RESILIENCE

Resilience [noun]: The capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

My physical self is very resilient. And for that, I am jolly thankful. I rarely succumb to illness, and when I do, my most excellent immune system does its job quickly and efficiently.

My emotional self has no resilience. I have worked with young people nearly all my life – I started teaching at 14, when I was just a child myself. And children who demonstrate no resilience, are children who struggle – full stop. I am one of those children.

Resilience is such an important life skill, yet when I was a young lass, not something parents usually considered. Emotional responses to stressful situations were routinely dismissed – Just toughen up! What are you crying about? You’re making mountains out of molehills! Pretty standard responses in the 1970s.

I was a highly emotional child, raised in a home where emotions were not acceptable and a public face was to be worn at all times. My concerns and worries weren’t acknowledged, validated or worked through. They were dismissed as trivial, irrelevant, and selfish. I’m a fast learner though – I always have been – so very quickly buried my concerns. I’d let trivial issues swirl around inside my head and grow wings, and this developed into a lifelong habit. A little butterfly flitting around, rapidly transforms into a fire-breathing dragon, with its scaly hide filling every ounce of space in my head.
When I hear a harsh word or I’m corrected, if I make a mistake or a misjudgment, my body freezes, my brain dies, and I want to run away. Later, the disaster dialogue begins: She hates me. I’m such an idiot. How did I miss that? They’re going to fire me. How could I be so stupid? We’ll never be friends again. I feel so ashamed. Why did I say that? 
Blah blah blah.

It goes on and on and on and on. I struggle to turn thoughts around or challenge them with alternate scenarios: She’s probably tired. I apologised and he was fine. People make mistakes.

Now, I do have staying power – I can be fiercely determined and stubborn and I don’t give up easily. But I do take things to heart. Far more than I should. And the problem with a lack of emotional resilience, is self-doubt, self-hatred and fear of conflict and consequences, are all dealt with one way or the other. When they’re not dealt with in a healthy manner, they’re dealt with in an unhealthy manner.

Self-doubt is crippling. I live with the eternal fear everyone hates me. And if they don’t hate me yet, they soon will. I need to be perfect at all times – so you’ll like me. I need to give of myself at all times – so you’ll feel loved. I need to accept blame for all conflict – so you’ll forgive me.

These are not demands placed upon me by others. They are placed upon me by myself. And they are unreasonable expectations that can never be fully realised.

I have come to believe without emotional resilience, I will remain caught in a cycle of mental health struggles. In a perfect world, little bumps and bruises that come my way, would be met with calm acceptance, feet up on a comfy chair, a little self-reflection and a debrief with a trusted friend. Emotional resilience would bless me with the ability to let things go and move on. These are the skills I taught my students. But these are the skills I still need to learn. I have no magic answers. But I trust the first step to change, is to acknowledge the problem.

REFRAMING RELAPSE

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve slipped into a period of relapse. I can sit and analyse the how and why until the cows home, but it doesn’t make any difference to the result. That’s the problem with mental health issues – it’s essential to look back and understand how we got here, but it doesn’t make a scrap of difference to what’s going on now.

I’m not doing too badly – I’m certainly no worse than I was a week ago. So I hope there is some comfort in that. I was wondering today if perhaps I’m in a period of transition rather than relapse. That is how I’m going to reframe things at the moment.

The trouble with labels, is it’s easy to live up to them. If I say I’m in relapse it can be a self-fulfilling prophecy. Instead perhaps I am:

• Learning to eat very slowly
• Eating in a mindful fashion
• Making healthier food choices
• Letting go of bingeing
• Working on redirecting thoughts away from food

The pendulum can swing too far, but as someone who has claimed to be in recovery for many, many moons now, it is my job to make sure I reign back the extremes.
So I retract my earlier assertions of relapse and hereby announce I’m moving in a slightly different direction. Granted, this direction is risky and potentially problematic, but I hope with guidance and support I can make it a good move.

One of the major stumbling blocks to reaching any level of recovery, is my primary focus on body image. Despite trying to logic myself out of it, I am concerned about weight. I’m fearful of being fat. And those fears trump all my recovery goals and efforts – every time.

I am an expert on what to do in recovery. If you want to know anything, just ask me! But unfortunately I’m still talking lots of talk, not walking all the walk. I am prone to doing things quickly, and thoroughly and efficiently, and this painful, slow, meandering path is horridly unnatural to me.

So while Ana and Mia are definitely out here playing around, doing what the hell they like, Simone is still here, playing guardian and keeping an eye on things.

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP

This little girl is on the wall next to my bed. My Nanna made it when I was little. I love it. For years it was tucked away in the back of a cupboard, the copper dark and green, the gloss disappearing from the embossed nightgown. A couple of years ago it magically appeared in my Christmas gifts, all polished and shiny,  lacquered and new – courtesy of my very thoughtful husband.

Anyone who knows me, or has read a few of my blog posts, will be aware I am not religious. I say this with neither pride nor shame. It simply is. I have developed my own unique sense of spirituality – there are little tidbits common to others, but on the whole, it is me choosing to have faith in spiritual concepts.

There are many, many days when I have wished for undying faith in a God, and the shared sense of community usually prevalent in religious communities. There looks to be a lot of comfort in that kind of faith and support. When depression reaches out its spindly fingers, attempting to massage its way into your spirit, a faith in God must ease the loneliness.

I am not in the best of places at the moment.

I am not in the worst of places either. But I can feel my soul being sapped and it is hard to untangle my thoughts. Days are exhausting and nights sleep deprived. Little bumps in the road leave me struggling to gain perspective. I am always glad when I choose to remember my very special rule – don’t make big decisions when feeling emotional.

I wonder if I’m starting to sound cryptic… Just in case…  No. I am not suicidal. I want to get that out there so I don’t have the police knocking my door down to check on me. I am drifting back to wanting to just not be, but let me reassure readers, not wanting to be is not the same as choosing to end my being.

On a less dramatic level, I am in a period of relapse. I wasn’t going to share it here as I get tired of feeling like a failure. But as I know there are people reading who struggle with ED, perhaps there is comfort in knowing relapse happens. I hope it doesn’t happen to you.

I wrote the following in my private journal the other day. It’s raw and I have edited a little so it is hopefully not triggering.

I turned the final page and felt the familiar emotional paradox – contentment knowing the story in its entirety, and sadness leaving the world I’d inhabited.

But this time a third feeling – I was triggered. It was not the anticipated reaction, but the page closed and I relapsed. Just like that. Not into bulimia this time, but restriction.

It is six days since I finished the book and my sanity has fled. I’ve lost nearly four kilos. I know it’s idiotic. I know it’s unsustainable. And yet when it comes to making choices about how, what, when, where, if to eat – it’s not me in charge.

Inside the carapace I plastered around my heart, live two individuals. Let’s give them the cliché names – it’s easier to remember. Ana and Mia. Mia has been prevalent virtually all my life, but Ana sneaks out to play from time to time. Last Saturday Ana whipped on high heel boots and her favourite little black number, and burst through that shell with a song and a dance. Legs akimbo, arms in the air, and the confident shimmer of jazz hands.

When first I restricted, I stopped eating altogether. It’s not really rocket science to figure out it wasn’t going to last. Four weeks later I was living in a mental health unit. This time Ana’s here without her friends, depression, anxiety and self-harm. She feels in control.

She feels euphoric.

Intellectual Simone knows rapid weight loss is muscle mass and fluids – not fat. And every period of restriction is followed by binging. I know it’s not sustainable. But I’m not in charge here. Ana is. And she’s partying hard. She’s learned a thing or two in the past 18 months.

Yesterday at work I spent two hours eating a banana. Two hours. My entire life I’ve eaten like a starving woman fending off rabid dogs for the last vestige of crumbs on the floor. And yesterday I spent two hours eating a banana. It was the first food I’d eaten all day. And I felt great.

This is the high that comes with restriction. I can do what I want – you can’t make me get better. You can’t make me eat. And I will prove to you I am in control. I will prove to myself I am in control. I am strong. I am invincible. I am woman and I can roar.

And I can starve.

There’s a little voice inside saying, “You fucking idiot. It’s not gonna last and you know it.”

And Ana’s staring down at me saying, “I don’t care.”

LETTING GO & GIVING UP

What’s the difference? One and the same?

The end result is the same.

I’ve been visiting a physio for some time now – to try and nut out the origins of the pain in my back. I started seeing her after I’d seen an osteopath. I started seeing the osteopath after the chiropractor. I started seeing the chiropractor after I’d spoken to my doctor.

The pain I have is not debilitating – but it’s been slowly getting worse. Seems to be spreading to more bits of me. I have less strength and feeling on my left side now. Again – not majorly, but it’s obvious to me.

I’m reaching the point where I can’t be bothered attempting to find answers and hoping to become pain free. I no longer believe it will happen. So if I stop going to treatment and stop seeking solutions, is that considered giving up? Which has a negative connotation and suggests I don’t have the strength and sticking power and wherewithal to keep going. Or am I just letting go? Which feels more like accepting the inevitable. I’m not as young as I once was, and I have aches and pains I have to learn to work with and stop working against.

And as far as recovery goes. If I ceased seeking recovery – giving up or letting go? It is far, far easier to accept what I’ve always known, and work with it, than to constantly work against it and try to rewrite my being. Recovery is unbelievably stressful. And expensive. And I’m no longer convinced it’s worth it to be honest. Perhaps letting go of recovery is all the recovery I need. Perhaps giving up on unrealistic dreams will be more freeing than pursuing the impossible. Perhaps it’s like looking for love – it only appears when you’re not looking…

In all honesty, I am tired. Tired of trying to eliminate pain from my back – it’s been there for 25 years. Tired of disappointing myself with food and my body – it’s been the same for 50 years. I would be freeing up dollars and hours every week. I want to give up. But more importantly – I feel it’s time to let go. Let go of barking up trees that are far too tall for me to ever reach.

AND THE BLACK DOG SLEPT

The days were cold,

And the skies were grey.

The bare branches swaying in the swift brisk wind.

Still, the black dog slept.

The mirror reflects,

The passing of days.

And a breast yearning more, for babes long grown.

And still, the black dog slept.

One bright blue morn,

As the sun rose high.

No bells or butlers to herald the change,

Then, the black dog woke.

A soft veil falls,

Across sight and sound.

The heart hungering only to silently weep.

Now the black dog wakes.

IN TRUTH

I feel conflicted.

I consider myself very honest. I fibbed a lot as a child – and I’ve read children who lie are often very intelligent. So I’ll accept that for now! However, there came a time (at least 20 years ago) when I decided it just wasn’t worth the hassle, the energy and the guilt, to lie. So now I don’t. Ever.

Or do I?!

I don’t utter completely falsehoods.

• Olives are my favourite food! never escapes my lips
• I’ve never smoked a cigarette! is not something I lay claim to
• We’ve been married 25 years and still can’t get enough sex! is an absurd statement I wouldn’t even utter in sarcasm

But I’ve indulged in false pride regarding my holier-than-thou status of heart-warming honesty. Because I do lie. Just not overtly.

1. I lie to myself. I desperately want to be happy, to recover from the hurdles surrounding and inspiring my eating disorder, to be purposeful with a future to focus on – so I tell myself these things are true. If I tell everyone else they’re true, I’ll believe it. If I write about it, it will become true. This is not to say I’m sad, not recovering, and without purpose – but I think my state of being is not as elevated as I lead myself to believe. Quite possibly, I’m a lot crazier than first assumed.

2. I wear a metaphorical mask (not a literal mask…) I realise this is common – we all have public and private faces. But my private face is incredibly private and precious few see it. What a different world it would be if the 15-year-old kid at the checkout said, How are you today?! and received a million variations of, Pretty shit – my wife left me, the cat died, I cut myself, my baby has colic, I fucked up at work, I have a cold sore. The general public really doesn’t need to hear all that. Seriously. So it becomes a matter of how much to share. Acquaintances need nothing more than I’ve had better days! Some friends and family maybe, I’m struggling a bit at the moment. While nearest and dearest get the full story. But for those of us who struggle to share, most people get, I’m fine! while nearest and dearest receive, I’m okay. And if push comes to shove, a little more detail. It is far, far easier to let everyone believe you’re doing fine than to acknowledge you’re not.

3. I lie by omission. I won’t say, I had the best day! if I had a terrible day. But I won’t let on about the terrible day unless I’m pressed. I won’t tell you I’ve binged or purged or spent the day crying, or stressed endlessly about my husband/father/child/friend dying, or had no sleep, or made plans to restrict again. Because it’s highly unlikely you’ll ask me directly. However, if asked directly, I would not say something untrue.

4. I lie by misdirection. I generally redirect conversations very quickly. Oh, I haven’t had a great day – I made better choices yesterday. You know what it’s like?! Do you remember when… then chat about something else altogether. I am very good at this technique. I was asked a couple of years ago what the cuts on my arm were – did I get them gardening? I laughed and said, No! I have a cat! Now that is not strictly a lie. I wasn’t gardening and I do have a cat. Technically I didn’t say he gave me the cuts, I just answered a question that wasn’t asked. That is in fact, the most overt lie I have told in a long, long time. And I still feel guilty about it. Especially because my cat is a gentle, loving soul and has never put big cuts on my arm!

So it would appear I am not Miss Perfect Pollyanna (I know – nobody thought I was!) but just as dishonest as the next person. In fact, perhaps overt lying would be more honest than my subtle, skilful misdirection. The most damaging thing though – is lying to myself. And that is tricky to identify. It is done with good intentions and comes from a place where self-awareness is so lacking, that only extreme emotions are identifiable.

For those wondering…

• Am I happy? I think so. Yes. I am feeling pretty good right now.
• Am I recovering? I don’t know. I have been genuinely trying. I’m unsure as to whether or not my progress is imaginary or real.
• Can I picture the future? No. I make up plausible futures with as much realism and gusto as implausible futures. I can imagine a world where I’m holding grand-babies, have published a novel, and plan overseas travel, as easily as I imagine a world where I win the lottery, become best friends with Robert Downey Junior, and transform into a talented cabaret singer.

Truth. It’s a tricky thing. I despise dishonesty. I despise it in others. I despise it in myself. I recognise lying as a form of cowardice. And yet… This is an ugly truth I may need to face.