I'm learning to accept that moving forward means that I have to acknowledge the need for, and then have those difficult conversations that I've been avoiding for most of my life.
There are some conversations I'm not sure I will ever be able to have. As such, those relationships may never be what they could be. Some relationships are too important for them not to be given the chance to be everything they can be. Even if it is the thing that scares me most.
Rewind to this weekend, and a conversation with the person I love most. For weeks, or even a couple of months, I have been spending more time inside myself than I have been with him. I've been consumed by destructive thoughts; thoughts I recognise, and know, to be the Critic in me but thoughts I've still been unable to shake. The feelings of self-hatred, and disgust, and shame that have come from this thinking had put a barrier between us. I couldn't be myself with him in the way I've always been. My heart's been breaking, and I've been afraid of losing him, and it's essentially been because of my own making.
Neither of us had spoken of it until this weekend. He didn't want to make it real, but it has been real to me for a while. I'd been with it, alone, in my head. He didn't want to hurt me, but I have been hurting myself. Alone, in my head.
My fear of losing him by being me. Me, being someone who I've been thinking is totally unacceptable; too sexual, too needy, too fat. I didn't even realise I still think of myself as fat. That hurts me, because I thought I was past this (despite knowing that we don't get past these things, but work with them). I figured because I can weigh myself without falling apart, because I can accept that my weight may be overweight, but that I am still loved, and because I've read a million books and put the hours into therapy and self-help... It'd just go away.
It has not gone away. I am still a work in progress.
I have everything I have ever wanted: A man who loves me and whom I love in return, the prospect of a happy future together, a job which pays the bills and leaves me some to spare. And yet here I've been, pushing it away because I don't think I deserve it and I don't know how to cope with having what I want. It sounds ridiculous, said out loud. How can a person not be able to accept what they want?! And then I think about when I Was very thin, and had the body I wanted, and couldn't cope, so binged back to being big. Being what I knew how to handle.
He told me he loves me for me; for the funny, open, sexy, intelligent person inside. He tells me, and for the first time I hear him when he says he doesn't love me for what I look like, but for who I am.
And, in one conversation, I am able to see what's really been happening, all these years. I am loved, and I am valued, by everyone and everything but me. It is me who has been struggling to accept myself. No one else. It is me who has been struggling to accept that I have so much, so much to be happy about - right now. I've put up the barriers that give me something familiar to worry about (being rejected, for my body or for me).
In one weekend, and in one difficult conversation, I have been given permission - by myself - to start taking down the walls.
It is scary. And it is wonderful.
I am overwhelmed with love, and hope. And yes, some fear of change.
This, I think, is maybe what recovery is all about.
Tuesday 30 August 2011
Wednesday 3 August 2011
Not Giving In
Apologies for the lack of posting. I've been away, on holiday, and part of that is escaping from the computer. My day job pretty much has me glued to the thing, so it's a welcome break for me.I hope I haven't disappointed anyone in my absence here, and am happy to be writing again!
...
Whenever I've felt low of late, I've heard a familiar phrase pop up in the back of my mind.
The red flag phrase that I imagine pretty much everyone who has had prior dealings with an eating disorder has encountered during recovery. I know that this is my warning; that something is wrong and that I need to look for what that thing is and deal with it directly. It happens when I am overwhelmed; with life, with choices, with all kinds of emotions, positive as well as negative. It happens when my thoughts become overpowering, my mind spinning with words and phrases, alphabet soup/
It's not that I want to re-discover anorexia, or bingeing, or even diet. It's not even that I want to be thin.
Except it can feel like I do and this feeling, it can be completely overwhelming, even now. It can feel like a desperate, greiving cry for a person - and a body - I once was.
The hope - the unspoken promises tagged on the end - is what draws me to it, I think. None of these statements are factually true. Most I have previously proved to be wrong. Life continues, things happen, people change. My anorexia didn't stop it before. It just put things on hold and I had to deal with them later. My anorexia didn't live up to all it promised me. It left me worse off than I was before.
So when I am at my worst - when I am crying to my boyfriend because I think want my eating disorder so bad or asking my Mum to reassure me that I'm doing okay - I will not give in.
I will not resort to my eating disorder. I am past the point of return, because, in my heart, I know the truth: I cannot unknow the destructive, negative - even life-threatening, and yes, disappointing - reality of an eating disorder.
I'm still greiving for myself - the girl that developed the eating disorder, the one before her and the one that's writing to you here and now. I'm greiving for my eating disorder - for all I got out of it and for all the desperately-pinned hopes of the life I willed it to bring. I will continue to work hard to move through this.
I am coming out the other end. I am no longer eating disordered, as I have written about in earlier posts. It is scary, and there are still dark times where it is tempting to return to old ways, but I am starting to believe that perhaps I can live in the world without my eating disorder.
And this is happy news indeed.
...
Whenever I've felt low of late, I've heard a familiar phrase pop up in the back of my mind.
Why don't I just not eat? I could just stop eating...
The red flag phrase that I imagine pretty much everyone who has had prior dealings with an eating disorder has encountered during recovery. I know that this is my warning; that something is wrong and that I need to look for what that thing is and deal with it directly. It happens when I am overwhelmed; with life, with choices, with all kinds of emotions, positive as well as negative. It happens when my thoughts become overpowering, my mind spinning with words and phrases, alphabet soup/
It's not that I want to re-discover anorexia, or bingeing, or even diet. It's not even that I want to be thin.
Except it can feel like I do and this feeling, it can be completely overwhelming, even now. It can feel like a desperate, greiving cry for a person - and a body - I once was.
Why don't I just not eat? I could just stop eating...
... and eventually, I'd be thin
... and I'd only have to think about food and my body
... and nothing - or no one else - will matter
... and everything else would go away
... and I will be happy
The hope - the unspoken promises tagged on the end - is what draws me to it, I think. None of these statements are factually true. Most I have previously proved to be wrong. Life continues, things happen, people change. My anorexia didn't stop it before. It just put things on hold and I had to deal with them later. My anorexia didn't live up to all it promised me. It left me worse off than I was before.
So when I am at my worst - when I am crying to my boyfriend because I think want my eating disorder so bad or asking my Mum to reassure me that I'm doing okay - I will not give in.
I will not resort to my eating disorder. I am past the point of return, because, in my heart, I know the truth: I cannot unknow the destructive, negative - even life-threatening, and yes, disappointing - reality of an eating disorder.
I'm still greiving for myself - the girl that developed the eating disorder, the one before her and the one that's writing to you here and now. I'm greiving for my eating disorder - for all I got out of it and for all the desperately-pinned hopes of the life I willed it to bring. I will continue to work hard to move through this.
I am coming out the other end. I am no longer eating disordered, as I have written about in earlier posts. It is scary, and there are still dark times where it is tempting to return to old ways, but I am starting to believe that perhaps I can live in the world without my eating disorder.
And this is happy news indeed.
Monday 18 July 2011
The Fatness Barometer
(Or That Post about How we Drag Ourselves Down by Thinking 'Fat')
My eating disorder inevitably made me super-sensitive to the notion of 'fat'. 'Fat' was the word I used to describe a particular body size and shape (with this becoming notably smaller as the anorexia grew) and a way of being (namely lazy, unattractive and sweaty). I’m saying this and cringing; however it's pretty much accepted as fact in our society and so it's hardly surprising that in the midst of my eating disorder, I too accepted this as truth.
I spent so much of my time looking for proof of my ‘fatness’. In my anorexic state, it was in the numbers my anore recorded in my little book of what I ate; it was in the tags inside my clothes; it was in the amount of exercise I'd done that day or how much I'd sweated at the gym. When I was bingeing, it was obvious as my clothes no longer fit; it was in the depression that seemed to grow as my body did; it was in every bite I took, rebelling against the restrictive months prior. Evidence of my 'fatness' was in everything I did, said or felt. Fatness and 'feeling fat' eventually became so common-place, it ultimately became synonymous with anything I didn't like about myself.
Despite moving forward with my life and not actively considering myself to have an eating disorder, this whole 'fatness' thing hasn't quite disappered. I am still struggling to break the ties from those things that I’d use as measuring sticks as proof of my fatness. Hence the Fatness Barometer.
So how does it look? Well, here's a perfect example I took from this morning that, in the spirit of raising awareness, I'd like to share:
Monday mornings and I don't have a great relationship. It's my anxiety peak of the week. So this morning's arrival at work, already hot, flustered and generally angry at the world for the very existance of Mondays, was not unusual. It started off fairly well for a Monday. I had packed my lunch (and enough snacks so that my snack drawer runneth over) and got out the door only slightly late.
And here's where it went wrong. Realising at the last minute I'd neglected to put on a wash before racing out of the door, after already consciously deciding that no, there was no time to take out the rubbish, I felt like a failure.A knot formed in my stomach.
I locked my door, checking, re-checking and checking again that it was indeed locked. I clocked the OCD-like behaviour and the anxiety kicked up a gear. I spent the whole journey fumbling in my handbag, checking I hadn't forgotten random items (mostly those I could have lived without for the day. I clung to my bag, worrying about what may become of my beautiful new uninsured (as-of-yet) Netbook nestled inside its wrapper. The knot in my stomach just multiplied.
I arrived at work to the realisation that I'd forgotten my work key. I kind of thought I knew where it was (on the kitchen top, possibly now on the floor if it had been on top of the tea towel I'd grabbed to dry my hands). I just couldn't be sure... The knots tighten again.
My hair's stuck to the back of my neck, and what’s not stuck starts to frizz. So much for that blow-dry before I left the house. What's the point in trying to look nice?! I feel the heat rise to my ears and forehead. Sweat prickles at my hair-line.
A colleague has to open the door for me, as I've forgotten my key. What an idiot I am!?! I am (self-)conscious of the redness that surely must be visible. How embarrassing... If I wasn't red before, I am now as I blush, furiously, ashamed of myself and of my body for giving me away... Knotty stomach again.
The make-up I so carefully applied this morning; it might as well never have happened, I think despondently, as it slides down my face. I stick my desk fan on, hoping to perform some kind of damage control. But what’s the point?! I must look pretty awful once I get to work.
I gulp at the air when aware of the tight feeling across my chest, as if I’d purposefully been holding my breath. I know I never stopped breathing, yet it feels as if I can’t get enough air in! I am careful to try and breathe as quietly as possible, thankful for the fan muffling my laboured breath. Anyone would think I'd done some actual exercise! Yeah right... The shame slaps me across the face.
I feel fat.
Pretty ugly, right? The feelings of self-hatred, shame and frustration that wash over me whenever I experience intense anxiety (or panic attacks, in the worst case) suggest to me that the Fatness Barometer is still hanging around.
So how can I look to move forward and break this?
First, I can acknowledge its existance here and I can acknowledge to myself that certain situations seem to trigger this negative reaction in me. For example, I struggle to disassociate exercise from anxiety; a hang-over from its role in my eating disorder. I notice it most when I am rushing to get to work in the morning. The walk to the tram stop is always rushed and then walking to work, up an incline, brings me out in a fluster that can sometimes lead to a 'mild' kind of panic attack.
Next, I can make myself a promise: I will use the tools that helped me with critical thinking in therapy to stop the fatness barometer from taking readings. Using something called subpersonalities, in therapy-speak, I learnt to seperate myself from the critical voice within. I can then choose how I want to look at things, which allows me to choose the path of least anxiety. I can choose to be realistic; even positive.
Finally, I can remind myself that in my moving forward, I can choose not to participate in anything that is detrimental to my physical and mental health.
I have chosen not to participate in the dieting culture. This has been crucial to moving forward and away from disordered eating. I don't join in with dieting (or diet-based conversations) because I don't believe that my whole worth, as a person, is tied into my body and how I look. I am more than that. The whole concept of 'fatness' is just another way we're pushed into thinking, talking and behaving according to the dieting scene's rules. I don't want a part in it.
You are worth far more, too, than what your "fatness barometer" tells you.
What do you use as your "fatness barometer"? What steps do you take, or think you might take, to break free from it?
My eating disorder inevitably made me super-sensitive to the notion of 'fat'. 'Fat' was the word I used to describe a particular body size and shape (with this becoming notably smaller as the anorexia grew) and a way of being (namely lazy, unattractive and sweaty). I’m saying this and cringing; however it's pretty much accepted as fact in our society and so it's hardly surprising that in the midst of my eating disorder, I too accepted this as truth.
I spent so much of my time looking for proof of my ‘fatness’. In my anorexic state, it was in the numbers my anore recorded in my little book of what I ate; it was in the tags inside my clothes; it was in the amount of exercise I'd done that day or how much I'd sweated at the gym. When I was bingeing, it was obvious as my clothes no longer fit; it was in the depression that seemed to grow as my body did; it was in every bite I took, rebelling against the restrictive months prior. Evidence of my 'fatness' was in everything I did, said or felt. Fatness and 'feeling fat' eventually became so common-place, it ultimately became synonymous with anything I didn't like about myself.
Despite moving forward with my life and not actively considering myself to have an eating disorder, this whole 'fatness' thing hasn't quite disappered. I am still struggling to break the ties from those things that I’d use as measuring sticks as proof of my fatness. Hence the Fatness Barometer.
So how does it look? Well, here's a perfect example I took from this morning that, in the spirit of raising awareness, I'd like to share:
Monday mornings and I don't have a great relationship. It's my anxiety peak of the week. So this morning's arrival at work, already hot, flustered and generally angry at the world for the very existance of Mondays, was not unusual. It started off fairly well for a Monday. I had packed my lunch (and enough snacks so that my snack drawer runneth over) and got out the door only slightly late.
And here's where it went wrong. Realising at the last minute I'd neglected to put on a wash before racing out of the door, after already consciously deciding that no, there was no time to take out the rubbish, I felt like a failure.A knot formed in my stomach.
I locked my door, checking, re-checking and checking again that it was indeed locked. I clocked the OCD-like behaviour and the anxiety kicked up a gear. I spent the whole journey fumbling in my handbag, checking I hadn't forgotten random items (mostly those I could have lived without for the day. I clung to my bag, worrying about what may become of my beautiful new uninsured (as-of-yet) Netbook nestled inside its wrapper. The knot in my stomach just multiplied.
I arrived at work to the realisation that I'd forgotten my work key. I kind of thought I knew where it was (on the kitchen top, possibly now on the floor if it had been on top of the tea towel I'd grabbed to dry my hands). I just couldn't be sure... The knots tighten again.
My hair's stuck to the back of my neck, and what’s not stuck starts to frizz. So much for that blow-dry before I left the house. What's the point in trying to look nice?! I feel the heat rise to my ears and forehead. Sweat prickles at my hair-line.
A colleague has to open the door for me, as I've forgotten my key. What an idiot I am!?! I am (self-)conscious of the redness that surely must be visible. How embarrassing... If I wasn't red before, I am now as I blush, furiously, ashamed of myself and of my body for giving me away... Knotty stomach again.
The make-up I so carefully applied this morning; it might as well never have happened, I think despondently, as it slides down my face. I stick my desk fan on, hoping to perform some kind of damage control. But what’s the point?! I must look pretty awful once I get to work.
I gulp at the air when aware of the tight feeling across my chest, as if I’d purposefully been holding my breath. I know I never stopped breathing, yet it feels as if I can’t get enough air in! I am careful to try and breathe as quietly as possible, thankful for the fan muffling my laboured breath. Anyone would think I'd done some actual exercise! Yeah right... The shame slaps me across the face.
I feel fat.
Pretty ugly, right? The feelings of self-hatred, shame and frustration that wash over me whenever I experience intense anxiety (or panic attacks, in the worst case) suggest to me that the Fatness Barometer is still hanging around.
So how can I look to move forward and break this?
First, I can acknowledge its existance here and I can acknowledge to myself that certain situations seem to trigger this negative reaction in me. For example, I struggle to disassociate exercise from anxiety; a hang-over from its role in my eating disorder. I notice it most when I am rushing to get to work in the morning. The walk to the tram stop is always rushed and then walking to work, up an incline, brings me out in a fluster that can sometimes lead to a 'mild' kind of panic attack.
Next, I can make myself a promise: I will use the tools that helped me with critical thinking in therapy to stop the fatness barometer from taking readings. Using something called subpersonalities, in therapy-speak, I learnt to seperate myself from the critical voice within. I can then choose how I want to look at things, which allows me to choose the path of least anxiety. I can choose to be realistic; even positive.
Finally, I can remind myself that in my moving forward, I can choose not to participate in anything that is detrimental to my physical and mental health.
I have chosen not to participate in the dieting culture. This has been crucial to moving forward and away from disordered eating. I don't join in with dieting (or diet-based conversations) because I don't believe that my whole worth, as a person, is tied into my body and how I look. I am more than that. The whole concept of 'fatness' is just another way we're pushed into thinking, talking and behaving according to the dieting scene's rules. I don't want a part in it.
You are worth far more, too, than what your "fatness barometer" tells you.
What do you use as your "fatness barometer"? What steps do you take, or think you might take, to break free from it?
Thursday 14 July 2011
Action!
I am at a place in my moving forward* where I'm in limbo. I'm not someone with an eating disorder any more. Nor am I in a place that I'd consider entirely 'recovered' either.
There are clearly other people out there in a similar situation. I know this because there's a market for books like Jenni's; those for people who aren't quite ready to totally let go of the eating disorder/recovery world, and yet aren't in that place where this is at the centre of their lives.
At this point, living what I have learnt in the "recovery journey" - in my moving forward - is probably the most effective method of my keeping moving on. For me, as it seems was with Jenni when she had to act and 'just eat' - I must act. My specific actions may be different from yours, but the message will be the same:
Put into practice all that you are learning every single day. We have a choice. We always have a choice, because every action is a choice in itself.
This is hard. Seriously hard.
I've clung hard to the idea that changes in my relationship with food will come when I change my relationship to myself, my body, others, my emotions... Essentially, when my life changes, I figured that my relationship with food would do, too.
And it has changed in many positive ways, as a result of other changes:
*I eat meat and steak is my favourite dinner!
*I can try and eat a wide range of foods
*I can cook for myself
*I am not frozen by my fear of food
*I've stayed the same size for maybe three or so years
*I don't judge myself on what I eat
*I binge very rarely now
*I will not diet, no matter what
These changes have got me to where I am. They've helped me to be who I am today.
I am someone who has had eating disorders. I am someone who is still working on developing a healthy, "normal" relationship with my food and my feelings.
I am someone who does not have an eating disorder today.I am someone who does not have an eating disorder today.
This is hard to write, and even harder to accept fully, though I know that it is true for me now. I've worked so hard to get to a point where I wouldn't have an eating disorder anymore and now I'm here.... Now what?
Well, accepting that I no longer have an eating disorder is something I plan to work on. It'll take time to get used to, because it was my life. But that's it, isn't it? It was my life. It's just not now.
I've also still got plenty to work - and act on - with respect to my eating. My focus can change to actively putting in practice those things I know will work for me. These are things I've learnt in therapy, from books, from wonderful bloggers, from friends, family and what I know in my heart. Intuitive-eating, my way.
For me, this involves:
*Checking in with my body and rating my hunger, before and after eating. If my hunger is less than 4, I need to eat. If it is higher than 6, I need to stop eating. My body will give me clues as to what it is I want to eat. The more I do this, the easier and more natural it will get.
*Planning home-cooked meals for most evenings, planning a variety of lunches and starting to break my set-in-stone habits at breakfast time.
*Putting the time in to get a shopping list together each week and committing to go to the supermarket. Even when I'd rather do something else - or nothing at all. It keeps me relaxed with food and if it helps my anxiety, then it's healthful for me right now.
*Making the time to do a little exercise. Building a little jogging into my schedule each week. It's good for my mental health (and my body - though this isn't the reason I do it).
*Make the effort to slow things down. For me, I find myself race through to the eating bit without any of the thinking. Like I did with challenging the negative thoughts, I will need to slow it all down and give myself the chance to choose differently.
These are things that many people have to work on each day. I know that for me, overeating and eating 'just in case' are issues I've struggled with most of my life, so to expect them sorted straight away is unrealistic.
As is letting go of those things that really helped me when I did have an eating disorder. It was scary to stop therapy. I might go back to it at another point in my life, but letting go of the support from this was very, very scary. Starting a new job allowed me to do this, providing a 'natural' stopping point. Stopping attending support group will be another milestone. It's proving less helpful to me personally as time goes on. At the moment, it's still something I get something from - if only that I am not as ill as X,Y,Z anymore and that I can see how far I've come. Handing over the reins a little more with our own self-created support group is another thing I'm working on.
However the next statement is still true.
I do not have an eating disorder. And this is down to my actions and my actions alone. I hope the same proves true for you, too.
*For those who don't know what I mean, I'm essentially talking about moving forward and away from disordered eating. Moving forward with my life.
There are clearly other people out there in a similar situation. I know this because there's a market for books like Jenni's; those for people who aren't quite ready to totally let go of the eating disorder/recovery world, and yet aren't in that place where this is at the centre of their lives.
At this point, living what I have learnt in the "recovery journey" - in my moving forward - is probably the most effective method of my keeping moving on. For me, as it seems was with Jenni when she had to act and 'just eat' - I must act. My specific actions may be different from yours, but the message will be the same:
Put into practice all that you are learning every single day. We have a choice. We always have a choice, because every action is a choice in itself.
This is hard. Seriously hard.
I've clung hard to the idea that changes in my relationship with food will come when I change my relationship to myself, my body, others, my emotions... Essentially, when my life changes, I figured that my relationship with food would do, too.
And it has changed in many positive ways, as a result of other changes:
*I eat meat and steak is my favourite dinner!
*I can try and eat a wide range of foods
*I can cook for myself
*I am not frozen by my fear of food
*I've stayed the same size for maybe three or so years
*I don't judge myself on what I eat
*I binge very rarely now
*I will not diet, no matter what
These changes have got me to where I am. They've helped me to be who I am today.
I am someone who has had eating disorders. I am someone who is still working on developing a healthy, "normal" relationship with my food and my feelings.
I am someone who does not have an eating disorder today.I am someone who does not have an eating disorder today.
This is hard to write, and even harder to accept fully, though I know that it is true for me now. I've worked so hard to get to a point where I wouldn't have an eating disorder anymore and now I'm here.... Now what?
Well, accepting that I no longer have an eating disorder is something I plan to work on. It'll take time to get used to, because it was my life. But that's it, isn't it? It was my life. It's just not now.
I've also still got plenty to work - and act on - with respect to my eating. My focus can change to actively putting in practice those things I know will work for me. These are things I've learnt in therapy, from books, from wonderful bloggers, from friends, family and what I know in my heart. Intuitive-eating, my way.
For me, this involves:
*Checking in with my body and rating my hunger, before and after eating. If my hunger is less than 4, I need to eat. If it is higher than 6, I need to stop eating. My body will give me clues as to what it is I want to eat. The more I do this, the easier and more natural it will get.
*Planning home-cooked meals for most evenings, planning a variety of lunches and starting to break my set-in-stone habits at breakfast time.
*Putting the time in to get a shopping list together each week and committing to go to the supermarket. Even when I'd rather do something else - or nothing at all. It keeps me relaxed with food and if it helps my anxiety, then it's healthful for me right now.
*Making the time to do a little exercise. Building a little jogging into my schedule each week. It's good for my mental health (and my body - though this isn't the reason I do it).
*Make the effort to slow things down. For me, I find myself race through to the eating bit without any of the thinking. Like I did with challenging the negative thoughts, I will need to slow it all down and give myself the chance to choose differently.
These are things that many people have to work on each day. I know that for me, overeating and eating 'just in case' are issues I've struggled with most of my life, so to expect them sorted straight away is unrealistic.
As is letting go of those things that really helped me when I did have an eating disorder. It was scary to stop therapy. I might go back to it at another point in my life, but letting go of the support from this was very, very scary. Starting a new job allowed me to do this, providing a 'natural' stopping point. Stopping attending support group will be another milestone. It's proving less helpful to me personally as time goes on. At the moment, it's still something I get something from - if only that I am not as ill as X,Y,Z anymore and that I can see how far I've come. Handing over the reins a little more with our own self-created support group is another thing I'm working on.
However the next statement is still true.
I do not have an eating disorder. And this is down to my actions and my actions alone. I hope the same proves true for you, too.
*For those who don't know what I mean, I'm essentially talking about moving forward and away from disordered eating. Moving forward with my life.
Just Eat?
Today I was reading Jenni Schaefer's book "Goodbye Ed, Hello Me!" and came across a section intriguingly headed with the words 'just eat'. (If you haven't read or heard of Jenni, then I would very much recommend you check out her web pages via this link. She's a really positive example of someone who's really moved forward with her life - and away from disordered eating).
ost people who have issues with food have probably been told to 'just' eat, at least once (if not many times). I can recall two particularly painful incidents of this happening to me.
The first happened when I was first began to binge, after the cracks began to show in a year's worth of restrictive eating behaviours. I'd managed to achieve what, by responses of those around me, I intellectually knew to be a slim figure (I couldn't entertain the idea that I was actually thin - not me, I thought). And here I was, eating (bingeing - I didn't know the difference back then), and ruining it. I was sure I was going to be caught out and would be huge the moment I ate anything. My friend and flatmate at the time found me, upset, over a teaspoon of vegetable spread, in our kitchen. In a frustrated tone (that I took to be angry and jealous), she said "why can't you just eat, like a normal person?!"
This was the start of the end for our friendship.
Today, I can see that perhaps this comment wasn't meant to be mean, or critical, or even jealous. It could have been the result of a frustrating, confusing year in which her friend changed before her very eyes. Literally. Knowing what I now know of how our friendship went up in flames (hindsight's a bitch), it was most likely a combination of these reasons. At the time, I blamed her entirely, whilst punishing myself with food. Today, I know that relationships are far more complex than that. And unfortunately, there are some which are unhealthy for all concerned.
Being told to 'just eat', in this case, proved a pivotal lesson in moving forward. Moving away from disordered eating will sometimes mean being prepared to move forward - and away from - disordered relationships. And it can be painful.
The second 'just eat' incident that comes to mind was with my Mum.I've been able to talk about my issues with food far more openly in the past few years. For the most part, this has proven to be a really helpful tool in moving forward. It's made me feel closer to my Dad and boyfriend, as well as friends and even strangers. Yet just because I am able to speak honestly and openly about my disordered eating history, doesn't mean everyone else can.
When I tried to broach the subject with my Mum, she asked me, in a puzzled tone why amorexics just don't eat. It was a real conversation stopper, and made me fill up with tears that I swallowed back the best I could.
There are so many answers I could have given to that question:
*People with anorexia are all different, and there are as many reasons for why someone develops this particular illness as there are people who have it
This would have been my diplomatic answer; an educated and considered response appropriate for someone who was genuinely curious about why someone might develop the restrictive behaviours associated with anorexia.
But this wasn't what my Mum was asking.
*I developed anorexia partly because those very people who were meant to see that I was unhappy and lonely and ill chose to ask me instead how I was losing all this weight - MUM.
This would have been my angry response; the deep-seated anger and frustration I held because my mother could not be the mother I wanted and needed her to be the most. I knew this would not get me the response I wanted (i.e. an apology - and a mother). So this one was out. Unfortunately, my Mum's own disordered eating and mental health issues, and my own disordered relationship with her, where I feel responsible for her made saying what I felt too complex.
So what did I do?
I left it.
Sometimes, people say things to cut conversations off. Sometimes, there are things that are so painful to address, other people in our lives might not be able to handle them themselves.
And it's okay.
Honestly? It didn't feel okay at first. I was upset at first; angry and frustrated with her. And with me, for bringing it all up. It took me time and therapy to figure out how I would move on from this.
What I learnt was that I needed to work out how I could change to make this relationship manageable for me. I couldn't change her and I couldn't make her want to change with me. What I could do was try and get away from feeling responsible for my Mum. We cannot be responsible for the choices other people make in our lives. This is true even for the people closest to us; those who ironically were meant to be caring for us.
I finally let go when my Mum got re-married. I did it with my boyfriend next to me. Only he, my then therapist and a few trusted friends knew. It still saddens me that I may never have the mother I needed, but I no longer allow myself to be in a position of taking responsiblity for her.
So....what's the point of me telling you this?
I wanted to highlight how seemingly off-hand comments can spark a whole range of thoughts, feelings, behaviours and changes. When moving forward, we can learn to make them positive for us. We can take the good from a situation that would've once seemed to be nothing but negative.
And we move forward each and every time we do this. So yeah, we could just eat - only now we're learning to do so much more as well as eat.
ost people who have issues with food have probably been told to 'just' eat, at least once (if not many times). I can recall two particularly painful incidents of this happening to me.
The first happened when I was first began to binge, after the cracks began to show in a year's worth of restrictive eating behaviours. I'd managed to achieve what, by responses of those around me, I intellectually knew to be a slim figure (I couldn't entertain the idea that I was actually thin - not me, I thought). And here I was, eating (bingeing - I didn't know the difference back then), and ruining it. I was sure I was going to be caught out and would be huge the moment I ate anything. My friend and flatmate at the time found me, upset, over a teaspoon of vegetable spread, in our kitchen. In a frustrated tone (that I took to be angry and jealous), she said "why can't you just eat, like a normal person?!"
This was the start of the end for our friendship.
Today, I can see that perhaps this comment wasn't meant to be mean, or critical, or even jealous. It could have been the result of a frustrating, confusing year in which her friend changed before her very eyes. Literally. Knowing what I now know of how our friendship went up in flames (hindsight's a bitch), it was most likely a combination of these reasons. At the time, I blamed her entirely, whilst punishing myself with food. Today, I know that relationships are far more complex than that. And unfortunately, there are some which are unhealthy for all concerned.
Being told to 'just eat', in this case, proved a pivotal lesson in moving forward. Moving away from disordered eating will sometimes mean being prepared to move forward - and away from - disordered relationships. And it can be painful.
The second 'just eat' incident that comes to mind was with my Mum.I've been able to talk about my issues with food far more openly in the past few years. For the most part, this has proven to be a really helpful tool in moving forward. It's made me feel closer to my Dad and boyfriend, as well as friends and even strangers. Yet just because I am able to speak honestly and openly about my disordered eating history, doesn't mean everyone else can.
When I tried to broach the subject with my Mum, she asked me, in a puzzled tone why amorexics just don't eat. It was a real conversation stopper, and made me fill up with tears that I swallowed back the best I could.
There are so many answers I could have given to that question:
*People with anorexia are all different, and there are as many reasons for why someone develops this particular illness as there are people who have it
This would have been my diplomatic answer; an educated and considered response appropriate for someone who was genuinely curious about why someone might develop the restrictive behaviours associated with anorexia.
But this wasn't what my Mum was asking.
*I developed anorexia partly because those very people who were meant to see that I was unhappy and lonely and ill chose to ask me instead how I was losing all this weight - MUM.
This would have been my angry response; the deep-seated anger and frustration I held because my mother could not be the mother I wanted and needed her to be the most. I knew this would not get me the response I wanted (i.e. an apology - and a mother). So this one was out. Unfortunately, my Mum's own disordered eating and mental health issues, and my own disordered relationship with her, where I feel responsible for her made saying what I felt too complex.
So what did I do?
I left it.
Sometimes, people say things to cut conversations off. Sometimes, there are things that are so painful to address, other people in our lives might not be able to handle them themselves.
And it's okay.
Honestly? It didn't feel okay at first. I was upset at first; angry and frustrated with her. And with me, for bringing it all up. It took me time and therapy to figure out how I would move on from this.
What I learnt was that I needed to work out how I could change to make this relationship manageable for me. I couldn't change her and I couldn't make her want to change with me. What I could do was try and get away from feeling responsible for my Mum. We cannot be responsible for the choices other people make in our lives. This is true even for the people closest to us; those who ironically were meant to be caring for us.
I finally let go when my Mum got re-married. I did it with my boyfriend next to me. Only he, my then therapist and a few trusted friends knew. It still saddens me that I may never have the mother I needed, but I no longer allow myself to be in a position of taking responsiblity for her.
So....what's the point of me telling you this?
I wanted to highlight how seemingly off-hand comments can spark a whole range of thoughts, feelings, behaviours and changes. When moving forward, we can learn to make them positive for us. We can take the good from a situation that would've once seemed to be nothing but negative.
And we move forward each and every time we do this. So yeah, we could just eat - only now we're learning to do so much more as well as eat.
Wednesday 13 July 2011
Money Honey (work's too much like work)
(BTW: This post's got nothing to do with the lovely Lady Gaga, though I do seriously love her song with similar title).
For some time now,I have been envious of those colleagues and friends with babies - for the sheer luxury of nine months (to one year for some lucky mummies) off work. Now I'm well aware that the reality of this would be somewhat different. If I were lucky, there may be some visits to a park or a local playgroup, in between sleepless nights and sick-ups all over my best clothes. If I happened to be unlucky, I might find myself in a spiral of depression, or worse (read a wonderful article in UK Red magazine this month - August 2011 - for an amazingly touching piece on post-natal depression).
This is getting off the point.
My point here is that I am not happy in my work life.
My current job aside, I seem to have developed a general disillusionment with "the world of work" (how much does that sound like a Disneyland ride? And why do university tutors insist on referring to it as such?! What a let down!).
Since leaving education, I've worked in an office environment. I find myself feeling detached, distracted and, in all honesty, bored. This leads to high anxiety and depressive feelings. At the same time, whenever I am busy (and I do often have busy times where there's work to do), I find myself feeling similarly anxious and low.I struggle with office politics, preferring to keep myself to myself, and my work life seperate from my personal life.
In theory, withdrawal from any uncomfortable situation may solve the issues. Go to work, do your work and come home, forgetting it all until the next day. However given the feelings it produces in me, it's not so easy.For someone with a history of depression and disordered eating, these feelings are particularly difficult to deal with.
Bearing in mind my mission to move forward in all areas of my life, this is an important issue to tackle. I figure opening, rather than closing, doors is key to my not feeling trapped (and therefore reducing the anxiety and hopelessness I sometimes experience).
I am currently exploring the following options:
1. Actively seek employment which is better suited to me, keeping an open mind as to what that could be. With the economy as it is, it is realistic to expect that this may be a more medium-term action to keep going with.
2. Making the most of the time I do have to myself to do the things that I really do love. As you may have read, or at least surmised, writing is something I genuinely love. I can lose myself when I write. Even when the dreaded block kicks in, I'm learning to write through it (badly) and I still am able to lose myself in the moment; in my imagination. Time seems to fly by.
3. Generally being open to new opportunities, whatever they may be, and whatever direction they take me in.
Not only with respect to work, but in life, I have found that developing an eating disorder came with a particular view of the world. In this world, seen through the eyes of my eating disorder, there was no way I would be able to do anything my heart might want to do. I lost all my self-confidence, and my ability to have dreams for myself. I trapped myself in.
Opening myself to new opportunities is my attempt to free myself to move forward.
There are, of course, practicalities. Hence the title of this post. Financially, I am entirely dependent on working and am grateful to be in full-time, permanent employment during such difficult times. I know that other people are not so lucky. I am not writing this post in a "poor me" attempt at drawing attention to my unhappiness(as cathartic as it is to let out my feelings). It's to say that the practicalities of moving forward - in any area of your life - will involve starting to see beyond the blinkers put in place by your eating disorder (or anything else, really).
Moving forward is all about being open, where you previously closed off from the world. This is where I am, with my own work life. And I'm seeing that happiness in my working life isn't all about the money (honey).
For some time now,I have been envious of those colleagues and friends with babies - for the sheer luxury of nine months (to one year for some lucky mummies) off work. Now I'm well aware that the reality of this would be somewhat different. If I were lucky, there may be some visits to a park or a local playgroup, in between sleepless nights and sick-ups all over my best clothes. If I happened to be unlucky, I might find myself in a spiral of depression, or worse (read a wonderful article in UK Red magazine this month - August 2011 - for an amazingly touching piece on post-natal depression).
This is getting off the point.
My point here is that I am not happy in my work life.
My current job aside, I seem to have developed a general disillusionment with "the world of work" (how much does that sound like a Disneyland ride? And why do university tutors insist on referring to it as such?! What a let down!).
Since leaving education, I've worked in an office environment. I find myself feeling detached, distracted and, in all honesty, bored. This leads to high anxiety and depressive feelings. At the same time, whenever I am busy (and I do often have busy times where there's work to do), I find myself feeling similarly anxious and low.I struggle with office politics, preferring to keep myself to myself, and my work life seperate from my personal life.
In theory, withdrawal from any uncomfortable situation may solve the issues. Go to work, do your work and come home, forgetting it all until the next day. However given the feelings it produces in me, it's not so easy.For someone with a history of depression and disordered eating, these feelings are particularly difficult to deal with.
Bearing in mind my mission to move forward in all areas of my life, this is an important issue to tackle. I figure opening, rather than closing, doors is key to my not feeling trapped (and therefore reducing the anxiety and hopelessness I sometimes experience).
I am currently exploring the following options:
1. Actively seek employment which is better suited to me, keeping an open mind as to what that could be. With the economy as it is, it is realistic to expect that this may be a more medium-term action to keep going with.
2. Making the most of the time I do have to myself to do the things that I really do love. As you may have read, or at least surmised, writing is something I genuinely love. I can lose myself when I write. Even when the dreaded block kicks in, I'm learning to write through it (badly) and I still am able to lose myself in the moment; in my imagination. Time seems to fly by.
3. Generally being open to new opportunities, whatever they may be, and whatever direction they take me in.
Not only with respect to work, but in life, I have found that developing an eating disorder came with a particular view of the world. In this world, seen through the eyes of my eating disorder, there was no way I would be able to do anything my heart might want to do. I lost all my self-confidence, and my ability to have dreams for myself. I trapped myself in.
Opening myself to new opportunities is my attempt to free myself to move forward.
There are, of course, practicalities. Hence the title of this post. Financially, I am entirely dependent on working and am grateful to be in full-time, permanent employment during such difficult times. I know that other people are not so lucky. I am not writing this post in a "poor me" attempt at drawing attention to my unhappiness(as cathartic as it is to let out my feelings). It's to say that the practicalities of moving forward - in any area of your life - will involve starting to see beyond the blinkers put in place by your eating disorder (or anything else, really).
Moving forward is all about being open, where you previously closed off from the world. This is where I am, with my own work life. And I'm seeing that happiness in my working life isn't all about the money (honey).
Thursday 7 July 2011
The Happiness Myth
I was reading this brilliant post over at Medicinal Marzipan yesterday and it got me thinking.
When does self-improvement become destructive? Can we make ourselves happy by making ourselves "better"?And can we get so caught up in moving forward from disordered eating, that we pin all our hopes for happiness on it?
It's a given that to move forward from disordered eating, we need to make changes - to our lives and ourselves - that help us head in a positive and healthy direction. By definition then, the moving forward process is a kind of self-improvement. Recovery talk is littered with discussions of the ways in which we can make small changes to improve our situation. Self-help books, tapes and blogs letting us in on the next thing we can make better, to feel better, abound. It is, in short, everywhere.
Overall, I believe this is a fantastic thing.
We have access to all kinds of (free!) resources that can help us to make those first steps away from our eating disorders. We might come across all kinds of things to try that we never thought of by ourselves. I found out about my local ED charity that offers all kinds of help (like cut-price counselling, free monthly group sessions and art classes), without which I wouldn't progressed as much as I have over the past two years or so.I learnt about different books people were reading, and ventured into the world of self-help literature. Okay; not everything I've read has been particularly helpful but I've come across a few gems that've given me a boost to keep moving forward when it's felt like I'm doing anything but.
But there is, I'm learning, a fine line between positive self-improvement and what I'd say is a self-improvement "addiction", to use the term loosely.
In my ED days, I was permanently competing and comparing myself to myself (and others) as a sort of motivating factor to be thinner, smarter, blonder, BETTER than what I was. I pinned my hopes on happiness coming once I had just made this little improvement. Inevitably, the "if I were thinner, I'd be happy" fallacy collapsed on its bony ass (almost literally) and I knew the truth: Happiness was not going to come from chasing the next bit of weight lost, or dress size smaller. I knew it because I was several sizes smaller, and even more miserable than ever.
When I found self-improvement/recovery/moving forward (delete as applicable)I thought I'd found the solution to my unhappiness in myself, and especially in my skin. I figured that if I could just get over the eating disorder, I would be happy.
There is some important truth in this.
I'm so much further away from being eating disordered that I can now say that I am not currently experiencing an eating disorder for the first time in about five or six years. I am considerably happier than I was when I was in my eating disordered mindset.
But does self-improvement, in itself, lead to happiness?
No.
I don't mean to shatter illusions here, but it is so easy for the process of moving forward, recovery and self-improvement to become the replacement for the gap in the "if I just..... I will be happy" sentence. It can do so much to rebuild confidence, inspire positivity and repair our relationships with food, our bodies, others and the world around us. That cannot be underestimated in its value.
Happiness, however,seems to be something else. It doesn't quite work in our sentence. It's elusive, like a scent on the breeze, or a rainbow. We know what it looks like; what it smells like - we just can't quite touch it.
As I've kept on moving forward and away from disordered eating, I've noticed my own tendency to pin my hopes for greater happiness on this process. It's an easy thing to do when you've been pinning your hopes for happiness on things (an eating disorder, academic success, a boyfriend, weight loss, recovery).
It's just an impossible hope. Because happiness seems to come from choice. It's a feeling - a reaction - to the happenings around me. I find it when I look at all the wonderful people, things and achievements (those small things that mean the world to me, but are insignificant to others) I make each day. I find it when I go look at the moorhens in their river nest outside my new place. I find it when I realise I'm looking after my plants, or holding the cat, or notice the sparkle in my boyfriends eyes as if I'm seeing it again for the first time. I find it when the words seem to come out of my hands and mind almost effortlessly, and onto the page or screen.
There are times we cannot seem to choose to feel happy. There are some things which just don't open the door to choose this at all. And that's okay too.
What I'm learning is that happiness is not something we can choose to have and then that's it; it's with us for life. We cannot store up on happiness now to draw on later, during the bad times, like I had hoped each time I searched for it in places it could not be found.
Happiness is beautiful, in part, because of its elusive nature. It can only be taken in certain moments of our lives, but it's memory seems to stay with us like a photograph in our minds. It is wonderful, and fragile, and we can create happy moments for ourselves now, irrespective of how far along we are in moving forward with our lives. It's non-discriminate and doesn't wait for us to be thinner, better, smarter. We have to take it now.
So when does self-improvement become destructive?
I'd say if it is taking you back to a place where you're waiting to be something or someone other than you are now before you can live your life, then look again. This is disordered thinking and you may be no longer helping yourself.
Can we make ourselves happy by making ourselves "better"?
Maybe. We can be happy right now, though; no changes required!
And can we get so caught up in moving forward from disordered eating, that we pin all our hopes for happiness on it?
Yes. We can also choose happiness now.
I wish you all happiness today.
When does self-improvement become destructive? Can we make ourselves happy by making ourselves "better"?And can we get so caught up in moving forward from disordered eating, that we pin all our hopes for happiness on it?
It's a given that to move forward from disordered eating, we need to make changes - to our lives and ourselves - that help us head in a positive and healthy direction. By definition then, the moving forward process is a kind of self-improvement. Recovery talk is littered with discussions of the ways in which we can make small changes to improve our situation. Self-help books, tapes and blogs letting us in on the next thing we can make better, to feel better, abound. It is, in short, everywhere.
Overall, I believe this is a fantastic thing.
We have access to all kinds of (free!) resources that can help us to make those first steps away from our eating disorders. We might come across all kinds of things to try that we never thought of by ourselves. I found out about my local ED charity that offers all kinds of help (like cut-price counselling, free monthly group sessions and art classes), without which I wouldn't progressed as much as I have over the past two years or so.I learnt about different books people were reading, and ventured into the world of self-help literature. Okay; not everything I've read has been particularly helpful but I've come across a few gems that've given me a boost to keep moving forward when it's felt like I'm doing anything but.
But there is, I'm learning, a fine line between positive self-improvement and what I'd say is a self-improvement "addiction", to use the term loosely.
In my ED days, I was permanently competing and comparing myself to myself (and others) as a sort of motivating factor to be thinner, smarter, blonder, BETTER than what I was. I pinned my hopes on happiness coming once I had just made this little improvement. Inevitably, the "if I were thinner, I'd be happy" fallacy collapsed on its bony ass (almost literally) and I knew the truth: Happiness was not going to come from chasing the next bit of weight lost, or dress size smaller. I knew it because I was several sizes smaller, and even more miserable than ever.
When I found self-improvement/recovery/moving forward (delete as applicable)I thought I'd found the solution to my unhappiness in myself, and especially in my skin. I figured that if I could just get over the eating disorder, I would be happy.
There is some important truth in this.
I'm so much further away from being eating disordered that I can now say that I am not currently experiencing an eating disorder for the first time in about five or six years. I am considerably happier than I was when I was in my eating disordered mindset.
But does self-improvement, in itself, lead to happiness?
No.
I don't mean to shatter illusions here, but it is so easy for the process of moving forward, recovery and self-improvement to become the replacement for the gap in the "if I just..... I will be happy" sentence. It can do so much to rebuild confidence, inspire positivity and repair our relationships with food, our bodies, others and the world around us. That cannot be underestimated in its value.
Happiness, however,seems to be something else. It doesn't quite work in our sentence. It's elusive, like a scent on the breeze, or a rainbow. We know what it looks like; what it smells like - we just can't quite touch it.
As I've kept on moving forward and away from disordered eating, I've noticed my own tendency to pin my hopes for greater happiness on this process. It's an easy thing to do when you've been pinning your hopes for happiness on things (an eating disorder, academic success, a boyfriend, weight loss, recovery).
It's just an impossible hope. Because happiness seems to come from choice. It's a feeling - a reaction - to the happenings around me. I find it when I look at all the wonderful people, things and achievements (those small things that mean the world to me, but are insignificant to others) I make each day. I find it when I go look at the moorhens in their river nest outside my new place. I find it when I realise I'm looking after my plants, or holding the cat, or notice the sparkle in my boyfriends eyes as if I'm seeing it again for the first time. I find it when the words seem to come out of my hands and mind almost effortlessly, and onto the page or screen.
There are times we cannot seem to choose to feel happy. There are some things which just don't open the door to choose this at all. And that's okay too.
What I'm learning is that happiness is not something we can choose to have and then that's it; it's with us for life. We cannot store up on happiness now to draw on later, during the bad times, like I had hoped each time I searched for it in places it could not be found.
Happiness is beautiful, in part, because of its elusive nature. It can only be taken in certain moments of our lives, but it's memory seems to stay with us like a photograph in our minds. It is wonderful, and fragile, and we can create happy moments for ourselves now, irrespective of how far along we are in moving forward with our lives. It's non-discriminate and doesn't wait for us to be thinner, better, smarter. We have to take it now.
So when does self-improvement become destructive?
I'd say if it is taking you back to a place where you're waiting to be something or someone other than you are now before you can live your life, then look again. This is disordered thinking and you may be no longer helping yourself.
Can we make ourselves happy by making ourselves "better"?
Maybe. We can be happy right now, though; no changes required!
And can we get so caught up in moving forward from disordered eating, that we pin all our hopes for happiness on it?
Yes. We can also choose happiness now.
I wish you all happiness today.
Wednesday 6 July 2011
Body Speaks
Somewhere in this whole moving forward process, I heard that we need to listen to our bodies - not our heads - when trying to figure out when and what to eat to feel healthy and good about ourselves.
This is one of the fundamental principles of intuitive eating. I'd heard a lot about this, too. It seems to be one of the most popular ways in which people who have had an issue with food make peace with it, and move forward with their lives as happier, healthier people. Sounds good, right?
Not having read too much into the nitty-gritty of it, I'm still on the fence as to whether intuitive eating could work for me. Reading about, and engaging with, a particular way of eating still has its hang-ups for me. It reminds me of searching for answers in dieting. So for now, I plan to stick to working out what this whole "listening" to my body thing could mean.
It sounds rather New Age-y, if I'm honest. As if I need to put my ear to the ground, thump my foot on the dirt and wait for an answer to magically appear. In reality, it involves me trying to work out when something in my head is telling me I need to eat, and when my body is trying to speak.
Essentially, I figure that if it's coming to me in words first (the "voice" in my head), it's most likely to be my head telling me to eat. When it's coming from my head, I'm likely to be thinking about eating just about anything, but especially sweet stuff and white, processed carb-based foods. When I get a physical feeling that seems to tell me I'm hungry, I notice I'm far more likely to crave vegetables or meat-based produced. The "words" come after the feeling. This, I believe, is my body telling me what I need to eat.
Perhaps I have this all wrong. I don't know.
But over the past few weeks (or possibly longer), there's been a change going on.
Today I have noticed again the impact that the food I eat has on my body and how I feel physically and mentally.
This morning I ate one large croissant with butter and jam and a bowl of rice krispies. I had coffee with one sugar and some water. I noticed that I quickly developed stomach ache. I fel bloated. I felt like I want to be sick to get rid of this heavy, full feeling putting pressure on my throat, despite not ever really having purging tendancies. I reached about an 8 on the fullness scale, which is pretty damn uncomfortable.
I also noticed that eating a chicken and noodle stir fry for dinner last night, with different coloured vegetables on my plate felt really good. I was satisfied at the end of the meal and was around a 6.5 on the fullness scale. I went to bed feeling fairly comfortable, despite eating late.
Again, I have noticed that when I eat sugary snacks at work (which is my go-to type of food when I am there) or drink too much coffee, I get head aches. I perk up, momentarily, only to crash back down quickly afterwards. I tend to feel lethargic, depressed and unmotivated which I believe is exaccerbated by my food choices.
The more I pay attention to the impact of the foods I choose, the less I like the outcomes. I hadn't noticed before. Listening to my body is becoming easier, the more I am on the look-out. Yet the loudness of the shouts is quite scary. It feels much the same way as when I was first introduced to the concept of my Inner Critic in therapy. I noticed other people's Critics in conversations with them - and it was difficult, almost impossible, not to notice them. The more I listen, the more I hear the complaints my body is making about the choices I'm making as to what to feed it.
It's tempting to stop paying attention. Stay ignorant. But I won't. I am collating my own evidence to show that there may be some value in this intuitive eating malarky. And if it's going to help me move forward in this particular area of my life, then I am willing to go through the awkward and uncomfortable parts of moving forward to get there.
This is one of the fundamental principles of intuitive eating. I'd heard a lot about this, too. It seems to be one of the most popular ways in which people who have had an issue with food make peace with it, and move forward with their lives as happier, healthier people. Sounds good, right?
Not having read too much into the nitty-gritty of it, I'm still on the fence as to whether intuitive eating could work for me. Reading about, and engaging with, a particular way of eating still has its hang-ups for me. It reminds me of searching for answers in dieting. So for now, I plan to stick to working out what this whole "listening" to my body thing could mean.
It sounds rather New Age-y, if I'm honest. As if I need to put my ear to the ground, thump my foot on the dirt and wait for an answer to magically appear. In reality, it involves me trying to work out when something in my head is telling me I need to eat, and when my body is trying to speak.
Essentially, I figure that if it's coming to me in words first (the "voice" in my head), it's most likely to be my head telling me to eat. When it's coming from my head, I'm likely to be thinking about eating just about anything, but especially sweet stuff and white, processed carb-based foods. When I get a physical feeling that seems to tell me I'm hungry, I notice I'm far more likely to crave vegetables or meat-based produced. The "words" come after the feeling. This, I believe, is my body telling me what I need to eat.
Perhaps I have this all wrong. I don't know.
But over the past few weeks (or possibly longer), there's been a change going on.
Today I have noticed again the impact that the food I eat has on my body and how I feel physically and mentally.
This morning I ate one large croissant with butter and jam and a bowl of rice krispies. I had coffee with one sugar and some water. I noticed that I quickly developed stomach ache. I fel bloated. I felt like I want to be sick to get rid of this heavy, full feeling putting pressure on my throat, despite not ever really having purging tendancies. I reached about an 8 on the fullness scale, which is pretty damn uncomfortable.
I also noticed that eating a chicken and noodle stir fry for dinner last night, with different coloured vegetables on my plate felt really good. I was satisfied at the end of the meal and was around a 6.5 on the fullness scale. I went to bed feeling fairly comfortable, despite eating late.
Again, I have noticed that when I eat sugary snacks at work (which is my go-to type of food when I am there) or drink too much coffee, I get head aches. I perk up, momentarily, only to crash back down quickly afterwards. I tend to feel lethargic, depressed and unmotivated which I believe is exaccerbated by my food choices.
The more I pay attention to the impact of the foods I choose, the less I like the outcomes. I hadn't noticed before. Listening to my body is becoming easier, the more I am on the look-out. Yet the loudness of the shouts is quite scary. It feels much the same way as when I was first introduced to the concept of my Inner Critic in therapy. I noticed other people's Critics in conversations with them - and it was difficult, almost impossible, not to notice them. The more I listen, the more I hear the complaints my body is making about the choices I'm making as to what to feed it.
It's tempting to stop paying attention. Stay ignorant. But I won't. I am collating my own evidence to show that there may be some value in this intuitive eating malarky. And if it's going to help me move forward in this particular area of my life, then I am willing to go through the awkward and uncomfortable parts of moving forward to get there.
Finally Food
As far as moving forward from disordered eating goes, there has to be at least some part of the process that involves dealing with food, my eating and how this impacts my weight. Right?
For me, this whole process thus far has had to focus on the other stuff first. What other stuff?
Well, off the top of my head, this has included things like:
-Getting an idea of why I may have developed a disordered relationship with food in the first place
- Asking for help - and accepting it
- Therapy
- Attending support groups
- Finding the clues that (in retrospect, at least) suggest I have been succeptible to developing an eating disorder
- Looking into my past, at other issues I have had, and working on letting them go
- Re-building friendships and making new ones
- Working on forgiveness (of myself and others) for all kinds of things
- Figuring out (slowly) who I am, now that I'm no longer the person I was before, or during, my eating disorder and accompanying depression
- Learning to take risks, make decisions and get my braves on!
All these things, and many more I'm sure I'll talk about on this blog, have helped to alter my relationship with food in a positive way. I can't quite put my finger on how this has worked, but I can tell you that it is working to improve my issues with food and the impact it has on my weight.
Since taking these non-food related steps forward my weight has stabilised at a little over what I believe my natural, non- eating disordered, weight probably will be. I've been in the same size clothes for around 3 years now. my food fears are at an all-time minimum and I am currently at my closest to having a "normal" relationship with eating in the six years since my eating disorder, as such, began.
I am therefore proving to myself (and others) that even without directly tackling the issues I have with food, moving forward from disordered eating is possible.
Two or more years into my committment to move forward, I feel like I am now only just getting to a place where I can begin to look at the specifics of my eating.
Why now and not then?
There are a couple of reasons why I believe I can now handle this stage of moving forward.
First, I am able to look at what I eat, how and when I eat certain things, without judging myself as a person on my eating. This is a huge thing for me, and for anyone whose worth has essentially been pinned on what they look like and what they put into their body. To not have to feel bad for putting food in my mouth is wonderful! Yet now that I tend not to feel this (though occasionally it does happen), it doesn't feel like such a big deal anymore. It is, and it's a huge step to being able to really look at what's going on in my relationship with food.
Importantly, there's also the fact that I am no longer trapped in the bingeing-dieting cycle. I don't even believe in dieting as a valid lifestyle choice any more. I can think more clearly (because I am not biologically all over the place as a result of some serious self-medication with food) and I no longer fear slipping back into an eating disorder. Don't get me wrong; there are temptations at times and I am not naieve enough to think it an impossibility. I just know that it's not worth it, for me. I have too much to get out of living a life without it, than to go back to not living a life, but being in the grips of an eating disorder.
I am also now at a point where I can begin to entertain the notion of changing the foods I eat and the habits I have around food. I thought that wanting to move forward from my disordered eating was the same thing as changing my relationship with food. I've learnt that it is and it isn't.
When I made the decision to move forward with my life, it definitely included a different way of eating. A happier, more comfortable and relaxed way of eating. I just couldn't do it straight away. My head had to get to a more happy, comfortable and relaxed state first. I had to prove to myself that I could change, by showing myself in other areas of my life, before I could let myself believe that the same was possible for my eating. I think I have enough evidence stashed up to support me in experimenting with changes in my eating.
Stepping away from the evidence-based reasoning as to why I am willing to now look at addressing the food side of my disordered eating past.... Well,it just feels right for me to do this now.
So in answer to the original question at the beginning of this post, moving forward from disordered eating will inevitably involve dealing with food issues. It just might not be as soon as you'd think. And that's okay.
For me, this whole process thus far has had to focus on the other stuff first. What other stuff?
Well, off the top of my head, this has included things like:
-Getting an idea of why I may have developed a disordered relationship with food in the first place
- Asking for help - and accepting it
- Therapy
- Attending support groups
- Finding the clues that (in retrospect, at least) suggest I have been succeptible to developing an eating disorder
- Looking into my past, at other issues I have had, and working on letting them go
- Re-building friendships and making new ones
- Working on forgiveness (of myself and others) for all kinds of things
- Figuring out (slowly) who I am, now that I'm no longer the person I was before, or during, my eating disorder and accompanying depression
- Learning to take risks, make decisions and get my braves on!
All these things, and many more I'm sure I'll talk about on this blog, have helped to alter my relationship with food in a positive way. I can't quite put my finger on how this has worked, but I can tell you that it is working to improve my issues with food and the impact it has on my weight.
Since taking these non-food related steps forward my weight has stabilised at a little over what I believe my natural, non- eating disordered, weight probably will be. I've been in the same size clothes for around 3 years now. my food fears are at an all-time minimum and I am currently at my closest to having a "normal" relationship with eating in the six years since my eating disorder, as such, began.
I am therefore proving to myself (and others) that even without directly tackling the issues I have with food, moving forward from disordered eating is possible.
Two or more years into my committment to move forward, I feel like I am now only just getting to a place where I can begin to look at the specifics of my eating.
Why now and not then?
There are a couple of reasons why I believe I can now handle this stage of moving forward.
First, I am able to look at what I eat, how and when I eat certain things, without judging myself as a person on my eating. This is a huge thing for me, and for anyone whose worth has essentially been pinned on what they look like and what they put into their body. To not have to feel bad for putting food in my mouth is wonderful! Yet now that I tend not to feel this (though occasionally it does happen), it doesn't feel like such a big deal anymore. It is, and it's a huge step to being able to really look at what's going on in my relationship with food.
Importantly, there's also the fact that I am no longer trapped in the bingeing-dieting cycle. I don't even believe in dieting as a valid lifestyle choice any more. I can think more clearly (because I am not biologically all over the place as a result of some serious self-medication with food) and I no longer fear slipping back into an eating disorder. Don't get me wrong; there are temptations at times and I am not naieve enough to think it an impossibility. I just know that it's not worth it, for me. I have too much to get out of living a life without it, than to go back to not living a life, but being in the grips of an eating disorder.
I am also now at a point where I can begin to entertain the notion of changing the foods I eat and the habits I have around food. I thought that wanting to move forward from my disordered eating was the same thing as changing my relationship with food. I've learnt that it is and it isn't.
When I made the decision to move forward with my life, it definitely included a different way of eating. A happier, more comfortable and relaxed way of eating. I just couldn't do it straight away. My head had to get to a more happy, comfortable and relaxed state first. I had to prove to myself that I could change, by showing myself in other areas of my life, before I could let myself believe that the same was possible for my eating. I think I have enough evidence stashed up to support me in experimenting with changes in my eating.
Stepping away from the evidence-based reasoning as to why I am willing to now look at addressing the food side of my disordered eating past.... Well,it just feels right for me to do this now.
So in answer to the original question at the beginning of this post, moving forward from disordered eating will inevitably involve dealing with food issues. It just might not be as soon as you'd think. And that's okay.
Confessions of a Blogger with Writer's Block
Okay. Time to speak the truth about my absence from my blog.
I struggle with writer's block here, and yet, I write all the time elsewhere.
My bag typically holds my journal and when I'm stuck at the computer, I use a great site called 750 words (http://750words.com/) to journal for myself. Sometimes, I tweet, text or email friends for support.I've even started writing content for my book.
So what's up with getting my writing up here?
Fear
I self-edit like crazy before posting here.
Confession time: I am afraid that if I post here, regularly and honestly, someone I know will come across it and will know all my "secrets".
I am afraid of writing. Which seems ridiculous, given how much I do and how big a part of my life it has become in my moving forward.
But here's the thing: By putting my writing (including the non-edited, non-perfect bits) out there, I feel that I am putting myself - and my dreams of becoming a published writer - up to be judged, shot down or criticised.
Perhaps someone influential will read it... and (literally) write me off as a failure before I even truly begin.
Perhaps a friend, or a family member, will read it... and worry that I am spending too much time thinking about issues I ought to be so over - so past this - by now.
Perhaps a stranger will read it... and never come back.
Perhaps - and this is the worst one of all - no one will really care. What's the point in writing this blog (or - gulp! - my book) at all, if no one will read it?!
Scary stuff, huh?
You may be thinking why even bother? I can tell you that this has definitely crossed my mind a million times. And yet here I am. I can't quite let go of the idea of writing a blog. My other forums for all sorts of different writings are brilliant - they truly are - and yet... here I am.
Moving forward has become about so much more than food, and my disordered relationship with it. It has opened up to being about allowing myself to dream. It's about allowing myself to try new things. It's even about allowing myself to fail, and if that is what becomes of my blog, my writing, my book then so be it.
So be it.
You see, there's a whole other list of 'perhaps' I overlook when the fear kicks in and it goes something like this:
Perhaps someone influential will read my blog... and will really love it. Maybe - just maybe - they'll love it so much, that I could stand a real chance at getting my dream job as a writer.
Perhaps a friend, or family member, will read my blog... and they will really understand what's been going on for me. Maybe my relationships will change for the better as a result of my being honest about my experiences of moving forward with my life.
Perhaps a stranger will read my blog... and will keep coming back.
Perhaps there are people out there who will care about what I have to say. Perhaps I will realise just how much of a positive impact I can have, with my words.
Today, in the spirit of committing to moving forward, I am choosing to believe in myself, my writing and in you - the people who may just happen to come across this blog.
Thank you for reading this. I sincerely mean it and I hope that you find something here that inspires or intrigues you enough to keep coming back.
I struggle with writer's block here, and yet, I write all the time elsewhere.
My bag typically holds my journal and when I'm stuck at the computer, I use a great site called 750 words (http://750words.com/) to journal for myself. Sometimes, I tweet, text or email friends for support.I've even started writing content for my book.
So what's up with getting my writing up here?
Fear
I self-edit like crazy before posting here.
Confession time: I am afraid that if I post here, regularly and honestly, someone I know will come across it and will know all my "secrets".
I am afraid of writing. Which seems ridiculous, given how much I do and how big a part of my life it has become in my moving forward.
But here's the thing: By putting my writing (including the non-edited, non-perfect bits) out there, I feel that I am putting myself - and my dreams of becoming a published writer - up to be judged, shot down or criticised.
Perhaps someone influential will read it... and (literally) write me off as a failure before I even truly begin.
Perhaps a friend, or a family member, will read it... and worry that I am spending too much time thinking about issues I ought to be so over - so past this - by now.
Perhaps a stranger will read it... and never come back.
Perhaps - and this is the worst one of all - no one will really care. What's the point in writing this blog (or - gulp! - my book) at all, if no one will read it?!
Scary stuff, huh?
You may be thinking why even bother? I can tell you that this has definitely crossed my mind a million times. And yet here I am. I can't quite let go of the idea of writing a blog. My other forums for all sorts of different writings are brilliant - they truly are - and yet... here I am.
Moving forward has become about so much more than food, and my disordered relationship with it. It has opened up to being about allowing myself to dream. It's about allowing myself to try new things. It's even about allowing myself to fail, and if that is what becomes of my blog, my writing, my book then so be it.
So be it.
You see, there's a whole other list of 'perhaps' I overlook when the fear kicks in and it goes something like this:
Perhaps someone influential will read my blog... and will really love it. Maybe - just maybe - they'll love it so much, that I could stand a real chance at getting my dream job as a writer.
Perhaps a friend, or family member, will read my blog... and they will really understand what's been going on for me. Maybe my relationships will change for the better as a result of my being honest about my experiences of moving forward with my life.
Perhaps a stranger will read my blog... and will keep coming back.
Perhaps there are people out there who will care about what I have to say. Perhaps I will realise just how much of a positive impact I can have, with my words.
Today, in the spirit of committing to moving forward, I am choosing to believe in myself, my writing and in you - the people who may just happen to come across this blog.
Thank you for reading this. I sincerely mean it and I hope that you find something here that inspires or intrigues you enough to keep coming back.
Tuesday 8 March 2011
Fear, Food and Chopsticks
This weekend I went with my boyfriend for a traditional Chinese meal. Since I said yes to an offer of a business trip to China six weeks ago, time has flown and what was just a blip on the horizon is not right up in my face. And I’m scared. A little excited, but mainly scared. This was my plan for exposure-style therapy; confront your fears and they become less… well… fearsome.
Having opted for hot pot on the advice of someone in the know, we entered the fairly drab, unremarkable restaurant and were presented with a hot plate. On top of this, a young girl placed a bowl of boiling flavoured stock. I think she asked me what we wanted this stock to be, but I was kind of flustered and chose the least fish-like. We filled a bowl with sauces we didn’t recognise. (He thought the garlic was sugar.) We chose bits of food that looked vaguely familiar from the buffet to put in the pot. And noodles (I know where I am with a noodle).
I ate on auto-pilot at first, hoping that the eat-first, think-later strategy might serve me best. I guess it did for a moment or two, before the flutters in my stomach grew and the tickly sting of tears rose behind my eyes. Two or three panic-breaths escaped my mouth. My boyfriend looked anxious and disappointed (I think he was getting ready to have to leave in his head). One lone tear crept down my right cheek, almost invisible through the steam clouds round our heads.
In that moment, though I made my choice in a split-second, I somehow knew inside I had a really important choice to make. Was I going to let this food fear get the better of me or was I going to push through and see what’s on the other side? If I let it win, I could go home and eat something I know I like. I would also have to look at the disappointment on his face, mirroring the same disappointment I would feel in myself, not knowing which was more painful. If I push through it, I don’t know if it will get any better, but I know I can’t feel much worse.
I pushed through it. And whilst I can’t honestly say I liked the meal, I didn’t hate it. My boyfriend says it’s okay not to love every single food I eat, and that sometimes, the joy in eating it is in the not being sure of whether we like it or not, but in the experience itself.
I wouldn’t normally support the idea of eating over emotions, but in this case, I know it was something I needed to do. I needed to prove to myself that I can do it. I needed to know that I can be strong enough to brave new situations. I needed a little faith to cling to before I’m out there, in the big, wide world, alone, experiencing new places, and people, and foods.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the first pangs of fear I have around this trip gravitate towards food. It’s my fall-back worry for when I’m afraid or unsure of something that I can’t quite (or don’t want to) pin down. Truth is, I’m getting so much better around new foods that these fears are pretty minute. I momentarily wavered at the restaurant this weekend, but I think now that maybe this was less about the food than it seemed.
This will be the longest period of time I’ve spent apart from my boyfriend since we met. It’s also the first solo trip I’ve made since my time living abroad, with depression, suicidal feelings and binge-eating disorder (following a period of anorexia).
Typing these out and saying the words, I’ve got that same flutter in my stomach and prickling of tears behind my eyes as I did in the restaurant. I am scared. I am scared that, perhaps, I won’t be able to cope with being on my own. I’m scared also, perhaps, because maybe I will, and maybe he’ll think I need him less. I’m afraid of being alone.
I’m scared because it might bring back those memories, and with them, the feelings of loneliness and desperation that I’d rather forget. I’m scared because I’m not the same girl that set out by herself before. I don’t yet know how this woman will handle things. I’m afraid of facing my past and stepping into the future.
The truth is, I just don’t yet know the answers to these questions.
And it’s this – the uncertainty – that’s the real fear. Not knowing. It makes me feel vulnerable, lost and child-like. Knowing stuff is something I’m extremely good at, and for which people have praised me. Maybe this is why I find it so hard to accept uncertainty.
But accepting uncertainty, and facing my fears, is a lesson for which I’m long overdue. Like the meal, this trip will not necessarily be easy. I’ll need to look my fears in the eye and I’ll stare them down. I’m telling myself that there are always going to be things I don’t know, or might have to wait to find out. That knowing to expect the unexpected makes me feel better – more prepared – but truth is, it doesn’t settle the flutters in my belly. I know that there’ll be moments I’ll want to cry, even if I don’t.
I also know it’s the pushing through these moments that allow me to move forward, move further from disordered eating and thinking habits. This IS the “recovery” purported by so many people with all kinds of afflictions and addictions holding them back in life. It’s not all happy and pretty; it’s uncomfortable and unnerving, but ultimately leaves me in a better place than I was before. I’m a stronger, more beautiful woman because of these moments. This is what I hope to learn from this trip, as I’ve learnt at the restaurant on a far smaller scale.
I also learnt another important thing: I really like Chinese rice pudding parcels, tied with string and steam-cooked inside palm leaves.
Having opted for hot pot on the advice of someone in the know, we entered the fairly drab, unremarkable restaurant and were presented with a hot plate. On top of this, a young girl placed a bowl of boiling flavoured stock. I think she asked me what we wanted this stock to be, but I was kind of flustered and chose the least fish-like. We filled a bowl with sauces we didn’t recognise. (He thought the garlic was sugar.) We chose bits of food that looked vaguely familiar from the buffet to put in the pot. And noodles (I know where I am with a noodle).
I ate on auto-pilot at first, hoping that the eat-first, think-later strategy might serve me best. I guess it did for a moment or two, before the flutters in my stomach grew and the tickly sting of tears rose behind my eyes. Two or three panic-breaths escaped my mouth. My boyfriend looked anxious and disappointed (I think he was getting ready to have to leave in his head). One lone tear crept down my right cheek, almost invisible through the steam clouds round our heads.
In that moment, though I made my choice in a split-second, I somehow knew inside I had a really important choice to make. Was I going to let this food fear get the better of me or was I going to push through and see what’s on the other side? If I let it win, I could go home and eat something I know I like. I would also have to look at the disappointment on his face, mirroring the same disappointment I would feel in myself, not knowing which was more painful. If I push through it, I don’t know if it will get any better, but I know I can’t feel much worse.
I pushed through it. And whilst I can’t honestly say I liked the meal, I didn’t hate it. My boyfriend says it’s okay not to love every single food I eat, and that sometimes, the joy in eating it is in the not being sure of whether we like it or not, but in the experience itself.
I wouldn’t normally support the idea of eating over emotions, but in this case, I know it was something I needed to do. I needed to prove to myself that I can do it. I needed to know that I can be strong enough to brave new situations. I needed a little faith to cling to before I’m out there, in the big, wide world, alone, experiencing new places, and people, and foods.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, the first pangs of fear I have around this trip gravitate towards food. It’s my fall-back worry for when I’m afraid or unsure of something that I can’t quite (or don’t want to) pin down. Truth is, I’m getting so much better around new foods that these fears are pretty minute. I momentarily wavered at the restaurant this weekend, but I think now that maybe this was less about the food than it seemed.
This will be the longest period of time I’ve spent apart from my boyfriend since we met. It’s also the first solo trip I’ve made since my time living abroad, with depression, suicidal feelings and binge-eating disorder (following a period of anorexia).
Typing these out and saying the words, I’ve got that same flutter in my stomach and prickling of tears behind my eyes as I did in the restaurant. I am scared. I am scared that, perhaps, I won’t be able to cope with being on my own. I’m scared also, perhaps, because maybe I will, and maybe he’ll think I need him less. I’m afraid of being alone.
I’m scared because it might bring back those memories, and with them, the feelings of loneliness and desperation that I’d rather forget. I’m scared because I’m not the same girl that set out by herself before. I don’t yet know how this woman will handle things. I’m afraid of facing my past and stepping into the future.
The truth is, I just don’t yet know the answers to these questions.
And it’s this – the uncertainty – that’s the real fear. Not knowing. It makes me feel vulnerable, lost and child-like. Knowing stuff is something I’m extremely good at, and for which people have praised me. Maybe this is why I find it so hard to accept uncertainty.
But accepting uncertainty, and facing my fears, is a lesson for which I’m long overdue. Like the meal, this trip will not necessarily be easy. I’ll need to look my fears in the eye and I’ll stare them down. I’m telling myself that there are always going to be things I don’t know, or might have to wait to find out. That knowing to expect the unexpected makes me feel better – more prepared – but truth is, it doesn’t settle the flutters in my belly. I know that there’ll be moments I’ll want to cry, even if I don’t.
I also know it’s the pushing through these moments that allow me to move forward, move further from disordered eating and thinking habits. This IS the “recovery” purported by so many people with all kinds of afflictions and addictions holding them back in life. It’s not all happy and pretty; it’s uncomfortable and unnerving, but ultimately leaves me in a better place than I was before. I’m a stronger, more beautiful woman because of these moments. This is what I hope to learn from this trip, as I’ve learnt at the restaurant on a far smaller scale.
I also learnt another important thing: I really like Chinese rice pudding parcels, tied with string and steam-cooked inside palm leaves.
Monday 7 March 2011
Building on the Writing Blocks
Writing in my journal comes naturally to me. So does writing on a scrap of paper, come to think of it, and writing an essay or assignment. The words just seem to flow, and I can get lost in the process of writing. It's a skill I've used and developed in moving on from disordered eating and thinking. It's an essential tool to staying sane, really.
When I get an attack of that critical voice - the one that tells me whatever I've done, said, thought or indeed am is wrong - my best move is to pull out my journal (or whatever's at hand) and scribble it all out. I write out what that voice is saying. Sometimes it's hard, because the words hurt, embarrass or sting me. Sometimes it's as easy as turning on a tap. And then I formulate my counter-attack and rebuke whatever arguments are thrown at me. I make it positive, non-judgemental and supportive. I write to myself as my own best friend. And then, invariably, the knots in my stomach unravel a little and the volume of the voice goes down a few notches. I move forward another step.
Whilst writing myself better, I've learnt that writing also makes me happy.The movement of my pen on the paper, feeling relieved as the words spill on the page, and excited as I can't write as fast as the words appear in my mind. The whole thing is pretty exhilarating, despite never leaving my seat. I feel silly even typing this.
Happiness in writing is not something I can remember feeling whilst obsessively counting calories. Happiness only came from losing pounds or dropping sizes.. Looking back, I'm not even sure I'd call it "happiness" anyway - perhaps relief or a sense of achievement is more accurate. Writing the numbers down and listing myself into a frenzy, I used writing against myself to account for myself. Each and every mouthful logged in little notebooks, until the bingeing began and I couldn't face writing anymore. I guess this partly why writing feels so brilliant now.
It's perhaps not surprising that I'm discovering how passionate I am about writing a book. A real book. No one needs to see this book but me; I just need to write. I've got a couple of ideas for what I'd like to write about, both of which I think have promise. I'm not so overwhelmed by my new job and my eating issues nowadays that I cannot make some space to write little and often. The scene is set and the future looks promising, right?
Yet when I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to write for this purpose - to fulfil this dream or burning ambition (over-used cliches, I know, but sometimes the oldies are goodies) - I stop short. I can't seem to get the words out. My head feels like alphabet soup. It's all consonants and no vowels, Carol.
I don't yet know why this is, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's that critical voice again rendering me frozen with fear. I can't remember what it was to have dreams and ambitions; ones that are truly mine and mine alone. I've achieved things, sure. I'm moving forward in life, in terms of the usual progression markers of work and relationships. But very few of these feel truly mine. The closest I can get is my relationship with my partner; yet that is ours - relationships imply more than one person - and I'm talking about the solo stuff here.
Writing is something that is entirely mine.
No one is pressuring me to write (but me) and no one knows this is even a dream of mine (but me and him indoors). Being all mine perhaps makes it that bit more precious and fragile.
At the moment, it feels like I'm holding a glass bird in my hands; I can't open them for fear of it falling and breaking. My emotions run high whenever I dare to even consider it. If I'd been a different child, had a different life, dreams might be like sugar stealers. I'd be able to voice them aloud and blow them away, and perhaps a few would seed and grow. Being the person I am, with the life and experiences I've had, it's pretty understandable that the rarity of these dreams might make me a little more Gollum-like.
My writing is perhaps "my precious". But to really feel happiness in my writing, perhaps I need to let go a little and just let it come. See what happens. Maybe it won't shatter; maybe it'll shine a little brighter if I give it the freedom just to be.
When I get an attack of that critical voice - the one that tells me whatever I've done, said, thought or indeed am is wrong - my best move is to pull out my journal (or whatever's at hand) and scribble it all out. I write out what that voice is saying. Sometimes it's hard, because the words hurt, embarrass or sting me. Sometimes it's as easy as turning on a tap. And then I formulate my counter-attack and rebuke whatever arguments are thrown at me. I make it positive, non-judgemental and supportive. I write to myself as my own best friend. And then, invariably, the knots in my stomach unravel a little and the volume of the voice goes down a few notches. I move forward another step.
Whilst writing myself better, I've learnt that writing also makes me happy.The movement of my pen on the paper, feeling relieved as the words spill on the page, and excited as I can't write as fast as the words appear in my mind. The whole thing is pretty exhilarating, despite never leaving my seat. I feel silly even typing this.
Happiness in writing is not something I can remember feeling whilst obsessively counting calories. Happiness only came from losing pounds or dropping sizes.. Looking back, I'm not even sure I'd call it "happiness" anyway - perhaps relief or a sense of achievement is more accurate. Writing the numbers down and listing myself into a frenzy, I used writing against myself to account for myself. Each and every mouthful logged in little notebooks, until the bingeing began and I couldn't face writing anymore. I guess this partly why writing feels so brilliant now.
It's perhaps not surprising that I'm discovering how passionate I am about writing a book. A real book. No one needs to see this book but me; I just need to write. I've got a couple of ideas for what I'd like to write about, both of which I think have promise. I'm not so overwhelmed by my new job and my eating issues nowadays that I cannot make some space to write little and often. The scene is set and the future looks promising, right?
Yet when I put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) to write for this purpose - to fulfil this dream or burning ambition (over-used cliches, I know, but sometimes the oldies are goodies) - I stop short. I can't seem to get the words out. My head feels like alphabet soup. It's all consonants and no vowels, Carol.
I don't yet know why this is, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it's that critical voice again rendering me frozen with fear. I can't remember what it was to have dreams and ambitions; ones that are truly mine and mine alone. I've achieved things, sure. I'm moving forward in life, in terms of the usual progression markers of work and relationships. But very few of these feel truly mine. The closest I can get is my relationship with my partner; yet that is ours - relationships imply more than one person - and I'm talking about the solo stuff here.
Writing is something that is entirely mine.
No one is pressuring me to write (but me) and no one knows this is even a dream of mine (but me and him indoors). Being all mine perhaps makes it that bit more precious and fragile.
At the moment, it feels like I'm holding a glass bird in my hands; I can't open them for fear of it falling and breaking. My emotions run high whenever I dare to even consider it. If I'd been a different child, had a different life, dreams might be like sugar stealers. I'd be able to voice them aloud and blow them away, and perhaps a few would seed and grow. Being the person I am, with the life and experiences I've had, it's pretty understandable that the rarity of these dreams might make me a little more Gollum-like.
My writing is perhaps "my precious". But to really feel happiness in my writing, perhaps I need to let go a little and just let it come. See what happens. Maybe it won't shatter; maybe it'll shine a little brighter if I give it the freedom just to be.
Monday 10 January 2011
Happy New Year
Being the first week of the New Year, talk of New Year’s resolutions (and inevitably, dieting) is everywhere. Literally everywhere I turn – in the office, on the bus, on television – someone is excitedly planning on taking a new fitness class, determinedly bulk-buying diet drinks, adamant that this is their year. This is the year they’ll get thin once and for all. Sounds great, right?
Well, no. Not for those of us who have ever suffered from disordered eating and – more importantly, perhaps - disordered thinking about ourselves and our bodies. In brief, when we think our value lies in what we look like and how other people judge us, dieting becomes more than just losing a little extra weight.
It became a way of showing people that I was worth something. I could control my food intake and I could obtain a body shape and size that others would envy; thus I was a worthwhile human being and earned my place in the world. I had to earn it (did you think you had to earn your place in existence?) because the Critic in me told me I was a failure; I was damaged goods and would never be good enough as I was.
Becoming someone thin would prove to myself and others that I could achieve something worth having. And so started the Special K diet and then Weight Watchers. And then some kind of amalgamation of the two. Ultimately, I made my own rules – or at least, I thought I did (my Critic was truly the one in charge, I see now).
One year down the line, and I was thin. I was a severely depressed, incredibly lonely and vulnerable young woman, but I was thin.
Looking back and unpicking these things so I can see things for what they were has taken time. Five or six years to date, to be precise. Whilst I don’t waste any more time wishing things had been different, this is time in which I could have been living, had I not made dieting my life that New Year.
And this is the point I’d like to make in my post today:
It only really makes your body smaller, and whilst that might be part of making positive change happen, it doesn’t work if it’s part of an outside-in, rather than an inside-out approach. If you feel like you’re not good enough the way you are right now - and by this, I mean in every aspect of who you are (your personality, career choices, relationships) as well as what you look like – then it’s INSIDE which is off-kilter in the first instance. The inside issues probably were there before the outside – maybe they were always there, like for me. And so it’s the inside that needs looking at before the outside has a hope of lasting longer than the time it takes to break into a packet of biscuits.
And the other point?
When the diet was over I had as close to a perfect body as I could ever have hoped for. Now, I know that a ‘perfect’ body doesn’t exist. But looking back, I was extremely thin yet had toned, tanned skin and hours in the gym gave me enviable stomach muscles and legs that, for the first time in my life and despite my ED tunnel vision, even I felt able to bear in skirts. When I had enough insight to be vaguely rational, I knew I looked good to the outside world.
When my boyfriend saw a picture of me like this on an old phone, my heart broke as he complimented me on how great I looked. He said what everyone else saw; I had everything, as far as they were concerned. Even now, I have times when I wish I had been able to see it more clearly and have taken advantage of having the body I had always longed for.
And then I remember the true picture – the bit that includes the inside. And inside, I was dying.
Physically, I was exhausted. Running on adrenaline, I daren’t miss a gym session or sit down for more than short periods because I worried that stopping moving, I’d have put on weight.
Mentally, I was a wreck. Desperate for someone – anyone – to see just how much I was hurting inside and ask me if I was okay, and yet desperately clinging on to this achievement that drew so many people to ask how I’d done it; how I – this nobody, I supposed – had THAT body. It was the most confusing time. I yelled at my sister for trying to make me eat a jacket potato and beans she’d made me, and for pointing out how my ribs showed unnaturally through my skin, and yet I remember welling up because I’d waited so long for someone to see it.
By this point, I knew this wasn’t my natural body state (any more than it is natural for me to be very heavy). I knew there was something more to this was, way sooner than things fell apart, and yet I lived in fear of ballooning and being found out as an unworthy failure for months. I worried about every single mouthful of food. I cried when my friend asked me why I couldn’t eat like a normal person, having caught me measuring sunflower spread with a teaspoon. But at the time, I couldn’t risk going out for a meal or drinking alcohol as I might gain a pound, and that felt like the worst thing in the world. The thinner I got, the more I hated people looking at me. Men made my skin crawl and I couldn’t bear anyone to touch me. Someone I’d been casually seeing accidentally went to touch me and his hand went under my ribcage. I cringed and I reckon he did too.
I’ve written more than I intended here, and as I write, I can tell you that it still hurts to think back to this time. I can see how much of a textbook anorexic I was, but textbook or not, these thoughts, and feelings, and experiences happen to people like myself. At the time, I hadn’t a clue I was doing anything other than starting a New Year with a New Year’s diet. But circumstances and experiences combined with this diet to mark me in a way that can never quite be erased.
You can’t predict if someone will develop an eating disorder. It can happen at any time and place. But if you know that this New Year, deep down, what you’re looking for is to be happy, you won’t find it at a fee-charging diet ‘support’ group and you certainly won’t find it at the bottom of a cold can of diet shake.
I’ve learnt this in the hardest way possible, short of being hospitalised and pulled into the mental health system. So when I’m feeling a bit unnerved by changes going on in my life – changes that have nothing at all to do with the number in my jeans – I refuse to make resolutions that this’ll be the year I’ll get that thin body back. I can’t say it isn’t tempting. Sometimes, I wonder whether the self-knowledge and insight I have now would equip me well enough to handle the body I once created.
And I know that I’m missing the point, because I have something now I could never have, living the life it takes to look quite so ‘perfect’: I am happy. I am loved. I’ve got the energy to be interested in and care about other people (disordered eating doesn’t do relationships and as such, I lost just about all my friendships). I’ve built friendships and I know what it feels like to be loved – really, really loved . I can socialise with other people, around food and drink (disordered eating doesn’t do... well... eating), and actually enjoy myself. I can choose to have a life in a way I couldn’t even consider in the depths of my dieting days.
So I won’t join in the conversations in the office, or with friends, when it comes to dieting. I’m not comparing the market for the best offer on gym memberships. And I’m definitely not buying women’s magazines this month because I can guarantee that they’ll proffer solutions to rid my ‘post-Christmas bulge’ or get me ‘in shape for summer’. Please don’t be offended or think I’m taking the moral high-ground if I don’t get into what you weighed then, now or tomorrow.
I’m just choosing to be happy this year and every single year here on, and hope that you can too.
Happy New Year.
Well, no. Not for those of us who have ever suffered from disordered eating and – more importantly, perhaps - disordered thinking about ourselves and our bodies. In brief, when we think our value lies in what we look like and how other people judge us, dieting becomes more than just losing a little extra weight.
It became a way of showing people that I was worth something. I could control my food intake and I could obtain a body shape and size that others would envy; thus I was a worthwhile human being and earned my place in the world. I had to earn it (did you think you had to earn your place in existence?) because the Critic in me told me I was a failure; I was damaged goods and would never be good enough as I was.
Becoming someone thin would prove to myself and others that I could achieve something worth having. And so started the Special K diet and then Weight Watchers. And then some kind of amalgamation of the two. Ultimately, I made my own rules – or at least, I thought I did (my Critic was truly the one in charge, I see now).
One year down the line, and I was thin. I was a severely depressed, incredibly lonely and vulnerable young woman, but I was thin.
Looking back and unpicking these things so I can see things for what they were has taken time. Five or six years to date, to be precise. Whilst I don’t waste any more time wishing things had been different, this is time in which I could have been living, had I not made dieting my life that New Year.
And this is the point I’d like to make in my post today:
Dieting is never the answer to unhappiness.
It only really makes your body smaller, and whilst that might be part of making positive change happen, it doesn’t work if it’s part of an outside-in, rather than an inside-out approach. If you feel like you’re not good enough the way you are right now - and by this, I mean in every aspect of who you are (your personality, career choices, relationships) as well as what you look like – then it’s INSIDE which is off-kilter in the first instance. The inside issues probably were there before the outside – maybe they were always there, like for me. And so it’s the inside that needs looking at before the outside has a hope of lasting longer than the time it takes to break into a packet of biscuits.
And the other point?
Dieting can have long-lasting consequences.
When the diet was over I had as close to a perfect body as I could ever have hoped for. Now, I know that a ‘perfect’ body doesn’t exist. But looking back, I was extremely thin yet had toned, tanned skin and hours in the gym gave me enviable stomach muscles and legs that, for the first time in my life and despite my ED tunnel vision, even I felt able to bear in skirts. When I had enough insight to be vaguely rational, I knew I looked good to the outside world.
When my boyfriend saw a picture of me like this on an old phone, my heart broke as he complimented me on how great I looked. He said what everyone else saw; I had everything, as far as they were concerned. Even now, I have times when I wish I had been able to see it more clearly and have taken advantage of having the body I had always longed for.
And then I remember the true picture – the bit that includes the inside. And inside, I was dying.
Physically, I was exhausted. Running on adrenaline, I daren’t miss a gym session or sit down for more than short periods because I worried that stopping moving, I’d have put on weight.
Mentally, I was a wreck. Desperate for someone – anyone – to see just how much I was hurting inside and ask me if I was okay, and yet desperately clinging on to this achievement that drew so many people to ask how I’d done it; how I – this nobody, I supposed – had THAT body. It was the most confusing time. I yelled at my sister for trying to make me eat a jacket potato and beans she’d made me, and for pointing out how my ribs showed unnaturally through my skin, and yet I remember welling up because I’d waited so long for someone to see it.
By this point, I knew this wasn’t my natural body state (any more than it is natural for me to be very heavy). I knew there was something more to this was, way sooner than things fell apart, and yet I lived in fear of ballooning and being found out as an unworthy failure for months. I worried about every single mouthful of food. I cried when my friend asked me why I couldn’t eat like a normal person, having caught me measuring sunflower spread with a teaspoon. But at the time, I couldn’t risk going out for a meal or drinking alcohol as I might gain a pound, and that felt like the worst thing in the world. The thinner I got, the more I hated people looking at me. Men made my skin crawl and I couldn’t bear anyone to touch me. Someone I’d been casually seeing accidentally went to touch me and his hand went under my ribcage. I cringed and I reckon he did too.
I’ve written more than I intended here, and as I write, I can tell you that it still hurts to think back to this time. I can see how much of a textbook anorexic I was, but textbook or not, these thoughts, and feelings, and experiences happen to people like myself. At the time, I hadn’t a clue I was doing anything other than starting a New Year with a New Year’s diet. But circumstances and experiences combined with this diet to mark me in a way that can never quite be erased.
You can’t predict if someone will develop an eating disorder. It can happen at any time and place. But if you know that this New Year, deep down, what you’re looking for is to be happy, you won’t find it at a fee-charging diet ‘support’ group and you certainly won’t find it at the bottom of a cold can of diet shake.
I’ve learnt this in the hardest way possible, short of being hospitalised and pulled into the mental health system. So when I’m feeling a bit unnerved by changes going on in my life – changes that have nothing at all to do with the number in my jeans – I refuse to make resolutions that this’ll be the year I’ll get that thin body back. I can’t say it isn’t tempting. Sometimes, I wonder whether the self-knowledge and insight I have now would equip me well enough to handle the body I once created.
And I know that I’m missing the point, because I have something now I could never have, living the life it takes to look quite so ‘perfect’: I am happy. I am loved. I’ve got the energy to be interested in and care about other people (disordered eating doesn’t do relationships and as such, I lost just about all my friendships). I’ve built friendships and I know what it feels like to be loved – really, really loved . I can socialise with other people, around food and drink (disordered eating doesn’t do... well... eating), and actually enjoy myself. I can choose to have a life in a way I couldn’t even consider in the depths of my dieting days.
So I won’t join in the conversations in the office, or with friends, when it comes to dieting. I’m not comparing the market for the best offer on gym memberships. And I’m definitely not buying women’s magazines this month because I can guarantee that they’ll proffer solutions to rid my ‘post-Christmas bulge’ or get me ‘in shape for summer’. Please don’t be offended or think I’m taking the moral high-ground if I don’t get into what you weighed then, now or tomorrow.
I’m just choosing to be happy this year and every single year here on, and hope that you can too.
Happy New Year.
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