Recovery through Artwork

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

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

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

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

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

I remember the prompts for each Creative Representation...

June 2009: Do a Creative Representation of your eating disorder

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

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

"Am I perfect now?"

"Failure"

"Fat"

"Ugly"

"Shame"

"Weakness"

"Am I perfect now?"

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

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

Self Care is a Lifestyle

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

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

However, I digress...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back to the changing of the seasons... 

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

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

Unless you have one, you will never understand

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My First Time- Superbowl XXXVII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Have No Idea What I Want

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

On Journaling and Affirmations

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

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

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

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

I am unique in time and space. 

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

I am unique in time and space. 

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

How are you unique in time and space?