9 Easy Steps to Start Journaling and HAVE IT MAKE A DIFFERENCE

"I'm so bad about journaling" I hear it as often as I hear, "Sorry, I'm really bad with names." 

My immediate response is, "you cannot be 'bad about journaling'. Journaling is not something you are good or bad about, it is an act of self-care that can become an irreplaceable part of your mental health, and healing, journey. 

For me, journaling has become my way to not only sort out my thoughts, but have it guide me along my healing journey. It is my way to define my emotions and witness them outside of the whirlwind in my head. The times when I am writing are moments (many moments, many times a day) that I claim for myself and my mental health, because I know I will feel even a little bit more grounded, a little more level, a bit more calm when I put down my pen. 

I go to my journal when I am feeling the positive, "good" feelings. I record my experiences, and as my pen colors the page, my emotions are solidified in words, letters, reality, definition. 

I go to my journal when I am feeling the emotions that are threatening to bring me to my knees and never get off of the floor again. I pick up my pen and watch my internal life take on an external shape- one that is more manageable outside of my head. 

I find myself defining and validating my emotions through my writing. My emotions, my internal life is real, I give it shape when I write it down. I go to my journal as a support system, a place to sketch, a place to sort it all out. It is a self perpetuating cycle, the more I write, the more I find that I need it to keep my head straight, to keep myself grounded. 

I don't remember what life was like before journaling. Every thought I have, swirling in my mind, causing anxiety and overwhelm. Often, after journaling, I find that whatever I was worked-up about, upset about, is not as daunting and oppressive as I was making it out to be. It gives me a chance to see the emotions as big as they are, feel them, articulate them, and write down the story that is causing the emotion. Once the story is written down, on paper, I am able to see a bigger picture and allow myself to move on from the story that I was telling myself about this emotion. Instead of ruminating, I can move on, because I wrote the story. It's done.

If you that want to journal, or think you might benefit from journaling (which I think is everyone), I've put together some tips to help get you started. 

1) REMEMBER THAT NO ONE IS GOING TO READ YOUR JOURNAL- possibly not even you.

I never re-read my journals. I have stacks of them, but I have never re-read them. I'm sure there is some benefit to re-reading and witnessing my growth over the years BUT the point I'm making right now is that when journaling, it is important to remind yourself that no one is going to read it. It doesn't have to be logical, it doesn't have to make sense, it can be out of order, and not proofread. NO ONE IS GOING TO READ IT, it is not about re-reading, or creating a work of literature, it is about writing to sort through thoughts in the moment.

2) HAVE JOURNALS EVERYWHERE

I have journals in my bedroom, my living room, my kitchen, my car, my backpack. This may seem like overkill, but many people think they are "bad about journaling" because they don't dedicate a certain amount of time to it each day. Journaling doesn't have to be about a rigid schedule of writing for 15 minutes every night before bed or every morning before work. That kind of schedule doesn't work for everyone. It doesn't allow for emotions & thoughts as they surface. The rigidity of a schedule doesn't allow for a free flow process, so when we sit down to write- boom, we have writers block. Some of my journals have scrap paper stuffed in them from times when I couldn't reach a journal. I call these, "scrap paper thoughts".

Remember that journaling doesn't have to be an ordeal. Having pens and paper (journals, notebooks) everywhere, easily accessible, lends itself to the freedom of processing in the moment. Allowing ourselves to write down our emotions in the moment is what it is all about; whether it's a random happy thought or a story that we keep telling ourselves that is keeping us stuck in the emotion, we get it out on paper to either reference later, or move on.   

3) WRITE AN OBSERVATION

If you're having trouble getting started, write an observation- that sign is yellow, my feet are cold, I am hungry, I love the smell of this candle.

To me, it's similar to when someone asks us casually, "How are you?" Our response is usually a casually delivered, "good". And that's as far as the conversation goes. But if someone asked, "What's going on with you today?" And you responded with "I love the smell of this candle," it might lend itself to further conversation- maybe the candle smells like your grandma's house when you were a kid. Maybe then you have a story to tell about going to Grandma's. Maybe something happened today that reminded you of those stories or those smells.  And the writing, the journaling, can continue from there. 

If your journal were to ask you, "How are you?" And you respond honestly, this is where we begin to glean the benefits of journaling. 

My journals are a chaotic splatter-paint of observations, including, "There's a raven on that telephone pole." "I hear the wind in the trees." And once I've engaged, and dropped all judgement of my words, the writing takes on a life of it's own.

4) "RIGHT NOW..."

Start a sentence with, "Right now, I'm feeling _____. " The importance of it being right now, acknowledges that the feelings are not permanent and allows your brain to accept that you will not feel this way forever. This is extremely important when we are digging into deep, scary, big emotions. We can allow ourselves to go deep, to go dark, knowing that this is how I feel right now, and I will not feel this way forever. By writing, "Right now..." it gives us room to explore the emotion through our writing, our words, with the reassurance that they emotion will not last forever.

5) EMBRACE CHAOS

Write out of order, jump from topic to topic, do not worry about proof reading or it making any sense. Remember Step #1: no one is reading this, possibly not even you, so embrace chaos. The point is not to make sense or be presentable, but the process of writing itself. And the healing that inevitably follows. 

If the chaos and the lack of structure is difficult for you, try separating thoughts with a page break- drawing a line between each 'section'. Leave yourself enough space to go back and add to this section if you desire. Sometimes my thoughts and 'sections' are pages long, sometimes they are one or two sentences. Frequently I have writing in the tabs, arrows, sideways lettering. It looks like a thought pattern, like the inside of my brain. Embrace the chaos. 

6) GET CURIOUS

Frequently in my journaling, I write an emotion and then dig deep into why I feel this way. It could be linked to my history, the current situation, my attachment type, or simply my personality. But whenever I am feeling a strong emotion, I get curious and document my deep dive and my curiosity. Sometimes I even write out, "Why do I feel ______ right now?" Dig deep in your journaling, practice asking yourself questions. This takes time and repetition, but it is worth it. After awhile, it translates from journaling and from the paper into everyday life. Because we've trained ourselves on paper to be curious about our emotions, they no longer rule us in high stakes situations. Instead of reacting, we get curious.

7) SKETCH

If you can't think the word or can't articulate the feeling, try sketching- even stick figures, emojis, question marks, swirlies, maybe a tree. Again it's about the process of the emotion leaving your brain through your pen and onto the paper. Sometimes, just getting started with a little nonsense ink on the page can break up a writers block. 

A few years ago, I was so upset with someone, so mad, that all I could do was draw a thick, hard line down the middle of the page. I had pressed so hard that it ripped through a few pages. It helped me see my anger and frustration, and gave me a few pages that I could dedicate to exploring my anger. 

8) WRITE OUT SOUNDS

Imagine that you have no words to communicate with and all you can write is, "AUGHHHHHHHH!!"

Do it. Write out the sounds, the curses, the guttural groans. Here are some examples: 

"FUUUCCCKKK" 

"GAH!" 

"GRRRR!!" 

Start with that and see if it leads to words, and if not, that's fine too.

9) LET GO  

Journaling is about the process, not the product. Journaling is about getting in touch with your inner life, your thoughts, your experiences, defining them, and then letting them inform your healing journey. Let go of judgment. Let go of the notion, "I shouldn't feel this way." Your feelings are facts, document them. Use words to articulate your inner experience, it is your experience, no one else's. Allow journaling to open the communication line to your emotional self. Remember, your feelings are valid and real. Exploring them is a crucial piece of a healing journey.

If you are new to journaling, I hope this helps. Feel free to take whatever helps and disregard what doesn't seem like it applies to you. Start by having paper and pens (whether it's an official journal or not) and just begin writing. Let me know how it goes in the comments below and keep healing.

Welcome Back! and "No, I won't stop talking about eating disorders."

If you're reading this with regularity, you're probably noticing that there is a huge, multiple year gap in my blog posts. A few years ago, I took a break to solidify my recovery and "practice what I preach". I didn't think I was reaching the audience and I didn't feel as if I had a strong enough message.

All of that has changed. I am solid in my recovery. I have worked hard for it. I am solid in my message. I know my struggles, my triggers, and my successes. And I can articulate them in a way that my audience needs to hear.

I finally published my book, "To Date, like Normal" (available here). This is a book about recovery. About the gruesome journey of eating disorder recovery. My impetus to share my journey is to shed light on the very dark aspects of recovery. 

While in my initial years of recovery, I found the happy-go-lucky, optimistic, ever-positive point of view to be extremely toxic and lacking in reality. I didn't trust anyone who was optimistic when talking about eating disorder recovery. I didn't trust them because I didn't feel as though anyone knew how gruesome and painful this recovery was. "How could anyone who has been through this possibly have such an optimistic outlook?" And, while my viewpoint has changed and I am optimistic, my message is still very grounded in the reality that recovering from an eating disorder is a horrific, gruesome battle. It is physically and mentally painful. And we need to talk about it.

There is a time and a place for the words of encouragement and the endless, "you can do it!" "Recovery is possible!" "I'm so much better without my eating disorder!" "Look at my life now!" All quotations under photos of people smiling and looking perfectly happy. This is extremely important, because there is hope and we need encouragement.

But I like to talk to people about how brutal the battle is. I like to acknowledge the struggle, the hopelessness. Not to be triggering, but to be real. Many times through my recovery journey I felt isolated because I was not perfectly optimistic. Many times I had no hope and got furious with those who were "recovered" telling me to "have hope" and "don't give up".  I skimmed over those messages and stashed them for later. They were there, there was hope. It was hope for other people's recovery, not my own.

And I do have hope. I think everyone else should to. I live an incredible life now, post eating disorder. But I also want to give space to those who are struggling and feeling disgusting and acknowledge the reality of the mental health battle. That recovery is not refreshing spring rain and rainbows. It is a violent tempest that you don't feel you will escape from. We talk about the eating disorder itself and we talk about what life is like on the other side, but I want to be opening up conversations about the recovery process itself. Public conversations.

When I mention in conversation that I've written a book about my eating disorder, most people's response is that they either struggle themselves or know someone close to them who is struggling. And then, we talk about eating disorders. We talk about it openly. I talk about my struggle openly, without shame. Because every time I talk about it, without guilt, without shame, it gives others permission to do the same. It takes away someone else's shame about their own mental health struggles and empowers them to continue on their own path to recovery.

Over the past 10 years, I have spoken on television, at symposiums alongside best selling authors, in small group therapy sessions, at treatment facilities, at universities, and at NEDA Walks. I have spoken to parents, partners, and families. I've talked to support systems, medical students, and those who are struggling to stay in recovery.

I will not stop talking about eating disorders. I will not stop talking about mental health and the importance of talking about it. The more we talk, the more we reduce the shame and the stigma surrounding these internal wars we fight in silence. In my lifetime, I hope we talk about these things enough so that the next generation removes the stigma. And the generation after that can eliminate eating disorders all together. 

Recovery through Artwork

I recently came across a box of momentos from treatment that I thought was lost forever. I have memories of certain pieces of artwork I had done, collages, watercolors, etc. that I recalled as being extremely helpful to my recovery. But I haven't been able to find them.

I remember presenting them to my treatment team in sessions and hearing feedback. Important feedback that helped me use these pieces of art to move to my next step in recovery. 

My creative mind, my artistic mind was extremely helpful in my recovery because it allowed me to explore my inner world without limitations or rules. I could write poetry about my eating disorder, I could see caricatures within my family system, I could visualize certain aspects of my own emotional life. I could get them onto paper, in color, for others to help me witness, and unpack, the chaos in my mind. 

I haven't been able to find certain pieces that I was sure I created. Pieces that were extremely helpful to me. I figured they has gotten lost along the way. 

This morning, I went to sort through a box I thought was old dishes to see what could go to Goodwill and found an art gallery from the time I was in treatment. I remember creating each piece, every single detail, how each piece helped me articulate struggles when words wouldn't work. Each piece uncovered the next step in my treatment process. 

I remember the prompts for each Creative Representation...

June 2009: Do a Creative Representation of your eating disorder

One of my therapists pointed out that she'd never seen anyone use a toilet in their representations before. But at this point in my treatment, I really missed throwing up. Purging was a huge piece of my eating disorder and I dearly missed the ability, the freedom, the perceived control that I used to get from purging. I missed watching my emotions, my guilt, my shame be flushed away in a single action. Watching everything swirl away, my dear escape. 

In this representation, the quotes swirling away were my stream of consciousness, the thoughts I always perceived I was flushing away... the reasons I purged:

"Am I perfect now?"

"Failure"

"Fat"

"Ugly"

"Shame"

"Weakness"

"Am I perfect now?"

All swirling away and masked by the letters that spelled out "ESCAPE". My time with my head in the toilet was my escape. This representation helped me discover why purging was so attractive to me. It forced me to look at the behavior and articulate why it was there. It was my escape. It was a distraction. These emotions and questions, "am I perfect now?" that haunted me every second of everyday could be flushed, could be gone for the 30 seconds I spent with my head in the toilet. 

This awareness of the function of purging in my eating disorder gave me a new power, another step in the direction of recovery. I could begin to process the emotions, instead of needing to flush them away.

Self Care is a Lifestyle

This weekend accidentally became an exercise in radical self-care and it all began Friday morning.

Actually, it began with the start of September and the smell of fall. I seem to always get nostalgic, I always get a bit sad. I'm usually exhausted from a summer full of activities. And the autumn hits me hard. I know this. It hits every single year. I know myself well enough that I know how deeply the changing of the seasons affects me. I'm accustomed to the onset of depression as the seasons turn. There are so many reasons for this, but to articulate just one would do a disservice to the entire experience itself. I get depressed in the Fall. For that matter, I get depressed in the Spring too. It's a shift in seasons that I brace myself for, and this past week was no different.

However, I digress...

My weekend of self care officially began Friday morning, when the AQI in my rural mountain town, affected by wildfire smoke exceeded 250 ppm. This means the air is "Very Unhealthy" and beginning to be "Hazardous". I work outside as a landscaper during the summer and proclaimed a few months ago that my personal threshold for working outside in wildfire smoke would be 250ppm. 

I gathered my courage Friday morning as I rallied myself to call my foreman, and our business owner, to inform them I would not be coming in with the AQI so high and the air bordering on hazardous. The conversation was riddled with anger and guilt-trips from my higher ups. And among the guilt trips, my voice, loud and clear standing up for myself and maintaining my boundaries.

The truth is, I probably could have gone to work that day. I could have bundled my face up into an N95 or respirator and went about business as usual. But recently, I've made a vow to myself to re-parent, or parent, myself. Instead of just doing what is expected of me, I have begun asking myself, "What would you do if it was your child?" And I wouldn't have let my child go to work outside that day. No way. 

I could've made an exception, just this once. But then I could continue to make exceptions for the rest of the summer, the rest of a hazardous wildfire season. I made a promise to myself, my coworkers, and my supervisors that I would not be coming in to work if the AQI is above 250. And I stuck to it.

I felt lost on Friday. I was supposed to be at work, but I was choosing to take care of myself instead. I felt GUILTY. I felt guilty for taking care of myself and for letting my crew down. I felt guilty for allowing the hazardous air to bother me. I felt vulnerable and ashamed for not ignoring my needs.

But alongside the guilt, I continued to re-parent myself. I spend the day inside, cleaning, reading, relaxing. Occasionally I would look outside and the thick grey haze would remind me why I was indoors that day. The guilt began to dissipate. I stopped having to look outside to remind myself that it was hazardous to be out there. This thread of self-care began to weave itself through my entire being. 

Throughout the weekend, I have engaged in many more acts of self care that I have been procrastinating on or outright neglecting all summer. This neglect has left me burnt-out, exhausted, mentally fatigued, and creatively stalled.

I began asking myself many questions about self-care. Why do I feel guilty? Why am I making excuses for why I'm listening to my needs and taking care of them? Where is the line between self-care and self-indulgence?

There isn't a line. There isn't a line, because they are not the same thing. I feel like I live my life in a society where any pause, any stall, any minute that isn't filled with busy-ness is unacceptable. We live in a world where self care conjures an image of someone with a glass of champagne in a bubble bath, usually accepting that this is a very rare occasion. And that this is self care. 

The truth, I'm learning, is that self care is a lifestyle. A daily mindfulness, a commitment to listen to our needs and do our best to take care of them. Self care looks different for everyone. For me, I know what makes me feel good everyday and I do it. This means a delicious cup of coffee in the morning, a few minutes to play word games on my phone before work, a couple minutes a day of journaling, talking with my friends or significant other about my day and my emotional state, speaking up for myself in situations where I need to be my own advocate. Self-care is not a bubble bath, self-care is a lifestyle.

Back to the changing of the seasons... 

I've noticed my depression, lack of motivation, setting in in the past couple weeks and I can attribute it to the changing of the seasons. This weekend I committed to myself and my needs. I took time to do extensive journaling. I read an entire book. I painted my nails. I hung out with friends. I went to places and events I wanted to, and skipped a few because I didn't feel like going. I feel refreshed, recharged, aligned with myself, and inspired. 

Over the weekend, I felt self-indulgent at times, and instead of creating excuses for my perceived self-indulgence, I reminded myself that I do not require excuses. My lifestyle of self-care, of listening to my needs, of knowing what I need to feel good and maintain my sanity is not self indulgent. The habits that I've created for myself to feel joy and be present in my life are not self indulgent- they are a lifestyle.

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.  

I Have No Idea What I Want

At this time a year ago the statement coming out of my mouth was, "I need the New Year, because I cannot handle 2013 anymore." 

Well, I'm pleased to announce I've had an even rougher, tougher, meaner year, and yet I'm not echoing the same sentiment as last year. 

Yes, it's been a wild ride, a tough one, but I've only gotten stronger and more capable. I've only become more myself. And instead of trying to ditch the experiences of 2014, I'd like to take a moment, embrace them, and express my gratitude for everything that has happened in the last year.

Around the beginning of the year, I began a job in the hospitality industry. Everyday was taxing as I questioned humanity and it's capability to be kind. As my co-workers told me that I needed to "grow a thicker skin," I sank deeper into the stress of the job. I never took the rude comments personally. My self-esteem never took a hit due to the comments of hate from these rude vacationers. I began questioning how these people treated other people, not just me; their families, their wives, their children. I started wondering if a generation of children was being raised to treat people as poorly as these vacationers were treating the hospitality industry. I thought about humanity on a greater scale than just the present interaction, and it hurt my heart. I had just about reached my limit when another job opportunity, a perfect one for me, arose.

I applied, interviewed, and ultimately got hired to manage the Pearl Izumi store. This happens to be perfect for me, as I've worked for the company, on and off, for about seven years. 

I feel like I worked really hard this summer. I trained to manage, hired and trained two new employees, increased the marketing of the store, brought in new product, went to events, and didn't notice that my depression meds had started to wear off. I noticed I was fatigued. I thought it was because I was working so hard.

I went on a couple bike rides this summer. Something I can always count on to bring me joy. A few were amazing. I woke up early to spend time with some girlfriends, riding up Cold Creek at 6:30 in the morning before work. These morning rides made me feel powerful. Until they didn't. Until I couldn't get out of bed anymore. Until every ounce of energy I had went into going into work, doing the bare minimum at my job to get by, and then going home and going to bed. 

Mornings were the worst. With the day looming ahead, I sit on my couch sipping my coffee, wondering how I was going to get through the day. I'd walk my dog and be in tears by the time I got home, wondering why this was no longer bringing me joy, wondering what was happening to me.

Early September I went to see a psychiatrist who prescribed me a med that he claimed would improve my mood. This drug made me anxious, made my hands and feet tingle, and ultimately made me feel as though I were going crazy. When I phoned him regarding the side effects, his response was that he'd like to get me on a higher dose. I stopped seeing him immediately and continued my hunt for a psychiatrist who cared and would help find me in this deep depression. 

By the end of September I could no longer go to work. I set up medical leave for myself, since I could no longer get out of bed, my anxiety so high I could no longer drive. I spent the majority of the days crying. For no reason but that I had no idea what was happening to me, and I couldn't see myself ever feeling better again. 

Eventually, my new psychiatrist recommended I go inpatient. I was admitted to West Hills Psychiatric Hospital on October 2. To say this hospitalization was the worst experience of my life would be an understatement. The nurses were neglectful, disrespectful, my doctor was passive aggressive, and I realized that this was not the healing, helpful environment I desperately needed to heal. 

When I asked to be discharged, as I was there voluntarily, I was put on a 72 hour legal hold. To this day, it cannot be explained to me why this happened. No one can give me a solid answer as to why they were legally able to take away all my rights and able to keep me in the hospital for 72 more hours, regardless of the fact that I was there voluntarily.

My mother charged in on October 7, partway through my legal hold and fought until they let me out. I'm not sure how often a legal hold gets lifted, but if anyone can make it happen, my mother can.

I went back to my parents house, with my new meds, and slept on a mattress in my parents living room for weeks, until I felt the new med beginning to kick in. I began exercising again. My friends came and visited with me, making me laugh, bringing me toys. I hadn't laughed in what felt like years. 

And one day, I felt strong enough to drive myself home. In this depression, and the process of coming out of it, I learned great things about myself. I was given the gift of time, time to process, time to learn, time to grow, time to get perspective, time to sit still, time with no obligations. 

I returned to my job, stronger than ever, with a new perspective, a new light in my eyes, new hope and enthusiasm for the future.

I've discovered more about myself in the last year than I've ever been given the opportunity to. The biggest lesson that came out of the depression is that I've lived my entire life living up to everyone else's expectations. When external validation is removed from the equation, I have no idea what I want, who I am, my needs, desires, where I'm headed. 

So, my goal in the last few months has been to act on what I want, not to put as much energy into what other people are thinking. Not put as much energy into what other people expect from me, act upon my own integrity, my own boundaries, my own expectations. And not act seeking external validation. 

I know what I am good at. I have no idea what I want. What an amazing place to be. All the doors are suddenly wide open. I believe I am capable of anything I truly put my mind to. And I'm at an amazing launching point for this upcoming year. 

This year was hard for me. But I am grateful it happened. I'm grateful for everyone in my life who supports me, loves me, for who I am. 

I welcome 2015 with wide open arms. I embrace and bid a fond farewell to 2014, for everything that it was. 

Actually, 5 reasons to date a girl in recovery from an eating disorder

A horrific article has been circulating around my facebook newsfeed like wildfire in the last two days. It basically gives reasons to date a girl with an active eating disorder. I'm not going to repeat the mean spirited quotations here, I believe they have been documented enough in the last few days. If you need to read it, google it. 

Instead, I'd like to change the spirit and write reasons to date a girl in recovery from an eating disorder. I realize this is at the risk of further stigmatizing those with eating disorders. I write mostly about women, even though I know many men are struggling as well. But I'd like to take a second and highlight why my recovery makes me unique, why everything I've been through makes me who I am today. 

1. "She's adventurous as hell." In recovery, you are encouraged to take on several challenges a day. This requires you to be the most courageous you will ever have to be, and it carries into other aspects of your life. Remember that day you burned your skinny jeans? The day you smashed your scale? The day you ate a whole bagel? That took everything you had in you, and it carries into every other aspect of your life. I'll climb every mountain, I'll say yes to every experience, because I remember how brave I am and what I have overcome. 

2. "She has a deep appreciation for life." We've been hospitalized for malnutrition, felt our bodies eating away at themselves, and come back with a passion for life, and buzzing with an energy we never knew existed. We are a force to be reckoned with. We appreciate our bodies deeply for their continued functioning, even with all we've put them through. When we stand on top of mountains, or write papers for classes, or get hired for jobs, it's more significant than just the simple task at hand. It has a whole other meaning because there was a time when none of this was possible. 

3. "She has been through tons of therapy and desires functional relationships" The group therapy, the family therapy, the DBT skills therapy. She knows how to recognise emotions and process them healthily She knows how to voice her opinion and her emotions, functionally. She recognises passive aggression and will not stand for it. She practices self-care and knows how to set good boundaries for herself. 

4. "She is unbelievably creative" To keep an addiction, like an eating disorder, hidden for years we have to be extremely creative. To recover, we have to learn how to positively channel that creativity. We have to come up with creative ways to battle self-destructive thoughts, create new pathways in our brains, creatively break years of bad habits, and years of negative self talk. 

5. OH YEAH... "She loves and accepts her body!" How unique in our society, to accept one's natural body weight and not be constantly dieting. She has a radical acceptance of the size of her natural body weight and stopped fighting it when she entered recovery. She is confident, and wears clothes that fit and flatter her body. She feels powerful in her body, is not obsessive about dieting, and uses her abundant energy in other more important aspects of her life. 

The girl who has fought an eating disorder is brave, confident, creative, sets good boundaries, and has a deep appreciation for being alive. This is why my recovery makes me a unique, strong, passionate individual. Take it, Return of Kings.

On Journaling and Affirmations

I've been making some positive forward movement in my life lately. After being on the recovery panel at the Eating Disorder Symposium in September, it reminded me of my responsibility to the recovery community to keep advancing myself emotionally, and keep educating myself, so I can continue helping others. 

First, I've been journaling. I went to a journaling workshop at the NEDA conference in DC and made some amazing discoveries about myself. So I've continued the trend. I couldn't believe what emotions I was able to process and what surfaced for me when I let myself write, uninhibited, for even just a few minutes. We started by identifying three aspects of our lives that were causing us stress or shame. Then we wrote about one of those aspects for five minutes. I was able to identify emotions of stress, shame, embarrassment, disgust, abandonment...the list goes on and on. I had no idea I was feeling each of these emotions. Part of emotional maturity is being able to pinpoint these emotions and process through them healthily. Journaling is helping me get there.

The second thing I've started doing to keep myself moving forward is that I've started reading affirmations. My roommate is okay with me taping affirmations all over the house and I get a daily positive affirmation email. Affirmations help me surround myself with positive energy, and are verbal reminders to treat myself with respect. Affirmations lead to self-empowerment. I used to think I was above affirmations, that I didn't need these words of encouragement around me, but I've found that having Marianne Williamson quotes around the house (my favorite "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be?") is empowering and encourages me to be the best version of myself. 

Today, I decided to combine the two and journal about today's affirmation. I would highly encourage you to do the same thing. Journal about what this statement means to you...

I am unique in time and space. 

How are you significant in time and space? How are you unique? When I started asking myself these questions I was able to go from head to toe, including my spirit and energy, and outline the things that make me unique. I drew a sketch of myself and pointed out all the things about me that make me unique. These included the dimple on my cheek from when I ran into a boat trailer when I was a kid, my stomach full of laughter, my brain capable of processing complicated emotions and situations, my legs carrying me up mountains, my feet dancing, my arms supporting others, my hands creatively writing. 

I am unique in time and space. 

Writing about how I am unique makes me go from a place of disconnect with my body to a place of connection. This is a huge step for someone who's spent years disconnected from their body. I'm allowing myself to appreciate the little things my body does for me and I'm allowing my body to be my ally, allowing my body to be unique. This is part of forward movement. Affirmations and journaling are allowing me to embrace my uniqueness.

How are you unique in time and space?

Intuitive Exercise

I can't go to the gym anymore. I'm relieved I'm not teaching anymore, so I don't have to set foot in the gym again. I don't believe in gyms. Here's why:

My History: I have had a gym membership since I was ten. No ten year old should be "working out." They should be outside, exploring the world, playing tag, and figuring out how their body moves in space, not trapped in a building lifting weights, measuring cardio and calories. This began an unhealthy relationship with exercise I've spent the last few years repairing.

The Numbers: The gym is nothing but numbers. How much can I lift? How many calories can I burn? How much resistance can I put on the elliptical? Being surrounded by numbers takes away the intuition of exercise. The way my brain operates, I get too focused on the numbers. I get obsessive about the numbers and I stop thinking about how I feel. I stop listening to my body and just try to accomplish numbers. As though my worth is numerical. I get obsessive about numbers instead of focusing on my intuition and knowing what my body needs.

The Scales: At the gym where I taught spin, there is a huge scale. Right out in the open, right by the water fountain. I have an involved history, a complex relationship with scales, and having that scale towering over me as I filled up my water bottle is haunting. I can be proud of myself that I never stepped on. I never jumped onto the crazy train and weighed myself. There is a huge conflict with intuitive exercise, scales, and numbers. For someone with an eating disorder, the number will never be low enough. It's predictable every time I step on the scale. If the number is higher than expected I freak out and take desperate measures to shrink my body. If the number is lower than expected, I congratulate myself for a split second, before pursuing the high of weight loss once again. Many can relate to this relationship with the scale. Before I smashed my scale (yes, I smashed my scale with a shovel, there's a video clip of it, it's awesome), my scale was my best friend and told me how to treat myself everyday. It dictated how I felt about myself and how I was allowed to behave, how I saw myself in the world. Since gaining my freedom with the bashing of my scale I will not step on a scale, it gets in the way of taking good care of myself. Stepping on scales takes away your intuition about your body. It assigns you to a number. I refuse to be a number anymore. To be more intuitive I step away from scales, and numbers, and listen to my body's needs.

The Mirrors: They are everywhere, reflecting me back an image of myself I'm never sure is accurate. An image that can change day to day, even minute to minute. Having distorted body image, and a desperate need to body check, is dangerous when surrounded by mirrors. Body image is how one sees themselves. Someone with a distorted view of their body will perceive their body as much larger than reality. This can be triggered by negative emotions, feelings of shame or guilt, or feeling stressed. When I'm upset, suddenly I perceive my body as many pounds heavier than I was even a few minutes earlier. Mirrors reflect this larger body back at me, encouraging me to take measures to pursue the ideal body type, as though if I changed my body, my mental state would improve. This is how mirrors wreak havoc on the intuition.

Intuitive exercise, for me, is listening to my body; resting when I am tired and playing when I am energetic. I even stopped using the word exercise, because it's triggering. I use the word play. Going outside and breathing fresh air, running, riding, skiing, climbing mountains. All of this is my playtime. Intuitive exercise is feeling your energy and how it manifests in your movement, how you move through the world. All of this takes place outside of a gym. Be good to your body. Listen. Get outside and play.

The Power of Sharing Your Story

This is a really exciting day. I'm taking the privacy settings off my blog and inviting you all to be a part of a community and a cause. I'm learning that the more people I share my experiences with, the more people I can help, and have a positive effect on. If you have not been here before, welcome. Enjoy. Please share with anyone you think can benefit. Thanks for reading.

Eating disorders thrive in secrecy, isolation, and shame. To combat eating disorders, over 600 people came together to share their stories, educate, and advocate last week at the annual National Eating Disorder Association Conference in Washington, DC. There was no judgement of anyone's experience, just curious inquiries. Everyone at the conference knew that those of us in recovery are fighting the fight of our lives, we didn't have to explain a thing. People were there for all reasons; clinicians, family members, and those there for themselves. We were surrounded by knowledge and stories, experiences, and a passion to fight the eating disorder epidemic. 

Three hundred of us took this passion to our nation's Capitol, in the pouring rain, despite the government shut down, and we lobbied for eating disorders to be recognized as mental disorders so insurance companies would cover treatment as such. We lobbied for legislators to join the National Eating Disorder Awareness Caucus. This would request a study from the Government Accountability Office (GAO) to research prevalence, cost to society, and mortality of eating disorders. We explained that these disorders are extremely complicated, hard to understand and more research needs to be done on them. We explained the caucus and the FREED Act (which would improve access to care, research, and education of professionals). We spouted off statistics; that 30 million Americans are struggling with this life threatening disorder. But what they were most interested in were our stories. How I've been dieting since I was 8. How I developed a full blown eating disorder at 14. How I went to treatment for 101 days when I was 21. How I'm watching my peers pay off student loans and I'm paying off treatment. How I'm doing really well now. I'm really lucky. These are our stories and they are powerful. I've said it many times that my story is not unique. 30 million in the United States, and that doesn't count the sub-clinical disordered eating population. 

I had the pleasure to speak to House member Cheri Bustos. I felt I represented all women struggling with eating disorders when I informed her that my story is in no way unique. The statistics are horrifying. I was proud to put a face on eating disorders, and let our legislators know that this is a problem that needs addressing. 

If you have a story to tell, you can let the legislators know. Send a letter of advocacy. NEDA has made this really easy. Go to www.myneda.org/caucus and fill out the form. The letter is already written, you can personalize it, or just send it to your representative. 

Remember eating disorders thrive in secrecy, isolation, and shame. Take action, take power away from the eating disorder. There is momentum for these initiatives, now that they've seen us all over the Capitol. We've got a case, we've got a cause. Keep fighting the fight of your life. This experience was a chance for me to wear my recovery as a badge of honor. I'm proud of where I've been, what I've been through, and who I am today. There is power in sharing your story and bringing light to an issue that is in no way shameful. There is power in advocating for the millions of people I wish were not going through what I went through. Keep fighting, advocating, and educating.     

Desecration...Working on Worshiping

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.  

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.

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.

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.

How It Affects Us

I've been reading many articles about Miley Cyrus' performance at the VMA's. I'm sure we all have. These articles have explained in beautiful detail how her performance was racist, progressive for bisexuality, a "grinding declaration of her adulthood".

I'd like to voice my own opinion on the performance without slut-shaming, without the usual "oh, how sad, look what sweet little Hannah Montana has turned into," but expressing what I experienced while watching videos of the performance.

I don't have television, I didn't see the VMA's live, so when the cyberspace exploded on Monday about this performance I started doing research, watching videos (I had to confirm my age several times to watch the performance), reading articles, and, as a feminist, here's what I have to say:

What do performances like Miley Cyrus' at the VMA's mean for the rest of us? First of all, I had to "urban dictionary" the term 'twerking' as it was in most headlines. Miley threw this move into her choreography many times in her performance. The shock value of this performance was frighteningly high, as I feel it is for most things in our culture currently. I feel like people are banking more and more on shock value to get attention. Everything has to have shock value or it goes unnoticed.

We can claim we are immune, that these acts don't affect us. But media (television, magazines, advertising, and especially pop stars) dictate our culture and set standards as to how the rest of us are supposed to act, and how we feel we are supposed to be living our lives.

Typical reactions to the performance:
Slut-shaming
Shaming the music
Claiming it's not music
Shaming Miley, herself ("What a hot mess")
Claiming, "This doesn't affect me..."

But it does...and here's how...

Because Miley's performance was so shocking, it affects the standards and 'ups the ante'.

How it affects me:

• It affects the way I feel I need to dress
• What is appropriate to wear? The standards are changing now that a 20 year old can parade around in a gold bikini and rip off a furry leotard.
• It affects the way I feel people see me
• Do I need to act like that? Do I need to gyrate against the man who is in charge, to fit in?
• It reinforces women performing instead of experiencing
• In her book Reviving Ophelia, Mary Pipher explains that in adolescence, girls realize that in order to get what they want out of society, in order to fit in and not make waves, they begin performing instead of experiencing. They find out what others want from them and put themselves on display, take care of others needs, put others before themselves, perform, and become what others want them to be. They perform instead of getting in touch with their own wants, needs, and desires. Instead of taking care of themselves and experiencing their lives. Women become a display, we neglect ourselves and our experience to perform and fit in in order to survive. With her performance, Miley upped the ante. Imagine what her experience of that was like, if she had one at all. This further perpetuates the notion of women needing to perform instead of experience. She was completely on display, taking care of the man's needs, neglecting her own experience. If she was striving for her own, positive, experience I doubt she would be running around stripping leotards off, sticking her tongue out at the audience, and creating such a ruckus in the headlines.
• It makes me feel like I have to compete with THAT for attention
• Miley upped the ante of what is acceptable. How am I supposed to behave now? I'm not a prude, but she was so publicly sexual, it makes me question intimacy, and how our society is viewing intimacy now. 

How it affects daughters:

• It affects the way they dress
• "No, you may not wear that gold bikini and be Miley Cyrus for Halloween"
• It affects the way they feel they have to act
• Will twerking be the new norm at middle school dances (did I use that word right?)
• Her fan club is aging with her, "Are we supposed to act like that now? OMG!"
•  She was wearing pigtails, dancing with teddy bears
• Which means she is still trying to act like a child. By behaving that way while adorned with a hairdo associated with younger girls, prancing around with teddy bears, she is sexualizing children and still trying to appeal to her younger crowd. She is terrifyingly reflecting child pornography. I think this was the most upsetting part of the performance for me, and I haven't seen it mentioned in any article anywhere.

How it affects sons:

• It confuses boys as to if that's what they're supposed to be attracted to
• It changes their expectations of women
• Adolescent boys are confused as to what sort of girls they should be giving attention to, what kind and how to give that attention. This performance gave a display of women that now boys may expect that sort of behavior from girls, that is confusing for men and women. 

That's it. I don't think anyone actually took her seriously as much as we were embarrassed for her, but it's acts like this that 'up the ante' and change the standards. We need to take this, and how the media affects us, seriously.

Taking Care of Cody

I have an 11 month old Golden Retriever. His name is Cody. I've had him since he was 8 weeks old. He goes everywhere with me. He is the love of my life. Every morning, when he hears my alarm go off, he comes over and gently puts his head on the bed, ready for his morning pets. We walk downstairs together to make coffee. As soon as he gets into the living room, he rolls on his back and looks at me, "I love you. Rub my belly." I cuddle with him in the living room while water for my coffee boils. This is how we start our day everyday. 

His ears perk up when I walk into the bathroom, as this is where I keep his food. He starts wiggling when he hears me scooping kibble into his bowl. A glucosamine pill and plenty of kibble are set in the living room and quickly scarfed down. Cody loves to eat.

Cody greets me when I get home from work. I open the door and see his nose poke around trying to get to me. He's wiggling, bumping into me, excited to see me. And, almost immediately, he's on his back "I love you I'm so glad to see you. Rub my belly."

Cody gets two meals a day, one with a glucosamine pill for his joints. Cody gets Dentastix. Cody gets brushed almost everyday. The house is littered with his toys. Cody gets two walks a day, no matter what. Cody gets caressed, pet, and loved. I tell him hundreds of times a day what a good boy he is and how much I love him. 

Cody runs beside my bike, he stays out of the way of the wheels, and darts into bushes chasing squirrels. He runs up ahead, stops, and looks back at me, "I'm so glad we're biking today. Watch me run!" He checks in to make sure I'm still part of the pack and then takes off running through the woods. He drinks out of my Camelbak and takes breaks in the shade. 

We went on a really long bike ride yesterday. It was much more than I bargained for. Cody ran the whole time. I watch him closely for signs of exhaustion and he didn't show any. Today Cody looks like he's hurting and I feel awful watching him hobble around like an old man. I know I pushed his limits yesterday and I am heartbroken about it. 

I take really good care of Cody. I realize that the way I pushed Cody yesterday is reflective of the way I push myself in my daily life and am furious with myself for it. 

I push myself well past the point of exhaustion on any given run or ride. I'll not eat sufficient nutrients to support my body during exercise. I won't eat nutrients to support daily activity and I'll expect my body to function normally regardless. In terms of self-care, I don't spend much time taking care of my needs, taking care of myself. I don't spend on positive, loving thoughts directed at myself. When I look in the mirror I am devastated by what I see and berate myself for not being thin enough, not having the perfect body. 

Cody looks at me and sees nothing but positive energy coming his way. I take really good care of Cody: I brush him, feed him, walk him, make sure his water bowl is always full. All while I starve and dehydrate myself. 

I need to start treating myself the way I treat Cody. I would never starve Cody or make him go without water. I would never assume his needs are unnecessary or unwarranted. I will never push him athletically the way I did yesterday. I take really good care of Cody. I spoil him because I love him. I wonder what my life would be like if I spoiled myself because I loved myself and believed I deserved it?

I would drink when I am thirsty. I would eat when I am hungry. I would cry when I am sad. I would run until I was tired and then STOP. I would look in the mirror and send loving energy to my body. I would acknowledge that I have needs. I would believe I deserved my needs to be met.  

Remember that one time?

Having an eating disorder means your mind is occupied with thoughts of weight, calories, food, the size of your jeans, what you ate earlier, what you ate yesterday, and what you're going to eat later today. All the time. It's obsessive. It feels non-stop. Like an ipod of self deprecating thoughts on repeat. For those in this struggle these thoughts are everything. When I'm really struggling I judge everyday by how my jeans feel, what I did or did not eat. I judge everyday through the eyes of my eating disorder, and that's what makes up my life, what makes up my memories.

I've started to look around and see how other people judge their lives and create their memories. A phrase comes to mind. "Remember that one time?" I have a vision of people sitting around, laughing, reliving their greatest memories. "Remember that time Joey did a back flip off that bridge into the lake?" "Remember that huge party we used to throw every Fourth of July?" "Remember that one time...?" Fill in the blank. People are out there living their lives, existing without eating disorders. These are real memories. Real life. 

I think of my memories and they include:
Remember that time those skinny jeans finally fit?
Remember that time I had to put a belt on cause my pants kept falling off?
Remember the first time you threw up?
Remember the first time you stepped on that scale?
Remember all those times you said, "I ate before I came"? 

These don't count. 

This is not a life lived to the fullest. 

My latest goal is to start noticing all the times in my life I can laugh with friends and say, "Remember that one time...?" I want to start making real memories that have nothing to do with my weight, food, calories, or body size. My life needs to be full of activities that occupy my mind and keep me engaged in a healthy life.

When I look back on my life, I want it to count. What memories are you making?