. 

A random story..... the other day someone told me that due to global warming, in a few years there will be no more coffee.  My response?  Well, I guess that gives me a couple of years to figure out my issues and find a new coping mechanism :)

I exist

I do something ridiculous.  I walk sideways down the stairs at work when I wear heels.  When I walk sideways or even on my toes, my shoes can be kept from making that way-too-loud-for-such-a-quiet-space sound.  But what I realize even more is that the sound means I exist.  Even when I walk I am trying to exist as little as possible. 

I want to live an adventure but I don't want to exist.  Doesn't make sense?  Yeah, I know, too much about living with an eating disorder doesn't make sense. 

I am doing ok.  Not spectacular but not bottoming out either.  And yet I still cringe at the mere fact that I exist.  My body existing in numbers pisses me off.  The fact that I need a body pisses me off.  I want to live but I hate existing.  I hate that my shoes make noise on the stairs, it is just more proof that I cannot disappear, that I take up space.  I want to fade into the background somewhere and not be noticable.

How can I feel good about life and yet terrible about living in the same sentence?  How can I be content with my life and hate that my body takes up space at the same moment?  How can I feel loved and lonely simultaneously? 

butterflies

I've been looking at and contemplating my tattoo quite a bit over the past few days.  It started with a text from a friend telling me to find the song, "She's A Butterfly" by Martina McBride because my friend thinks of me when she hears it since I like butterflies so much.  I started thinking about why I like butterflies. 

The day is etched in my mind and is still crystal clear in my memory even though it is months old.  It was a hard day.  I was at a weekend intensive.  I stood and said words I didn't even know I felt until they came tumbling out of my mouth.  "Why wasn't I worth protecting?"  Many tears later I was in a better place.  My friend, an older man, told me I was beautiful and then kissed my cheek.  It was the first time in my life I ever believed I was beautiful.

The next day someone said that the transformation they had seen in me was like a butterfly.  That sealed it, I was the Butterfly for the rest of our follow up sessions.  Many people called me Butterfly Girl.  And my love of butterflies was born. 

I have a butterfly tattooed, permanently marked on my body.  It is there to remind me that what I went through may have been tough but it still produced beauty.  It is there to remind me that I am not who I was.  It is there to remind me of the One who carries these wings.

God bless the butterfly.  Give her the strength to fly.  Never let her wings touch the ground.

God help me to soar.  Give me the strength to fly.  Give me the strength to be beautiful.  Keep my wings from being stepped on, broken, and wounded.  

good things about recovery

I've been talking with a friend lately about the good things about recovery.  I can read again and actually process what I am reading.  I can play with my kids again (though I am tired of having wrestling Royal Rumbles every day.  Couldn't they like Lego's or something??????).  I can shower without feeling guilty about taking time for me.

I still am discovering who I am though.  I just read a really great post letting go of the ed identity.  I so get this.  I am starting to enjoy life again, but sometimes that old panic creeps up.  What if I completely let go.  Who would I be?  I mean, if I eat that bite of chocolate and don't feel guilty, what will I feel?  If I don't use starving to make me numb, what would I actually feel?  Can I handle it?  Do I know how to live without orange in my ear whispering how she can make it all better?  Who would I be if I were completely free?  Would I be worth my own time?

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The other day, mostly out of tired laziness, I realized something kinda cool.  When I was showering, I just never opened my eyes again after rinsing the conditioner out of my hair.  For some unknown reason, I lathered up with my eyes closed.  Here is what I discovered, it wasn't as scary with my eyes closed.  I know, that sounds weird but hear me out.

The way my body felt under my hands was much different than it appeared in the mirror.  Once again a case of the mirror lying.  The problem is that the mirror was lying more than I realized.  Without being able to see every mark, touching my own body was a completely different experience than anything I have ever known in the past. Without looking at myself and picking apart every flaw, I realized that my body is not that of a whale.  With only my hands, no eyes, I "saw" something completely different in myself that I have never seen.

Wondering if it was just a crazy fluke, I intentionally closed my eyes the next day when I showered.  It wasn't a fluke.  For the first time EVER I was able to appreciate things about my body that when I look with my eyes, I just cannot see.  I still don't see in the mirror what I felt.  The mirror is still lying.  But somewhere I deep inside, this time I am able to identify that it is lying.  Something deep inside of me is remembering a feeling instead of a vision. 

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I love my new job.  After only 3 weeks, I am going to go solo next week.  I'm good with it, a little nervous, but good.  My friend will pack up after I arrive and go home to her adorable 10 month old son and just be mommy and I will close up shop on my own.  My friend and the managers are all surprised that I feel comfortable with it so quickly.  No one expected me to be on my own until after the rush for fall semester was over.  I am able.  I can do it.  This is just one more area that recovery kind of feels good.
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Tomorrow I get to meet with my team of ladies that I will be leading for this upcoming MOPS year.  I am excited!  And for the first time in so many ages, I feel like I have something to contribute.  For the first time in far too long, I feel nearly completely confident that I can do a job that I have committed to.  It does feel good to feel like an asset instead of a liability for a change.

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At some point over the last year, I have made actual forward steps in my recovery.  Last fall I was often reminding myself that 2 steps forward 1 step back is still 1 step ahead of where I started.  But as I am reading over this post, I realize that somewhere along the line the forward steps became more clear.  I know I am not "there" (wherever the heck "there" is) but I am further on my journey than I was a year ago and for that I am thankful. 

my saving grace

Today I was thinking about the things (well people really) that have carried me through the last year.  I realized how grateful I am for so many people who held my arms up when I couldn't do it myself.

Hubby has been so wonderful to me.  I was looking at him today thinking how blessed I am to have him.  I explained orange thoughts.  It is a much easier way to talk in code.  He has been through so much through all of this and yet he has remained strong and still loves me.  I would have never sought help if he hadn't told me I needed to.  I would have never stayed in treatment.  I would have never even tried to stick with recovery if not for his love and encouragement. 

My dear friend K.  I have known K for 23 years.  We were close when we were kids.  When my struggle with orange became severe she stood by me.  She gave me incredible words and follow up actions to those words.  She said she had no idea what I needed from her, that she didn't really understand what I was going through but that she wanted to walk through it with me.  K asked questions and listened to answers.  She didn't judge, she wasn't harsh. And we talked about other things beside my battle with food.  Some days I needed to talk about my struggle.  Some days I needed to not talk about anything.  Some days we talked about our kids.  Some days we talked about the recent grief in her life.  Some days we talked about therapy.  Some days we reminisced about our childhood days, the books and movies we loved to share with each other.  Some days we vented about our mothers.  Every single day was different but the fact remains, she has been there for me every step of the way.  I would say to anyone who doesn't know how to help someone, learn from K.  She told me she didn't know how to help or what I would need but what I needed was someone who didn't try to fix me but was willing to love me and walk with me on a really lonely and difficult road.  She gave me the freedom to hurt and the freedom to heal.  Thanks, K.  I love you and you have absolutely no idea how much you have given to me this past year!

And my blogger buddies.  I wondered today how I would have gotten through the loss of a friendship without you to let me cry on your shoulders and offer encouragement.  I wondered how I would have made it through the lonely nights without knowing someone else was fighting too.  I wondered if I hadn't found you as my recovery support, how much further my addiction support would have taken me.  I'm glad to know others feel like I do, though I wish for each of you that you didn't know this struggle!  I'm grateful to not be alone but I wish you could see in yourselves what I see in you and wish you didn't have to walk this road also.  (I'm talking to you,  you,  you, you, and to you.)  You are amazing women.  I'm glad to know others are fighting also and not just giving in.

MOPS.  Wow, I don't think I could say how great you gals have been.  I went into the hospital the week that MOPS was starting.  I got out the day before our first meeting.  I went, simply because as part of the leadership, I had a responsibility to help set up.  You ladies encouraged me consistently.  Steph, you were my security blanket when I just couldn't stand in the food line and be ok and you also called me out when I needed a butt kicking.  You never let me "get away with it".  Thanks for loving me in the middle of your own pain from the journey you are on.  I don't know how it is possible to have that many women in a room and feel supported and loved rather than feeling the catty backstabbing atmosphere that usually accompanies a large group of women.  Thanks ladies for your kindness.

And God, thank you for putting the people in my life who I would need.  Thank you for carrying me through when I couldn't have walked through on my own strength.  It is only by the grace of God that I stand.

(I know, I totally sound like I just won a Grammy or some such nonsense with this post, but it had to be said.  I was just in such awe tonight as I thought about all the people who have poured into my life during the most difficult year of my adult life.)

hope for today

Last night I stayed up late.  It had been a really crummy day with a couple of bright spots (like seeing my MOPS buddies for our end of year party).  On the way home from aforesaid party, my tire blew out.  Fun times.  Hmmmm, I do know how to change a tire but it was 10pm, I was alone, I was wearing a sundress and I was not in the greatest part of town.  I called my parents first.  They were closer and hubby had to be at work at 3:30am.  They weren't able to come over.  I called my hubby.  Like the amazing man he is, he got his mom to sit at our house with our sleeping children (this is one of the moments that I LOVE having my in-laws next door) and he came to my rescue.  Once again my knight in shining armor.

Anyway, last night was rough.  While I thoroughly enjoyed my friends and the great conversations, I struggled through dinner.  Nearly every bite brought large hot tears to my eyes.  I forced them back and not one fell but they were definitely there.  I wonder if it was noticeable to my friends.  I ate.  They all know.  I didn't want the "looks".  I didn't want people worrying.  I wanted them to all think I'm better than I actually am.  

By the time I got home after the tire fiasco, I was done.  D.O.N.E!  I got online and found some amazing blogs.  And here is what I saw. 

• I am not the only one who cries when I eat. 
• I am not the only one who thinks I am doing a great job in recovery only to have life slap me in the face and realize that recovery is a process not an event. 
• I am not the only one who hates the process of recovery.
• It is possible to have true recovery.
•  Even those who are much further in recovery than I am have to battle that inner demon who insists that they are not good enough.
• No one is perfect and we all struggle with something, for me it is anorexia.
• I am worth fighting for.

So today with that knowledge, I am going to press onward.  I am going to fight for me.  I don't want to lose myself to ED again.  I want to remember who I am and what I like.  I'm still learning who I am and what I like.  It is a journey of self discovery.  Too many years I have been defined by what I do (and sometimes what I don't do, like eat). 

My dear friend once said that she is tired of hearing people say that God will not give us more than we can bear.  It isn't in the Bible anywhere.  He says we won't be tempted beyond what we can bear but no where does it say we won't get more than we can bear.  I think God often gives us more than we can bear.  If I could handle it, I wouldn't need Him.  I wouldn't need a Savior.  I would be my own strength instead of relying on His strength.  His strength is perfect in my weakness.  Today, I have more than I can bear.  Today I will call out to Jesus and let Him be my strength. 

I'm worth fighting for and I'm going to fight.  I'm going to win the war, even if I lose some battles.  I'm going to get back on my recovery horse and keep fighting.  I'm tired of fighting.  I also know the old saying that the one who wins the war is the one who fights 5 minutes longer than the opponent.  I am going to fight and I am going to win with God as my strength and hope.