“What does recovery mean to you?”
…this was the subject line on an email in my inbox today from… (drumroll)….
President Barack Obama. Yep. You heard right. During the campaign I was on a mailing list and received nearly daily emails from Barack and Michelle and the whole gang asking me to support them in various ways. HA -if only they knew how unable I was to support ANYone, including myself, this fall. So these emails keep coming as part of Prez’s plan to stay technosavvyconnectedawesome with his people. I didn’t even open the email, knowing it would spoil the illusion that MY PRESIDENT is so in touch with me and my needs that he wants to know how my ED recovery is going. So, B., I’ll tell you:
Recovery means:
I have much more time on my hands to make things and pet my dog and free-read for hours at Barnes and Noble. Sometimes this time makes me feel edgy and anxious. Other times lonely or sad. I am getting better at tolerating these feelings without my infamous “maladaptive coping strategies”.
My mother doesn’t call every day and ask how “my appetite is” and encourage me to drink Ensure if I “can’t keep solids down”. The phone rings less frequently than when I’m sick, but I’m more likely to answer it when it does.
I’ve begun the journey to figuring out who the real ME is, beneath the skin and bones and mountains of jiggly, soft flesh.
Ironically, I actually think LESS about my body and weight at my “healthy” weight than I do at my “sick” weights. When I catch myself in the mirror, I am, however, still mostly disappointed. Such is life. Things don’t change overnight.
I save water by flushing 75 fewer times per day.
The hopelessness has receded. I’m pretty sure on most days that I should be alive and that I may have things to contribute to the world.
I can eat most meals without acute distress. There is often regret and shame and self-loathing afterwards, but I don’t struggle to put fork to mouth or skip meals altogether.
I can choose not to go to the gym – if I’m tired or busy or want to take a long walk instead. The gym is not punishment for my last meal. But I have to go tonight because I didn’t go yesterday!
Looking skyward and whispering, “thank you” to whatever god, goddess, life force, quantum physics or nothingness has helped me make it this far. Pleading with it to stay near and keep helping.
Really really hoping that I never have to crawl out of the black pit of despair again.
My body feels yucky.
My neck hurts. As if I got in a fender-bender yesterday. Actually, worse than that – as if this weekend I competed in the World’s Strongest Lady contest and pulled a firetruck with a rope clenched between my teeth. I just finished date #2 of the day with a heating pad wrapped around my shoulders. But my head has been achy too. And my glands are starting to throb a bit. No snot. No sore throat. But more insidious signs that this body might just be fighting a little bug of sorts. Groan.
Being sick is like a big fat sign of weakness to me. Dashes all feelings of strength and vitality on the rocks. And the last thing I want is to be home alone sick with no one to make me tea or coo empathetically over my bed head and flushed cheeks peeking out from the Northern edge of the comforter.
My body is also a bit frustrating today because it is…curvier. These courderoys are snuggly hugging my hips and derriere. It’s beautiful, it’s womanly, it’s sexy. But I keep having to tell myself those things because they’re not the first thoughts that pop into my head when I catch my reflection in the shiny door at Starbucks.
Plans to go to the gym have been aborted. I’m trying to start a new plan of walking Sam the dog twice per day on most days (especially weekends). He’s been desperately under-exercised because of the cold and Cesar Milan says every dog needs good daily walks. So two long pup walks and some weights at home while I watch Oprah are about as much as this struggling body wants to sign on for today. Glad I can be flexible and responsive to my body’s needs. This is progress.
No wonder it tastes so good…
Several of the blogs I read are of lovely ladies recovering and using their blogs to, amongst other things, document the scrumptious foods they eat. Well I was inspired to add some of these foods to my grocery cart today, including a tea made by Celestial Seasons called Sugar Cookie Sleigh Ride – a holiday exclusive flavor. I had seen it on several blogs and thus was so motivated to find it that I ventured into three stores today. Let me tell you, I thought it was well worth it. I had two cups of that stuff to warm me up on a blizzardy Vermont day after shoveling the driveway. J came home and I showed it to him and proptly flipped to the ingredient list in search of the secret to its deliciousness. GLUTEN! Ack!!! Gluten in tea??!! Yep. Apparently to make it taste extra cookie-ish they add barley. You know what I have to say to that? Bah-fucking-humbug. No more delicious tea for me. And a bit of a yucky gut hangover from it. Moral of the story? Never stop checking labels. Even when you feel that you are a Celiac pro. Don’t get cocky. Just check the g.d. label.**
In other news. I had another successful day of eating, by which I mean that I feel really uncomfortable right now. I again had about 3 episodes of “urges” while eating but they passed. I swear starting the day with breakfast right off the bat is part of this key to success. I have always been one of those people who wakes up absolutely famished. And lately have been hop-skipping right through breakfast with only coffee in my belly. Not only does it start the day with my crankypants on, it definitely sets me up to eat more than I’m comfortable with or faster than feels okay later in the day. For anxiety’s sake I’ve been sticking with the same thing every morning. I can handle a little more flexibility and choice later in the day as long as I fuel my fire when I wake up. So a piece of toast with PB, or cashew butter or cream cheese and a small smoothie it is. Low volume, high nutrition (exactly the opposite of what women’s magazines tell you to do). I get what I need to start the day but don’t feel freaked out by the feeling of it in my tummy.
The thoughts are there to restrict tomorrow and it certainly is easier when I’m at work. But despite twinges of discomfort in this very moment, on the whole I felt physically, emotionally and mentally stronger this weekend. I snow-shoveled and went to the gym and ate healthy things. So I’m trying to reassure myself that I won’t have to exchange gifts for a size XXL anytime soon.
I had an interesting moment tonight while parusing a friend’s pictures on Facebook tonight. I worked with him at this fabulous summer camp for several years and the place is really the epitome of happiness and comfort in my own skin. It’s on the top of a mountain in my home state and is filled with the most authentic, energetic and loving people I’ve ever known. So this picture was taken what I believe to be the summer after I graduated from college. My senior year of college was the one time in my life when I actually gained some weight. Nothing unhealthy but it was probably the only year that anyone would not call me “petite” or “tiny” (words which I know realize I have incorporated deeply into my identity – how shallow. but true). Here is this picture of me and a friend, arms around each other , huge genuine smiles, skin glowing from suntans and peace. And all I could think about what how fat I looked. How I couldn’t believe I let myself get that way. How that’s the reason why I need my eating disorder. The strength of my visceral reaction of disgust at my own appearance makes me want to cry. I wish wish wish that I could see past the round cheeks and get joy from seeing my smile. I don’t judge others so harshly. I look at my yoga teachers with curves and think how they look healthy and confident. But I see myself with curves and it repulses me. Definitely need to talk to Bree about this. I want to know why my internalized image of myself is so thin and why it is so abhorrent to see myself any other way. It really rattled me and I’m glad I saw that picture a few hours after I’d eaten dinner.
**and yes, checking labels is something I wish I didn’t HAVE to do because it has a tendency to stir up some disordered parts who want me to restrict. but it’s just a necessary part of my existance. the whole eating disorder and celiac connection is so frustrating. for example – having an eating disorder often makes one paranoid that other people are watching what you eat, judging what you eat. well, in my case, they often are. At least when I eat around unfamiliar people (perhaps why I try not to do that so much). I got so “skilled” at restricting my food intake around the same time that I officially had to eliminate certain wonderful, delicious foods from my diet (bread, pasta, brownies, cookies, pancakes, rolls, pita pockets, crackers, etc…..). I became obsessed with food right around the time that I kind of had to for my health. Certainly I can’t be the only one in the universe with a similar experience of an ED exacerbated or triggered by Celiac or another dietary restriciton?!!
Being my own physician
I had a wash of insight the other night about a new way to view my eating disorder. It came after some wallowing in the mud of hopelessness that I’ll never get over this blasted disease. Therapy this week (2x since we missed last week) was enlightening, progress was made, perspective gained, yaddah, yaddah, yaddah. So why, I wallowed, have I been restricting, purging and exercising like I’m training for a marathon? Shouldn’t my “behaviors” (one in a long list of lovely euphemisms for “treating myself like shit and taking sick pleasure in it”) be dissipating? Sigh. Harumph. I’m doomed. Give up the fight, now, it’s a hopeless battle. Return to the cold, predictable solitude of sickness.
But then came a new way of viewing what was previously declared defeat. What if my eating disorder was like Multiple Sclerosis (which I studied in school so have more knowledge of than perhaps the average person so I’ll explain…). My eating disorder has exacerbations and remissions. It cycles. Often predictably and sometimes for no apparent reason. One of the biggest messages that those in my profession give patients with MS is that even in times of remission, the self-care is necessary. You cannot pretend that you are well and abandon the effort, let your guard down and overdo it. This is one of the predictable precursers to an exacerbation. Let’s just call the entire month of October a predictable precurser to an exacerbation for me.
The other concept we teach people with MS is a little gem called “Energy Conservation”. It’s actually quite simple in theory, execution much more of a complex and demanding constant awareness and monitoring. The premise is that you identify times of day when you have the most energy and plan the daily tasks that are most energy-demanding then. You schedule resting, stretching or medication times to balance these bursts of exertion (the beauty of the MS analogy is that during exacerbation, exertion can mean…getting out of bed and taking a shower, grocery shopping, making a meal. We’re not talking power-lifting or 12 hour nursing shifts.). Now I know that typically this model is used in reference to more of a metabolic veiw of energy. But my love of yoga and yogic philosophy leads me to view energy as “prana” or life force (oh, lord, she’s gone new age now!). I feel that all of us have natural body rhythms and energy cycles that unfortunately we just ignore because it doesn’t fit in with work, school, or whatever else feels important. But, goddamnit, I’m sick. It’s about time I started using that excuse and that sick role as part of my recovery and not my demise.
After diagnosing myself with a chronic, cycling condition I talked to Bree about it. She was amazed and loved the analogy. She added that it’s interesting because MS is an autoimmune disorder. It’s the body attacking itself under stress. Hmmm. Sounds familiar, huh? I’ve decided to divide my “to do” list down the middle – energy out and energy in. Not only to make sure that I’m balancing and renewing my prana but also that I’m alternating the two. It’s simply ridiculous for me to think that I can have an outpouring of energy for a ten-hour workday and then somehow make up for it in a few hours in the evening. It doesn’t add up. That logic is akin to writing checks for two weeks straight and then depositing a little into your bank account (which I’ve tried – the bank doesn’t so much appreciate this strategy). I have to begin to bring in and put out my energy in a delicate dance that requires conscious attention to myself, my body, my thought processes and the ability to say “no”, change plans and take some time for me. As much as I’d like to pretend that there is a clearly defined “finish line” (complete with medals awarded, adoring fans and gatorade) to this battle, I know that it’s a mirage. Even if I go 40 years without restricting or purging, decades at a healthy weight there is a great likelihood that given the perfect storm of stress, anxiety, impulsivity and loss of coping strategies that I’ll have my craggy, arthritic old lady finger down my throat.
In other news updates, I had an interview yesterday at a rehab place that just opened a pediatric component. No job was posted but it seemed like a place that might be interested in a pediatric OT like myself so (per mom’s haranguing) I emailed to see if we could meet to talk about the role of OT in their setting. Fast forward through an immediate email response, an hour and a half interview and a part-time job offer with the goal of moving to full-time as I can build a caseload. Basically they have the space, the equipment (all new and clean and shiny, unlike my duct-taped, germ-ridden mess of a clinic) and the financial resources, but not the staff. Enter me. I’ve proposed starting at 2 days a week and hopefully my current employer won’t see this as a huge betrayal as there is the potential to view this new clinic as “competition”. I don’t plan to market it that way (as marketing to build my caseload would be part of the job) and really have such burnout with my current job that the last thing I want is more of the same.
It’s a new challenge with some inherent stress. It will demand more energy in the start-up phases. I am ensuring that my schedule(s), both current and future, allow for the ED group, earlier days (I’ve proposed that my days end at 4:30 – hold your breath, folks), my dog (the new place is pet-friendly and Sam is invited). If and when I move to this new position, I plan on being up front with my employer that I have a chronic illness that requires me to really take care of myself and balance the demands of work with my energy level (let them wonder what that specific diagnosis is, I’m not prepared to disclose).
