Unless you have one, you will never understand

What an honor to present at UNR yesterday. We introduced our selves to the first year med students and left the entire time for questions. And the room lit up. Hands up everywhere.

I don't even remember what they asked. I just remember the sound of my powerful voice resonating off the walls of the auditorium, all 70 pairs of eyes glued to me, captivated, learning, soaking in every word.

Everything was important. Every word was a lesson, it mattered. We are saving lives, these people want to save lives and we were their key, their source of valuable, first hand experience.

The questions were all over the map. From "How did interacting with others with eating disorders effect you?" to "Did your family play any part in your eating disorder?" to "Were you coerced into treatment or did you go on your own? And how did it effect the outcome of your recovery?"

Wow. I was shocked at the variety and intelligence and, most of all, the curiosity of the questions. These students gave me hope. A hope that I had given up long ago. I gave up hope for the medical community having any sensitivity toward eating disorders. I gave it up long ago. After having to constantly fight with nurses about not being weighed, after fighting for increases in anti-depressants, and after having doctors walk on eggs shells around me about my eating habits (knowing I have an ed) just to hear them end up saying, "Well you look good," brought me to the conclusion that around the medical field, I need to have my armor on. Ready to fight. Fight for my recovery. There's no education. No sensitivity.

My experience at UNR yesterday proved me wrong. The students had been properly educated and were curious about being sensitive as to not trigger one with an eating disorder. Most importantly for me, and what was so moving, so beautiful, they genuinely cared about individuals with eds.

This is a double edged sword. Eating disorders have become so prevalent, that people are starting to realize that this is a huge problem; however, those of us involved with the field are doing enough outreach, that we have breached the medical profession. We're in and we're educating. Properly. It's no longer just about the textbook saying anorexics are afraid to eat, bulimics binge and purge. We are able to spread the word that it has nothing to do with food. It is about something deep, some deep emotional unresolved issue being resolved through behaviors with food.

The med students seemed to understand this unlike any doctor I've ever come in contact with. I was impressed with them and overwhelmed with their gratitude toward us. I am still processing how insightful and complete their questions were.

They came down after the presentation to shake our hands, ask us more questions, and thank us for being presenting so candidly.

One student asked me the toughest question of all. And I feel as though I could have given him a better answer, but, in a way, my answer was perfect.

He approached me and in the sweetest possible way, he inquired, "I just want someone to explain to me what it's like to have an eating disorder. Because the behaviors don't make any sense. And if I just understood why someone was behaving this way I wouldn't accidentally trigger a patient. I would be able to help more."

I wanted to cry. Because he was so pure in his intentions and almost desperate to help. He reminded me of my mother when she was trying to get me into treatment.

I shook my head and all I really could say was, "Eating disorders are illogical, I can't explain what it feels like. Unless you have one, you will never understand what it's like."

I've said this before, to parents. Your job is not to understand, or make sense of the behaviors, because you never will. Your job is to be unconditionally supportive and loving.

Thank you UNR for letting me share and help educate. I look forward to future outreach.

My First Time- Superbowl XXXVII

I hate the Superbowl. The Superbowl doesn't include friends and drinking and cheering and laughing at commercials for me. 

Every year it rolls around and I'm reminded of my first time. Our lives are full of "firsts". Most are beautiful, exciting, thrilling, and we look back on these memories fondly. If I could take myself back to Superbowl XXXVII, I'd hold my 14 year old self's hand, look her in the eye, and tell her that this journey she is about to embark on will wreak havoc on her body, tear her down for the next decade, and teach her more about herself than most people get to learn in a lifetime. 

I hate the Superbowl. I wish I could have been there to hold her hand as she dragged herself down the hall to her room. And I wish I could have been there to hold back her hair as she painfully, silently, forced herself to throw up into that little purple garbage can. I wish I could have been there to calmly tell her that she needn't spend the next ten years with her head in a toilet. 

I wish I could hold every 14 year old's hand, boys and girls, and tell them it's ok to be loud. Tell them they are not too big, society just cannot handle their big spirits and all of their energy. I wish I could express to the world to stop trying to smother yourselves and stop trying to fit. 

I hate the Superbowl, because every year I'm reminded of my addiction, and the first time I experimented with trying to fit.

And every year it gets further away. And every year I still can't believe this is something that I still struggle with. Thirteen years later. 

I've had many other firsts, and lasts, since then. But none as prominent as my first purge. My life seems to have been numbed by my eating disorder, since, for years, nothing else mattered. 

Every year the Superbowl comes around and I remember a time in my life when it seemed there was no other choice but to go to extremes, to harm, to hurt, to bend, to break. 

Looking through the rest of my life, oddly enough, the only other anniversary date that stands out to me is June 22, 2009. This is the last day I ever weighed myself. And a few months later, I smashed my scale. Something that meant the world to me, something that harmed me and broke me. I broke it right back. I took back my power from the scale. Every day that passes is a day that I hold the power, taking it back from the scale.

I can look back on this time in my life with regret, and wish I had done something differently. But, more productively, every Superbowl that passes is an anniversary that I can take my power back and know that I never have to live that way again.

I can hate the Superbowl, because of what it represents for me. But I can be proud of all I've learned, and how far I've come. And how far I plan to go.