RECOVERY DREAM

Recovery is a dream. A distant, foreign concept. A world of freedom I desperately want to live in, but struggle to believe will ever exist – for me. The idea of being free from food obsession is just utterly foreign – do I even deserve it? I’ve stumbled into a room full of happy people, all having the best of times, but they’re speaking a foreign language and I can’t for the life of me fathom why they’re so joyous – I’m out of my depth. I can see the glee, I just can’t comprehend it. I can’t join in the frivolities – it’s not my party. I’m not part of this world. But I can learn a new language – I can give it a red hot try at any rate.
I hope to wake one morning and see a rainbow – spanning every inch of the colour spectrum from royal red to vibrant violet. And I will know deep in my heart that while my skies are grey overhead, blue skies are just around the corner – so close I can touch them.
I am putting in some really hard yards right now – with different therapies and research and support. I have so many tools, and so much knowledge at my fingertips, it is time to start applying all I have learned. And slowly, ever so slowly, I will replace my current habits and thought processes with new ways of dealing with the world.
Hard yards don’t mean success – not yet at any rate. Hard yards mean sweat and exhaustion and pain. Hard yards mean doubt and fear – Is it worth it? Can I get there? Should I bother? Hard yards mean increased anxiety, worsening depression, confusion and abject fear. But I’ve climbed a mountain before – a real one, not a metaphorical one – and I got to the top. And it hurt like hell along the way, but the pay-off was sweet and nobody can ever take that success away from me. Ever. So yes – I can do the hard yards. They are unfamiliar, uncomfortable and unpleasant, but while my current way of living might be incredibly familiar, it is neither comfortable nor pleasant. So truly, I have very little to lose.
To find recovery – to find freedom – I have to believe it is possible. I need to don my ruby slippers and trust that just like Dorothy, I too have the power to return home to Kansas. I’ve traveled a long and winding road, collected truly beautiful friends and amazing memories, been supported, helped and learned a lot. Now, I must trust in the power of those who have cared for me when I couldn’t care for myself, who believe in me, then tap my heels together and think to myself, “Recovery is my home. Recovery is my home. Recovery is my home.”
There is a world of recovery out there for me – I am starting to really believe that. This is new to me – I have never believed it before, but it will become my new way of being. It will become my new home. We do live in a wonderful, wonderful world and bit by bit I will join those bluebirds flying over the rainbow, and I will dare to dream that recovery is possible. Yes – even for me. I am not beyond redemption – none of us truly are. There is a miracle out there, just waiting for me to have the courage to stare fear in the face, and to learn a new way of living. My recovery dreams will turn into a reality. This I finally believe.

MONDAY MORNING MANTRAS

I am entering into a phase of recovery (ie the beginning…) where I am doggedly determined to embark upon this road and make change. I am going to do it. Despite yesterday’s fuck-ups…
The dialogue in my head is usually critical and unkind, mean and hateful – you idiot, can’t believe you did that, who do you think you are, you are not good enough, stupid fat moron. I silently bully and belittle myself relentlessly – day in and day out.
I understand and respect I need to move away from negative thought processes. Affirmations are unnatural and all pollyanna-ish to me, which I find extremely distasteful. I can try and give it a go none-the-less.
I need to state up front I have been cursed blessed with the attention span of a flea. So by necessity I require affirmations with a very small number of words! They must also be genuine or I won’t do them at all. I detest the idea of standing in front of a mirror and telling myself I look beautiful. I can’t do it. I get nauseous just thinking about it. I have a big problem with lying…
However, if I focus on the actual recovery road, and find positive pep-talk words, I think I might be able to make a little progress. I confess, I did indulge in a little bit of positive self-talk repetition this morning, and for a small period of time it did help. I did feel a little stronger. I did have a bit more belief in the possibility of success. It didn’t last long – but today is just day one! Here is what I came up with.

• I am enough.
• I will be okay.
• This too shall pass.
• Surf the urge.
• Emotions won’t kill me.
• The answer is in recovery.
• I am the recovery key.
• I can do this.
• Failure isn’t a feeling, and feelings aren’t facts.
• No thank you.

And of course the old faithful… Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
I am going to try using these affirmations as a daily mantra, repeating them incessantly until imprinted on my heart and soul. Starting with number one – I am enough.
I am enough.
I. Am. Enough.
I….
Am…
Enough…
So are you. We are all enough.
Got a favourite affirmation? Please share in the comments below! I need all the help and inspiration I can get 🙂

FREEDOM

I have been challenged to write about freedom. To visualise what freedom from disordered eating and body image issues will look like. This is a big ask… Because I actually have no idea. No reference point. But in order to actually reach a destination, you have to know where it is. Or at least have a vague idea! If recovery is East, and I’m heading West, I ain’t ever gonna make it! After 40 minutes of procrastination, watching youtube videos of men experiencing simulated labour (completely hilarious!) I think this is how freedom from food obsession might look in my world.

I live in a house, surrounded by nature. I sit in bed of a morning, watching native birds sing in the tree outside my bedroom window. I can see the water. I can hear the waves. I can watch the sunrise. These things are always here. They always have been. I’ve lived in this house for 16 years.

In a world free from food obsession, the birdsong brings me peace. The sunrise heralds a new dawn – a new day with fresh beginnings and all the possibilities every new day brings. There are no rainbows and unicorns. This is the real world. It isn’t sprinkled with magic wands, fairy wings and pixie dust. It’s filled with fortune and favour, trials and tribulations, love and loss.

My world is filled with all the things that are.

In my freedom, I can soak up love and energy, gifts and privilege, when they are sent my way. I can appreciate the moments of happiness, contentment, peace and joy I am blessed with. My spirit will be filled. My soul rested. I will practice acceptance – acceptance of what is. I will practice courage – courage for what could be. I will have serenity, for that is the reward of acceptance and courage.

In my freedom, I will have the strength to conquer the trials I must inevitably face. I will accept what cannot be changed. I will grieve for that which is gone. I will cry with sadness and give voice to my frustrations. Because I am human. I belong to humanity and we all have the capacity and need to explore the full range of human emotions. I have the right to express emotions. All of them. All pain is dealt with – whether or not it is dealt with productively will be the choice I make.

In my freedom, I can acknowledge my choices. I can choose to eat well. Or not. I can choose to have a treat. Or not. I can choose to think and to dream, and to believe in every possibility my life and future, and the lives and futures of everyone I am touched by, might contain.

In a world free from food obsession, where my personal worth is founded in my actions and beliefs, not my physical appearance, I can focus entirely on being the best person I can be. I can explore my talents without fear of judgment – internally or externally. I can try my hardest and know it is enough. In a world free from negative body image, I am enough. I am enough as is. Not in a day or a week or a year. Not in a number on a scale or a dress size.

I. Am. Enough.

In this free world, I can express love and gratitude openly in my relationships – my close personal relationships and my collegial working relationships. I can express my frustrations, concerns and upsets without fear of retribution. I can be whole. I can give and I can take. I can continue to care for others and show the depths of kindness and empathy I have always given. But also freely accept my limits, and accept the gifts of kindness, care and empathy when they are proferred.

In this free world I will exercise because I love how it makes my body feel – strong, powerful, alive and cared for. I will eat because food nourishes every ounce of my being. I will eat because food brings people together and a shared meal is shared love. I will be free from incessant food thoughts, and instead fill my mind with the wonders of the world in which I live – the people, the places and the passions that I love. I will be free from the necessity to eat for punishment, shame, or to numb myself.

Punishment is replaced with observation. Take note of what happened – we all make mistakes. It’s okay. Take a deep breath, learn, move on.

Shame is replaced with self compassion.

Treat myself with the care and love I would anyone else. It is not selfish. It is not narcissistic. It is necessary. If it is necessary for everyone else, I am no exception. I am not special. I am normal. I need self compassion. It is the antidote to shame.

Numbing myself is replaced with acceptance. Sit with emotions – they won’t kill me. It might be uncomfortable and that is okay. Live in a three dimensional world, where both sides of the emotional coin are experienced. This too shall pass. It is okay. You will be okay.

This world of freedom is not glowing angelically. It is filled with all the darkness and light that my world, and everyone’s world is always filled with. But with my spirit freed from the hard shell it was encased in, the soft glow from my freshly unfurled wings, will light the way on the darkest of days. This is how freedom will look for me.

THE SCALES OF JUSTICE

I am a prisoner in a cell of my own making.
Each morning, I stand upon the Scales of Justice to determine if today will be the day, that I set myself free.
I cannot bear the thought of not knowing my weight.
I cannot bear the thought of knowing my weight.
No matter the number, I find a reason to turn the result into an excuse to indulge in disordered eating.
If I’ve lost weight, it won’t be enough. I need to lose “just a little bit more” so I have leeway – when it all stacks back on. If I’ve lost weight I need to perpetuate the purging and the restricting because that’s how I lost it in the first place. If I’ve lost weight it’s probably only because I’m dehydrated today or not as constipated as yesterday – it couldn’t possibly be because I’ve actually lost a gram of fat. If I’ve lost weight it’s because I haven’t exercised enough and my muscle has turned back to fat.
If I’ve gained weight it’s because I’m a failure. If I’ve gained weight it’s because I binged and I didn’t purge enough, or restrict. If I’ve gained weight it’s because I’m weak-willed and gluttonous. If I’ve gained weight I need to stop eating – just like I promised I would do yesterday. If I’ve gained weight everyone will notice how fat I’m becoming and judge every ounce of my existence. If I’ve gained weight all my clothes make me look fat – even the clothes I wore less than 24 hours ago.
Lose, lose. The story of my life. Arbitrary boundaries and rules placed upon myself, setting me up to fail, imprisoning me in a life I didn’t choose to enter, but I have chosen not to leave.
Each morning, I stand upon the Scales of Justice to determine if today will be the day, that I set myself free.
I know – deep in the deepest part of my heart and soul – that the only way to set myself free, is to be rid of the Scales of Justice. As long as I stand upon them, in judgment of myself, I will never be free. One day, I will be free.

BROKEN WINGS

Today I cried. I cried because I could feel the hard, solid, shell I have spent decades plastering around every inch of me cracking, leaving me soft and vulnerable, and revealing a very broken pair of wings.

The past week my anxiety levels sky-rocketed in anticipation of a few changes, and as my anxiety went up, my eating went down. I need recovery. I need it with every inch of my being – physically, mentally, psychologically, spiritually. My eating disorder weighs me down and impacts every aspect of my life. I can’t bear it. And I can’t bear to let it go.

I saw a dietitian yesterday. I had been resistant to visiting one for years and was not looking forward to it. Not one bit. I spent two hours with the most beautiful, empathetic lady, talking about every aspect of my eating disorder, stresses, emotional state and psychological issues. She listened, she heard me, then offered hints, tips and a generic plan to increase my nutritional intake.

Later I received the kindest, most lovely email from a complete stranger and she said, “How can I help you? I want to support you in any way I can.” Isn’t that beautiful?! Someone who has been through bulimia hell, walked the torturous road of recovery, and now reaches out to offer me a helping hand.

But the thing that sent me into floods of tears, and made me feel my protective shell was being ripped from my naked flesh, was the first phone call in an eight week online group course for recovery from bulimia and binge eating.

I said in a previous post, 

I sometimes feel the ED is a solid, tangible, physical, separate part of me. And when I come across another piece of the recovery puzzle – something I believe is actually going to progress me a little further away from illness and propel me closer to wellness – my ED panics. It flexes its’ muscles and says, “Look at me! I’m stronger than you! I’m not leaving!”

And as I listened in on that conference call today, with eight other women who intimately know the despair of bulimia, I felt my eating disorder panicking and reminding me that if it goes, there is nothing left to protect me. I have learned no other way to cope with life, and I rarely cope well. I shed tears of grief, for behaviours I have clung to like a drowning woman all my life. I sobbed in fear of the emotions and the angst that will come flooding in when the cracks are wide enough and my protection is gone.

I have placed a lot of desperate hope into this course. I wonder if it is possible to ever recover if I can’t find the courage and commitment to practice the skills I desperately need to make long term changes. And yet as I spent 90 minutes on the phone with these wonderful women, I felt a glimmer of hope that maybe recovery is in my future. Perhaps it is not impossible.

I have no idea what recovery looks and feels like. And I certainly have no idea what will replace disordered eating, self-harm, and candy crush addiction to allow me to cope with the inevitable stresses that every one of us is subject to at different times. But I am hoping as the rest of my protective shell is ripped away, I can slowly unfurl those broken wings, and learn to fly again.
 

FOR THE LOVE OF A CAT

I may not be a dog person, but I am acutely aware of the joy, love and hope a beloved pet can bring.

During the worst of my depression last year, I had nothing left to give. I had no energy, no will, desire or hope. I couldn’t care for, support or offer a listening ear to anyone. I had nothing to give. Nothing at all. The well was empty.

My beautiful Burmese cat would crawl into my arms and just lay there – warm, soft, peaceful and loving. I didn’t need to give him anything – just soak up his warmth and love and feel a moment of reprieve from the demons in my head and the despair in my soul. I could focus on his purring and remember the world still has warmth and hope in it.

The love of a pet is innocent and unconditional. There is no guilt in just soaking up that purring bliss. I feel no sense of burden – no sense I should be listening to someone else’s story. No guilt that my issues are a burden on someone else’s shoulders. A loving cat curled up on my lap is just pure, unadulterated, unburdened, trusting, giving, love.

I cannot articulate the relief it felt to hold him, pet him and love him. To feel his gentle purring motor sending comfort through my soul. To be loved without need for reciprocation. The love of my cat gave me moments of reprieve in my darkest moments.

The world needs pets. Whether our furry love is a dog, cat, cow or ferret – or even a bird, snake, iguana or hermit crab – that pet is wholeheartedly an integral part of the family and can become an essential part of recovery.

I am deeply and intrinsically grateful, for the love of my cat.