Part 1: What I Can Never Take for Granted

Not too long ago, I found a letter that I had written to myself on the eve of entering inpatient treatment.  In that letter, I detailed the pain of anorexia so that my future self, if too scared to fight the disease, could remember the devastation anorexia wrought upon my being.

It's funny how we forget.  How time marches forward, altering the perception and emotions that surround events.  A child, who falls from her bike, skinning a knee, will forget the impact of the fall, remembering only the exhilaration of the ride, and climb, once again, up onto her bike.  A mother, who labored painfully for hours, recalls only the moment of meeting her child for the first time.  It's strange how the mind remembers what it wishes to remember.

When in turmoil, pain, or unease, when life feels so out of control and unbearable, the eating disorder valiantly attempts to rescue us with false promises and beliefs.  We forget the physical and emotional pain, and fall victim to its false narratives: I need to get through this weekend; I can start eating again on Monday.  I'll only lose ten pounds; that will be enough.  I'll only purge this one meal; I just can't keep this food inside me right now... and so on...

The mind remembers only the exhilaration, the high of starvation, the smaller clothing sizes, the praise from others, feeling powerful and special, the relief of a purge, the false allure of control---and then, it becomes too late.  Biology always wins, always.  The disease has taken hold and stripped from you any semblance of control.

It is helpful for me to re-read that letter I found now and again to remind myself of why I fought so hard for recovery.  I am recovered, and I don't live my life fearing relapse; however, I cannot be naive.  I was born with the genetic predisposition and perfectionistic personality type prone to an eating disorder.  It is not necessary, nor desirable, to be constantly or obsessively vigilant and fearful of relapse, but it is vital to be aware, aware that certain situations, emotions,  and individuals, etc... can leave the door open, allowing ED to sneak his way in.  Remembering the visceral, emotional, and spiritual pain empowers me with the strength to keep fighting.  

I can never take recovery for granted.  I can't afford the rent ED charges to live in my head and to alter my memories of the disease.  Eating disorders suck, and no false promise of thigh gaps, size 0s, control, or anything, will take the suckiness out of ED.  Eating disorders just plain suck.  Don't let yourself forget that.

Cheers!

What It Takes to Recover

As an educator of struggling readers, I am endlessly searching for ways to help my students persevere through the challenges that  lower their motivation, increase their fear of failure, and decimate their self-esteem.  Oftentimes, my seventh grader readers come to me after experiencing years of failure, of trying different strategies that have failed them, of working with various educators with whom they cannot connect.  It is my job to convince them that all hope is not lost, that despite the past, the present and the future can be different.  But, what I need from them is essentially the most challenging and fearful thing of all: frustration tolerance.

While searching educational TED videos, I found this interesting talk by Dr. Angela Lee Duckworth on grit, the ability to persevere.  And though I made instant connections to teaching, I also immediately considered the implications of grit on recovery.  Grit is the ability to press forward and endure frustration, pain, fear, etc..., delaying gratification until later.  Or, as Dr. Duckworth says, "Grit is sticking with your future, day in and day out, not just for the week, not just for the month, but for years, and working really hard to make that future a reality."

As a teacher, I witness this daily; students struggle to read, the gremlins warring in their brains--"you're stupid! you can't do this!" as students either press on, or in many cases, give in and listen to their gremlins.  As a recovering anorexic, I remember sitting through meals with my ED gremlin screaming "you're fat, you're worthless, don't eat!" as I slowly lifted fork to mouth, tears wetting my plate.

I longed for instant gratification, the endorphin high from running on empty, but giving in would simply push me farther and farther from recovery.  Giving in only fed the failure I feared, assisting the gremlins as they told me, "recovery isn't worth it, you can't recover."  To recover, I needed the grit to persevere through the pain of eating and the turmoil of facing my biggest fears and inner demons.  I couldn't just follow my meal plan for a day or a week, or even a month.  I needed to follow my plan for several months, a year, in fact.  I needed to attend groups, journal daily, do yoga, see my therapist and dietician weekly, and most of all,  I needed to retrain the voices in my head at every meal: "I deserve to eat.  I am beautiful."

To recover, I had to "stick with my future" and endure the present pain.  I had to be willing to take risks and realize that past failure was not, in fact, failure.  "Growth mindset," as Dr. Duckworth claims, allows us to view mistakes as inevitable learning opportunities that help us grow to reach our potential.  Each time I hit a bump in recovery, I learned from it, hit the reset button, and powered forward.  A "fixed mindset" would tell me that I would always be anorexic, that I deserved it, but a growth mindset, would help me to see that my present situation is not fixed, it will change and grow into something better.  This is grit.

To anyone struggling with an eating disorder, challenge your thinking mindset.  Switch from fixed to growth-minded thinking.  Find your grit.  Resolve to persevere.  My students prove to me, day in and day out, that it's possible.  I have experienced this possibility.  You can, too.

"Grit is sticking with your future, day in and day out, not just for the week, 

not just for the month, but for years..." 

Dr. Angela Lee Duckworth

Cheers!

What Anorexia Has Taught Me

To all my readers:

What a trying six months this has been.  Holding on to recovery while life hums along is hard enough; holding on to recovery when life storms and rages feels almost impossible.  But, it is possible.

I have been blessed with few physical repercussions from my eating disorder.  My health, overall, is good, but these last few months have sidelined me with a heart-wrenching long-term consequence of struggling with anorexia for so many years: infertility.

For two long years, alongside recovery, I have battled the emotional and physical rollercoaster of an inability to get pregnant.  These last six months have been most stressful of all.  Surgeries, injections, hormonal imbalances, ultrasounds, bloodwork, hoping, waiting, praying--it's enough to trigger relapse in anyone.

I've had my moments when the will to keep fighting--for myself, my husband, and my unborn baby--has been shaken.  To eat when the emotional turmoil rages, to eat knowing that this pain would all go away with ED's help, to eat when all I want to do is punish my body for failing me is indescribably arduous. I've had my slips, a few stumbles, but here I stand: unbroken.

Fighting and winning a war against an eating disorder has taught me a very, very important important lesson: if I can beat anorexia, I can beat anything.  If I can endure the hourly, daily, and weekly barrage of ED insults with only blind faith in recovery, I can brave any stormy weather.

I can bear this next burden.  ED is strong, but I am stronger.

Cheers!