NEDA week and comparing my journey

I've wanted to write for a while now.  I've just been so tired and when faced with the option of curling up in bed next to my husband and sleeping or turning on the computer and organizing my thoughts into words....well, comfy bed seems to win more often lately.  Last week was a struggle for me.  I was already struggling a little but NEDA week is hard for me.

 It is a week that makes me think I was never really THAT sick.  I hear the stories of people who nearly died and I think well, I didn't nearly die.  Until my husband speaks that strange kind of logic that says, "Um, you did almost die.  You were intending to commit suicide."  And I think about so many of my friends who have spent time in in-patient care and think but I wasn't sick enough for in-patient.  I hear how someone restricted to x amount of calories and the competitive voice of orange reminds me that I was x amount of calories more than that person.

My brain, or rather my disease, argues with everything its got to say I wasn't ever really sick. I don't have the physical scars that some have. I knew how to take care of my self inflicted burns and cuts so that they wouldn't scar and people wouldn't have reason to think I was sick.  My body doesn't carry evidence of the hell it has been through so I try to downplay that it really has been through hell.

Isn't that the battle of the eating disorder though?  There is ALWAYS going to be someone out there who is sicker than you, which will always play through your head to insist you aren't sick because you aren't as sick as ______.  As long as the comparison game continues in my mind, I will never be free from the belief that I wasn't sick enough.  And I've come to realize that as long as I compete mentally to have been sick enough to validate my illness, NEDA week will always be difficult for me.

It's great to educate.  I went to a meeting of about 50 women the other day and this group of women were having a biggest loser competition.  They were standing on the scale before breakfast and giving out prizes for the most % lost. I wanted to grab the mic and tell them that in a group that big, I would be shocked if they didn't have at least one woman who has struggled with some variation of an eating disorder.  I wanted to educate them about NEDA.  I love the purpose of the week.  And I also, for my own recovery, avoided the computer radically last week.

For this time in life, my recovery depends on me not comparing my journey to someone else's journey. For this season of my recovery, I will focus on choosing the next right thing and worry less about comparing my illness to someone else's illness.  Recovering together is amazing, it is great to have friends who just know and understand.  Recovering together is not however meant to be a comparison.  Comparison is a trap, and not one I can afford to get caught in.

fighting side by side

We're all in this together right?  We are here to do life together, to encourage each other, to bear one another's burdens, to restore each other.  We fight together through this mess of life.  Today I want to fight alongside someone whose battle I've never personally fought.  Just because I haven't fought it myself doesn't mean that I should hole up in my corner of the world and only pay attention to the battles that have affected me directly.  Today is Mesothelioma Awareness Day.  If you have a moment and you want to hear the story of an amazing woman, strong and beautiful beyond belief, please check out:

www.mesothelioma.com/heather/awareness

Heather, I'm glad you are cancer free.  I'm glad that you are encouraging others in their fights around the world.  I'm glad I can share your story.

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. 

me too people

The people I connect with the most are part of the "me too club".  I think that is who most people connect with on a deeper level.  I read blogs of people who say what they are feeling and are honest about it.  I get bored and stop reading when it is simply to instruct me in all the ways I fall short.  I connect with so many of you because you say, I had a great day as well as saying wow, today really sucked the life out of me.  I connect with you because you read my stuff and you say, "Hey, me too.  I know what that is like."

I want to be a me too person.  I don't want to be someone who has it all figured out.  I want to experience it with others.  My pain, their pain, my joy, their joy, to walk side by side and experience life together.  And yet at the same time, I'm a little afraid to say what's on my heart because I feel certain that no one will say to me, "yeah, me too".

I can lay it out here on my blog.  I can say, hey world this is who I am.  I've made some very dear friends through my blog.  I just have a hard time taking that into real life.  I love to hear others stories.  I love to know what makes them tick.  I love to see their lives in action, especially in the nitty gritty.  But then when it comes to me, I don't want to show them the nitty gritty.  I am afraid that in the real world that I won't find the kind of me too people that I have found here on my blog.

I love to hear the stories behind others tattoos.  And yet I find myself at work being cautious about asking the significance because then I open myself up to someone asking the significance of my tattoo.  I want to know why one woman at work picks her food apart and doesn't eat as much as the anyone else.  But then I have to admit that I have noticed it and open myself up for her questions.  Most people wouldn't notice that she does it.  It is very subtle.  But I notice, and if I notice that, why when no one else does? 

I heard Lisa Terkheurst speak yesterday and she said something that I know and yet struggle with.  God gave us emotions so that we can experience life not so we can run from it.  I feel like I experience it here, where it is safe, where few actually know me.  But I'm still afraid to experience life and emotions out there in the real world.  I really do like the safety of my blog.  What happens if I take the safety here and become a me too person out there?

getting back to normal

I spent quite a while in a constant state of depression and anxiety.  It has only been within the last week that I have felt more alive, more like myself, and less overwhelmed.  I had called my doctor to refill my anti anxiety prescription back when we were getting our new roof.  Having had a couple of pretty bad panic attacks up to that point I decided that having my medication on hand again might be a good idea.  My doctor never called back though which is extremely unlike her.  She has never missed returning a phone call.

When the theater shooting happened I found myself having panic attacks again.  I panicked when I was driving home one evening and saw police lights.  I hyperventilated when I heard sirens or saw emergency vehicles speeding by.  For where I live, that is a lot of fear to be living in.  I live less than a mile from the police station.  I live next to a highway, near a military base, and smack in between three major hospitals.  I hear sirens and helicopters all the time.  I see military and Flight for Life helicopters every day.  To have fear and anxiety with every helicopter and every siren was not good!

I decided that it was time to go visit my doctor.  She never got my message about my medication.  The former medical assistant who I called my message in to, well she is the former MA, that should say it all right there.  My doc did refill my medication and also recommended a supplement.  The main ingredient is GABA.

I happened to have already done a lot of research on GABA and had some in my house, though I wasn't taking it regularly.  I started taking it daily upon my doctor's recommendation.  It is helping me so much.  I've only had overwhelming anxiety once but that was when we took our kids to a theater to see Men In Black 3.  I'm thinking movie theater and action movie with the entire family so soon after a movie theater shooting  maybe gives reason to feel panicky.  I spent the entire movie watching the exits, judging the best way out if there was an emergency and thinking how Hubby and I would be able to protect all three of our kids and get everyone out safely if a madman came barging in shooting everywhere.  That was cause for the medicine!

There have been some big things happen.  I have more to share but not tonight.  Tonight I'm tired and really only wanted to write because I miss you guys!  Hope everyone is well and I'll try to not stay away so long.

Travel

                     
I was bitten by the travel bug when I was a child.  I love to travel and I hate that it is so freakin expensive!  I've been to Hawaii and seen Pearl Harbor.  I've been to New York City and have pictures with me standing in front of a skyline that still held the Twin Towers (I was there in 2000).

I've been to Germany, France and Amsterdam.  I bought my wedding dress in Paris.  I went up to the top of the Eiffel Tower.  I sat on the patio of a French Bistro sipping wine and watching Paris light up for the evening.  I toured the Anne Frank house in Amsterdam. I toured the Holocaust Museum in Germany.

I've been to Vegas.  I've been to Houston, Dallas, Amarillo.  I've been to Oklahoma and Kansas.  I've seen the Statue of Liberty and the Golden Gate bridge in the same day (starting in the middle of the country, flying to the east coast to catch a flight to the west coast.) I've been to beaches on the Atlantic and beaches on the Pacific.  I've seen the inside of an obscene amount of airports. 

I've been to Lincoln Park Zoo in Chicago and the Smoky Mountains in North Carolina.  You get it.  I love to travel.  At the peak of my disease, I had a desire to go to a new town for a friends wedding.  I was to go alone and the thought of being able to just get lost in her city sounded amazing.  I ended up not going but I still long to go, to visit, to walk, to discover a great coffee shop and a fabulous book store.

Traveling brings me peace when I feel insane.  It brings me joy when life feels out of control.  It makes it safe to run away and yet still stay present for myself.  I want to travel the world.  I long for the day when I can take Hubby to Saverne France, for the day when Buckingham Palace is on my day's to see list.  I want to see it all.  It reminds me that the world is bigger than me and my problems.

Oh, and people watching doesn't need a translation :)

Compliment

                  
“You is kind. You is smart. You is important.”
― Kathryn Stockett, The Help

And I have a few to add to that.  You are beautiful, more beautiful than you will ever know.  You are capable.  You are strong, stronger than you ever thought.


Psalm 139:¹³ For you created my inmost being;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
¹⁴ I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
    your works are wonderful,
    I know that full well.

You are treasured, you are sacred, you are His.


You are worthy of love, you are worthy of care, you are worthy of protection.  You are one of a kind, a masterpiece.  You bring something to this world that no one else in the entire universe can offer.  


I believe in you!

 

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!

finding strength

Grief is draining.  I feel physically and emotionally exhausted, as though I have nothing left to give.

But I know that isn't true.  Today, I gave my husband comfort, even though I knew I had nothing to give.  Tonight I gave my friend advice when she stopped by my work for a little bit, even though I knew I had nothing left to give.  Right now I am giving my youngest attention because he woke up and can't fall back asleep, even though I'm exhausted and have nothing more to give.

I feel like I have nothing in my reservoir to dip from.  And yet I know that somewhere deep inside, there is strength.  There is strength to wake up in the morning.  There is strength to fix my kids breakfast and get them to school.  There is strength to be there for my Hubby as he grieves.  There is strength that let me eat this week, even though it hasn't been quite enough or at all what I've wanted to do.

My cup still needs to be filled but I'm finding unknown strength in the midst of grief.  I had dreams all night about the casket being lowered into the ground.  Some of the dreams it was cousin's casket, some of them it was Hubby, some of them it was my dad-in-law and some of them I wasn't sure who was being lowered into the ground.  The finality of watching the casket of someone as it drops into the ground is disheartening and devastating.  It feels in that moment that you will drop to your knees in the weakness of grief and never be able to stand.  And yet somehow I found the strength to hold Aunt's shaking hand and walk her back to the limo.  Somehow I found the strength to hug Cousin's widow and apologize for letting the distance of 45 minutes be an excuse for letting our relationship with family slide to a back burner.

My body feels heavy with the weight of exhaustion and grief.  I am amazed at how tiring crying really is.  And emotionally, I'm spent!

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!

music for the soul

I love music.  It speaks to me.  It soothes me.  It heals me.  I have, however, stopped listening to it for the most part.  Somewhere along the line I began to prefer the quiet.  I think that for a while, music touched me too deeply.  It made me so aware of the fact that I wasn't whole.  Music would touch my soul but I was too hurt to dance so I quit playing the music.  If there wasn't music, then my emptiness somehow felt less.  Somehow I could pretend that my heart wasn't breaking if I could avoid music and its beautiful power.  Every so often I would listen to a song or two.  My morning alarm, a link sent by a friend and random things like that. 

Last week we had our first snow here.  I discovered last week while I was driving home from work that my car feels far too quiet inside while driving in the snow.  The silence was actually distracting so I turned on the radio.  It was pleasant and it was shallow, perfect.  The snow melted the next day (as usually happens here in Colorado) as did my desire for "noise" in the car.  Guess what?  It snowed again tonight.  My car was eerily quite and I turned on the radio.  Talk, commercial, not really in the mood for that song and finally KLOVE. 

The music was fine for a snowy drive and so far, still shallow.  But right as I was nearly home a song came on that touched my soul.  There was a strange ache to feel moved by music again.  So tonight's YouTube playlist was

• All of Me by Matt Hamitt
• Strong Enough by Matthew West
• Remind Me of Who I Am by Jason Gray
• Nothing is Wasted by Jason Gray
• Rest by Downhere
• You're Not Alone by Downhere
• Beautiful by Mercy Me

And then this one........

I had heard this song live on the radio before the single had even been released.  I cried then.  And I cried tonight.  And I cried a little more.  And I cried a little more.  And I realize the reason I've been shutting out music, it makes me feel things I don't like feeling.  It brings things to life in me, some of those things I prefer to keep buried.  Tonight I will listen.  Tonight I will feel.  Tonight I will let music heal in the way that only it can.

confronting my mom

So the other thing that I have done recently is confront my mom with the way she crossed boundaries with my kids.  I was really dreading it so last week when I saw her number on the caller id, I did the complete immature thing of letting it go to voice mail so I could know what she wanted before I had to talk to her.  She wanted to pick up my youngest from school, have lunch with him and then hang out with him until the older kids got out of school and then pick them up and bring everyone home.

I called her back and told her she could pick up the little guy and have lunch.  I said we had some errands to run so I would just swing by on my way and pick him up.  I could hear her disappointment when she said, "But I was going to just hang out with him this afternoon and then take him with me to pick up the big kids."  From somewhere deep inside of me, I heard a voice that I know is mine but sure sounded a lot more sure of herself than I felt, say, "Well, I have to ask the middle child if he is ok with that.  I don't know if he will want you to pick him up."

I heard her exasperation when she said, "Is that boy really still holding a grudge?"  And then my floodgate opened.  I never yelled.  I didn't even cry.  I stood my ground.  And still sounding a whole lot more confident than I felt I told her everything I had experienced for the previous 2 weeks in regards to the kids and their feelings toward her.  "Mom, when I got home, no sooner had hellos been said, I had a sobbing child sitting in my lap wanting to know why his grandma doesn't like him.  And I didn't just hear it from him.  All the kids have said you yelled all weekend long.  The oldest informed me that he got tired of listening to you yell and so he went and hung out with grandpa for the rest of the weekend.  The consensus was that there was a lot of raised voices and interrupting and harshness.  I have to talk to them and see if they want you to pick them up because I'm not going to have them surprised by it and feel like I didn't look out for them emotionally."

There was quite a bit more said, it was over a half hour of being on the phone.  Man did it feel good to lay it all out there.  It felt good to know I was protecting my kids and no longer being manipulated by my mother.  Hey, maybe that is the cure to mother manipulation.  Wait till she messes with your kids, suddenly you don't care anymore if she is happy or not!  Sorry, tangent. :)

She had been completely oblivious to how her words and actions had affected my kids.  She actually felt remorseful.  She insisted that she had to talk to them and let them know she was wrong.  Say what?  My mom actually admitting that she was wrong?  That is like getting a good burger at McDonald's, it just doesn't happen!  Now I happened to be already at the kids school when this conversation took place.  Don't worry, the kids were at lunch and I stepped outside when they came back in.  So I asked my middle child if grandma could pick him up.  First he said no.
"I think I'd rather you pick me up, Mom."
"Ok, but it would be Dad because I work tonight."
"Welllllllllllllll, I guess it would be ok for grandma to pick me up then."

I called her and told her she could pick up the boys.  We talked for over an hour.  She completely doesn't understand my middle child.  She doesn't understand why he takes everything so personally.  She wants to help toughen him up so he doesn't carry a victim mentality.  I told her when dealing with him, to think of me as a child.  She actually groaned!  Thanks, Mom, glad to know I was that hard to parent.  "Oh, yeah.  Over emotional about everything.  Feelings so easily hurt that you didn't know what was ok to say...."  She kept on like that for about a minute.  All of that time I wanted to revoke the privilege of being able to pick him up from school from her.  She always felt, without ever hiding it, that the way I was was wrong and it was her job to make me right.  My emotions were wrong, I should be logical like her.  I shouldn't be intuitive or sensitive because it was different from her and therefore wrong.  I had to keep a tight reign on my emotions when we were talking about his temperament being so similar to mine.  I wanted so desperately to shield him from feeling like his emotions are wrong or that he needs to be "fixed", as if he were broken!

In the end, she did pick up the kids.  She took them to a park.  She apologized.  Well, my youngest is convinced that she didn't, which is kinda funny story.  He told me that grandma did something wrong and didn't say sorry but he forgave her anyway.  I, shocked, said, "She didn't say sorry?"  I had to stifle a laugh when he very solemnly looked at me and said, "No, Mommy.  She said she was wrong and asked if I would forgive her.  I did forgive her, even though she didn't say sorry.  Was that nice of me?"

The kids are young enough that sorry still makes things better.  I wish I had gotten one too.  After all, I am the one who held my crying son and comforted him.  What mother could do that and not be hurt too?  But I am grateful that she apologized to my kids.  Even that is a huge step further along the road than she was when I was growing up.  Sorry is not a word in her vocabulary when it comes to me and my brother or even my dad.  I'm thankful that it has become a word in her vocabulary for her grandkids. 

It's not all better, but it is better.  I still feel very guarded with her.  I still feel very protective about my boys, especially my middle child.  But I do think it was eye opening to her to realize that she has a chance of damaging her relationship with them permanently if she isn't careful with her actions. I think it shocked her to realize that I won't force them to see her alone if they are uncomfortable.  I think she may think a little bit before she lashes out, at least I hope so. I hope that this will, in the long run, make all of our lives a little easier.  It is a lot easier to cross a line before one has been drawn and now one has been clearly drawn.

afraid

I haven't had enough to eat today.  That is a statement, not a question.  The old habits are hard to war against, they pull against my soul with a fierceness I cannot explain.  I need to go have dinner but I'm afraid to.  I don't even know what I am afraid of.  Afraid I might get better?  Afraid I might live my life? 

OR

Afraid I might like the taste of food?  Afraid I might never stop if I start eating?  Afraid that I will lose the thing I can control?  Afraid that I might have to feel my feelings?  Afraid that I might have to acknowledge my inadequacy?  Afraid that I might not be worth the effort I put in to recover?

** K, I needed to hear you say I was weary while I was writing this post.  I was looking for scripture reference about being weary and this is the one that jumped out at me.

Isaiah 40
²⁶ Lift up your eyes and look to the heavens:
   Who created all these?
He who brings out the starry host one by one
   and calls forth each of them by name.
Because of his great power and mighty strength,
   not one of them is missing. 
 ²⁷ Why do you complain, Jacob?
   Why do you say, Israel,
“My way is hidden from the LORD;
   my cause is disregarded by my God”?
²⁸ Do you not know?
   Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
   the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He will not grow tired or weary,
   and his understanding no one can fathom.
²⁹ He gives strength to the weary
   and increases the power of the weak.

friends, new and old

It has been 5 months since I lost my best friend.  I have been blessed greatly by new friendships and one old friendship that have in some ways helped heal the hole that she left. That seriously just sounded like a break up line, but honestly, you cannot have been through 15+ years of friendship and not have a hole in your heart when that friendship sours. And though I am THRILLED with the amazing, encouraging, not let me get away with nonsense, (have I mentioned AMAZING?) friends that I have, sometimes I still miss having her on my side.  Sometimes there is still an ache that she doesn't want to be a part of my life anymore.  I've been asked by a few people why it was so hard to lose her friendship.  Was I holding on to the past?  If she couldn't be supportive of me in this difficult time, do I really want her as my closest friend?  Could it have been the right thing to let go of the friendship?  And my answer is yes.  Yes it was the best thing overall for my heart, for my family, for me and apparently for her as well.  That didn't make it hurt less.

Jesus knew that the cross was what was best for those He loved but that didn't make Him eager for its pain.  He still asked God to take it away from Him.  He still endured humiliation, torture and death, simply because it was part of the overall plan.  Now please don't hear me saying that I think losing my best friend is like Jesus facing the cross.  I'm just saying that just because something is the best solution or the needed solution, doesn't mean it won't hurt.

My heart was torn to shreds when my dearest friend in the world decided that my struggles were finally just too much for her.  I cried rivers.  And though I am in a place of acceptance, sometimes, my heart still aches that, with everything our friendship had endured, it could not whether this storm as well.  But had it not happened the way it did, I would not have found the new friends who are so close and dear to me now.  Had it not happened, I may not have learned some valuable lessons about myself, who I am at my core.  And sadly, had it not happened I would have not learned some valuable lessons about her and her character.

Not to be a downer tonight.  I just was thinking about my friend who I spent the evening texting.  I was thinking about how out of the blue and a true blessing our friendship has been.  I was thinking that I don't feel defensive when she calls me out.  I was thinking that I feel understood and loved for who I am, not for who I could be.  And for a few moments, I was also wishing that I could have felt this loved and accepted by my best friend. 

I am so very grateful that God brings people into our lives in just His perfect timing.  I was thinking how lost and alone I felt 5 months ago and how glad I am to have several people who are true friends now.  I am so blessed to have accountability, love, and encouragement in my life.  I am so blessed to for the first time in a very long time to feel loved for who I am now not who I was years ago and not who I will become and not the image I portray. 

recovery in an email

This evening while clearing out emails I happened upon one I hadn't read.  It was my MOPS weekly e-mail.  Now I realize that MOPS is a group for moms, hence the name Mothers Of Preschoolers, but the email today hit me more from a recovery standpoint than a mom standpoint.  I have to share it.

The God of Sometimes

By Christa Hogan, mother of two

I love being a mom; I love caring for my family. I can’t think of anything more important, anything more worthy of my life. It feels good to be needed.

Most of the time.
But sometimes I wake up and think, “Do I really have to do yesterday all over again?” I want to shout, “Can’t you just do it yourself for once?” A voice whispers, “It’s all up to you. You don’t ever get to rest, because if you did this would all fall apart.”

"He made me to need
him even more than
my family needs me."

Inevitably, these are also the days that someone comes down sick. The cat coughs up a hairball on the carpet. The dishwasher breaks. Life starts to resemble a country music song. “It isn’t fair,” I cry. “Life wasn’t supposed to be like this!”
Then I hear another voice calling. My Savior. My Rock. He asks me to stop squirming beneath the weight of my life and give it to him. He reminds me that I have been trying to do it all again, and to do it all by myself. But he made me to need him even more than my family needs me, except that he never rests. He never tires of being needed. He loves my “sometimes” when I come to the end of my rope because then I remember that I need to rely on him at all times.

Dear God, thank you that you are strong in my weakness. Forgive me for trying to do it on my own. Help me give my family and my life to you

Of course I do feel the pressures as a mom that I have to get up and do yesterday all over again.  I do feel sometimes that if I didn't do it all, then it all would fall apart.  But I also feel it as a woman, as a wife, as a recovering individual. 

In recovery I wake up often and wonder if I really have to do yesterday all over again.  Sometimes the days feel like they are all the same, get up force breakfast, argue with the E.D in my brain insisting that Malt O Meal is making me fat, focus on something else, just keep going.  But the truth of the matter is that it is during those times of weakness that I call out to Jesus.   It is on the days where I dread facing yesterday all over again that I cry out to Him and it is in those times of desperation that I truly surrender to Him.  It is in those moments of surrender that His strength is made perfect in my weakness.

Lord, do forgive me for trying to do it all on my own!

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!

something to ponder

My last post was starting to get a bit long so I decided to make a second entry to share the thing I was given yesterday to ponder.  I was informed last night by someone who I love an awful lot, that it was presented to him by someone else that I have control issues.  The exact wording, I believe, was "She has trouble handing the keys over to someone else."  The hearer of this statement had to think about it and finally agreed.  These are people who love me unconditionally, one who knows me inside and out and one who is very observant and all too often hears what I don't say.

My first thought when I heard this was, "Well, duh!  You are just now realizing I have control issues?"  But for some reason I couldn't verbalize that so I instead denied my need for control.  I asked for specific examples.  I work so hard to cover up my intense fear of letting someone else call the shots and yet these two people could see through my mask.  That is something to ponder! 

The theories of why I prefer to be in control (it was clarified that I want to be in control, not that I am controlling. whew, that's a relief!) were interesting.  I think there was an amount of truth in the theories to add to the things that I am now thinking about.  Hmmmm, new things to wrap my brain around and to surrender to my Savior.  This will be the story of my life forever.  I will always be finding things in my life that I need Jesus to be Lord over.  This time it is my desire to control my life instead of giving Him the control.

I love both of these people who brought this to my attention.  I love how they often unknowingly challenge me in my faith.  I love that they don't allow me to be comfortable.  I also sometimes despise it.  I still have control issues.  I'm just not exhibiting it in the dangers of anorexia right now.   God be my strength as I journey through this!

not perfect

I know I jump around a bit in my blog, from the past to present.  Sorry if it is confusing.  I jump because, simply said, I am not perfect.  Today I write because yesterday I was given both something terrifying to me and something to ponder.  The thing that terrified me was discovering that someone reads this for answers in their own life.  Someone reading this is actually being affected by a horrible battle with anorexia.  I don't need to give more detail but I am now aware of someone reading for help not just to hear my story and know me more.

It seems like a suddenly overwhelming responsibility.  What if my answers aren't right?  But on the other hand, isn't that what my prayer was in starting this blog, that even one person would be ministered to?  I am praying for a person I've never met and people who love that person.  I'm praying for someone who the Lord has lead to me in an indirect way.  Isn't that the reason I share?  Isn't the reason I tell the gross details of my life so that the Lord can use my life, my story and His redemption to draw someone to Him?  Yes, indeed, that is the reason.  And I must now trust that He called me to this for a purpose.

You want to know the blunt honest truth?  When the Lord started asking me to tell others my story, I was in the middle of the worst anorexic battle that I have had in at least 10 years.  I argued with God simply because I didn't see how He could use me to help others through when at that moment I was deeply in the thick of it again myself.  I'm not perfect, I still sometimes struggle with something that hurts me.  I once read that it takes 7 years of being healthy to say that you have overcome an eating disorder.  For some that may be true.  For me, it has proven to be a lifelong battle so far.  I was healthy for 7 yrs before I had any inkling of a struggle.  I thought I had conquered it and was shocked when it reared its ugly head again.

Over the last 3 years there have been a few times that I have struggled.  Most of the struggles have been fairly minor until this last one.  The last one lasted for a longer time than the smaller struggles and was much more emotionally charged.  I think I'll blog the details at another time because that isn't really the direction of this blog.  The direction of this blog is that someone else is struggling and looking at my broken life.  It's not a perfect life but I see God's redemptive hand so much in my story and my life.  There is a chance that I will struggle for my entire life, but I know that God is faithful to me.  I know that in the midst of my crazy and changing life, He is unchanging.  He carries me when I don't have the strength to carry on.

As you read my story I pray that you find the courage to look to God and let Him be your strength.  I quit asking God to give me strength several years ago when my friend said she prayed that God would be my strength as opposed to asking Him to give me strength.  That makes so much more sense to me.  My strength is not near big enough, His strength is perfect.  As you read my story I hope you realize that it is my story, not everyone's story.  I hope that through it all you see that even though I don't know all the answers, I have faith and hope in the One Unchanging Creator of all.  It is because of Him alone that my story is even worth sharing.  Had He not redeemed me from the pit, I would still be a broken little girl with no trust in humanity who was searching for anything to dull the emotional turmoil and pain I was in.  Only because of His great grace and mercy is there anything of beauty in my life.