"In Recovery"

Prior to recently, any time anyone happened to ask me where I was in my recovery journey, I would usually classify myself as "contemplating recovery." Recovery sounded AWESOME...for other people. I had just started referring to my food "stuff" as an eating disorder and acknowledging that this was something a diet would not fix. But for every step forward, there was a step back, it seemed...or at least a step sideways. I would stop binge eating...and then I would start tracking my food. I would stop binge eating, but then I would read all about the newest Weight Watchers program online and even fill out all the information to sign up...stopping just before I hit the "submit" button. I would stop binge eating, but I would buy twelve tank tops and a pair of jeans I didn't like from Old Navy's website, adding the tank tops to my already complete tank top collection and setting the jeans aside to donate to the Goodwill. And then I would go back to binge eating again.

I sat in therapy one day not long ago and listened to my therapist ask me, with an earnest expression on her face, "What would it feel like to treat yourself the way those of us who care about you unconditionally would want you to treat yourself?" (I am paraphrasing, but the spirit of the conversation is still there.) And for some reason, that question spoke to me. I had never considered that there might be someone out there (no matter how many times I had been faced with evidence of this) who might care about how I was treating myself. I had never really heard someone say to me, "I care about how you are treating yourself" (in so many words), as I was only looking at the effect my eating disorder has on me. I have friends with eating disorders, and I know that it makes me very sad when they are engaging in behaviors, and I would do anything within my power to help them. I had never considered that there were people who felt that way about me.

So tonight, in group therapy, when it was time to introduce myself to a new member to our group, after giving it a lot of thought, I introduced myself as someone who was "in recovery" from binge eating disorder (and also "in recovery" from compulsive shopping and hoarding, but that is a different topic for a different time). It has been several to many weeks since I last binged (I don't have an exact date of my last binge, but I think it has been 4-6 weeks). I have been eating when I am hungry but having treats on occasion. I have not been going to the grocery store and filling my cart with produce and other ingredients that I know I won't prepare and eat (which leads to some guilt and shame when I end up having to throw those ingredients away). I have been sticking to realistic foods that fit into my life. I have realized I don't really enjoy fast food anymore. I have eaten a lot of cereal because I really like it. I have tried out different kinds of peanut butter to figure out which kind I like the best. I have kept snacks on hand for when I want a little something. I have not "given up" anything. I know that giving something up (soda, white flour, potato chips, sugar) is the quickest route to reactive binge eating for me.

Instead of stuffing my feelings down and burying them with ice cream and McDonald's, I have been crying...and laughing. Feeling fear and anxiety without trying to numb it. And for the last several weeks, I have spent a lot of time feeling happy. I spent a lot of time asking myself, "Is this happiness? No, wait. Is this happiness? Or maybe THIS?" It's hard to identify happiness when you have been trying really hard to feel nothing for a really long time. I can say this, however. Tonight, I am lying in a hammock on my balcony, with my dog asleep on the floor beneath me. My cat is inside but close by, curled up on her kitty condo, fast asleep. I got to see some of my favorite people at group tonight, and tomorrow I have my individual session to look forward to. I have exciting plans for the future. I am starting to let go of the past.

I don't know what will happen tomorrow, and I don't want to worry about it. Today, in this moment, I am declaring myself "in recovery." Right now, ED is not the boss of me. And I don't need anyone to save me...I am working instead to save myself.

The beast is back...

The good news is that I have been doing Morning Pages! I have done them for several days, and I am finding them beneficial, although sometimes it's a stretch to write three pages. This morning, however, I decided to forego Morning Pages and blog instead...because ED is alive in me, and it's been a rough week.

I had two weeks of pretty "grey" eating (in that I wasn't having black-and-white thinking about food...not in that everything I ate was grey). And there were different shades of grey. I had some food that was balanced fuel for my body. I had some Skittles. I had some Christmas cookies. But I did not binge, and I did not restrict, and I felt like I was being kind to my body. But I also didn't shower for five days, so while ED may have been dormant, my depression certainly was (is) not.

My psychiatrist added another antidepressant to my own particular cocktail, but I am not up to full therapeutic doses, so I am not sure what the final result of that will be. I am pleased that the medication she chose has been shown to increase dopamine, and since increasing serotonin and norepinephrine has made me better-but-not-best, maybe this will work in tandem with my other medication to improve things in that area.

Anyway. ED. Sometimes, the trigger for a binge is clear. Getting bad news. Getting good news. Stepping on the scale and seeing weight gain. Stepping on the scale and seeing weight loss (I am not currently stepping on the scale at home, but I did get weighed in a medical context a week ago, so that could be part of it). Going out with friends. Staying home alone. Having a hard day at work. Having a good day at work. I am sure you can see a pattern here...anything really bad can trigger a binge for me, but something really good can too. I am not sure what happened this week (I have had a lot of anxiety, so it might even just be general anxiety that sent me into the food), but my black-and-white thinking is back, and everything I am eating is "bad." Bad. BAD. And therefore, I must be bad.

It's a new week, so there are a lot of dieters out there who are starting fresh this week (and it's the first Monday of a new year, so that makes it even more true), and part of me wants so badly to start fresh as well. Maybe this time a diet will work. Maybe I should give Weight Watchers 2016 program a try. Maybe I can just track calories. Maybe I can give up carbs. Or dairy. Or meat. Or sugar. Which one is going to work?

And the other side of ED's coin...the shopping bug. I definitely overshopped last week. I did some of it mindfully, buying things I really did need to buy either to replace worn out things or to otherwise contribute to a clear planned activity. But some of it was mindlessly perusing Old Navy and adding to my (already extensive) wardrobe. Some of it was buying yarn, even though I already have a burgeoning yarn stash (BUT IT WAS ON SALE! Just because a store is having a sale does not mean you have to go shopping.). Some of it was groceries (YAY), but some of the groceries were candy and binge foods (BOO).

Balance is so hard, y'all, and it's clear I have not found it. But I guess my only option is to keep showing up...because any other option ends up in a really bad place.

Oh, wait...HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Letters

The first two days of TFID had as homework having your body write a letter to you and then writing a pledge to your body. My pledge to my body also took the form of a letter, and I brought them to therapy this week and shared them with my therapist. I hesitate to say this because I can't imagine that it will last, but for this moment, I feel some body peace that I have never felt. I can't promise that I am going to be the next Virgie Tovar, but I also don't feel like I hate my body in this moment, sitting here, typing out these words.

Without further ado, I present my letter from my body to me:

Dear Enough,

It's me...your body. I am sitting here on the couch, after a long, busy day at work. I know that you're trying not to concentrate on any one thing. The TV is on, the apartment is cluttered, the dishwasher is making a weird noise, and you kind of have to pee. That feeling that you kind of have to pee? That's me talking to you. You don't usually listen to that signal until the last minute, which leads to a mad dash to the bathroom. Necessary? Maybe not.

That's not the only thing I say when I talk to you, however. Sometimes, I want to let you know that I need some better care. This might manifest as heartburn or indigestion after a dinner of ice cream, arthritis pain in your knee because of a steady diet of Skittles and soda, or a headache because of a lack of sleep (or caffeine). I have other things I would like you to hear, as well, but I can't seem to get you to listen to me.

I love movement. I love when we go to yoga together and you listen and open your mind to the lessons that the teachers have to share. I love when you take walks, especially outside walks, but the treadmill can do in a pinch! I don't like running. I am not a big fan of weight training. I can take or leave the elliptical.

So let's talk food. I don't want food to be such a battleground for us. I don't want you to have to consider whether a food is good or bad before you give it to me. I don't want you to use food to punish yourself. I want you to realize that it is okay to eat these so-called "bad" foods in moderation and that you don't have to feel guilty about them. It's okay to eat a food just because you want it. But I would love it if you would also think about what I need to run the way I have to in order to support you in your day to day life. I need to be nourished, not punished. I need to eat the occasional vegetable and plenty of protein. I can eat gluten, and I can eat carbs, and I can eat meat, and I can eat sugar. I can do all that. You don't have to cut those things out. But I can't be expected to stay in good working order if you are feeding me either a straight diet of "junk" food or almost nothing at all. It's okay to have a treat. But I can't promise that I will be able to keep working for you if you don't help me out a little bit.

I know it feels impossible. I know that the idea of allowing food to let go of the hold it has over you feels like the most foreign idea in the world. I can feel you struggle...I can hear your thoughts, even when you don't quite get them into words. I can see that moment when you transition from enjoyment of a food to the frantic shoveling in of something you can't quite taste anymore. I feel such sadness for you in those times, but I feel some panic too. After all, if you don't take care of me, no one will. Audrey has said it...she can't want recovery for you more than you want it for yourself. In the same way, I can't want recovery for you more than you want it for yourself. I am here for you, but I can't promise to be there forever if we don't figure this out...together. Please start at least trying to pay attention to what I am telling you. It will take time, but if we work on this together, maybe the signals I send you will start to be noticed, and maybe you will be able to tell that I am hungry (and hungry for actual nutritious food), and when I am physically satisfied, maybe you will feel satisfied as well. What you have been doing has not been working. For the most part, you have come to realize that dieting truly is not the answer. The "right" diet is not out there, so you and I are going to have to work together to figure this out. I am committed to you...can you be committed to me too?

Love, Your Body

And my pledge to my body:

Dear Body,

I guess that it's time for me to admit that 25+ years of dieting has not worked. I am left feeling like a failure because I couldn't wrestle you into a size and shape that I liked. I have punished you for not conforming to my ideas of what you should look like. I have not nourished you physically or mentally. I have been mean to you and called you names. And you still have done a reasonable job of carrying me through life.

You have allowed me to do work that I love. You have allowed me to reach out and give hugs to those whom I care about. You have helped me save babies’ lives and comfort grieving parents and celebrate first birthdays and stand in front of groups of people and teach them about what I do. You have kept safe my brain and my heart, even when I have not given you reason to. You let me cry when I know I am safe, and even if my darkest times, you are with me.

Instead of seeing myself as apart from you, I am going to try my hardest to join with you and continue on this life's journey. I will not force you not to eat. I will not force you to run because I know you don't like it. I will keep you active because it makes you feel better and not because I have some elaborate goal to meet. I will let you eat Skittles when you want them, but I won't force you to finish eating them just because they are there. I will not make you eat kale because we don't like it. But I will let you have food that serves as better fuel for you than what I have been giving you lately. I will work with you and not against you. I will invest in you, and I ask that you continue investing in me. I know that you have been patient when perhaps I did not deserve your patience.

Thanks for sticking with me and believing I am worth it.

Love (and I mean that),

Enough

Pocket full of kryptonite

So if you are someone with "food issues," you are probably well aware that there are these things we call "triggers" out there that can lead you to overeat, undereat, binge, purge, restrict, overexercise, or what have you, depending on your particular "preferred" behaviors. For me, I know things are not going to go well if I am going to some sort of social function. When I go to any kind of get-together, ED comes along, dressed to the nines, putting on his charming face, and he will not leave me alone.

"Oh, look, M&Ms. You LOVE those! Why don't you have some? You have been being so goooood."

"Those Hershey's kisses are special! They aren't just the regular old foil ones. Have some! You deserve them."

"Now, someone went to the trouble of making that cake. You can't just refuse a piece. That would be rude, and I know you don't like to make waves. You better have just a little slice."

"And make sure you clear your plate! You don't want to seem ungrateful...wait, is that kettle corn? When is the last time you let yourself have some of that? Better take the opportunity while you have it!"

Needless to say, my night last night did not go well.

I came home, feeling stuffed and bloated. I had heartburn (I still have heartburn). I was weighted down with shame. And I am determined to have a better day today.

Unfortunately, the only "better" that I can come up with at the moment is a day of extreme restriction. Water and carrot sticks and maybe a yogurt. Not a health balance...but what do I know about balance? All or nothing...that is my game.

I think that is why ED likes to spend so much time here with me. He has no trouble knocking me off balance, and which direction I go in each day is totally up to him.

My Story...so far

I am an adult living with an eating disorder. And there are a lot of us out there. Some of us might not call it an eating disorder…I did not for a LONG time. We might just think that we emotionally eat or need a diet or have weird food “stuff” or LOVE to exercise or any other number of things that keep us from facing the truth. We are not in control of our lives. The shadow lurking in the corner that I call ED is instead.

I first remember being on a diet when I was in middle school. Actually, I would say it was more like I was “on a diet.” My mom was always on a diet, it seemed, and there was a definite focus on weight in my family. However, I say that I was “on a diet” because I have memories at this point in my life of some very definite binge eating behaviors. I remember coming home from school and making big plates of nachos and scarfing them down, eating chips by the bagful, sharing cookie dough with my mom as we watched soap operas, and inhaling food in the cafeteria (especially on days when we had something called “potato bar,” which was really an opportunity to make an entire lunch out of potato skins, French fries, and tater tots). However, I also remember having for dinner meals that came from a Weight Watchers cookbook as my family set out once again on this road to weight loss. I didn’t recognize until just recently how this can lay the foundation for an unhealthy relationship with food.

I have also always been an internalizer. When I was angry with someone, I waited for the feelings to go away. When I was sad, I kept it to myself. When I was happy, I tried not to be too happy because I didn’t want to invite something bad to happen. However, all this was information I was aware of on the periphery. Day to day, I thought things were “okay.” It took a major life change to see that there might be some room for improvement.

I have always been someone who lost herself in relationships. You like football? I like football too. Baseball? Okay. You want to watch that show? I love it too. You want to have dinner with your family every Sunday? Okay…my family can wait. And eventually, this led me right down the aisle on my wedding day. What was once a good relationship probably could not be considered one anymore, but I married him anyway. And then, about six years later, when one of my “nonnegotiables” happened, I dragged my feet for a few months, started seeing a therapist (this was key to my story), and eventually got divorced. I moved back to the town I grew up in with my dog and with very little self-respect and no sense of self-worth. I just didn’t really understand that yet.

Soon after I met my therapist, she mentioned to me that she was an eating disorders specialist. My first thought was, “So?” I had no concept that my weird relationship with food was an eating disorder. After all, I wasn’t skinny. I didn’t throw up everything. I definitely didn’t starve myself. I just ate too much because I didn’t have enough willpower to stick to a diet. If I found a diet I could stick to, I could lose weight, and it would no longer be an issue. In the last two or three years of my marriage, I was being really “good” with my diet and had successfully lost a lot of weight. Sure, I was eating a lot again, but I was stressed. Once my divorce was over, I would just go back on the diet.

Spoiler alert: That’s not really how things unfolded.