The $hit people say...

Life doesn't always come with an instructional manual.  People don't always know how to act, what to say, or what to do when loved ones are in crisis.  Sometimes, people say some really stupid things.  Sometimes, these comments come out insensitive, and sometimes, the words just sound callous.  Individuals' intentions are usually good, but often, people just don't think before speaking.  It's human nature--I get that.

But here's what bugs me.  When it comes to certain illnesses, like cancer, some types of comments are completely off limits.  People never blame anyone with cancer for getting cancer, and no one offers litanies of advice for how to overcome it.  With certain illnesses, we seem to have more sympathy and compassion, and because of that, people tend to think a little more carefully before speaking.

Eating disorders aren't one of those illnesses.

In my experience, people talk to me not from a place of concern, but from a place of blame.  The $hit people say to me reveals an inner prejudice against eating disorders, as though I am personally culpable for my own suffering. And this, this is not only frustrating, but extremely hurtful and toxic.

Below are just a few of the comments close friends and family have said to me over the years (with some snarky responses I wish I had said):

* "I finally realized that I can't stop you if you want (are going) to kill yourself."  Yes, I'm purposefully destroying myself because I enjoy how physically and mentally painful starvation is.

* "If you had to choose between eating a salad or a milkshake, which one would you choose?" Why on god's great earth would you ask an anorexic this?

* "What was your lowest weight?" Are you asking out of concern or some sick curiosity?

* "You know what to do [to recover].  You just have to do it.  I can't help you any more."  You're right--I'm choosing not to do what's necessary to get better because I just love being in the hospital.

* "You're thinking about more than just yourself." [When I explained how well I was maintaining recovery while trying to get pregnant.] Because we all know how selfish eating disorders are--how self-absorbed of me to have anorexia!

* "I don't understand why you just don't eat." Neither do I--and clearly neither does my treatment team or I'd be snarfing on a Whopper with delight right now.

* "We never hear from you.  You should let us know how treatment is going.  Text us how your day was." Oh, sorry I didn't think about updating you.  I was too busy trying to save my life.

* "You're really consumed by this [recovery.]"  Um, yeah, I kind of want to live.

* "You're really getting too old for this. When are you going to grow out of it?" Trust me, no one wants to spend her childbearing years threatening her fertility.  If I could have turned it off, I'd be cradling a baby right now, not meal planning.

And this is the short list.

These comments, again, were spoken by those people who were closest to me, the ones who were supposedly part of my support network.

And again, I get that humans aren't always graceful in supporting loved ones, nor should perfection be expected.  But I wish, so desperately wish, that people stopped thinking that eating disorders are a choice because no eating disorder is a choice.  If people approached anorectics, bulimics, and binge-eaters with the perspective that eating disorders are genuine illnesses, some of the stupid $hit that would inevitably come out could be overlooked.  But when people talk to eating disorder sufferers as though we are obstinate teenagers choosing not to listen, the stigma against mental illness grows.

I wish an instructional manual for life really did exist.  I'd like to draft an entire chapter about treating individuals with eating disorders with dignity and compassion, the same dignity and compassion reserved for anyone suffering needlessly.

Cheers!

In Search of My Identity, Part 2

For years I was convinced that Identity was a one-word label that encompassed the whole of a person's talent: guitarist, soccer player, actor, etc...  This label was born innately within a person and nothing a person did could alter this.  I had a friend, named "B" who was a gymnast, another friend "D" who was an insanely talented musician, "K" was a dancer, "V" was brilliant, excelling in all her classes, and "L" was just jaw-droppingly beautiful.

And then there was me, label-less, talent-less, identity-less.

I craved to be something.  For a perfectionistic, self-conscious, hurting teenage girl, anorexia filled a gaping void in my life.

Those who loved me would try to convince me of the person they knew me as.  

"But you're a good daughter."  

"You are a great friend."  

"You're a good wife."

None of this was very comforting or consoling.  Everyone is a good daughter, friend, wife/girlfriend, etc..., and besides, as sick as I was, I really didn't see myself excelling in any of those aforementioned departments.  When my loved ones said these very well-intentioned things, the ED told me it was all a cop-out, that even they couldn't identify me as being very good at any one thing.  For over 20 years, I believed these lies.

I had what Stanford psychologist Carol Dweck (http://mindsetonline.com) would call a "fixed mindset," a belief that talent, skill, success, etc... cannot be cultivated, that these are things to which we are born or not.  What I am now attempting to nurture is a "growth mindset," the idea that I have the power to shape my talents and successes.  With a growth mindset, I would have understood that those I labeled as "smart" had worked to become smart, that my friend, the gymnast, achieved her success through passion and hard work, not just through innate talent.  I would have understood that if I picked up a guitar and did not immediately belt out "Stairway to Heaven," that it was okay, that I could eventually get there.  I would have understood that even the labels into which I boxed my friends were figments of my creation, and that my friends would have wanted to be known as more than just a one-word concept.  Most importantly, I could have turned my fear of failure and relentless energy to self-destruct into something positive.

Doing the hard work of recovery has given me a wonderful gift, the gift of learning who I truly am.  I've learned that my identity cannot be summed up in one word or even several words.  Who I am is simply me, a person with talents in some areas, weaknesses in others, and abilities waiting to be unlocked.  I am a good friend, wife, and daughter, but I'm also so much more.

Cheers!

Picking Up the Pieces

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall.

Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.

All the king's horses and all the king's men

Couldn't put Humpty Dumpty 

Back together again.

It has been seven months since I last posted.  You could say, that like Humpty Dumpty, I had a great fall.  My winter of sadness lasted longer than the snow.  It is only since the air has warmed and the leaves bloom verdant on trees that the snow weighting me down has melted.

Like Humpty Dumpty, no one could put me back together--no one, that is, except for myself and for time, the great healer.  I lost more than just a baby this winter--I lost a dream, one that now travels with the wind.  But in that time, I learned how strong I could be.  I learned that anorexia no longer controls me.  Through the long winter, I mourned.  I cried, I cursed, and I felt, deeply felt--but I did not starve.  Despite overwhelming pain, I persevered against the beast that is the eating disorder.

Because of this, I have been able to pick myself up, brush off the dirt and dust, and dream anew.  I don't need ED, my security blanket, to protect me in the cold night--I have myself.

Who needs kings' horses and men anyway?