The Ironman was held here in South Lake Tahoe last weekend. An Ironman consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride, followed by a 26.2 mile run. It snowed at upper elevations the night before the competition and, the morning of, the water temperature was twice as warm as the outside air. There are photos of the athletes in the transition area: they are barefoot, in speedos, on a frozen ground while volunteers, decked out in snowsuits, help them into their cycling gear. There's a photo of one of them slipping on the frozen ground. It actually takes your breath away imagining how cold these athletes were at the time of the competition. I've heard that women competitors sat in the transition area, shivering, for up to 45 minutes before getting on their bicycles to continue on with the competition.
In conversation about this particular Ironman last weekend, one of my customers mentioned she believed that to do these kinds of distances, in this kind of weather, is a "desecration of the human body." We bantered for a while, asking, "What were they trying to prove?" "Who were they trying to impress?" "What is the point?" "You are hurting your body at these extremes." A desecration. That word really struck me. For days leading up to the event I kept thinking about how brave the athletes were: to get into that cold water, to get out into freezing air and have a wind chill on a wet body for over 100 miles. Not to mention the extremes of the distances. These people were my heroes. I've always wanted to do an Ironman. A desecration. I'm not surprised, when I think about it, that those who hurt themselves, and push their bodies to these limits, are my heroes. Those who desecrate their bodies, for some twisted reason, are my heroes. The experience couldn't have been fun. It couldn't have been good for a body. A desecration. Why do we idolize those who desecrate their bodies? Why do we insist on putting our bodies through the wringer? We deprive our bodies, of food, of sleep and rest. We push ourselves to unhealthy limits: running through painful tendinitis, going to the gym when we are sick. We use unhealthy methods to process emotions: drinking, overeating, over exercising. What are we trying to prove?
This reminds me of the letters I've written from my mind to my body and my body to my mind. In general, my mind is always angry at my body for having needs and never being able to keep up. My mind is a dictator and my body is constantly being punished. My body desperately wants my mind to listen to and take care of simple needs, to not push it so hard, and accept it for what it is naturally.
I can relate to people who desecrate their bodies. We use our bodies to prove something to the world. We use our bodies to express emotions we do not know how to articulate. We use our bodies to get attention. We see our body as a project, something to improve, instead of an ally, a temple, something to be worshiped.
How have you desecrated your body? How have you worshiped it? I am working on forgiving myself for all the pain I've inflicted on my undeserving body, working on seeing my body as a temple. This starts with looking at the reasons I desire to desecrate. Why I desire to escape. Why I desire attention. What do I really need and why do I think changing my body or expressing using my body will get it for me? This is where the work starts. Working on worshiping.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Perfectionism and the first day of school
I am a straight A student. I feel like I always have to have the answer. I feel like I have to know everything. I am embarrassed if I am not the smartest. I have perfect attendance. I do more than my fair share of homework and turn it in on time. This is the perfectionist in me. This is how I operate as a student. Perfectly.
In the past the first day of school is full of anxiety. What if I'm not the smartest? What if I don't have the answers? What if my pen runs out of ink? What if I'm late? What if I go to the wrong class? What if I don't already know everything? I walk fast to class. I'm an hour early (seriously). I check, double check, triple check my schedule to make sure I'm in the right place. I check, double check, triple check to make sure my phone is off. I sit with my clean, fresh notebook, waiting to take perfect Cornell notes. I don't talk to anyone, what if they interfere with my learning experience? I want to make a perfect first impression on the teacher. I sit there, waiting, "I'm perfect," I think, tapping my foot anxiously on the floor. I rearrange my desk so all the corners of papers are flush against each other, my sunglasses and water bottle are perfectly spaced, and I am ready. First one to class, I answer questions when no one else does, the pressure is on. I am the best.
I haven't been a student in years. Today as I walked to my first class it was clear to me that I've been working on self-acceptance, letting go of perfectionism, and embracing myself in the moment. As I walked to class, I noticed that I was not the fastest walker on campus. I was walking at a leisurely pace. I was in no rush to get to class, no rush to be the first one there, in no rush to prove that I'm perfect. "You have plenty of time. You will be on time. Do not worry. Everything is fine. Just because someone is walking faster than you does not make them a better student."
I noticed it in the way I grinned and took a deep breath as I walked through the doors into the main building. I didn't know anyone. I didn't view everyone as competition. I saw everyone as an ally, everyone as a potential friend. It was empowering to feel everyone's energy and knowledge and embrace that I benefit greatly from collaboration, from connection. Perfectionism always had me shutting people out.
I noticed it in the way I introduced myself to people as they walked into class. I noticed it in the way I didn't care about introducing myself to the class, making a perfect impression. I am who I am. I am knowledgeable, studious, excitable, and in school to learn. I do not know everything, I am not perfect, but I'm excited to be me and be a student again.
In the past the first day of school is full of anxiety. What if I'm not the smartest? What if I don't have the answers? What if my pen runs out of ink? What if I'm late? What if I go to the wrong class? What if I don't already know everything? I walk fast to class. I'm an hour early (seriously). I check, double check, triple check my schedule to make sure I'm in the right place. I check, double check, triple check to make sure my phone is off. I sit with my clean, fresh notebook, waiting to take perfect Cornell notes. I don't talk to anyone, what if they interfere with my learning experience? I want to make a perfect first impression on the teacher. I sit there, waiting, "I'm perfect," I think, tapping my foot anxiously on the floor. I rearrange my desk so all the corners of papers are flush against each other, my sunglasses and water bottle are perfectly spaced, and I am ready. First one to class, I answer questions when no one else does, the pressure is on. I am the best.
I haven't been a student in years. Today as I walked to my first class it was clear to me that I've been working on self-acceptance, letting go of perfectionism, and embracing myself in the moment. As I walked to class, I noticed that I was not the fastest walker on campus. I was walking at a leisurely pace. I was in no rush to get to class, no rush to be the first one there, in no rush to prove that I'm perfect. "You have plenty of time. You will be on time. Do not worry. Everything is fine. Just because someone is walking faster than you does not make them a better student."
I noticed it in the way I grinned and took a deep breath as I walked through the doors into the main building. I didn't know anyone. I didn't view everyone as competition. I saw everyone as an ally, everyone as a potential friend. It was empowering to feel everyone's energy and knowledge and embrace that I benefit greatly from collaboration, from connection. Perfectionism always had me shutting people out.
I noticed it in the way I introduced myself to people as they walked into class. I noticed it in the way I didn't care about introducing myself to the class, making a perfect impression. I am who I am. I am knowledgeable, studious, excitable, and in school to learn. I do not know everything, I am not perfect, but I'm excited to be me and be a student again.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Power and competency
One of the reasons an eating disorder is so appealing is because it makes the affected individual feel unique, it gives them something that belongs to them and no one else. It's yours.
My eating disorder was my baby. It was my best friend. It knew me better than anyone, and I knew it- inside and out. My eating disorder made me feel powerful, competent, and in control. Little did I know, at the time, the behaviors are an illusion of control. The behaviors are an illusion of power. I am wildly out of control while the beast in my head is controlling everything.
At this point in my recovery, I'm actively trying to engage in activities that I know make me feel competent and powerful.
Power is the ability to do something of quality. Competence is the ability to do something successfully. My eating disorder, in many ways, made me feel both of these. Lately I've been noticing other experiences in my life that make me feel powerful and competent. They include:
Knitting!
Knitting has a calming effect on me. I can follow a pattern (which makes me feel competent), I figure out new stitches (which makes me feel powerful), I finish hats, gloves, scarves, cozies quickly (that makes me feel accomplished), and I give these knit items to people who I love (which connects me with others).
Mountain biking!
I ride the same trails frequently enough that I can feel my skills improving as the season goes on. Who knew riding bikes over rocks would be so fun and so empowering? I see a field of rocks or roots ahead of me, and have confidence in myself that I can roll my bike right through it. When I am still on top of my bike, after cruising through the rock garden, I am overwhelmed with pride and a sense of accomplishment. When I am out on the trails, I say "hi" to other riders, I am polite to hikers, often stopping to have conversations with them. This connects me with people and I always leave these conversations smiling, hoping the other outdoor enthusiast is smiling as well. This gives me the sense of connection that the eating disorder tried to take away. I set tangible goals while riding my bike. "I'm going to try to ride that one rock garden I've never ridden before." I accomplish them, and it feels so good. I feel powerful, competent. Real.
Tap dancing!
Tapping takes a ton of focus. It takes so much focus, I can't think of anything else while tap dancing. This is the kind of escape the eating disorder used to give me, yet tap dancing is a real, healthy behavior. A way to go into my escape zone, without turning to self-destruction. Here's the part that's intriguing to me: Tap dancing was always something my sister was the best at. It was my sister's. Soccer was my sister's, dance classes were my sister's. Growing up I felt like I didn't have anything I excelled at that I could call my own. Enter an eating disorder. Taking a tap dancing class, realizing, and saying out loud, "I'm really good at tap dancing," has been really hard for me because I feel like I'm entering back into sibling-rivalry-land. I calm myself, reassure myself, and remind myself that I can excel at something without having to compete with my sister. I can allow myself to be good at tap dancing. I can reclaim dancing as something that is mine. Every time I claim something as part of my identity, the eating disorder becomes less and less of my identity. I no longer rely on it for my identity. I learn a new step, add to an old step, make progress, feel my body execute the dance step, and feel a sense of power and accomplishment.
These are things that I can be proud of. This pride is more than I ever felt standing a scale as numbers dropped. Because this is real.Holding something I knit, made myself, is real. Rolling my bike over challenging obstacles is real. Hearing my feet execute a new dance step is real. In the last few months I've realized how important it is that I surround and keep myself busy with activities that give me a sense of power, pride, accomplishment, and competence.
My eating disorder was my baby. It was my best friend. It knew me better than anyone, and I knew it- inside and out. My eating disorder made me feel powerful, competent, and in control. Little did I know, at the time, the behaviors are an illusion of control. The behaviors are an illusion of power. I am wildly out of control while the beast in my head is controlling everything.
At this point in my recovery, I'm actively trying to engage in activities that I know make me feel competent and powerful.
Power is the ability to do something of quality. Competence is the ability to do something successfully. My eating disorder, in many ways, made me feel both of these. Lately I've been noticing other experiences in my life that make me feel powerful and competent. They include:
Knitting!
Knitting has a calming effect on me. I can follow a pattern (which makes me feel competent), I figure out new stitches (which makes me feel powerful), I finish hats, gloves, scarves, cozies quickly (that makes me feel accomplished), and I give these knit items to people who I love (which connects me with others).
Mountain biking!
I ride the same trails frequently enough that I can feel my skills improving as the season goes on. Who knew riding bikes over rocks would be so fun and so empowering? I see a field of rocks or roots ahead of me, and have confidence in myself that I can roll my bike right through it. When I am still on top of my bike, after cruising through the rock garden, I am overwhelmed with pride and a sense of accomplishment. When I am out on the trails, I say "hi" to other riders, I am polite to hikers, often stopping to have conversations with them. This connects me with people and I always leave these conversations smiling, hoping the other outdoor enthusiast is smiling as well. This gives me the sense of connection that the eating disorder tried to take away. I set tangible goals while riding my bike. "I'm going to try to ride that one rock garden I've never ridden before." I accomplish them, and it feels so good. I feel powerful, competent. Real.
Tap dancing!
Tapping takes a ton of focus. It takes so much focus, I can't think of anything else while tap dancing. This is the kind of escape the eating disorder used to give me, yet tap dancing is a real, healthy behavior. A way to go into my escape zone, without turning to self-destruction. Here's the part that's intriguing to me: Tap dancing was always something my sister was the best at. It was my sister's. Soccer was my sister's, dance classes were my sister's. Growing up I felt like I didn't have anything I excelled at that I could call my own. Enter an eating disorder. Taking a tap dancing class, realizing, and saying out loud, "I'm really good at tap dancing," has been really hard for me because I feel like I'm entering back into sibling-rivalry-land. I calm myself, reassure myself, and remind myself that I can excel at something without having to compete with my sister. I can allow myself to be good at tap dancing. I can reclaim dancing as something that is mine. Every time I claim something as part of my identity, the eating disorder becomes less and less of my identity. I no longer rely on it for my identity. I learn a new step, add to an old step, make progress, feel my body execute the dance step, and feel a sense of power and accomplishment.
These are things that I can be proud of. This pride is more than I ever felt standing a scale as numbers dropped. Because this is real.Holding something I knit, made myself, is real. Rolling my bike over challenging obstacles is real. Hearing my feet execute a new dance step is real. In the last few months I've realized how important it is that I surround and keep myself busy with activities that give me a sense of power, pride, accomplishment, and competence.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Embracing Boredom
A terrifying emotion for me is boredom. If I feel like I could become bored, or am worried about being bored, I get really anxious. Boredom, to me, means I'm not bettering myself or accomplishing things. I'm not out bettering the world. Boredom means I'm not busy perfecting myself. Boredom makes me feel worthless. As though I'm not contributing to the world.
As I know, negative emotions, including feeling worthless or imperfect lead me to engage in eating disordered behaviors. I've come up with many ways of covering up my boredom; disguising it, masking it, hiding it, swallowing it. I tell myself, "I'm not bored...Only boring people get bored." But I really want to tear my hair out, because I am so anxious, because if I'm not busy doing something, I feel worthless. Augh!
In my spare time, to keep myself from getting bored, I play. My playtime, for me, is time spent outdoors moving. It usually includes riding bikes, running, or skiing. I had to stop calling it exercise, because exercise sounds like a chore. Playtime is more of a privilege, something I engage in when I have energy and want to feel how that energy manifests itself while moving through the world. I love getting outdoors and breathing fresh air, running through the wilderness like a wild animal.
Due to the Rim Fire in Yosemite the smoke is so thick in the Lake Tahoe Basin, AIRnow.gov is rating the air quality "unhealthy for everyone." Not just "unhealthy for sensitive groups," it's "unhealthy for EVERYONE." The smoke has filled the basin for almost two weeks now, keeping us indoors, keeping us from our normal playtime patterns. And, you guessed it, I'M BORED.
I've read, knit, worked on training my dog, and I have terrible cabin fever. I'm working on processing boredom and everything that comes along with it.
First, I admit that I'm bored. It doesn't make me worthless. It doesn't make me imperfect. I have to keep telling myself to take each day (and each minute of each day) as it comes and I don't need to keep myself busy with exercise. I need to embrace the action of sitting, "doing nothing". I have to be okay with sitting still, reading a book, watching a movie, not going outside to exercise.
Second, I have to keep eating healthily even without my playtime. I use exercise to justify my eating habits. I still do this even after years in recovery; I base how much I eat on how much exercise I get. And right now, we can't go outside and play because it is "unhealthy for everyone," so I have to work on letting go of the notion that I can only eat if I'm exercising.
Gyms don't provide playtime, they provide exercise, and I find them triggering for me, so I haven't gone to a gym to get my wiggles out. I feel like I'm going crazy.
My goal for today is to finish this blog post and embrace my boredom. I will not let it rule me. I will not let my boredom shame me. I will not let my boredom make me feel guilty for existing. I will patiently wait for the skies to clear. I will watch movies and knit. I will appreciate the day off from work. I will journal. I will not frantically try to fill my time with cleaning. I will try not to label myself as bored, but rather enjoying a nice, relaxing day off from work. I will tell myself that I deserve to sit and think.
I deserve to take a few minutes of stillness.
As I know, negative emotions, including feeling worthless or imperfect lead me to engage in eating disordered behaviors. I've come up with many ways of covering up my boredom; disguising it, masking it, hiding it, swallowing it. I tell myself, "I'm not bored...Only boring people get bored." But I really want to tear my hair out, because I am so anxious, because if I'm not busy doing something, I feel worthless. Augh!
In my spare time, to keep myself from getting bored, I play. My playtime, for me, is time spent outdoors moving. It usually includes riding bikes, running, or skiing. I had to stop calling it exercise, because exercise sounds like a chore. Playtime is more of a privilege, something I engage in when I have energy and want to feel how that energy manifests itself while moving through the world. I love getting outdoors and breathing fresh air, running through the wilderness like a wild animal.
Due to the Rim Fire in Yosemite the smoke is so thick in the Lake Tahoe Basin, AIRnow.gov is rating the air quality "unhealthy for everyone." Not just "unhealthy for sensitive groups," it's "unhealthy for EVERYONE." The smoke has filled the basin for almost two weeks now, keeping us indoors, keeping us from our normal playtime patterns. And, you guessed it, I'M BORED.
I've read, knit, worked on training my dog, and I have terrible cabin fever. I'm working on processing boredom and everything that comes along with it.
First, I admit that I'm bored. It doesn't make me worthless. It doesn't make me imperfect. I have to keep telling myself to take each day (and each minute of each day) as it comes and I don't need to keep myself busy with exercise. I need to embrace the action of sitting, "doing nothing". I have to be okay with sitting still, reading a book, watching a movie, not going outside to exercise.
Second, I have to keep eating healthily even without my playtime. I use exercise to justify my eating habits. I still do this even after years in recovery; I base how much I eat on how much exercise I get. And right now, we can't go outside and play because it is "unhealthy for everyone," so I have to work on letting go of the notion that I can only eat if I'm exercising.
Gyms don't provide playtime, they provide exercise, and I find them triggering for me, so I haven't gone to a gym to get my wiggles out. I feel like I'm going crazy.
My goal for today is to finish this blog post and embrace my boredom. I will not let it rule me. I will not let my boredom shame me. I will not let my boredom make me feel guilty for existing. I will patiently wait for the skies to clear. I will watch movies and knit. I will appreciate the day off from work. I will journal. I will not frantically try to fill my time with cleaning. I will try not to label myself as bored, but rather enjoying a nice, relaxing day off from work. I will tell myself that I deserve to sit and think.
I deserve to take a few minutes of stillness.
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