In my teens, I dated a boy who was violent, alcoholic, and abusive. He terrorized, screamed, and raged at me. Breaking free was terrifying, and I doubted that I would ever meet a man who would not harm me as he did.
Then, I met my first husband. He was not the menacing individual that my boyfriend had been. He loved me, and he didn't yell at or hit me. He was, however, extremely controlling, and he treated me like a child, criticizing me and smothering me, but I tolerated this behavior. I didn't know any other way. He wasn't physically hurting me, nor was he swearing at me. For a long time--almost fours years--I wouldn't acknowledge that abuse could take many forms and that this relationship, like my last, was also unhealthy.
Finally, I met my current husband, and now I understand. His kind words, loving gestures, and compassionate actions show me every day that this, this is what a true relationship is. We are partners, lovers, friends, and confidantes. It is a joy that I never dreamt could exist.
My journey to recovery has taken much the same path. At times, my eating disorder brought me to crisis: it had battered my body, assaulted my mind with cruel words, and threatened to kill me. Other times, I lived in relative peace, relative being the key word. I may not have been subsisting on three-hundred calories a day or eating laxatives like candy, but I was living in a less-than-desirable way. I accepted that this was all there was to recovery. At the time, hating my body felt okay because, well, it was better than it was when I was deathly ill. Restricting a little was better than restricting a lot. Sticking to a strict regimen of prescribed foods and exercise was great because, well, I couldn't do this before. I accepted this because I could not see that recovery was greater than a healthy number on the scale.
How did I break myself free from abusive relationships? Resolve. I promised myself that I would never allow a man to lay a hand on me again. I swore that a man would never control me or put me down again. I desired more for myself, and more importantly, deep inside, I believed that I deserved better for myself. And then, I allowed myself to seek that which I desired.
Translate this to recovery from an eating disorder, which for some reason, always seems harder than most things. I read book after book on true recovery--Life Without Ed, Gaining, Good Enough and more--and I saw glimpses of what true recovery looked like. I began to want for myself more than what I had had in the past. I wanted what Jenni Schaefer has. Though the guilt of giving this gift to myself seemed unbearable at times, I resolved not to fail. I could no longer allow myself to accept less. I couldn't have less than a full recovery because anything less would be like balancing an elephant on a single thread; eventually the weight of it all with snap the line, and BAM, I would be back into eating disorder hell.
Granting ourselves permission to recover fully is never easy, for we have disciplined ourselves to subsist on nothing. But, if we are to experience the fullness of life, we must resolve not to accept the minimum. We must strive for the most and tolerate the space and fullness this brings. There's something symbolically anorexic about accepting less for ourselves; it helps us to maintain an illusion of the eating disorder without the physical pain. Holding on to remnants of the eating disorder may give us a feeling of safety, but it is not real. We delude ourselves if we think accepting less and being recovered can coexist. A quintessential aspect of recovery is learning to have more, take more, be more. It's not only okay to do this, it is courageous. Make no mistake, none of us are cowardly lions. Roar and fight for all the more recovery can offer.
Cheers!
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