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?
Friday, November 1, 2013
Wednesday, October 23, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, October 19, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
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.
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.
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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