Ask Aly: Losing Weight After Recovering From an Eating Disorder

Right before Justin and I got married, my eating disorder mentality came back without me even realizing it. I lost more weight than I should have (that I didn't need to lose in the first place) and I didn't notice how close I was to slipping back into my old destructive behaviors. Although that was two years ago, since then I've tried to put more effort into watching my thoughts and my actions so I can make sure it doesn't happen again. Over the past couple of years though, I've gained a little weight and I've been trying to grapple with how to exercise and eat healthier without laying out a welcome mat for my anorexia, bulimia, and binge eating disorders at the same time.

Thist past week, a friend messaged me about someone she knows that's going through the same thing and asked if I had any tips or thoughts on how they can be healthy and also lose weight, but not slip back into their eating disorders. While eating disorders might not ever go away, we shouldn't let them bully us around. If we want to be in control of our health, we need to be cautious with the steps we take to lose weight, have a pre-determined plan in our minds that we will stick to, be observant of our mental well-being, and constantly question what our motivations are behind losing weight or trying to become healthier. 

Exercising and changing your eating habits can seem terrifying once you've recovered from an eating disorder, but here are a couple ideas I shared with my friend that I think can help build a buffer between those two things and your past eating disorders: 

Avoid Numbers

• This is especially important with food. Don't focus on calorie amounts or anything you find on a nutrition label (fats, sugar, carbs). Instead, focus on the actual health benefits of the foods you eat and the nutritional values that come from food (vitamins, minerals, etc.). Ask yourself, what are the things that my body needs to survive and how do these foods support all that I need my body to do? Even foods that are considered "unhealthy" by the dieting world, can benefit your body. We need fats, proteins, sugars, carbs, and calories for our bodies to function and do everything they were made to do. Obviously, you shouldn't eat McDonald's every day, but there are healthier ways to watch what you eat without cutting calories or only eating fruits and vegetables for your meals--our bodies can gain something good from almost everything that we eat. 
• Don't weigh yourself and avoid scales as much as possible. Both can be major triggers and avoiding them can help you overcome a mentality where you believe your worth is equal to your weight. 

Avoid Portion Sizes

• Controlling the amount that we eat is usually the first idea that comes to anyone's mind whenever they want to lose weight. When I was first recovering from my binge eating disorder and wondering about how I was going to lose all the weight that I gained, my doctor told me that one of the best things I could do was to listen to my stomach as I ate. He went on to say that I should eat until I was full enough not to be stuffed or hungry. Mindfulness when eating is definitely an acquired talent, but it does help you be more aware of what your body needs since portion sizes sometimes end up being too much food or not enough food for what our bodies need.

Set Firm Limits

• Benjamin Franklin (according to the internet) once said, "By failing to prepare, you are preparing to fail." Preparation and planning are crucial when it comes to trying to lose-weight or pick up healthier habits post-eating disorder. You need to know your triggers are and be aware of the fact that you have lurking disorders that are still with you--even if you no longer restrict your diet, purge, or binge. Understanding this and using your knowledge of yourself and your disorders to construct your workouts and food habits will increase your chances of success. For instance, if I wanted to start working out and exercising consistently, I would set a limit where I could only exercise for 30 minutes a day, 5 days a week. That way, I would be able to prevent my eating disorders from pushing me to extremes. 

Avoid the Gym

• Especially if you are newly recovered from your eating disorder, avoid exercising in a gym at all costs. They usually have a competitive atmosphere and it's easier to compare your body to those around you in such an enclosed, intensely-focused space (both can be huge triggers for disordered behaviors). Instead, try to exercise in your home or outside where competition and judgment are less likely. 

Involve Friends and Family

• While not everyone has family or friends that are aware of their eating disorders, both can be valuable tools when you're trying to lose weight or start healthier habits. If you feel comfortable with it, check in regularly with a someone about how your eating and exercising plans are going. (Keeping a journal where you can record any signs of your eating disorder coming back could also work if you have not told those closest to you about your eating disorder. You can use it to track your triggers and figure out if you are in a good spot to be exercising or changing your eating habits.) Be open and honest with them and with yourself. You could even ask for friends or family members to exercise with you. However, if you do this, make sure you are aware of your thoughts and feelings when exercising with another person. If you feel competitive towards them or judgemental towards yourself, stop immediately and figure out another way to involve them in your efforts. 

Check In With Yourself

• When you are exercising or trying to eat healthier, listen to your thoughts and how you talk to yourself. Constantly ask yourself what your motivators are and why you are exercising or eating healthier. If your answers have anything to do with your appearance or weight, stop immediately and reassess your plan. Both of those motivators (along with any other motivators that are similar in nature) have nothing to do with health and everything to do with your eating disorders. 

Be Patient and Keep it Gradual

• While losing weight quickly is really unhealthy and really bad for your body (heart issues, metabolism issues, organ stress), it also makes it much easier to redevelop an eating disorder (especially anorexia and bulimia, since the goal of both disorders is to lose weight fast). So, make sure you are patient with yourself and your progress. Celebrate the small victories and use that time to learn to love your body at all shapes, weights, and sizes. It took me three years to lose the weight I gained from my binge eating disorder and I feel like I grew more from that experience than I would have if I gave into diet culture and pushed myself as hard as could to lose weight in the shortest amount of time possible. It also helped me learn to understand which thoughts were mine, and which thoughts came from my eating disorders too. Weight loss and creating healthier habits is a process, not a race. 

Learning how to navigate your body after recovering from an eating disorder can be hard! Don't be afraid of yourself or your body, but remember to be aware of your disorders. If you want to lose weight, make sure that you focus on your overall health, rather than your size. Try to focus on how the exercise you are doing makes your body stronger and how the foods you are eating will help your body reach its full potential. 

Basically, when it comes to exercise and eating healthier, the end goal shouldn't be becoming skinnier, because, like a lot of us who have recovered from eating disorders know, being skinny does not necessarily mean that you're healthy.

 In fact, it usually means the exact opposite. 

Okay.

Today, it took 30 minutes to convince myself that eating an oatmeal cream pie after eating a candy bar earlier in the day was okay.

10 minutes ago, I spit out half of a different cookie because I couldn't make myself eat the whole thing after already eating two "bad" foods today.


I'm beginning to realize that I've been lying to myself lately.


When I first started dating Justin, I was finally coming out of my eating disorder and feeling confident about my body at whatever size it was. I started to realize though that my post-disorder weight-loss was finally manifesting itself about two months into our relationship. I loved it. I loved being back to feeling healthy again. I think I loved looking "healthy" even more. It didn't start intentionally at first--cutting back at meals and eating smaller portions. It just happened gradually. I liked what I was seeing in the mirror, but with every glance at myself, my eating disorder started to fester inside of me again.

When Justin was concerned about me not eating enough, I would tell him that I just had a small stomach--which was true, but only because I was making it that way. Before our wedding, I lost weight and my wedding dress was actually too big for me. On our honeymoon, I only ate the crusts off of my french toast at breakfast one morning. Sure, I ate, but I wasn't eating like I should have been. I wasn't eating like someone who had overcome three eating disorders should be. I would eat large meals now and again without being phased, lying to myself and saying; "See! You're okay! You just ate something you would have never eaten during your disorders!", but I was wrong. Sure, I wasn't anorexic or a binge eater, but I wasn't "okay". Some days it feels like I'll never be. This wasn't anywhere close to how I was when I was anorexic, but I easily could have continued down that path. I liked that the pants I had bought nine months ago were too big on me. I liked that shirts felt loose on my shoulders. I liked that I could put my hands on my waist and not strain to have my fingers touch my bellybutton.

From day one, Justin told me that he loved me at any weight, but part of me was afraid to believe him. Part of me was afraid to wait and see what would happen if I gained weight. I guess I was mostly afraid of myself. Before we got married, my sister came up to me and asked if I was doing okay. I said I was because compared to my past, I was doing better. I mean, I was eating regularly and not restricting myself to celery and crushed ice like I had before...but the calorie counter in my head was dusted off and ready to go. Food started to become a number, not a source of nutrition.

To be honest, I've never forgotten the calorie amounts that I forced myself to memorize back in high school.

Initially, I was baffled that I kept losing weight, but I'm starting to realize just how complicit I actually was. When I was trying on wedding dresses, I happily credited most of the samples fitting me to my recent weight loss--I was relieved.I remember being proud of myself for not obsessing over how dresses looked on me, but I think I was actually just proud to be thin. I don't think I necessarily wanted to lose weight though, I think it was a matter of me liking the fact that I was finally making visible progress down from my binge eating weight and being okay with going a little further--losing a little bit more.

But that's how disorders get you.

I just re-discovered this picture while I was looking through our wedding photos :)

I love being married to my best friend!

Since we've gotten married, my fear of gaining weight has come back in full swing. Sometimes, I'll look at my profile in the mirror and push my fat towards my ribs to see what I would look like with a flatter, anorexic, stomach again. I mention in passing to Justin once or twice a week that I've gained weight and pretend like it isn't a big deal. But it is. I've done it so much that last night, I started to say something while I was standing in front of the mirror and Justin instantly thought that I was going to ask him if I was had gained weight. A couple of times, I've fantasized about kneeling next to the toilet and throwing up. I've fantasized about the hunger that comes from intentionally starving yourself. I've fantasized about a nightmare.

 I still consider myself recovered, but am I as okay as I thought I was a year ago? No.

I love my body and since I've noticed these behaviors coming back, I've tried to be mindful of them. I watch them, I counter them, but sometimes, like today, I fall short. Back when I was an eating disorder mentor on campus, my catchphrase was: "Recovery is real" and I still believe that it is. However, I'm starting to realize more and more lately that recovery isn't necessarily instant or long-lasting freedom from a disorder. Relapse is an incredibly common reality for anyone who has recovered from an eating disorder (check out this awesome video by Blythe Baird on relapse--it actually was one of the biggest motivators for me writing this post finally), it isn't anything to be ashamed of and it's okay to struggle. What isn't okay is deciding not to struggle against things that are hard or allowing shame to diminish the magnitude of our past accomplishments. Just because I'm stumbling now, doesn't mean I shouldn't stand tall for overcoming three disorders in the past or that I'm a failure. While we're talking about relapse, I think it's also important to note that relapse comes in all shapes and sizes. Spitting out a few cookies or counting how many calories are in a bowl of pasta do not mean that I've fallen back into an eating disorder--disordered eating, yes, but a disorder, no. I don't want anyone to mistake that last sentence as me brushing off the severity of my actions because I'm not. Things aren't as great as I'd like them to be, but I think it's important to recognize that things also aren't as bad as they could be. Yes, I acknowledge calories more than I'd like to, I'm more afraid of the implications of eating than I should be, and I'm afraid of what'll happen to my self-esteem if I gain a significant amount of weight in the near future, but have I become anorexic, bulimic, or a binge eater again? No.

And I don't plan on letting that happen ever again.

One of my main reasons for writing this post is to let others who have recovered from their disorders, but still struggle, still fight, still get exhausted by their own thoughts, that they aren't alone. That they aren't a failure. That they shouldn't be too hard on themselves because recovery isn't easy.

We're in this together.
And I think we'll be okay.

Interviewed

Justin (my insanely talented husband) filmed me and my eating disorder story for his final project in his film production class this semester. For those of you who have followed me for a while, most of what I talk about is probably old news, but in the video I go over my history with eating disorders and my road to recovery.

Check it out below!

Thankful for Thanksgiving

Back when I was seeing an eating disorder specialist (Michael Spigarelli), he would always make me book an appointment the week before Thanksgiving so we could create a battle plan for handling the holiday and the food that goes with it. Ever since I've had this blog, I've tried to do the same thing by posting about a week before Thanksgiving as a way to prepare myself and hopefully prepare others to embrace the holiday rather than dread it.

In the hopes of publishing this post before anyone heads off to their respective Thanksgiving dinners, I've decided that it would probably be best (and quickest) if I made "listicle"this year.

Ready? Here we go:

1. Dr. Spigarelli used to always tell me that "You could eat a full Thanksgiving dinner--including dessert, everyday for a week, maybe even two weeks, and you wouldn't significantly gain weight." 
2. It is always better to eat, than not to eat. If you don't feel comfortable eating the entire dinner and all its sides, start with what you feel comfortable with--just make sure you eat something.
3. If you're going through a disorder right now, brace yourself. Your family probably won't understand the emotions you're feeling--that's normal and that's okay. If you have a family member who is going through a disorder right now, watch them, but don't hover. If they seem like they're feeling down, distract them. Ask them about their day. Don't make comments about the food, dieting, or anything like that. If you notice they're struggling more than normal, pull them aside in a non-public area and sincerely ask them if they're doing okay and if there's anything you can do to make things easier for them. Be available. 
1. If you don't know if you have someone in your family who is experiencing a disorder, avoid talking about calories, dieting, and other negative comments regarding weight and food. Your words have an impact even if you're just saying something in passing--they can shape how someone else sees themselves and their food. 
4. Food is not the enemy. We need it to survive and it does our bodies good. Turkey gives your body protein and folic acid. Mashed potatoes give your body vitamin-C. String bean casserole gives your body beta-carotene and vitamin-B. Sweet potatoes gives you vitamin-A. And even pumpkin pie gives you potassium. Food is more than calories and fat. It is life. 
5. It's okay to struggle--don't give up on yourself. 
6. Try to forget calorie counting. Spend more time enjoying the holiday atmosphere--it only comes once a year. 
7. If you over-eat, don't obsess over it. It happened, but it isn't going to define you or your waist, and it shouldn't define your day. 

There is so much more that I could say, but I think these seven points summarize my thoughts on Thanksgiving pretty well. If you're going through a disorder right now, I know what you're going through. Three years ago, as I was starting to come into recovery, I was having a hard time imagining a future where I could just sit at the Thanksgiving dinner table and not have to worry about sneaking away to the bathroom to throw up my food or to be able to just eat a Thanksgiving dinner without thinking about it. It is possible though--here I am today, excited and feeling positive about dinner tonight. If you need someone to lean on today, lean on me. Recovery wasn't easy, but it was worth it. Additionally, recovery isn't easy, but it is possible. 

Thanksgiving is a hard holiday for individuals who are going through disorders and women in general--so remember that you're not alone in your struggles. Stay strong and be brave enough to be kind to yourself today. You can do it! I believe in you. 

Happy Thanksgiving! 

P.S. I totally made my first apple pie from scratch
 last night--it totally looks food blog worthy! I'm so excited
to see if it tastes as good as it looks!

Loss

A couple months ago I went to go see my endocrinologist and found out that I've lost a significant amount of weight in the five months prior to my visit. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem for me or even something that I would have wanted to know, but it became a problem when she told me the exact amount that I weigh. My old endocrinologist knew not to talk numbers with me because I first met her during my disorder and right after Dr. Spigarelli told me that I wasn't allowed to weigh myself. However, my new doctor wasn't aware of this. Needless to say, I was elated to hear about my new weight, but that elation has quickly started to morph into an obsession.

I'm not upset that she told me (I mean, It's not like I can or should go through life averting my eyes when I'm weighed on a scale or expecting doctors to hide that information from me every time I go to a hospital) but I am upset by my own reaction to her telling me this.

When I was at my heaviest, I used to always tell myself that if I could just get to the weight that I'm at now, I would be happy. I thought that by reaching this weight, I would finally be able to be satisfied with my body and all of my body image issues would magically go away.

However, I'm starting to realize that this isn't necessarily true.

For as proud as I was of losing the weight that I once had, I'm now terrified of gaining weight back. I criticize my appearance and compare myself to others more so than I have in a long time, my expectations of myself are slowly starting to become more and more unrealistic, and worst of all, I've even started to monitor what I eat and let calorie counting slip back into my thoughts.

Although I'm aware of what's going on within myself, I've been way more passive about addressing these issues within myself than I should be. So, I've decided it's time to have an introspective heart-to-heart with myself to try to nip these disorder behaviors before they become active participants in my life again.

Ready? Let's do this:

• Alyson, what is there to be afraid of? Going back to the previous weight that you were when you lost weight the first time after recovery? You liked yourself and your body then just as much as you do now. Weight doesn't determine worth or beauty, remember? I thought we've moved on past this.
• These thoughts that you're having go against everything that you've stood for and all the lessons you've learned during the three years you spent recovering. You're becoming a hypocrite.
• If you keep this up, you could easily fall back into your disorders or allow yourself to relearn an unhealthy relationship with food. Food isn't the enemy and your body isn't a construction zone.
• Good gravy, girlfriend. Your brain was made for bigger and better things than preoccupying itself with calories and constantly critiquing your physical appearance.
• Being skinny isn't an accomplishment and wearing a smaller clothing size isn't something to be proud of.  
• You are more than your body and you are good enough. 
• Also, at any weight or state, your body is nothing to be ashamed of.
• Don't be too hard on yourself for slipping up, recovery is a life-long effort. 
• Body image isn't reliant how you look or what you weigh, body image is reliant on how you feel about yourself.
• Losing weight doesn't guarantee happiness--you know this firsthand. Last time you obsessed over losing weight, you were constantly miserable, hungry, and depressed. 

With that taken care of, I want to note that as I started to recover, I slowly realized that happiness came from things other than my weight or what I ate. Additionally, the motivation behind my recovery changed from wanting to lose weight to wanting to be recovered and healthy. Instead of trying to change my appearance, I decided to change how I saw myself and coincidentally, I also became happy with myself as well.

Lately though, I've seemed to forget all of this.

So here's a reminder to myself that:

• I'm still proud of who I've become. 
• I still love my stretch marks because they remind me of where I've been.
• I'm still proud of how strong my body is and all that it can do at any weight. 
• I still believe that size is just a descriptor, not a determinate of worth. 
• I still think that I am beautiful no matter how I look or how the world says I should be. 
• I still know that I am not my disorders. 
• I still love myself because I am worth loving. 

I don't think it's a bad thing to lose weight or to be happy that you lost weight, but from my own personal experience over these last few months, I've come to realize that there's a fine line between being happy for yourself and obsessing over maintaining your happiness due to conditions you've applied to it.

Yes, I'm happy that I lost weight.
But I won't let my weight determine my happiness.

So, if I gain the weight back, who cares?
If I eat more than the recommended amount of calories for a meal, what's the big deal?

I deserve to be happy and proud of myself regardless of the number on a scale, the size of a dress,
the food I've eaten or the reflection in the mirror.

I am more than my body and I am more than my weight.

I am Alyson.
And I will be happy with myself.

Photo Cred: My Super Talented Boyfriend, Justin

Eating Disorder Awareness Week: Story 3

As the last submission for the week, I thought that this story had a great message to end on. Eating disorders can feel like mountains that are impossible to climb, but as someone who has recovered, the view from the top makes all of the hard work worth it.

Many emotions are surfacing as I sit down to catalog the unfolding of the last few years.  Writing about my disorder demands honesty and introspection--two things I don't always feel comfortable applying to one of my biggest secrets.

Several years ago I was on a study abroad in the UK.  At the time I was really out of shape, meaning, physically incapable of doing much.  One day, our group set out to scale the one of the highest peaks in Scotland, Ben Lomond.  At base camp I was certain I wouldn't make it.  I prepared a list of socially acceptable excuses to quit halfway through: a sprained ankle, dehydration, accompanying another quitter back to camp; reaching the summit was honestly not even an option in my mind.  Well, as the ascent got vertical and hot and windy, my escape plan surfaced as an easy out, but as I looked around at my friends I could see they were struggling too.  Sensing their strained efforts on the same road gave me the courage to be seen panting and gasping and pausing at every switchback.  Eventually I could see the final climb and knew I was going to make it--as sure as I had been that morning of the impossibility of setting foot on that summit--there it was!  In reach!  I huffed up the jagged incline with an energy and confidence I'd never felt before, and when I finally stood overlooking the shadow-dappled valley sprawling long and deep below me, I wept in disbelief.  For the first time in my life, and in a beautifully physical, tangible, calculable way, I could look behind (or in this case, below) me and see a great distance covered--proof of progress--of leaving something far from me and walking toward a greater goal. 

My eating disorder isn't a mountain I've conquered just yet--but I am on my way and tonight as I plunk out my story, I feel much like I did on that mountain.  I can look back and see that despite my doubts and fear about the future, I have come a long ways from where I've been, and that gives me courage to press on.  I hope something in my experience is a thread of connection for someone who needs it.  I'll begin at what I think is the beginning:

I started gaining weight in the third grade.  I remember sensing my mother's concern at my rounding figure and resenting her efforts to curb my food intake.  I began comparing myself to the slender girls at school.  Soon my weight began affecting my athletic ability in PE; I felt great shame in that and began avoiding physical activity and its accompanying embarrassment.  I'm not sure when but it was around this time my binge eating began.  I ate for comfort, for entertainment, and perhaps in rebellion.  My weight skyrocketed and my confidence began a downward spiral I'm still in the process of calculating. 

Junior high and high school were particularly painful.  By this point my weight and eating habits were out of control.  My parents took me to concerned doctors and diets were administered, but I never stuck to one.  I ate in secret, I binged at school, at home, probably every day.  I was miserable, but I don't think I was fully aware of how sick I was.  I longed for social acceptance, for attention from boys.  I developed a moral superiority complex around the slender girls at school, placing myself above them by degrading their 'vanity' or their 'immaturity.'  I made them into the classic mean girls in an attempt to make me feel better about my miserable self.  That's had a lasting effect on me and I wish desperately I could undo the damage I authored to myself and my view of others during those years. 

My junior and senior year I got more serious about losing weight.  My parents sent me to a weight loss camp.  I joined the track team (a self-inflicted humiliation that I look back on with great tenderness and self-love; I am proud of doing something hard, physically, emotionally, and socially).  Track season was the first time I ever slimmed down.  The weight came back and by sophomore year of college, I was at my highest weight ever.  Half way through sophomore year I deferred college to serve an eighteen month volunteer mission for my church.  I spent some time at home with my family in the months leading up to it and my mom and I went on a pretty restrictive diet together.  While the diet was effective, I developed an unhealthy relationship with food and became well-practiced in deprivation.  Understandably, the weight loss and the resulting confidence gave me a high that was hard to come down from.  I left on my mission determined to continue my weight loss, no matter the cost. 

Over the next year the weight slowly came back.  When I recognized this I snapped into a control mode that scared me.  For so many years of my life I had no self-control whatsoever, but in those few months at home I had replaced my addiction to food with an addiction to weight loss and the lengths I went to in my rebound were scary.  I began purging--something I had never done before and I got very good at it.  In a very short amount of time I lost all the weight I'd regained and more. I lied to everyone around me about what I was doing.  I was deep, deep in self-deception, refusing to admit to anyone, let alone myself what was going on. 

By the time I went home I was thinner than I had ever been.  These habits continued and intensified as I began dating my future husband.  During our engagement I lied about the obvious weight loss and secretly engaged in purging, restricting, and more.  What I didn't see then was how transparent the situation was to everyone around me, especially my fiance, and how hurtful it was to him that I not only refused to share my struggle with him, but that I lied about it too!  Not a recommended way to begin a marriage. 

Dress fittings sucked me into dangerous depths of deception and self-abuse.  On my wedding day I was smaller than I had been for decades.  I'll say it again, it was a high.  An unstable, self-consumed high.  To his everlasting credit, I married a man who cared enough about me to call me out on my lies and destructive behavior.  Those first few months of my marriage were full of painful conversations and realizations about what I was doing and the damage it was breeding.  That was the beginning of honesty.  For me it was hard.  I wasn't ready to give up my desire to be thin.  I felt justified in chasing a dream I'd been deprived of for my whole life.  But soon the charade caught up with me and I was forced to give up my secret vices and tools one by one.  Sadly this surrender wasn't by choice.  I wish I'd had the courage and the love for my husband to trust him with my struggle without being caught in lies first.  But slowly I let the walls be knocked down and then with his encouragement, I sought help in a recovery group for women with eating disorders. 

I remember hearing some of the women speak about being on the other end of recovery.  I scoffed at their evangelical testimonies that they were totally healed-completely free of the chains of the disorder!  I knew better. This monster will haunt me for the rest of my life--sure I might learn to hide him away in a closet and eat and be healthy, but you can't kill him.  You just can't.  Well, I was wrong.

As I attended meetings and grew in humility, I began to believe that recovery, in the truest sense, is possible for me.  I saw a genuine light in the eyes of the recovered women I befriended.  I began to trust the confidence they exuded and became willing to abandon my fears and faulty thinking.  Hope came pouring into my life. 

I'm still insecure about my body and their are days I fall back into old patterns.  But I've been blessed by the influence of amazing souls who point me to my true identity and worth.  I am surrounded by true beauty:  it is not perfection or idealism.  It is the love that redeems and values broken things, making them whole.  I'm okay with my imperfections; I'm in the process of embracing them, and the miracle of it is that as I do, I become better able to embrace others as they are.  I guess that's joy of ascending out of the lowlands of personal struggle--for we all travel those dark and lonely valleys, whatever they may be.  Climbing out and up gives us a perspective that can cheer and strengthen others--to see their potential and love them in their low places. 

I'm a better person for working through this challenge.  It's given me a chance to look myself square in the eyes and conquer demons in the darkest corners of my heart.  It's bred compassion and charity for others.  I'm happier for separating counterfeit beauty and enduring beauty. Life has become very bright with hope as I climb to higher ground.  

Eating Disorder Awareness Week: Story 2

As women, how often do we expect our lives and our bodies to perfect? As I was reading through this next submission, I found a lot of the fears and warped realities that I've experienced both during and after my eating disorders. Although I realize now that I wasn't born to look perfect or be perfect, I do try to make a constant effort everyday to be perfect in loving myself.

My eating disorders, at their roots, have had little to do with eating. They are the product of a fantasy which follows me around everywhere I go in the back of my brain, penetrating my perceptions, even when I don’t notice it there, even when it peeks into conscious view and I am ashamed of it. 

"My fantasy is simple, though it has infinite incarnations: in my fantasy, the world is about me.

Because the world is about me, all persons and events bend to my will. I am happy and successful, receiving rewards and recognition for my Ph.D. research, landing a writing job that is lucrative, stimulating, and world-changing (and somehow, simultaneously, effortless). Though I have many fans and admirers abroad (never the type to interfere with the comfort of daily anonymity), I am firmly anchored by love in my most intimate relationships. Each and every guy I meet wants to be with me—how could they not? They find me drop-dead gorgeous, the just-right type of thin, but also smart, witty, and insightful. I am both their erotic dream come-to-life and the only one they can bear their soul to (though they never burden me with more than I can handle, perhaps because I intuitively know how to handle all their troubles). In my fantasy, love has no aches or growing pains; it comes to me like a resplendent, overflowing fountain, because that’s just how stellar I am. With time, after having innocently broken many hearts, (causing me a very-virtuous-though-not-scarring sorrow), I will choose from among them someone both humble and ambitious, minimalistic and wealthy, gentle, sensitive and ruggedly assertive. We will marry on a blissful 75-degree day in my parent’s backyard.  He’ll never leave my side, for just the thought of being with another woman will make him gag. Our children, if we have them, will be beautiful, bright, and well-behaved. My pregnancies will never change my figure. When we travel to Egypt, Europe, and the Marshall Islands as a family, somehow my children will acquire extraordinary educational experiences while never seeming to be there, always allowing me plenty of space to enjoy romantic time with my husband. I’ll age slowly, if I do at all. When I age, I won’t feel it—I’ll be one of those surprisingly fit and lucid grandmothers who never has to pee in a bag, never forgets anyone’s name. In my fantasy, all the good that the world has to offer, usually unevenly, haphazardly distributed across lives, is directed towards me.

This, more or less, is my fantasy: a life where I get everything I want, with all the thorny bits of life cut out. What do you think happens when this fantasy sits in the back of your mind each day? It makes me interpret everything in the world—from a piece of bread to a person—in terms of my fantasy. In the ways that life aligns with my fantasy, I’m ecstatic. In the ways that it doesn’t, I am pouty and frustrated. Obviously I try to temper my fantasy with service to others, learning, and grounding spiritual practices. Whenever I notice my fantasy is rearing its head, I recognize that it needs to be put to sleep. But sometimes it leaks so sneakily into my life so I barely even notice when it takes over.

And so it is that one summer, I developed an eating disorder. I got this idea that I ought to have a slim and attractive, “perfect” body, like in my fantasy—none of those curves or cellulite spots like normal female bodies had. Brownies, ice cream, peanut butter, and soda came to be “evils” to me that I should shun and avoid, unworthy of the body I envisioned for myself. In my fantasy, I was good. I was disciplined. I always said no to evil. For over a year, I delighted in my capacity to restrain myself from food, sticking to stringent rules about what I could and could not eat. Each meal time, I played a pleasurable, masochistic game with myself, seeing how little I could eat to feel full. Though I kept my distance from food, I thought about it often, as if I had to keep my eye on it so as not to trip out of control. When I received compliments for having lost weight, I knew I was on the right track. Guys asked me out at about the same rate as before, but I strode proudly down the sidewalks of campus as if everyone admired my new thin body. As if my fantasy was theirs, too, and they knew I was succeeding.

The problem was that my fantasy was a fantasy. It is not possible to cut out the thorny bits of life, to maintain the body I wanted without all sorts of costs and ill effects. I developed such high anxiety about food that after months of turning my head from it like a pious saint from sin, my discipline broke. I began eating in their entirety the mashed potatoes, boiled carrots, and rolls my mother scooped gratuitously onto my plate.  I began saying yes to pistachio ice cream and Oreos. I woke up to the pleasures of eating, again—but this was no easy thing. Food was cruel, for how it leered at me--that rich ganache frosting on my brother’s birthday cake, the dense, chewy blueberry bagel that settled like a bulbous water balloon in my stomach. I wanted to be disciplined like I was before, but there was no going back, no un-forgetting of tastes and textures in my mouth and the satisfaction of a full stomach.

Still locked in my fantasy, I continued to overthink food and eating, but this twist in my lack of discipline bred different behaviors. If food would not keep its distance, then I must consume every last bite of its nearness. When I was alone in the kitchen, it was as if the world, all its people, and time itself disappeared. The pantry, fridge, and cupboards were chests of treasure bestowed from above. With the rules gone, each bite was an ecstasy of personal anarchy in my mouth. The chocolate chips, the cold pizza, the banana bread—each piece was mine, mine, mine, even when it wasn’t mine—when it belonged to my roommate---even when it wasn’t mine for the moment—when I had intended it for a late afternoon snack— there was always more, and more, and more—and when I finished eating one thing I’d move quietly on to another, unquestioningly, like turning a page in a long, long book.

After these shameful evenings alone in the kitchen, I tried various techniques to stuff my life back into my fantasy. I’d say to myself, “I’ll skip breakfast the rest of the week, and cut out sweets for the next month” as if restriction could overwrite my hours of indulgence. Or I’d take a different tactic, “It’s not that big of a deal. Everyone pigs out on occasion,” as if I could still be the girl in my fantasy even if I ate a lot. I began meeting with a therapist and dietician, wanting help to regain control. To my frustrated surprise, they tried to tell me that I didn’t need control—I needed self-acceptance. My therapist gave me stories to read of people with binge-eating disorders far more severe than mine. After looking over my food log, my dietician tried to persuade me that I only felt I was out of control because I was letting go of my restrictions, learning to enjoy food again. “It looks like you just overeat on occasion,” she said with a tone somewhere between consolation and condescension, “These aren’t abnormal amounts of food.” I was doing nothing wrong, they insisted. Nothing wrong.

I listened to them. I carefully set down my goal to eat less. But the food wasn’t the problem. Nothing really changed until my fantasy was slowly uncovered to me.

One Spring term, I signed up for a yoga class on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. In a bright, broad room I spread out my mat parallel to the rows of other women and sat cross-legged on top of it. When our instructor came in, she directed us to rise to our feet, to begin the adjari breathing, and off we were for an hour of stretching and elegant straining. A floor-length mirror covered the left wall, which I peeked at furtively each time a pose allowed us to face it. I pretended to use the mirror to adjust my posture or the position of my hands, but really I was checking the size of my arms, legs, and waist.

One afternoon our instructor led us into the tree pose—lift your right leg, bend you knee, and place your foot gently on the inside of your left thigh. Keep your hands at heart center, or stretch them high above your head. We turned to face the mirrored wall, but my view that day was obstructed by several bodies in front of me. My eyes tried to seek a way past the shoulders and torsos, but suddenly I saw—

                 

--I saw all these women, their arms outstretched, their calves trembling to balance; I saw a few of them glancing in the mirror as I was prone to do; I imagined them in front of other mirrors, in department store dressing rooms, trying on their yoga leggings, or in their bathroom mirrors, glaring themselves into make-up’ed beauty each morning.

“Is each of them as worried about their appearance as I am about mine?” I asked.

                 

And after I asked, I saw more: I saw these women looking both ways to cross the street, trudging their way to the testing center, slipping on snow, frowning as they entered a class they didn’t like. I saw them fighting with mothers, forgiving their sisters, nervously delivering talks in church. I saw them crying when they received rejection letters from programs, jumping up and down elatedly when they received scholarships.  I saw these women and I cared. In a moment of shocking and liberating clarity, I saw how wasteful it was for us to persist in our individual fantasies, which blinded us to each other. Each of these women seemed overwhelmingly good and beautiful to me. As my arms reached high above my head, tears sprung to my eyes and I dropped my fantasy, for their sakes. I wanted to enjoy and participate in the rich, lovely, and important world buzzing all around me, and I wanted them to, as well.

                 

Nearly two years later, that moment serves as a lighthouse in my life. Recovery from my eating disorders has been a slow and stilted, often painful process that will likely continue throughout my life.  I see now, however, that the problem is only marginally related to food. The problem is when I give reigns to my fantasy, when I want to run from the imperfect, thorny life I have for the blissful life of my fantasy. I remind myself that the blissful life isn’t real—even when I was at my thinnest, when I was supposedly doing everything “right”, I was anxious and miserable. And I remind myself what I learned among those women in my yoga class that day, that this imperfect life has a strength and loveliness all on its own which is actually more gripping, compelling, and grounding than the ridiculous life of my fantasy. The struggle is not to control life, or my body, but to see it more clearly for the lovely thing that it is."

Eating Disorder Awareness Week: Story 1

Shortly after I started looking for people who would want to share their eating disorder stories, I received this story anonymously in an email. As I was reading it, I found so much of myself in this individual's words and experiences--and I hope you can too. 

If you've ever had a secret, you know how hard it is to finally open up and talk about it. The part of you that has been so carefully hidden suddenly exposed is overwhelming and a lot to deal with. That's why it was hard for me to write this. It's something I'm still not totally comfortable talking about, because it's still something I have to deal with every single day. But the point of me sharing is to remind everyone, myself included, is that it's ok to struggle. No matter how hard you try, you will always have bad days. What matters is that you don't let those days win. When you've been in so much darkness and pain for so long, it's hard to believe there is still light out there. So here's the summary of my story. It will probably be really long so hopefully you'll make it to the end ;) If anything, I just hope sharing what I've been through can be at least a small help to somebody. 

"I cannot remember a time where I wasn't overtly aware of my body. Food has always been a weird thing for me, something that was a source of so much pleasure and joy and what family get togethers usually revolved around. Dinner was always the best when I got to pick my favorite, usually spaghetti and garlic bread. Sneaking too many popsicles from the freezer with my best friend when mom wasn't looking was one of the highlights of summer. Yet I always felt in the back of my mind that food was associated with something negative. As a true-born girly girl, I started reading fashion and celebrity gossip magazines before I was at an age I could even pronounce all the words. I just knew the basics: these were all famous, celebrated women, fawned over because of their beauty. I grew up absolutely in love with the Olsen twins, often feeling like I was their third, long lost triplet. As they got older and conversation often turned to their itty bitty size, I was well aware and made sure my body looked like theirs.  When Mary Kate was admitted into rehab for anorexia at the age of 17, I was about the young age of 10. But I still clearly remember the moment I thought, "I need to always look like that. She's what I'll be when I'm finally grown up." As twisted as it sounds, I admired her. Her self-discipline. Her control. I figured she probably had everything together and saw her as success, something to strive toward. That was around the time the subconscious thoughts became obsessive and with a purpose. I never ate one thing without very carefully considering whether or not it was worth the calories. I remember running to the bathroom in between classes during junior high to check if I looked thin enough in the full-length mirror. I was constantly comparing my body to every other girl's and if I felt like they were skinnier than me, I was a failure. Being what in my mind was "perfect" was more important than anything else. I would go between periods of starving myself to losing control and eating everything in sight. Things only got worse once I figured out how easily I could get rid of the food once I felt I had eaten too much. For the next six years, I silently battled inside with an extreme eating disorder. There were times where it wasn't as bad and I could go a few weeks eating regularly without too much guilt, but the majority of the time I was constantly wracked with depression and absolutely unbearable anxiety. I completely lost who I was as a person because the only thing I thought was important was the way I looked. This fixation cost me the ability to focus on anything else, like doing well in school or being a good friend or sister. I felt like I was trapped in this tunnel of trying to appear so perfect that I just became empty on the inside. I didn't care about anything other than being pretty and skinny. My friends and family noticed something was wrong, but I was so deep in my disordered mind that I would deny anything if I was ever confronted. I did pretty well hiding my secret and managed to get through most of my teen years as a fairly happy, normal kid. But this big thing nagging inside of me still managed to ruin friendships, relationships, and opportunities. I felt that the way I looked was the only thing I had to offer or contribute to the world, the only reason I mattered. I was slowly falling further and deeper into this dark web of obsession of pressure. 

The summer before I turned 21, I moved out into my first apartment with a friend. Being on my own gave me even more control of how I ate without anybody watching or judging. This newfound freedom kicked off a downward spiral. My diet basically consisted of Diet Coke and Xanax. With so little mental clarity and so much depression, I began doing things I knew were wrong but just didn't care. I made choices I still regret and was at the absolute lowest point in my life. Within three months, I was down 20 pounds and barely functioning. There were times I couldn't get up off the floor because I was so weak. Looking back now, it's all a huge blur and I can't believe I was living that way. Being moved out, I didn't see my family much but once I started visiting, they noticed the drastic change in my body and mind and only then did they realize how sick I really was. That August, I was admitted into a rehabilitation center and diagnosed with anorexia, bulimia, and intense anxiety. I spent what was without a doubt the hardest month of my life in the center, constantly working with nutritionists and therapists and finally accepting that I needed help. It was such a war inside. I knew I couldn't keep living the way I had been but I was still so scared to give up the only thing that I had used to cope and stay in control. The funny thing is, by restricting my entire world into this tiny, unrealistic box, I ended up losing all the control I really had. I had to quit my job, completely surrender myself to recovering, and awkwardly deal with questions of where I had been and what was going on. As far as things have come in our society, there is still a huge stigma surrounding most types of mental illness today. You might be embarrassed or afraid to ask for help, but I can tell you firsthand that it is the ONLY way to start down the path of getting better. Keeping things locked inside and to yourself will do nothing but eat you alive and make your problems 10 times worse. It's taken practically my entire life, but I've finally discovered one of the most therapeutic and beneficial things I can do is just reach out to someone. I've even been able to overcome a lot of my issues simply by saying them out loud. Telling someone else your worries usually helps you put them in perspective and realize how much you had blown it up in your head. It's been almost a year since I've left treatment, and although I still have days filled with hopelessness, loneliness, and despair, I am so incredibly grateful I'm no longer in that horrible place I was for so many years. I still go to therapy and nutrition appointments weekly and I'm still learning to accept myself and a healthier lifestyle, but I have gained so much knowledge and insight in the process. 

Once I really started dedicating my life to change, I started seeing things differently. One of the strongest things that hit me was, I don't judge other people by their weight. I don't think anyone is a better person just because they're thin. I don't know why it was so hard for me to process that it's the same the other way around. Others don't look at me and immediately decide my worth by my the size of my thighs. Being skinny doesn't define me. For a long time I think I didn't want to get better. When you have a disorder, it tends to become your identity. Overcoming my eating disorder would mean losing a part of myself, the only part I really knew. I didn't feel that I was smart, successful, or really worth anything. Who was I if I wasn't The Skinny Girl? It's taken me years to understand, but I am not a body. I am a soul. My Father in Heaven has so wonderfully blessed with me a beautiful, amazing vessel to live in. Because of this body I can walk through the park and feel the sun on my skin. I can run and chase my dog around the yard. I can pick up one of my little crying cousins and hold them in my arms until they feel the comfort coming from my strong, beating heart. And one day, if I am lucky enough to be so blessed, I'll experience that this human body is able to not only create another human body, but carry that sweet little growing soul inside of me. I want to be able to cherish and nourish that baby with everything I can give them. Who are we to nitpick and abuse these bodies when they themselves are precious gifts from our Heavenly Father? There are so many out there who have been given the challenge of a physical illness or ailment where getting up and just walking outside is impossible. Think of those born without limbs, without functioning organs, even without sight. What right do I have to hate my body when I've been so incredibly gifted with receiving one so healthy and strong? Why is it that we don't look at ourselves in amazement and insane appreciate every single day? We all have a subconscious desire to be perfect in some way, which is good because that's what keeps us moving forward. I still struggle with my insecurities every morning. But slowly and surely, I've learned it's not about how flat my stomach is, nor how thin my arms look or how small my waist is, or how others see me. It's the kind heart I have, the caring nature I can use to nurture others, the mind that has the capacity to learn and retain new information constantly. The way my Father in Heaven sees me. No matter how you feel about your body, no matter how much or how little confidence you have, try to see yourself the way God sees you. You are so much greater in His eyes. And no matter how heavy your burdens are, He is there to help us every step of the way.

It should be easy to remember all these things, but we are human. That's why I try to thank God for my life and my health every day. For anyone experiencing depression, anxiety, worthlessness, self-loathing, an eating disorder, or anything along those lines, remember that you're not alone. There's no shame in your trials. We all have them, no matter what they may be. And you are more than that. Try to see things in an eternal perspective. Despite life's difficulties, look at the miracles we experience every day. Life is too wonderful and amazing to go through wasting it. I know positivity isn't just something we can switch on, I only wish it were that easy. But by taking things slowly and focusing on one thing daily that you've been blessed with, it will start to get easier. Have strength, faith, and gratitude. Whether you're getting outside help or simply turning to God, it's never, ever impossible to get out of the dark and into the sunshine that this life has to offer."