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.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Saturday, January 31, 2015
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.
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.
Wednesday, December 31, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, November 1, 2013
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?
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?
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.
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