ACCEPTANCE

I spent years telling myself it’s overwhelmingly difficult – nigh on impossible – to overwrite the dialogue of my childhood. That whatever key messages I received in those early years became so embedded they are effectively an intrinsic and immovable part of who I have become.
I said this to my psychiatrist at my first appointment and he said no, I don’t need to overwrite the dialogue of my childhood – I simply need to accept it. Just like that!
It was a rude shock to be honest. Initially I rebelled – on the inside. I thought he must be wrong. Despite more than a decade of training and two decades of experience as a psychiatrist, I foolishly assumed he was wrong and I was right – because I’d been telling myself the same story for so long.
Over time I have come to accept  he was right. That by hanging on to my perceptions, I am impeding recovery. I’m allowing the mistakes of others to hold me back. In order to fully recover, I DO need to accept my past shaped me but does not define me. I DO need to accept the power for change lies with me and not with blaming others. I DO need to accept my past is both good and bad and that along with all the negatives resulting in stunted emotional growth, I was also blessed with great strength. determination and resilience.
Despite almost a year of solid work on recovery, I am still a long way from being psychologically healthy. I’m much improved from this time last year but the long and tiring journey is not yet over. I am currently stuck in a phase where I’m firmly and steadfastly attached to my identity as a bulimic. I am finding it hard to let go of – for quite a few reasons. Every time I start to make a little headway, I sabotage my success and return to the hamster wheel of binge, purge, restrict.
Here’s a moment of analysis regarding the importance of acceptance in my life.
I must accept my mother made terrible mistakes, but did the best she could.
I must accept the past shaped me, but I shape the future.
I must accept I am not the eating disorder.
I must accept recovery will lead me to a happier place than mental illness ever has.
I must accept I am enough – on any day, at any weight, in every way.
I must accept life is precious, valuable, worth living, and worth fighting for.
So many more acceptances to be made I have no doubt… But for this evening, I need to accept I am physically exhausted and sleep will be a welcome reprieve

SHEDDING THE BURDEN OF SHAME

A year ago I was a mess. A great big psychological mess. I was heading towards a breakdown and a stay in the mental health unit.
I was so ashamed. Ashamed of falling apart. Ashamed of not appreciating the good things in my life. Ashamed of my weight, my eating disorder, my self-harm, panic attacks, depression, relationship issues. So much shame. And the last thing on earth I wanted to do was tell anybody what was going on.
I hid my scarred arms, my bingeing and purging and restricting. I hid my sadness and fear. And my disintegrating marriage. I tried really hard to look normal. Until I couldn’t do it any more.
It has taken me a year, but I am becoming more and more comfortable sharing my story – both online and in person.
About six months ago I started journaling, and then blogging, as part of my recovery process. It has been incredibly cathartic and I believe contributed enormously to the progress I have made so far. Sharing my experience makes me feel connected to a community of people who understand. Friends and professionals who deeply care and want to help me take the steps to recovery. Who remind me why I am here. Online communities who support and understand me. People who have been through what I’ve been through and made it out the other side. These communities give me hope, and hope helps shed the burden of shame.
I also gain a sense of purpose by sharing my story. If a tiny snippet helps someone else, I feel good. And when you feel bad all the time, that moment of goodness is like a shining beacon light in a world of darkness. It brings a sense of purpose to add to the sense of hope.
Without hope and purpose it is very hard to find a reason to live. Life needs meaning, and hope and purpose are critical to that meaning. Once it all goes, it’s a very dark place. Those baby steps moving forward, supported by friends and strangers who know my story and care enough to offer encouragement, gradually turn into the road to recovery.
I am far from fully recovered. But I am a long way from where I was in my blackest moments. Without sharing my deepest, darkest secrets, I would have felt incredibly alone. I am no longer alone. And if one thing I share lights a tiny candle in someone else’s darkness, then I can add achievement to hope and purpose, and life starts to feel fuller.

SECURITY BLANKETS

Yay me! Smiley face 🙂 While I am still – for now – taking medication to assist me, I am hopeful that over the course of the next year I’ll wean myself off and get back to my “normal” – whatever that is. I really have no idea…

There are habits I developed over the last couple of years that have become like security blankets. One of the major ways I dealt with anxiety was through self-harm – cutting in particular. And while I feel I have made big strides in this area – particularly this year – I am not ready to let it go.

I always – always, always, always – have a razor blade with me at every given moment. Just in case.

Just in case of what?!

I still live in fear the shit will hit the fan again. I’m finding it hard to let go of the fear someone will die, or my kids will get into trouble, or someone will become really ill, or I’ll lose my job, or I’ll be in a high-conflict situation, or we’ll have a financial disaster, or my marriage will fail, or any one of the other major stresses I’ve been struck with will knock me down again. And again. Despite the fact that so far in 2017, I have had nothing but positive news, I’m still fearful.

I feel the only way to cope with such stress is through cutting – immediately. I know it’s not a great coping tool. In fact really it’s an avoiding tool – not a coping tool at all – because it just delays the emotional turmoil and the acceptance of the situation to a later date. And yet – the thought of getting rid of those blades sends my anxiety levels quite high. I can’t bear the thought of it at this point in time. To feel safe – they have to be with me at all times. Which did make my recent flights slightly problematic as I couldn’t travel with razor blades on the plane. I survived those few hours without having a panic attack though.

I also developed the habits of avoiding and numbing my emotions through computer games (a lot of Candy Crush happening!) and writing. The first is purely pointless and achieves nothing. The second is more productive and does analyse my emotional state at the time – so I’m not convinced it’s all bad! However either way, I’m avoiding emotions at all costs and this is very unhealthy.

The final issue I’m still struggling with is procrastination.

I avoid doing anything as I still have a sense of, Why bother?! Which is a hang over from my many, many months of suicidal ideation. What’s the point of worrying about cleaning the house, or cooking healthy meals, or doing anything productive at all, if you’re not planning on hanging around?! However I made the decision to hang around, so I need to participate rather procrastinate in life. I do feel I’m getting better at this – but it is a steep learning curve.

I also had a large stash of medications put away for “just in case” and it has been very challenging to let that go (I confess… it is still there…) But I am making a conscious decision to start using the medications when I have a migraine so now the “stash” is getting smaller rather than larger, and there will come a point where it is no longer a lethal dose. That hidden cache however, also made me feel safe. Really safe. That at any time of my choosing – if the emotional and psychological pain became too overwhelming to endure – I could opt out. As that is no longer an option I am willing to accept, I am finding it a bit anxiety inducing to consider the burdens of a long life, without these safety nets.

The safety nets I have relied on in my disordered eating are purging and restricting, as well as constant weighing. I have made very little progress in any of these areas, but I’m starting to believe perhaps recovery is a remote possibility. Maybe. I’m still not convinced… The thought of not purging, restricting and weighing is so foreign I can barely comprehend it. And the thought of not engaging in those behaviours is severely anxiety inducing.

I am sure I have always had security blankets – I guess we all do. The difference being, my safety net became very unhealthy. I hope to discover what the healthy options are for dealing with the curve balls that are tossed out to all of us from time to time. I hope my future security blankets are soft and nurturing, not sharp and destructive.

SUCCESS

I have spent so much of my life feeling like a failure.

• Musician: failed
• Housewife: failed
• Finances: failed
• Resilience: failed
• Beauty: failed
• Weight: failed
• Recovery: failed
• Life: failed

So many more. So many daily micro fails when I make a mistake, get a speeding ticket, can’t do a chin up, have a messy house, don’t cook dinner, stop communicating, say the wrong thing, wear the wrong thing, eat the wrong thing.
I am the wrong thing.
But I am working really hard at the moment on trying to recover…

• from major depression ✔
• from self-harm behaviours ✔
• from anxiety ✔/✘
• from my eating disorder ✘

And I am regularly reminded of the importance of acknowledging my progress and successes. My natural inclination is to seek the best in others and the worst in myself. I hold myself to a standard that is impossible to achieve. I grew up in an environment of hyper-criticism and married a man with the same trait. I am used to being told what I’ve done wrong and have spent my entire life searching for validation of my worth.
But recovery is dependent on acknowledging not just my failures, but also my successes. I am like all the other coins in the world – I have two sides and need to start focusing on positives and not just the negatives.
I am fortunate the man I married is not only hypercritical, but also loving and genuine and working on his issues. I am fortunate I have a circle of friends who do validate my worth and give me the courage and belief to keep going. I am fortunate in so many ways – health, financial security, love and support. And despite the many issues I need to work on, there are many successes I have had in life.
I am reminded of this poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson – a poem I have had printed out and displayed on the wall in our toilet for over a decade.

What is Success?
To laugh often and much;
To win the respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children;
To earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To leave the world a bit better, whether by
a healthy child, a garden patch
or a redeemed social condition;
To know even one life has breathed
easier because you have lived;
This is to have succeeded.

So I would like to acknowledge I have indeed succeeded at many things.
I have laughed – a lot! Not so much recently. But there has been a lot of laughter and I feel this is slowly returning.
I have amazing, intelligent friends who do respect me. And I have always had a wonderful, affectionate relationship with children.
My circle of friends and family are honest critics – I cannot bear false compliments! I trust the feedback – good or bad – from my close circle. I have certainly been betrayed by false friends and I’m still here. So I guess I endured. Although those betrayals still really sting.
I do appreciate beauty and have always sought the best in others.
I may not leave this world a better place through redeemed social conditions or garden patches, but I have bequeathed the world with three amazing young men.
I desperately hope one life breathed easier because I lived.
This is my success.

MY ANXIETY FEELS LIKE…

… a thumping heart
… a tight chest
… short, quick breaths
… a knot in my stomach
… a swollen throat
… heavy eyes
… warm feet
… a tingle in my ears
… a pressure in my forehead
… a fuzzy head
… a tremble in my hands
… and jelly in my legs
I hear the blood rushing through my veins
I feel the clammy sweat on my palms
I smell the cold air
I see everything
I taste fear
How do I look? Same as always…
 

ARE YOU ON A DIET?

“Are you on a diet?”

I was 22 years old. I was not on a diet. I was not overweight. Yet…
It was Christmas Day and I was away from my family. Invited to a friend’s house for the day, I met a lovely Japanese couple. His English wasn’t the greatest and when I said I didn’t eat meat, he asked if I was on a diet. It was an innocent question – and his wife quickly jumped in to clarify. He was asking if I had dietary restrictions. I did. I was vegetarian.
Within a year I was also bulimic.
I had grown up in an environment where weight and appearance were incredibly important. I was the chubby kid in a skinny family. My mother started “watching my weight” the day I was born. She watched it until the day she died and it was rarely good enough. Consequently I became highly sensitised to any comment on my weight, appearance, dietary intake, exercise or value as a human being.
So when a lovely Japanese man tried to ask why I didn’t eat meat, but instead asked if I was on a diet, what I heard was,

“You’re fat. You should only eat vegetables because you need to lose weight so you can look like the rest of us.”

That was 29 years ago. But I remember the rush of shock and the pounding of my heart as if it were yesterday. I have always struggled to express emotion or cope with conflict. So when confronted with this situation I didn’t externalise anything – I probably just smiled and agreed. I don’t really know. I don’t remember what was going on around me, I just remember what was going on inside me. Outside I was frozen. Inside I was in turmoil.
You’re fat.
How embarrassing!
What do I eat now?!
Will they notice every time I eat some food?
Are these pants showing all my bulges?
Do they hate me?
Why am I so stupid?
What time can I go home?
Can I go to the toilet and sit there for five minutes now?
I was consumed with embarrassment and shame, but being raised the polite young woman I have always been, I suspect they had no idea. Thankfully I never met that Japanese couple again.
Life is filled with these moments. An innocent comment so easily turned into a moment of self-hatred. It has taken experience, wisdom, age, support and a decade of self-reflection to learn to shake off the angst that hits silently at an unexpected moment. And I am still learning. It takes a lifetime.