Ponytails

Last night I went to my sister's house for Sunday dinner. As we were about to sit down to eat, I leaned over to my four-year-old niece and told her that she was beautiful.

She stared me, confused, as she replied:

"No. I'm only beautiful when I have a ponytail."

I stared back at her, confused.

It took me longer than it should have to comprehend what she told me, but when I did, the impact of her words hit me like a ton of bricks. I was shocked.

First of all: How could a four-year-old girl already have thoughts like this forming in her head?

Secondly: How could a four-year-old girl already have established limitations and requirements for beauty?

And lastly: How could a four-year-old girl already have the same thoughts that grown women often experience? (As in, we can only be beautiful if we do certain things--makeup, clothing, hair, weight loss, etc.)

I know, I know. I'm probably over-analyzing this--I mean, I'm definitely more sensitive to comments of this nature than other people due to my experiences with eating disorders and body dysmorphia. She could have easily just said it without thinking twice or thinking negatively of herself in the process. She could have easily just been mimicking something that she heard elsewhere.

But even if that's true, even if she's just repeating what others have said, that's another serious problem in and of itself.

I think I was upset by this because I saw myself in her.

I once wrote a post about a time when my friend asked me how early my low body-image began, and while sitting here writing this, I'm realizing that it started around my niece's age.

When I was her age, I didn't just say and listen to comments like this, but I internalized them and as a result, they festered inside of me until they began to rot.

At her age, I would think that I was only beautiful when... or I would only be beautiful if...

It got to the point where I used to wish that I could take my head off of my body and place it on someone else's so that I could finally be beautiful.

I should probably mention that I understand that the thoughts I had at her age were a little more extreme than simply saying that a ponytail is what makes me look beautiful; however, the processes behind those thoughts are the same.

Feelings of inadequacy, requirement, and expectation are powerful.
Additionally, the impact of our words upon children are even more so.

Before I go any further, I want to hurry and establish that I don't think that my sister has ever caused my niece to think negatively about herself. If anything, my niece has more confidence than I do because of how she's being raised and empowered by her mother.

In fact, the same little girl that made the previous comment about herself, looked in a mirror at my parent's house a few weeks earlier with dirt and paint on her face, exclaiming: "I am beautiful!"

Maybe that's why her comment upset me.

I want to know what changed in her over the course of these past weeks to cause her to say something like this. I want to know how a thought like this slipped through the armor of self-confidence that my sister has placed on her.

Then again, I've caught myself doing the same thing on various occasions. One moment I'll love how I look and the next, I'll hate myself.

Even the strongest armor can have a chink in it.
And self-confidence can be fleeting.

It's been a long process, but I'm slowly starting to realize that I'm beautiful
no matter how I look--make up and hair done; or no make-up and hair not done. 

How often do we as women allow our self-esteem and the perception of our intrinsic beauty to be dictated by simple things like "ponytails" (when we reach the perfect weight, have the perfect makeup, have the perfect hair, or have the perfect clothes)? How often do we flip between self-love and self-hate--harming ourselves in the process? Why is it so hard to love ourselves all of the time without strings attached?

We're not always going to have our hair in ponytails (to continue the analogy), so isn't it about time that we stop saying "I'm only beautiful when I have a ponytail" and start saying "I'm beautiful".

Beauty shouldn't be reliant on the when's or if's of life.

Beauty isn't something that changes with how we look.
Beauty isn't something that dwells in our past or only exists in our future.

Beauty is now.

And it has no requirements.

Ask Aly: Reaching Out

What advice would you give those who suspect a friend/loved one has an eating disorder?  What is the best way to approach the subject and/or help them and give them the support they need?  What kind of actions/reactions/support do you -or did you- wish your family would have done to help you in the many different phases?

Sorry!  I see you addressed most of my questions in a previous post I had somehow missed.  So that just leaves the first question - what to do if they don't approach you or tell you?

Hi there!

One thing that I've learned since recovering from my disorders, is that once you've had an eating disorder, you can spot the telltale signs of one from a mile away.  However, even though I can spot people who may have disorders or disorder tendencies on a daily basis, it's something that I can't and won't directly confront them about (even if they are friends or family) until they have personally told me themselves what they are going through.

So, what can you do if you've heard that someone you know might have a disorder or if you strongly believe that they might have one?

Nothing.
And by that, I don't mean you should actually do nothing.

If you are worried about someone, you definitely should take action, but it's all in how you take that action. If they haven't approached or told you about what they're going through, the best thing that you can do is to take action behind the scenes and leave breadcrumbs for them to follow when they're ready to start the recovery process. If they are ready for help and have told you personally, then you can go full-force and help them find treatment etc.

The trick with approaching someone that you either think or know has an eating disorder is all within how you word things. One thing that's important to remember is that no one wants to be accused of being something they aren't or think they aren't. If you're concerned about someone and they haven't approached you about it yet, there's no harm in asking if they're doing okay. However, it's important to remember that they have the right to heal according to their own timeline (unless they are in immediate danger--you could probably directly address the fact that they have an eating disorder in a situation like this, but again, you would have to be delicate in how you approach that topic) and to keep their own secrets until they're ready to share them.

Here are a couple of sample conversations:

1. You: "Are you doing okay?"
    Them: "Yes, why?"
    You: "I've noticed that you've lost/gained a lot of weight lately and I was worried about you."

2. You: "Are you doing okay? I've noticed that you haven't been eating lately."
    Them: "Yeah, I'm doing fine--I've just been stressed out with school (could be a lie); thanks for asking though!"
    You (knowing that it could be a lie): You're welcome! I was worried about you. Let me know if can do anything to    help with your stress!"

3. You: "Are you okay? You spent a lot of time in the bathroom after dinner."
    Them: "I'm fine."
    You: "Good! I was worried about you!"

4. You: "Hey, I've noticed that you've been going into the kitchen late at night to eat, are doing okay?"
    Them: "...no."
    You: "What can I do to help you?"

In all of these sample conversations, the person asking the questions (you) never once straight out said that or asked if the other person had an eating disorder--which is probably the most important thing that you can do in situations like this. I remember when I was anorexic, my mom told me that I had taken my dieting too far and I was being reckless with my health. Although she was right, her comment made me incredibly defensive and caused me to shut myself off from her help. I also started to do more things behind her back as well.

Additionally, it's important to start conversations like this in private and not in a group setting. No one wants to be embarrassed or feel like its them against everyone else. Also, if they say that they are okay, don't press them for the answer that you want or the truth that you think they are hiding. Accept it and make sure to let them know that you're there to help if they need anything.

One of the best things about approaching someone with a disorder in this way is that if they're in denial, your words can plant a seed in their head and cause them to reexamine what they're doing. If they aren't in denial, it lets them know that someone has caught on to what's going on and that you're there to help if they need it.

Again, it's important not to accuse or call them out on their behaviors if you want them to genuinely recover. It has to be a decision that they make, not that they're resentfully forced in to. I found that I was able to fully recover from my binge eating disorder because I was the one to notice it and I was the one to take the initiative. By starting the recovery process through myself, I was able to take full responsibility for my recovery because my disorder was something that I fully acknowledged and wanted to end.

One way that I like to think of an eating disorder is to liken it to a house with a door that only has one handle which is on the inside where the eating disorder victim lives. People can knock on the door and try to get the victim to open it and come out, but ultimately it's up to the person inside of the house to open the door. They get to choose when to let you in and then they choose when they're ready to walk out of the house. You can't just break down the door on them and expect things to be okay.

Aside from talking with them, there also other things that you can do to help:

• Compliment them on their non-physical traits, build up their self-esteem
• Don't compliment them on their weight loss
• Don't let them talk negatively about themselves or their bodies
• Don't talk negatively about yourself or your body around them
• Help them not feel bad about the food that they've eaten
• Don't count calories, criticize the food that you've eaten, or talk about diets around them.
• Keep in contact with them so that they can feel comfortable talking with you when they're ready; check up on them after talking to them too
• Keep them company while they eat and after they eat so that they can be distracted from the thoughts of the disorder and purging methods
• Serve them, let them know that they are loved 

Before I finish this, I have one last thought to add. When I was going through my disorders, hardly anyone noticed that anything was wrong or that I was struggling--especially during the binge eating. It hurt. I was so frustrated that no one was reaching out to me and that I had no one to talk to. That no one realized how miserable I was. Although I didn't necessarily want to talk about my disorder, I just wanted someone to notice what was going on. Someone to reach out to. Someone to be there to catch me. Someone to care.

I think that the fact that you want to help and are aware of what this person is going through is a great first step. I can't guarantee that things will go smoothly even if you're incredibly careful with how you help them, but just make sure that you use good judgement while trying to help them.


Good luck!

*To submit a question, you can either use the submission app on the sidebar of the blog or email me at: tomyfullestblog@gmail.com*

Finding the Sunshine

This week, Rachel from Finding the Sunshine (a blog about depression and overcoming mental illness) and I decided to do a collaboration! She asked me to write a post for her blog about how I've "found the sunshine" despite my challenges with eating disorders, and how other people can do the same.

Here's a preview of what I had to say, but make sure to check out Rachel's blog to see the full post tomorrow!

I was 14 years old when I first began my journey with eating disorders.

Although I had struggled with body dysmorphia for as long as I could remember, I didn't do anything to drastically change my body until the beginning of tenth grade. I decided to follow the "advice" of my health teacher and start a "calorie deficit" diet to lose weight (which I now realize didn't need to be lost in the first place).

Around when I first started to "diet".

The diet quickly turned into more than a weight loss plan, it was a disorder...an obsession. I was constantly preoccupied with counting calories and controlling my food intake--I was convinced that I was being "healthy". Food was always in the forefront of my thoughts and I was always hungry; I would go to bed starving just so I could eat breakfast in the morning. However, during this time I wasn't willing to accept that what I was doing was wrong. I was happily miserable.

At my lowest--not healthiest, weight. 

Towards the beginning of eleventh grade, I was bullied. I became depressed and turned to the one thing that I had been denying myself in order to find comfort: food. This quickly turned into a different disorder known as binge eating disorder. I would go into my family's kitchen and gorge on food for hours on end until my stomach couldn't take it anymore. I hated myself and it was also during this time that I became suicidal. 

Dr. Michael Spigarelli was the first person to tell me that an eating disorder--of any kind, is a (curable) mental disease; my disorders were not me or my fault. Additionally, he made sure to emphasize that depression and anxiety are often linked to disordered behaviors as well and also can act as catalysts for disorders to begin. Thanks to him, my therapist, and antidepressants, I was able to overcome my disease along with the depression that resulted. 

In all honesty, this was an incredibly dark time in my life; I had no hope for myself or for my future. There were times when I couldn't and didn't want to find the sunshine in anything. I accepted and feared that my life would always be a constant battle against myself; it felt as if I was slowly burying myself in a grave that I wouldn't be able to climb out of.

Ask Aly: Accepting Help

How can people with eating disorders reach out for and accept help from others? Eating has always been very personal for me. I don't know how I can include loved ones in my recovery journey when I can't even be honest with myself about my eating habits.

Hi there!

Accepting help from others and being honest with yourself are two of the hardest--but also most important, steps that anyone can take when trying to overcome an eating disorder. Personally, I really struggled with both throughout all three of my disorders; however, I realize now that being honest with myself enabled me to reach out and accept help from others when I was ready.

When I was anorexic, I was in complete denial about what I was doing. I thought that because I was the smallest I had ever been in my life, I was also my healthiest (which is definitely not true for anyone). Whenever friends or family tried to reach out to me, I would push them away and justify my actions. Not only did I make myself miserable, but I made them miserable as well.

My relationship with my family--especially my mom, became really strained when I became a binge eater. However, it was during this time that I was finally able to start accepting that my previous "diet" was an eating disorder and that turning to food for comfort (I would eat uncontrollably for hours in order to forget my depression, how much I hated myself, or to forget how I was treated at school) was a disorder as well. Despite realizing this, I had a lot of emotions trapped inside of me. My family didn't really know how to handle me, my depression, or my disorder; no matter what they did or said to help, it was wrong. I hated them for not understanding what I was going through or for not understanding in the way that I needed them to. Because of this, everyone tip-toed around me like  I was a bomb that was waiting to go off...which only made things worse.

Eventually, I went to a therapist and she helped me gain more control of my emotions and my relationship with my family.

Like you said, eating is a personal thing and I think eating disorders are even more so. I think that's one reason why connecting with others throughout recovery is so hard. Eating disorders are unique to each individual who experiences them--but they aren't something that you can overcome on your own. Just like it takes a village to raise a child, it takes a strong (and diverse) support group to heal an eating disorder victim.

Looking back, I think that the most important step that I took towards being honest with myself was telling my mom that I thought I had a binge eating disorder and then looking for medical help. From there, I was able to find professionals who gave me the tools and support that I needed to heal--and with this, Elaine Cheung, my therapist, was a godsend. I sincerely believe that having an unbiased, third-party to talk to was one of the best resources that I could have had--especially at the beginning of my recovery. Talking to family members--or even friends, about eating disorders or other emotional experiences, will always have strong emotional consequences on both sides...there can be a lot of unintended misunderstanding. My therapist looked at me objectively which allowed me to say things to her that I couldn't have said to others--she allowed me to talk about my relationships at home without offending anyone at home. By doing this, I was slowly able to release a lot of emotional pressure within myself and get to a state of relative calm where I could then move forward and take bigger strides towards recovery.

Another thing that I came to realize is that you have to give those around you some slack. I think a lot of my fear and frustration towards my family came from me expecting them to perfectly understand what I was going through--which they never could have done; not because they didn't want to, but rather because they couldn't. Well-meant sympathy is never the same as empathy. They also weren't eating disorder specialists. I expected them to save me when they were just as lost with how to help me as I was. I was so focused on myself drowning, that it was hard to see them drowning beside me.

I don't know if this answered your question, but I think you already hit the nail on the head. The first step towards including those around you is to be honest with yourself which then enables your to be honest with them. I remember that after meeting with Elaine for a while, she suggested that I sit with my family and officially tell them what I was going through--put it all out in the open so that everyone was on the same page. It was terrifying and embarrassing, but it helped. It's a wall that I would have eventually climbed at one point or another, but as soon as I did, I was able to move on to the next hurdle in front of me.

So, the sooner you do in your road to recovery, the better.

I can't guarantee how your family will react to something like this, but it's important to remember that whatever they do, it will be out of love and concern (even if it's sometimes misguided).

So make sure that you're not only patient with yourself, but patient with them too.

You can overcome your disorder, I believe in you.

You can do this!







*To submit a question, you can either use the submission app on the sidebar of the blog or email me at: tomyfullestblog@gmail.com*

We are Beautiful

A couple of weeks ago, I announced that I was officially going to start selling the t-shirt I designed for this blog online. Thanks to all of your support, we've been able to spread body positivity one shirt at a time!

They all look different, but you can't deny how beautiful each of
these ladies are. 

I've said this before, but I firmly believe that beauty is intrinsic in all of us. Additionally, we tend to interchangeably associate attraction and beauty when they're really two totally different things.  

Beauty standards are ridiculous. They basically try to apply a "one-size-fits-all" approach to how all women see themselves. In reality, we come in different sizes, shapes, and colors. The way we look is like a genetic raffle--a once in a lifetime chance occurrence (well, technically each person is supposed have like 7 doppelgangers in the world--but even in that case, they probably wouldn't have the same mole that you have on your right foot or the same crease between your eyebrows that shows up when you sneeze...but this is beside the point.). It's also important to note that with all the possible combinations of genes in the world, it's physically impossible for all of us to naturally be what we see on the cover of magazines. 

So, why is it that we feel like all women have to look the same when diversity is in our very nature?

Why do we gamble so much of our self-worth on looking a certain way?

Theodore Roosevelt once said that, "Comparison is the thief of joy".

And I completely agree.

I don't know about anyone else, but in the past (especially during my eating disorders), I caught myself comparing my body to those of my sisters, my friends, my peers, and even strangers. For years, I not only hated myself for not matching up to them, but I also hated them based solely on the fact that they met standards I couldn't. 

I found validation for my own feelings of self-worth and beauty when I looked better than or just as good as those around me; and when I didn't, I felt worthless. In a sense, it felt like in order to gain the title of "beautiful", I had to either strip it away from someone else or risk having it taken from me. 

I think in order to feel better about ourselves, we need to think better of those around us. We need to actively stop our own thoughts of judgement (which later affect how we judge ourselves) that cross our minds when we see someone's body. Judgement, beauty standards, and body shame create a toxic environment where no one wins.

Womanhood should not be competition.

Every body is a good body.

Society teaches women that their worth and beauty are directly derived from their physical appearance. Not from who they are as living, thinking, and feeling individuals. 

Beauty has nothing to do with appearance and it doesn't have prerequisites.

You don't have to look like Cara Delevigne, Beyonce, your best friend, your cousin, or your sister to be beautiful.

Just be you.
Because you are enough.

And you are beautiful.

(~If you're interested in buying a shirt, click the shop link on the top or side navigation bar~)

Gordito

A while ago at work, I overheard two women talking about how they were fine with calling their sons fat (one had even given her little boy the nickname "gordito"), but not their daughters. As I was listening in, I couldn't help but wonder why we give so much power to such a small word and turn it into a gender-based insult (for example: we joke about men's beer bellies, but criticize stomach fat on women).

For men, its a statement.
For women, its a source of shame.

Fear of the word is literally ingrained in our psyche from infancy.

I've always thought it to be interesting that we rarely hear men complain about gaining weight or state their fear of gaining weight based on the food that they eat. (Have you ever noticed how weight-loss commercials tend show women, rather than men, promoting their products?) But as women, we've all been there; it's second-nature, a rite of passage. We navigate our lives through restrictions based on our body size.

You can't eat that.
You can't wear that.
You can't be happy as yourself.

All for the sake of avoiding or escaping identification with the worst thing imaginable.

Being fat.

I've mentioned this before, but in high school (also during my binge eating disorder) I went on a choir trip to San Francisco. As we were waiting for our flight home in the Oakland Airport, two friends and I decided to go get some smoothies before it was time to leave. I ordered a medium with whey protein (to keep me full until we reached Salt Lake), but the whey caused the smoothie to expand--so the workers had to place my order in a large cup instead. I didn't think much about it (although I was ashamed to be carrying around something so huge--which is another problem we face as women; we shouldn't feel like we need to eat like rabbits, we're human beings with human sized appetites...eating less should not be considered more feminine), until one of my friends mentioned that the sizes of our smoothies reflected the sizes of our bodies. Small, medium, and you can probably guess mine, large.

Needless to say, I was mortified and utterly humiliated at being labeled as such.

As women, we tend to have this nasty habit of self-objectifying our bodies. We worry about how others perceive us more than how we perceive ourselves.

I think my biggest problem with what she said, was that her words confirmed what I thought I already knew to be true.

I was the size large in my friend group.
I was the biggest.
I was the fattest.

And therefore, I thought I was also the ugliest.

It's so ironic how we associate body fat with being unattractive-- we see fat as a synonym for ugly. Is that really true though? Is every fat woman ugly and is every ugly woman fat? What does it even mean to be ugly? Is anyone really ugly or is it an insult we give those we don't personally find appealing?

We've all heard it said before that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but I want to go as far as to say that ugliness is as well.

So be kind to yourself (and others)! Your body is your own regardless of how much you do or don't weigh; whether your have fat rolls or defined muscle; whether you see yourself as ugly (which isn't true) or beautiful.

It's funny how we sometimes (even with ourselves) see weight first and worth second. Being fat is a fact and it shouldn't carry with it a negative connotations concerning one's value.

I want to clarify that I'm not saying that my friend was intending to make me feel bad, but I think she was grateful that she had (and I guess she was?) the smaller smoothie in this situation.

On the same note though, I was ashamed for having the larger sized smoothie (and being a larger sized person).

In all reality, both viewpoints are wrong.
It's just as toxic to judge someone else's body as it is to judge your own.

It's okay to have fat, it is okay to be fat, it is okay to love yourself with your fat.
Fat is natural. Some of us have more and some of us have less, but it shouldn't be source of shame or fear.

It's life!

We need to rewire our brains to accept the word "fat" as a neutral description, not a death-sentence. From my own experiences, I've learned that the less I care about what I eat or the fat on my body, the happier I am. I actually even like the dimples, stretch marks, and squishy aspects of my skin!

I'll admit that I have lost weight since my trip to San Francisco (due to my recovery from the eating disorder), but I still am the "large smoothie" that my friend said I was. However, I realize now that I am not less of a person for having more fat on my body than some of the people around me.

I am fat.
I have fat.
And I'm okay.

PS: This is a large smoothie :)

Memories

After reading a kind comment from a grade school friend on my last post, I decided to re-read every post I've ever written on this blog.

Not only was I surprised to see how impeccable my sense of humor was (and still is-- in one post, I had the tenacity to use just about every possible word for "butt" known to the English language), but I was also surprised by how much I've forgotten about the events and emotions of my past.

(Here's a slide from an oral presentation I gave in my PSYCH 307 class. We had to write a literature review on a topic of our choice, and I chose to focus on the rates of mental health complications and eating disorders in female adolescents with type 1 diabetes--I'll make a post about my findings later. I'm still blown away by how different I look now, in comparison to the other photos.)


As I read through the posts (from recent to oldest), I saw myself prolapse in levels of maturity. My initial posts focused on losing weight and blaming others for my problems; I was ignorant, selfish and worst of all, a bully to myself.

Thanks to this experience, I realize that I'm a completely different person today than I was back then.
I like who I am, I like how I look, and I finally appreciate the hard things I had to endure.

I once read a tumblr post that said:

"today my professor told me

every cell in our entire body

is destroyed and replaced

every seven years.

how comforting it is to know

one day i will have a body

you will have never touched."

I wonder if the cells of our souls are destroyed and replaced overtime as well. Our experiences obviously shape us, but to what extent? Do they literally mold us into a new combination of ideas and beliefs?

How many people can we become over one lifetime?

I went on a date to a concert once and let me say, it was super awkward. I told my roommate about it afterwards, distraught that I would never be able to go to see that band again without thinking of that memory, and she told me: "Don't dwell on what happened. Go again and make a new memory. You deserve to."

Maybe that's the answer.

In the last few years, I've noticed that life often moves forward against our will. It causes us to create new memories that either replace or join with those of the past in a "sink or swim" situation. It allows us to grow and become more than we ever could have dreamed of becoming.

Usually, right under our own noses.

And you know what?
I'm grateful for it.





Pride

Whenever I make a comment about how much I've eaten, my roommate always says, "I'm proud of you!"

Given my past of dieting, and starving myself in order to be socially presentable, this is an incredible statement...on both ends. 

It's been three years and here I am: eating, healthy, with friends that care about me, and the ability to care for myself. 

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm proud of myself too. 

Sample

A few weeks ago, I was invited to write a sample blog post in order to be considered for an opportunity to write on a volunteer basis for the LDS blog, Sugardoodle.

With this in mind, I thought that I could share with all of you what I submitted:


Eating disorders, like a lot of things in life, aren't exactly predictable.

During my sophomore year of high school, I decided that I was done with feeling embarrassed by my body and the extra pounds it carried. As a result, I started a strict diet that only allowed me to eat about 1,700 calories a day. Within two months I had lost 40 pounds and reached, what I thought to be, my ideal body weight. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable in my own skin. No matter how much weight I lost, I wasn’t satisfied; I could always lose five more pounds. Eventually, I reached a point where the compliments I had been receiving from friends and family became tinged with worry; but no one could stop me. I realize now that I had become a victim of an eating disorder due to my own warped perceptions of beauty and self-worth. My “diet” controlled every action, thought, and emotion I had; it consumed me, and became my identity.

Pre-eating disorders.

 I still can't believe I thought this was fat.



 A few months later, I became depressed due some drama at school within my circle of friends. Almost immediately I turned to food as my medication of choice, and shortly thereafter, I developed what would become another eating disorder. The sadder I became, the more I ate. The weight that I had worked so hard to lose (plus a little extra), came back within a month’s time and the depression that followed resulted in even more eating. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t stop myself--food was my escape from reality.

For the longest time I felt that it was my fault that I couldn’t control my eating because I was weak and too miserable to change. Luckily, I met with a doctor who helped me realize that an eating disorder is a mental disease with physical implications. It isn’t just a matter of not eating or eating more; it’s an addiction, a state of being.  He once compared an eating disorder to a person with Diabetes (which I have) by explaining that just as you can’t tell a Diabetic to make insulin on their own, you can’t talk someone out of an eating disorder. It takes time, therapy, medication, meditation, and patience for change to occur.



Over the years, I’ve thought a lot about how and why I came to have an eating disorder in the first place. I've come to the conclusion that it didn’t come from a single source, but many. In both instances, I felt inadequate. I was angry that no matter what I did, I would never be good enough. I guess I believed what society told me: that my value lay in the number on a scale, the calories on a box, or the size on a clothing tag.  Even though it’s been two years since my last relapse, I know that my eating disorder is an intrinsic part of who I am, shaping my thoughts, opinions of myself and, at times, how I interact with others. However, through the support of my loved ones, the blessings of the Atonement, and the love of my Father in Heaven, I know that we're never really alone during the trials placed before us.

Judgement

“People hasten to judge in order not to be judged themselves.”
― Albert Camus, The Fall

A few days ago I was heading to work with my roommate when I noticed a group of girls walking to a college football game. To put it plainly, they were my version of everything that I find wrong with female culture at BYU-- they had long, curled hair; perfect makeup, cropped jeans, and of course, slim figures. I rolled my eyes as they walked by and pointed them out to my friend, hoping that she would agree with me.

 Luckily, she didn't.

After hearing what I had to say, she said that they were gorgeous and "rocked" their outfits. Feeling slightly defensive after hearing this, I told her that they were fake and (according to my skewed logic) undeserving of her compliment. She looked at me, slightly disappointed, and said:"Maybe they are. But that doesn't mean that they aren't beautiful."

I tried to brush off her comment, but her words, and expression, bothered me for the rest of the night.

How could she say something like that about them? I was angry, embarrassed, and seriously confused by her reaction...along with my own words.

During our work shift I thought about what she said, along with my reaction, and realized something.

She was right.

Almost instantaneously I remembered recent blog posts and comments that I had made, feeling more than a little guilty. I had vilified a group of individuals in order to make myself feel better about my appearance, and exclusion from their "group". I saw that stereotype as the source of all my troubles, rather than realizing that my troubles started with me. I felt like a complete hypocrite.

Let me be frank, and say that this blog post is primarily for myself; a coming to terms with the faults in my perceptions of others. I realize now that I've become addicted to judging every aspect of the world around me in order to find solidarity in my own.

I complain a lot about BYU being a place of "molds" and attempted "perfection", but maybe the molds I see are ones that I've created. Shards of thoughts left from my days of controlled eating, and Anorexia.

Maybe I still have a hard time finding the beauty within myself, and as a result, I knock others down.

“It is not for me to judge another man's life. I must judge, I must choose, I must spurn, purely for myself. For myself, alone.”
― Hermann Hesse, Siddhartha

I've been trying to finish this post for about a week now, but I've had the hardest time putting the rest of my thoughts into words. I could go on about the experience I had watching Miss America with my family, the reality of "skinny shaming", or similar things that have happened in this short eternity of time...but for now, I've said as much as I can muster on this topic.

I know that my past has scarred me in ways that I can't even begin to comprehend yet, but I can't let those thoughts become the basis of my future and the tools that shape my everyday life.

There's definitely a lot more introspection that needs to be done on my part, but for now, I hope I can make a small amends for my behavior by committing to become better at loving others, as well as myself. 

Naturalism

This semester at college I've been taking a History of Psychology class from Professor Gantt, and we've been learning about the philosophical idea of Naturalism, particularly the viewpoints of Epicurus. Essentially, Naturalism breaks down into two categories: the Metaphysical (the unseen word) and Materialism (the world as we see it). 

In order to explain the differences between the two categories of Naturalism, Professor Gantt asked us a series of question to get our mental wheels turning. 

For example: 

"What is beauty? Is it something eternal, or merely what we perceive to be pleasurable?"

He went on to say: 

"...You could go back and forth between Mozart and Metalica. Arguing back and forth about what is beautiful, really beautiful, and what is simply pleasing a certain time and place in culture. Is there something about a piece of art or music, what have you, that makes it beautiful because it corresponds to some eternal, unchanging ideal of the beautiful. Or is beauty simply in the eye of the beholder? I like this. And that means its beautiful to me, so that's the only kind of beauty there is. Or is there an ideal?"

Knew it. 

This discussion caused me to wonder what I thought beauty to be. After thinking about it for a while, I realized just how much I've been influenced by the preferences of society and those around me. Why is it that we allow ideals and pleasurable perceptions to be our chief indicators of beauty?

During my Junior year of high school, I dieted and starved myself  in order to reach an ideal that I didn't realize to be impossible until it was too late. It probably didn't help that most of my friends cheered me on and told me how much better I looked...especially my guy"friends". (I don't want to seemingly abandon my feminist values by saying this, but I believe that women reflect the men around them.) 

As soon as I gained the weight back (plus some extra), the compliments, along with the boys, went away. I felt like I had lost a part of myself, a piece of my identity. I wasn't the skinny, cute girl anymore; I was Alyson, the girl who gained weight. Since I no longer fit the ideal, or even my own perception of beauty, I felt worthless. If I didn't like myself, how could anyone else? 

I was so obsessed with how others perceived my appearance that I let those worries shape who I was and ultimately, how I thought about myself.

I guess I confused attraction with beauty. 

I spent too long dwelling on the petty opinions of people who didn't matter, when in reality, the only opinion that mattered was my own...however warped it was.

"Do not spoil what you have by desiring what you have not; remember that what you now have was once among the things you only hoped for." -Epicurus

I'm still trying to define what I believe beauty to be, especially when it concerns my own body,
but in the end:



"I like this. And that means it's beautiful to me." 

Art

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine applied to the Animation Program at BYU. Consequently, she needed models for some figure drawing sketches to submit with her final portfolio. Without really thinking, I volunteered myself and before I knew it, I was standing in front of her, posing, in nothing more than a sports bra and swimsuit bottoms (leaving little to the imagination). The whole experience was uncomfortable to say the least, but in all honesty, I wouldn't have had it any other way (for the past few years I've been too ashamed of my body to go swimming or even wear shorts in public. I guess I didn't want other people judging my body as harshly, or harsher, than I already did). I was able to prove to myself that I was finally okay with how I look...in all my chubby glory.

Needless to say, this was something I needed--a mile-marker on my journey to self-acceptance.

Random: I made my very first loaf of bread this week!

I wanted to end this post with a quote about art, but coincidentally I came across a quote from one of my favorite books, "Eleanor and Park" by Rainbow Rowell.

"Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something."

Utah can be a hard state to grow up in. For some reason, women here tend to have a standard of perfection that is nearly impossible to reach (Did you know that Salt Lake City has been dubbed the "Most Vain City" due to the number of plastic surgeons and plastic surgeries per capita?). As a child, teenager, and even now as a young adult, I find myself struggling to meet these expectations on a daily basis. Like Eleanor, I never seem to look "nice" enough (especially on BYU's campus...home of J Crew fanatics, and Herschel backpacks), thin enough, or pretty enough. Causing me to constantly question both my aesthetic and social value. 

We often refer to God as being the master artist, but how often do we refer to ourselves as His masterpiece? 

Today while moving some things into my new apartment complex, I couldn't help but notice how I didn't seem to match up to the other girls in my building (BYU...go figure). After telling my mom how much of an outcast I felt compared to them, she told me: "Beauty isn't how you look, it's who you are."

At the end of the day it doesn't matter how you look, but rather, how you make other people feel, and ultimately how you feel about yourself. 

...Maybe that's what Rainbow Rowell was trying to us. 

A Lasting Beauty

"She's not hot, but she has a lasting beauty that will never go away with age."

 -Ben Law

 (Translated from Cantonese-English into fairly poetic English)

Who I Am

I seriously haven't binged since September of 2013.
For as far as I've come with my eating disorder, I still have hundreds of miles to go.
I think one of the biggest trials I have yet to overcome in this life is my cripplingly low self-esteem.

Tonight my roommate and I were watching "Les Miserables" and commenting on the actors. I mentioned that I thought Amanda Seyfried was beautiful and that I would give anything to look like her. After a moment, my roommate--still looking at the television screen, said, "I would much rather be myself than her."

Her words, although not surprising (trust me, this girl has the most confidence I have ever seen in an individual), silenced me. Being someone who has never felt beautiful or comfortable in my own skin, I could never imagine myself saying what she did so assuredly. My mind started to wander as I tried to imagine how an individual could gain that much love for her appearance. Was her simple statement the result of childhood experiences, parental guidance, or an innate feature within herself? How could I grow to say the same thing one day also?

As the movie continued, I again found myself commenting on the features of the actors and actresses--particularly their noses. (Okay, so let me step back a second here. I have this strange obsession with noses. They are seriously the first thing I look at when I'm examining a person...is that weird?) My roommate said that she thought it was funny that I focus so much on such a seemingly insignificant feature. After thinking for a moment, I stated that I had always hated mine and because of that I always was jealous of people who had my version the "ideal" nose. She replied, "I'm just grateful that mine works."

Once again, her words silenced me.

I looked out the window of our apartment to see couples holding hands and walking home from dates. I became jealous and mad that I wasn't in their position because of, well what I believed to be, my body. I turned back to the movie and we (my roommate and I) talked about how romantic it would be to fall in love at first site. However, as we spoke, I realized that no one would ever feel that way about me. I'm average in every single way, I'm chubby, I have small boobs, my nose is huge, my teeth are yellow, I have acne, and I'm shy.

As I continued with my self-defeating mental commentary, my roommate's words returned to my thoughts. Shouldn't I just be grateful that I have a healthy, working body? Why can't I appreciate the progress that my body has made since three years ago? I may be chubby, but my battle with my body has been uphill and it has taken every ounce of my strength to end up where I am now--all 160 lbs. of me.

I'll never naturally be 5'7" and 120 lbs, so why do I constantly hate myself for not being the impossible?

I said once before that I need to learn to love and accept myself in the present, as well as eternally. Well, I know now that things are always easier said than done.

I've been thinking about my roommate's words all night, and I've decided that although I wish I could look differently, I would never give up the person I have become in order to fit society's standards.

Although I may not like how I look, I do like who I am.

2013: A Year in Review

A new year symbolizes a new start and a rebirth. It can be used as a marker of progress made and motivation to continue on in various endeavors.

A year ago today I was suicidal and depressed. I had lost all hope for recovery and my future seemed bleak. My relationship with my parents was strained and I was a living lie to all of my friends. I was constantly masking my feelings and trials, hoping for a better day that I feared would never come. I was isolated and alone, my soul shrouded in constant, endless night.

I had to see a therapist every week in order to better grab hold of the reality surrounding me. Every appointment was primed by tears and filled with sorrow. I would talk about the hatred I held for my sisters and the loathing of my mother. I would cry over the fate I had been given and the misunderstandings of the world. I would empty my heart to a complete stranger.

I would constantly check out of school or be late to classes with the excuse that, "I didn't feel well". I was telling the truth, but my sickness was caused by chemical imbalances, actions taken, and overwhelming insecurities--not physical illness or Diabetes. I stopped participating in activities that once brought me joy. I purged in secret at home and in public; as a result, my eyes became bloodshot and my skin sallow.  I wore baggy clothes and pretended not to care about my appearance. In reality, I was trying to hide my body from my own scrutiny and that of others.

I went to San Francisco, had some fun. I binged on my roommates foods while they were gone. I cried on the hotel balcony for what seemed like hours. Slowly I gave up on my schooling, friends, and life. Since I didn't trust myself, I wouldn't trust anyone else.

Through my therapist, I was able to meet a doctor who specialized in eating disorders. He gave me hope, medication and valuable advice. Since then, my problems have been far from gone, but at least they're diminishing slowly, one by one. I began my first semester of college in June and the impossible started to become a possibility. The control held by my eating disorder started to dissolve, food became less of a burden and I could finally stand tall. Despite progress made, my insecurities remained (and I'm sure they'll never completely go away). I avoided pictures and mirrors;  I restrained from being myself. I did meet a dear friend though, and because of her I started to live again.

In 365 days I have become a person that I never thought I would ever be. I still get sad, I still slip up, but at least now I love who I am and appreciate where I've been.

I've learned that life should measured by the trials we have endured and risen above. I could look back at this past year and see myself as a victim, but rather, I choose to see how I became empowered by my experiences.

I am strong, but not unbreakable.

Here's to the end 2013, and the dawn of 2014.
It's a new year "with no mistakes in it yet".

Life is good.

I've known my friend Sharlene since ninth grade, but we didn't become close friends until high school. We did, however share a Spanish 2 class in middle school.

Let me share with you a journal entry she shared with me:

"The other funny thing was the next day in Spanish class. We were doing baloncesto, which is this little quiz thing with basketball. It was my friend, Alyson Ludlow's turn. She was up to the board and her question was "Cual es once por once?" (11 x 11). She wrote una milla which means a mile. When everyone started laughing she erased it. Then she wrote 66 because she thought that "once" was 18, but that still doesn't make sense because 18 x 18 DOES NOT equal 66! So then she put 64, thinking it was 8. Then she finally realized that "once" meant 11 so she she started to multiply them! I thought this was funny because she didn't know her simple times tables. To make things better, she came up with 112 instead of 121. But she eventually got it. The funny part was that her opponent never got it even though she took forever. Now I make fun of her saying that 11 x 11= one mile."

Let me just clarify that I hate math and I hated my Spanish teacher so I didn't really study. Don't judge, conjugations and times tables are hard...especially in a different language!

Ninth grade was the year before I lost control of myself. I was confident...even when I looked like an idiot!

I'm glad that I'm able to look back and remember who I was pre-eating disorder; I think I'm finally coming back, but this time new and improved. 

Disclaimer: Sharlene isn't nearly as bratty as she was in ninth grade :)

A Grateful Heart

As I was walking from class today a thought crossed my mind; someone at this moment could be wishing to have my life in order to escape theirs. What right do I have to complain about a healthy, functional body when there are some who cannot walk or move. What right do I have to complain about seeing myself in the mirror when there are those who cannot see. Who am I to put my trials above those of an abused or orphaned child? 

Much like Christ we all have our crosses to bear. No individual goes throughout life without becoming chipped or broken a few times...some more than others. 

During the beginning of my disorder, I was able to serve as a mentor in a Special Needs Mutual group. This experience helped me look outside of myself and my trials. My friend, Jenae, taught me that happiness is essential to endurance and that love should always be given freely. No trial is too large and no burden is too heavy. Despite her physical situation, she was always concerned about those around her. She loved to smiling, chocolate and country music. She lived her life and made sure that everyone else enjoyed theirs. Surely she must have seen her fair share of sadness in life, but she didn't let it dictate her existence. I can't begin to say how much her hugs and smiles held me together during that time. Her strength strengthened me. 

I owe my outlook on life to my mother. 

From when I was diagnosed with Diabetes, didn't make the cut for my high school soccer team, and when I felt like I didn't have a friend in the world, she was always there. Although annoying at times, she was always quick to remind me that "life could be worse". As I've grown up, I now appreciate her words and understand them; after all, she hasn't lived a perfect life either.

Life really isn't what we make it, but what we make of it. 

Prayers

Yesterday I talked to girls from my church young women's group about my eating disorder. I tried to emphasize just how grateful I was for this trial in my life. Of course, during the middle of this disorder I couldn't find anything to be grateful for in my life; afterall,  I hated myself, my parents, and my God. I realize now that I was able to survive this ordeal because I tried to focus on the future, rather than the present. Nothing lasts forever and a bright morning will always follow our darkest nights.

I remember during this time I said some of my strongest and most powerful prayers. Despite my anger towards God, I never wanted to turn my back on Him. I knew He was my salvation. I can remember instances when I would cry myself to sleep and feel a physical hand upon my shoulder. The warmth that came from that hand was beyond expression, I knew someone was there.

I used to go to the temples in my hometown and cry to God for help. I felt him the strongest there, and as a result, I often found myself in earnest conversations with the Lord. At times, I could feel His direct responses to my questions and worries. While I was there, I never felt alone or misunderstood. 

 

Although no specific instance caused me to turn from this disorder, or immediately become healed, I felt as if they were my stepping stones to recovery and resurrection of testimony.

I can testify that my prayers were answered throughout this trial. The answers, of course, came in the Lord's time not my own, but answers did come. God always gave me options and inspiration. I knew that He wanted me to heal more so than I wanted to become healed myself. 

I guess the big idea that I'm trying to share is that during our time on earth, we feel abandoned and alone at many moments throughout our lives. Sometimes our trials seem too heavy to carry and often misunderstood by those around us. I want to bear my testimony that we never walk alone and that no human has ever walked alone upon the face of this earth. 

Jesus Christ and our Father in Heaven are always walking beside us.

Christ had to walk alone during his tenure on earth, and personally, I don't think he wants anyone to feel as alone as He did while walking the hill to Calvary with a cross upon His back. 

He loves us, He knows us, and He is more than willing to save us. 

Fragility

A friend of mine in my single's ward mentioned today that "you never realize how fragile life is until it is broken".

After hearing this, it caused me to look back on moments in my life when the very ground I stood on seemed to collapse below me. The winter of my Junior year was definitely one of the darkest and hopeless times of my life. My reality of being 129 lbs. and "beautiful" was completely gone. I had focused my life, my goals, and happiness around a number; once it changed, who I thought I was shattered before my eyes.

I attempted to piece my emotions back together by using food as "glue" to contain my inner-self. For brief moments during binges, I felt happy. I was carefree. Of course my insecurities never left, but for a moment I was distracted from who I was and what I was doing. I was a broken individual for a long time. I tried my hardest to keep up appearances and to plaster a smile on my face. I guess I didn't want to shatter whatever image those around me had of who I was or used to be either.

Harder times came whenever I would relapse and go back into my self-destructive habits. My vision of progress would disappear and the ugly reality I had been living would resurface. One experience that almost crushed the remaining shards of my existence happened during a choir trip to San Francisco this past spring.

I thought that I had finally reached a level point in my life. I knew I was still walking a tightrope, but I felt I was finally balancing my cravings and the disorder.  On one of the last nights of our trip, my choir friends decided to go swimming in the hotel pool. I was so ashamed of my body that I didn't even bring a swimsuit with me on the trip. So, while everyone was out having fun, I locked myself in a room. I ended eating not only my food, but the food of my roommates as well. I felt so sick afterwards, spiritually and physically. I was embarrassed that I had stooped so low as to steal other people's food. I was mad that I was so weak after all of the progress I had made. I was lost on what I should do, and how I should feel. I eventually broke down and left our hotel room to cry on the outside staircase. It was terrible night.

I called my mom for help, and I think that if I hadn't I would still be in a mess today. As I was sobbing to her over the phone, she listen to my fears, my complaints and my tears. One thing she said still sticks out to me to this day. After I finished telling her what had happened, she said, "Alyson, this isn't you". Although I was still upset over what had happened, that comment had been an answer to my silent prayers that night. I was scared that I had become an eating disorder. However, I knew my mom was right. I was person, I had values, and I had worth; an eating disorder wouldn't ever be able to change my soul.

I wish I could say this instance was my last bingeing episode, but it wasn't. It took months after my trip to San Francisco to pick myself up and feel confident in my progress again.  Although I haven't had a "true" binge since June of this year, I'm still fragile and I'm still broken.

I've decided that this is one of the hardest battles I am ever going to face in my life.

But in the end, I won't be the damsel in distress...I'm going to be the hero.

Support

Gosh, I can't believe how much love I've been able to feel today. For years I was scared to tell anyone about what I was going through, I was ashamed of myself and embarrassed at who I had let myself become.

I guess I just didn't want people to see me as an eating disorder, rather than a person.  I didn't want to become a rumor or a charity case.

I've decided that my high school years were an almost impossible time to be myself, it's almost like a social prison. I didn't want my past to be stamped on my forehead until I graduated and I didn't want to become a prisoner to my peers.

 College is seriously the best, its a fresh start, a clean slate.

I want to take the time to thank my high school friends for all that they've done for me. Most of them probably had no idea how much they raised me up and gave me a reason to keep living. All of them reminded me that I wasn't alone.

My dad once told me the successful in life surround themselves with the best people. I know the main reason I was able to heal was because I was truly surrounded by the best people during one of the hardest times in my life.

I know my trial is far from over, but at least now I know that my eating disorder doesn't define who I am.

However, my friends do.