Six years ago, I was at a low point. I was stuck in an eating disorder that, both actively and passively, had plagued me for nearly ten years. Six years ago, I entered treatment for the first time. I wasn't sure who I wanted to be or what I wanted to be at first, but I started a pattern, lasting for several years, of encountering these young, beautiful, successful women who I "wanted to be." It wasn't an obsession, or jealousy, or even actually wishing that I could be them, but rather, they became my role models. I wasn't sure how to verbalize my goals, but I wanted to be like Lauren. I wanted to be like Alyssa. I wanted to be like Andrea. They were all in their 20s when I met them. I was in my 20s too. They were all successful in the mental health field - which I wanted to be. They all gave off an air of confidence, intelligence, and compassion, that I wanted to give off as well. How could I become them? I googled them - or I tried. Mental health professionals are quite good at keeping their lives secret! I talked to them. I listened to their music, shopped at their stores, whatever I could, to be "like" them, short of straightening my hair and dyeing it blonde (it couldn't have just been a coincidence that they were all blonde, could it?!).
I knew I wanted to be a therapist before I met Lauren, Alyssa, and Andrea. I had only ever met therapists who were awkward old women, though. Lauren, Alyssa, and Andrea were far from that. They were therapists, counselors, students of mental health professions. They were intuitive - they knew what to say, how to relate. They knew when to share information about themselves and when to hold back. They seemed perfect - though I knew, intellectually, that they couldn't be, that they were human.
I wanted them to like me, I wanted them to believe in me. Because, they, of all people, knew what it would take to get there.
And, they would all tell me, it would take TIME.
And time it took. Cycling through treatment centers and hospitals, taking medical leaves, having legitimate panic attacks over writing final papers, babysitting more than one would expect a woman with an advanced degree, and spending more time and money on therapy than I had ever imagined. And, to be honest, lots of time inbetween where I'm not sure what I was doing. Running marathons. Making friends. Dating. Shopping. Cooking. Traveling. Crying. Laughing. Whispering. Yelling. Living.
Then one day, I came upon a section of the CEDC website that said that those alumna with 1+ years behavior free were invited to contact the program directors about being a recovery speaker. I thought it would be cool. I thought I had a pretty good story to tell. I thought I'd overcome a lot and could inspire others.
I never thought I would inspire myself.
I had forgotten about Alyssa entirely, to be honest, but when I saw her, I remembered how she was one of the three major role models throughout the past several years.
I spoke to her for a couple of minutes and I had a realization.
She's still a great person, a great clinician, a successful person worth looking up to. And I no longer NEED to look up to her. To my knowledge, we are ON THE SAME PLANE (and Alyssa, if you are reading this, I hope this doesn't make you think of that as demeaning). We are both young professionals working in the mental health field, both treating people with eating disorders and other issues, both really quite successful for people our age, and both talented and passionate about what we do. I certainly look OVER to her and think, wow, what a great contemporary, but I no longer think that I have to climb this mountain to get to where she is.
Because I already climbed it.
And, I realized that I didn't need the blonde, straight hair, thankfully, because I do not think I would have been able to successfully pull that one off.
(I'm not done growing - I'm just beginning)
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Soul Cycle Intention Series: RESPONSIBILITY
Today was a different kind of Nina/Soul Cycle class for me today - we were in Tribeca instead of Scarsdale, and I had Laura with me (my amazing nutritionist of 4 years who introduced me to Soul Cycle some 120 classes ago!), in addition to Maddie (who I not only referred to Laura, but who I brought to Soul Cycle for her first time today). So I was anxious to see what Laura thought of Nina, anxious to see how Maddie liked the class, and anxious to feel the energy of the Tribeca studio.
I wouldn't say that the class was very different than Nina's Scarsdale class, but I had new and different thoughts going through my mind.
What are you riding for? Motivation. Motivation. Motivation. That's what kept going through my head. I need motivation to do more, to do my laundry, to get my licensure, to run, to spin, to date, to live life. But then I got to thinking, am I really that unmotivated? No, that's not the case at all. I'm working 50 hours a week, between Soul Cycle and babysitting, and still managing to get laundry done, squeeze in workouts, and sleep at least six hours a night. I left class, thinking about my intention of finding motivation, and instead I had a realization.
Maybe it's not about motivation.
It seems to me that it's about responsibility.
Not blaming things on external factors. That's not to say I should internalize everything because some things are beyond my control, but really taking a good look at the situation. Am I late because of traffic, or because I am not allowing enough time to get through traffic? Am I unlicensed because the licensing process is long and annoying, or because I am procrastinating the long and drawn out process? Am I anxious because I have an anxiety disorder, or is it because I consume too much caffeine and keep forgetting to pick up my prescription?
It's not about self-blame, it's about realizing that I can take ownership over these things in my life and get them done. Get licensed, find a social work job (and hopefully remain a part-time part of the Soul Family at Scarsdale!), be on time, get enough sleep, make enough money, do my laundry, work out, have fun, and feel good.
I wouldn't say that the class was very different than Nina's Scarsdale class, but I had new and different thoughts going through my mind.
What are you riding for? Motivation. Motivation. Motivation. That's what kept going through my head. I need motivation to do more, to do my laundry, to get my licensure, to run, to spin, to date, to live life. But then I got to thinking, am I really that unmotivated? No, that's not the case at all. I'm working 50 hours a week, between Soul Cycle and babysitting, and still managing to get laundry done, squeeze in workouts, and sleep at least six hours a night. I left class, thinking about my intention of finding motivation, and instead I had a realization.
Maybe it's not about motivation.
It seems to me that it's about responsibility.
Not blaming things on external factors. That's not to say I should internalize everything because some things are beyond my control, but really taking a good look at the situation. Am I late because of traffic, or because I am not allowing enough time to get through traffic? Am I unlicensed because the licensing process is long and annoying, or because I am procrastinating the long and drawn out process? Am I anxious because I have an anxiety disorder, or is it because I consume too much caffeine and keep forgetting to pick up my prescription?
It's not about self-blame, it's about realizing that I can take ownership over these things in my life and get them done. Get licensed, find a social work job (and hopefully remain a part-time part of the Soul Family at Scarsdale!), be on time, get enough sleep, make enough money, do my laundry, work out, have fun, and feel good.
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Soul Cycle Intentions - Honesty (What is in your way?)
So it's been a while, but here I am. Still blogging about my Soul Cycle intentions. Nina still never fails to inspire me and get the wheels of the bike in my brain turning, but today, my experience was different. I thought about things I really never thought about before.
"Honesty." She said it in a list of other words - and to be honest, I don't even remember what the other words were. Strength? Self-confidence? Something along those lines. But honesty set off sirens in my mind.
I'm a nice person. I'm a good person. I'm generally an honest person. But there have been quite a few things lately that I haven't been entirely honest about. So it got me thinking about why I have not been honest. I have been dishonest because I want people to like me, to approve of me and approve of my life choices. I don't want people to be upset with me or look down on me.
Would these people actually feel this way if they knew the truth? Probably not. I've been dishonest with others mostly because I am judging myself harshly.
So what is in my way? My behaviors of judging myself harshly, and of being dishonest.
Dishonesty changed my life a long time ago. At least, I credit it with doing so. I was very overweight as a child, and went to a school where my ethnicity was the minority. I ended up becoming friends with a couple of girls who were part of the "popular" group. I remember feeling so good getting to play with them at recess, even if I only spent time with a couple of them outside of school. I stretched the truth on a few occasions, because I wanted the girls to like me more. Eventually, they called me out on my lies and stopped talking to me. Even now, about seventeen years later, we are not facebook friends (and many people who I've never spoken to in my life are my facebook friends), I avoid them in public, and I say to others, "I don't like them." I had a rough time with friends in middle school (and, I guess, who doesn't?) and really a rough time in general. I sometimes can't help but wonder how my life would be different if I had been honest then.
In struggling with anxiety, depression, anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury, lies and deception were part of what allowed me to survive. I did not believe that I could survive without my "vices" and I had to hide those behaviors from others. Lying, deception, and dishonesty kept me from completely losing my mind. Dishonesty became my best friend.
I pride myself on my recovery. I have achieved a level of health and stability that I never thought was possible. I proudly call myself "recovered." Yet something that was a big part of my disordered existence is still part of my day to day life. Dishonesty may be all I have left of my eating disorder.
I am not dishonest on a regular basis by any means, but it still comes up from time to time, more than I would like it to, over things that are really pretty trivial. Based on self-judgment. Based on the fact that it's all I knew for so long. It may be the road block between who I am and who I want to be. It's time to work on being honest with myself and with others.
"Honesty." She said it in a list of other words - and to be honest, I don't even remember what the other words were. Strength? Self-confidence? Something along those lines. But honesty set off sirens in my mind.
I'm a nice person. I'm a good person. I'm generally an honest person. But there have been quite a few things lately that I haven't been entirely honest about. So it got me thinking about why I have not been honest. I have been dishonest because I want people to like me, to approve of me and approve of my life choices. I don't want people to be upset with me or look down on me.
Would these people actually feel this way if they knew the truth? Probably not. I've been dishonest with others mostly because I am judging myself harshly.
So what is in my way? My behaviors of judging myself harshly, and of being dishonest.
Dishonesty changed my life a long time ago. At least, I credit it with doing so. I was very overweight as a child, and went to a school where my ethnicity was the minority. I ended up becoming friends with a couple of girls who were part of the "popular" group. I remember feeling so good getting to play with them at recess, even if I only spent time with a couple of them outside of school. I stretched the truth on a few occasions, because I wanted the girls to like me more. Eventually, they called me out on my lies and stopped talking to me. Even now, about seventeen years later, we are not facebook friends (and many people who I've never spoken to in my life are my facebook friends), I avoid them in public, and I say to others, "I don't like them." I had a rough time with friends in middle school (and, I guess, who doesn't?) and really a rough time in general. I sometimes can't help but wonder how my life would be different if I had been honest then.
In struggling with anxiety, depression, anorexia, bulimia, and self-injury, lies and deception were part of what allowed me to survive. I did not believe that I could survive without my "vices" and I had to hide those behaviors from others. Lying, deception, and dishonesty kept me from completely losing my mind. Dishonesty became my best friend.
I pride myself on my recovery. I have achieved a level of health and stability that I never thought was possible. I proudly call myself "recovered." Yet something that was a big part of my disordered existence is still part of my day to day life. Dishonesty may be all I have left of my eating disorder.
I am not dishonest on a regular basis by any means, but it still comes up from time to time, more than I would like it to, over things that are really pretty trivial. Based on self-judgment. Based on the fact that it's all I knew for so long. It may be the road block between who I am and who I want to be. It's time to work on being honest with myself and with others.
Thursday, July 19, 2012
"your body is a wonderland"
Sure, the song referenced in the title may be about foreplay but it also holds another meaning. See, so often we are focused on the SIZE of our body, and its shortcomings, that we fail to recognize the amazing things our bodies can do.
I can run a marathon, I can do a Soul Cycle triple, I can soothe babies, I can beat my fastest time for a mile, I can stand on my feet for 8 hours a day on a retail floor, I can do a great headstand, and that doesn't even include the amazing things that my MIND can do. My body also sends signals to my mind, telling it what I am hungry for, what it needs, what it wants. It tells my mind when it's had enough exercise and when it needs me to kick it up a notch.
I'm thinking of a certain friend of mine who swears that she will be okay once she loses ten pounds, who swears that her eating disorder won't kill her, who sees herself as a number on the scale and on the label of her clothes. She can't even see who she is in the mirror because her perception is so skewed by these numbers. I wish she was my only friend with this problem but it's far from it.
If you are reading this today, I challenge you to think of all the amazing things your body can do, and if you can't think of any, I challenge you to try something new (maybe a Soul Cycle class, if you haven't gotten there yet!) and realize that you have plenty to be amazed about. You have plenty to love. Simply because you're alive.
I don't usually write lecturey inspirationy posts but that's what I was feeling tonight. I hope it was less of a lecture and more inspirational but at least I hope it made you think. My body will likely never fit my ideal of size perfection (unless one day I can change that ideal) but what it is capable of is absolutely wonderful.
I can run a marathon, I can do a Soul Cycle triple, I can soothe babies, I can beat my fastest time for a mile, I can stand on my feet for 8 hours a day on a retail floor, I can do a great headstand, and that doesn't even include the amazing things that my MIND can do. My body also sends signals to my mind, telling it what I am hungry for, what it needs, what it wants. It tells my mind when it's had enough exercise and when it needs me to kick it up a notch.
I'm thinking of a certain friend of mine who swears that she will be okay once she loses ten pounds, who swears that her eating disorder won't kill her, who sees herself as a number on the scale and on the label of her clothes. She can't even see who she is in the mirror because her perception is so skewed by these numbers. I wish she was my only friend with this problem but it's far from it.
If you are reading this today, I challenge you to think of all the amazing things your body can do, and if you can't think of any, I challenge you to try something new (maybe a Soul Cycle class, if you haven't gotten there yet!) and realize that you have plenty to be amazed about. You have plenty to love. Simply because you're alive.
I don't usually write lecturey inspirationy posts but that's what I was feeling tonight. I hope it was less of a lecture and more inspirational but at least I hope it made you think. My body will likely never fit my ideal of size perfection (unless one day I can change that ideal) but what it is capable of is absolutely wonderful.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Soul Cycle Intention Series Post 2: Confidence
So lately, I have been searching for confidence. Most people either know one side of me or the other. The confident side, or the not-so-confident side.
Recently, I have been most confident in my physical abilities. Since running the marathon, I have started to believe that there isn't much that I CAN'T do - with proper training. Maybe I can't be the fastest, but I can DO IT. I've come to believe that there's no distance I can't handle, no weights I can't work up to, no resistance I can't keep the pace at. Never in my earlier years would I have thought that at 26, my most confidence in myself would lie in my physical abilities. I'm proud of myself and the way I developed that confidence. I wish that I could say I had that much confidence in other areas of my life. So, when I set an intention for "confidence," I try to channel it to a few different places.
1. Love, marriage, future: I just ended a short "relationship" with a great guy who it just wasn't going to work out with. When we were dating, I was finally starting to become confident in myself that I HAD found someone who would reciprocate feelings towards me, who I could make a future with and have a family with. So it kind of really burned when I found out that it wasn't going to work out. I started to doubt that I could have a future with any guy - that anyone would ever love me for me. Most people like me for my personality but are not attracted to my body. This guy, he even appreciated my body, but said that we were missing that spark. I couldn't help but wonder, because I felt a spark coming from him - was I LACKING a spark? Will no one ever feel that connection to me? I know that's not true - in fact, quite a few guys recently have felt "chemistry" with me that I did not feel back. Seeing clearly and putting all the facts together before panicking, "I will be alone forever!" will help me to achieve the confidence I am searching for.
2. Body: Even before my eating disorder, I was not confident in my body. I remember as early as age two wishing I could be smaller, thinner, more compact. Over the years, I have come to embrace certain things about my body. My height - I love being petite. My boobs - okay, they're kind of perfect. My hands - I think they're so pretty. I've found clothes that I look good in, and I finally wear sizes that are normal-to-small. There are parts of my body that I am not so comfortable with, and I tend to feel like people are looking at my body and judging me. I have a date coming up with a guy who works out a lot. I work out a lot too, so it sounds great. However, he commented that due to all the working out I do, I must be a stick. I'm quite the opposite of a stick...I'm more built like a curvy little topiary. And I told him this. We haven't gone out yet (am I going to kick myself for blogging about a guy who I haven't officially met?!) but I'm a little nervous that he's expecting this skinny thing and that he won't be interested in me when he sees what I look like. I need to focus on taking the confidence I have about my strength and physical abilities, and project that onto my feelings about my body. After all, it's all connected!
3. Fear of Rejection: It's not so much a fear of rejection as it is an obsession with rejection. I become convinced that I am going to be rejected - by guys, by jobs, by friends, whatever. I just tell myself that I won't get the job, that he doesn't like me, that she doesn't want to be friends anymore, because I feel like the let-down will be easier to take if I am braced for it and already believe that it's not going to be good.
So, yeah. This girl who appears confident on the outside in many situations, is actually really in need of a confidence booster. Thankfully, Soul Cycle, therapy, running, and life experience are helping me to build confidence. Setting an intention for confidence at Soul Cycle helps me to remember that it is something that I need to work towards - and that it is something within my reach. I can be confident. I have made such huge strides in my life in the past few years and I can continue to make strides if I set goals and intentions.
Recently, I have been most confident in my physical abilities. Since running the marathon, I have started to believe that there isn't much that I CAN'T do - with proper training. Maybe I can't be the fastest, but I can DO IT. I've come to believe that there's no distance I can't handle, no weights I can't work up to, no resistance I can't keep the pace at. Never in my earlier years would I have thought that at 26, my most confidence in myself would lie in my physical abilities. I'm proud of myself and the way I developed that confidence. I wish that I could say I had that much confidence in other areas of my life. So, when I set an intention for "confidence," I try to channel it to a few different places.
1. Love, marriage, future: I just ended a short "relationship" with a great guy who it just wasn't going to work out with. When we were dating, I was finally starting to become confident in myself that I HAD found someone who would reciprocate feelings towards me, who I could make a future with and have a family with. So it kind of really burned when I found out that it wasn't going to work out. I started to doubt that I could have a future with any guy - that anyone would ever love me for me. Most people like me for my personality but are not attracted to my body. This guy, he even appreciated my body, but said that we were missing that spark. I couldn't help but wonder, because I felt a spark coming from him - was I LACKING a spark? Will no one ever feel that connection to me? I know that's not true - in fact, quite a few guys recently have felt "chemistry" with me that I did not feel back. Seeing clearly and putting all the facts together before panicking, "I will be alone forever!" will help me to achieve the confidence I am searching for.
2. Body: Even before my eating disorder, I was not confident in my body. I remember as early as age two wishing I could be smaller, thinner, more compact. Over the years, I have come to embrace certain things about my body. My height - I love being petite. My boobs - okay, they're kind of perfect. My hands - I think they're so pretty. I've found clothes that I look good in, and I finally wear sizes that are normal-to-small. There are parts of my body that I am not so comfortable with, and I tend to feel like people are looking at my body and judging me. I have a date coming up with a guy who works out a lot. I work out a lot too, so it sounds great. However, he commented that due to all the working out I do, I must be a stick. I'm quite the opposite of a stick...I'm more built like a curvy little topiary. And I told him this. We haven't gone out yet (am I going to kick myself for blogging about a guy who I haven't officially met?!) but I'm a little nervous that he's expecting this skinny thing and that he won't be interested in me when he sees what I look like. I need to focus on taking the confidence I have about my strength and physical abilities, and project that onto my feelings about my body. After all, it's all connected!
3. Fear of Rejection: It's not so much a fear of rejection as it is an obsession with rejection. I become convinced that I am going to be rejected - by guys, by jobs, by friends, whatever. I just tell myself that I won't get the job, that he doesn't like me, that she doesn't want to be friends anymore, because I feel like the let-down will be easier to take if I am braced for it and already believe that it's not going to be good.
So, yeah. This girl who appears confident on the outside in many situations, is actually really in need of a confidence booster. Thankfully, Soul Cycle, therapy, running, and life experience are helping me to build confidence. Setting an intention for confidence at Soul Cycle helps me to remember that it is something that I need to work towards - and that it is something within my reach. I can be confident. I have made such huge strides in my life in the past few years and I can continue to make strides if I set goals and intentions.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Who are you riding for? What are you riding for? - My Soul Blog Series #1
When someone asks why I run, the answer is easy. I run for ME. Me, me, me. Running is selfish for me - I need it to be a normal, happy, sane, stable person. Running is an unquestionable part of me. I don't think - I just run. Soul Cycle is a different story. It goes deeper. It's not just about survival. It's what helps me to THRIVE. It makes me really really think.One thing that all of my favorite instructors have in common (true that *most* but not ALL instructors at Soul Cycle have this in common, yeah) is that they not only ask us to set an intention but remind us to think about that intention. I was thinking a few weeks ago that every time I go to Soul Cycle, I would write a blog post about my intention. Then I realized that my intentions are pretty similar. I'm going to do a post series ABOUT my intentions that I have been riding for lately.Usually, it's a "WHAT are you riding for?" but today, it was a WHO for me.Today, I was riding for A friend. Recently, I was at the saddest funeral I had ever been to. My friend took her own life last week. She was honestly one of the strongest people I had ever met, and had been through so much. I could list it all but even that, I'm sure, is just scratching the surface. She got to a place that was so dark that she saw no way out. And I've been there. Multiple times. I was finally able to pull myself out, and give my life a 180, and truly don't believe I'll ever be there again. I love life now - I love my life and I love myself, but I remember clearly what it was like to be on the other end. To hide in the bathroom at work crying, to spend nights restlessly tossing and turning unable to turn my brain off, to think about ways to end everything, to hate my body and hurt it in so many ways, to remember and relive trauma, and to panic over every little thing because life was just out of my control.Somehow I developed the strength during those times. I found that running, total body conditioning, and spinning made me feel better than restricting, purging, and cutting. I learned how to talk about my problems, learned to trust people, and learned how to relate to people. I am NOT that person who I used to be. Sometimes I really don't know why God gave me what I needed to get out of it, and didn't give her what she needed, but I am so thankful that I was able to find my internal strength - and find those external joys.So today, I was riding not just for her but for my friends - and the people who I don't know - who are where I used to be and are struggling to get out of it. For those who are fighting tooth and nail, and for those who are exhausted and ready to give up. For those who have started to see the light and aren't sure how to get there, and for those who don't believe that the light exists. For her and all the other people who just couldn't bear the pain and no longer have the opportunity to turn their lives around the way I did.I was riding for my friend. I was riding for hope. I was riding because I CAN.
Monday, April 23, 2012
What Exactly Is So Amazing About Soul Cycle?
I had to think about whether to post this on my running blog or on my wellness-oriented blog and it definitely seems to fit more with the wellness, as much as Soul Cycle is a part of my running/training routine!
So this isn't a review of Soul Cycle, because I am a loyal Soul Cycle rider, and I would give it rave reviews, five stars all the way across the board. But instead, this is about what draws ME to Soul Cycle...
I enter exercise classes with a different mindset than most other exercisers. I am not there to lose weight. I am there to feel good. I spent years of my life chasing after the elusive perfect weight, and only found myself in a deeper hole. After battling anorexia and bulimia, I finally began to reintegrate exercise into my life a couple of years ago. I started with yoga, because I enjoyed yoga while I was in treatment. Then I experienced a sudden weight gain and I knew I had to work some cardio into my routine. That was when I first tried a spin class. Not a Soul Cycle class though. After a month or so with no weight change, I was thinking, "screw it."
Then, my dietitian recommended Soul Cycle. I live half an hour from the nearest Soul Cycle studio, if there's no traffic. However, when I set foot into that studio in Scarsdale in November 2010, it was different than any workout I had ever done. We weren't being told to burn calories, we were being told to set an intention. It wasn't about losing weight, fitting into those jeans, or being entitled to eat ice cream later. It was about doing good for ourselves and for someone else. About centering ourselves. About those principles of yoga that I just could not grasp in a yoga class. Somehow, I was able to take in the "zen" component while doing intense cardio that I just couldn't let in during yoga.
Certainly, every instructor at Soul Cycle is different, and there have been some that I have liked more than others. My favorites have been Gabrielle in Scarsdale, Louise on the UWS, and Christine on the UES. What I like best about these instructors is the way they make it a workout that's about more than just working out. It's about making yourself better from the inside out, and challenging yourself. It's about smiling, laughing, dancing, and realizing that there are more important things in life than your jeans size. My favorite instructors, and really all of Soul Cycle, help you to find a sense of purpose on the bike and off the bike. A sense of purpose greater than a diet.
Really, a good Soul Cycle class to me feels like a good therapy session. And while some people may argue that Soul Cycle is expensive, I have to say that it's cheaper than a therapy session! I'm guilty of being a poor, unemployed grad student (soon to be unemployed grad!) going to therapy in addition to going to Soul Cycle, but I've been through a lot of shit in my life and I deserve it! Everyone deserves to be happy and healthy. Soul Cycle is an essential part of what gets me there and keeps me there.
I only do 1-2 Soul Cycle classes a week. The majority of my fitness regimen is running. Training for marathons and half marathons. But I look forward to my classes every week and my weight has leveled back off to where it should be, if only because I have been so happy with all of my flowing endorphins that I haven't been WORRYING about it, and supposedly when we stop worrying about our weight, that's when it goes where it needs to be.
Soul Cycle kept me sane when I couldn't run following an injury in the NYC marathon. It's a great reward when I know I have to do something that day or week that I just don't want to do. And I have my favorite teachers, who I don't get to take often, whose classes feel like holiday celebrations to me.
So what exactly is so amazing about Soul Cycle? Everything...
So this isn't a review of Soul Cycle, because I am a loyal Soul Cycle rider, and I would give it rave reviews, five stars all the way across the board. But instead, this is about what draws ME to Soul Cycle...
I enter exercise classes with a different mindset than most other exercisers. I am not there to lose weight. I am there to feel good. I spent years of my life chasing after the elusive perfect weight, and only found myself in a deeper hole. After battling anorexia and bulimia, I finally began to reintegrate exercise into my life a couple of years ago. I started with yoga, because I enjoyed yoga while I was in treatment. Then I experienced a sudden weight gain and I knew I had to work some cardio into my routine. That was when I first tried a spin class. Not a Soul Cycle class though. After a month or so with no weight change, I was thinking, "screw it."
Then, my dietitian recommended Soul Cycle. I live half an hour from the nearest Soul Cycle studio, if there's no traffic. However, when I set foot into that studio in Scarsdale in November 2010, it was different than any workout I had ever done. We weren't being told to burn calories, we were being told to set an intention. It wasn't about losing weight, fitting into those jeans, or being entitled to eat ice cream later. It was about doing good for ourselves and for someone else. About centering ourselves. About those principles of yoga that I just could not grasp in a yoga class. Somehow, I was able to take in the "zen" component while doing intense cardio that I just couldn't let in during yoga.
Certainly, every instructor at Soul Cycle is different, and there have been some that I have liked more than others. My favorites have been Gabrielle in Scarsdale, Louise on the UWS, and Christine on the UES. What I like best about these instructors is the way they make it a workout that's about more than just working out. It's about making yourself better from the inside out, and challenging yourself. It's about smiling, laughing, dancing, and realizing that there are more important things in life than your jeans size. My favorite instructors, and really all of Soul Cycle, help you to find a sense of purpose on the bike and off the bike. A sense of purpose greater than a diet.
Really, a good Soul Cycle class to me feels like a good therapy session. And while some people may argue that Soul Cycle is expensive, I have to say that it's cheaper than a therapy session! I'm guilty of being a poor, unemployed grad student (soon to be unemployed grad!) going to therapy in addition to going to Soul Cycle, but I've been through a lot of shit in my life and I deserve it! Everyone deserves to be happy and healthy. Soul Cycle is an essential part of what gets me there and keeps me there.
I only do 1-2 Soul Cycle classes a week. The majority of my fitness regimen is running. Training for marathons and half marathons. But I look forward to my classes every week and my weight has leveled back off to where it should be, if only because I have been so happy with all of my flowing endorphins that I haven't been WORRYING about it, and supposedly when we stop worrying about our weight, that's when it goes where it needs to be.
Soul Cycle kept me sane when I couldn't run following an injury in the NYC marathon. It's a great reward when I know I have to do something that day or week that I just don't want to do. And I have my favorite teachers, who I don't get to take often, whose classes feel like holiday celebrations to me.
So what exactly is so amazing about Soul Cycle? Everything...
Friday, January 20, 2012
My love affair with Diet Coke
My name is Jessica and I am a diet soda addict. I have been for ten years and counting. I'd like to explore why.
In the beginning, my diet soda addiction was a function of my eating disorder. Sugar-free Jell-O and Diet Coke were my favorite foods and as a 9th grmader, I constantly fantasized about the day four years in the future when I would move in to college and have a fridge stocked with nothing but those "essentials". Although my Diet Coke consumption was pretty high during my high school years, I started college ready to be healthier and normal, and stocked my room with Easy Mac and water. There was a vending machine downstairs in the residence hall. There were two vending machines, actually. One had snacks and one had sodas. I think I used the snack machine maybe three times but by October, I was already out of vending machine points due to my addiction to diet soda. It was a Pepsi school, and I drank 20 ounce bottles of Diet Pepsi like it was my job. In the morning, I'd pick one up on my way to class. I'd get one in the dining hall at lunch, another one to get through my afternoon class, a few at dinner since the all-you-can--eat dining hall provided free refills, and if I got a night snack, I had one then too. It wasn't "eating disordered." My eating disorder was the farthest thing from my mind during those early college years. But my addiction held strong. I never really saw it as a problem, just a quirk. "I drink a lot of Diet Coke," I'd say with a smile when asked for an interesting fact about me.
At the end of college, a few things happened. As a result, I moved off campus and no longer had access to vending machines, no longer had a meal plan. I had to buy soda at the grocery store! My eating disorder also set on fire, and my soda bill at Wegmans was higher than my food bill! Drinking sleeve after sleeve of Diet Coke did shed light on the fact that I was drinking a lot. I could actually see the evidence. I just didn't care.
The summer after graduation, I can recall a specific incident where I was arguing with my mom. Yelling and screaming, and yelling at her for not screaming. Directly before this fight, I had just consumed an entire 12-pack of Diet Dr Pepper. I didn't care.
Soon after that fight, I began day treatment at Renfrew. I told the dietitian how much soda I drank and she suggested I cut back. During breaks, I would sneak to the "illegal soda shop" and buy a Diet Coke (it was a wireless phone store, and they didn't have a permit from the Health Department to sell food or beverages so they covered up their soda fridges with newspaper. Perfect since drinking soda during day program was forbidden anyway). Some people would bring their sodas back up to the treatment rooms and sneak sips in between groups. I, on the other hand, would chug all 20 ounces, because even as an addict, I was a soda snob and wanted it cold and bubbly. I even met a friend, a fellow Diet Coke addict, who preferred her soda warm and flat. Sometimes we would sit in Starbucks after program drinking sodas and I would give her the end of mine. That is true friendship.
Residential treatment was a challenge, but it was one I was ready to take on. And in all seriousness, I was ready to conquer my eating disorder but not my soda addiction. Obviously, the soda addiction was psychological, but the caffeine addiction was real and physical (we were allowed one cup of caffeinated coffee in the morning, which I drank despite not liking coffee, but that didn't cut it since I was up to 20 sodas a day at that point). The first couple of days were painful. On the 3rd day, we went on an outing to CVS. My roommate stole a bottle of Coke (regular, not diet!) for me and another girl to share. We freaked out over whether it was worth it to drink the Coke, and I personally freaked out about whether I could consume something that had been shoplifted. I the end I had a few sips. Soon after, I was allowed out on passes and I would drink as much Diet Coke as possible while I was out. Then someone taught me how to bring soda back into the building without getting caught. I learned how to put up to three sodas in the crotch of my pants and walk past staff back to my room. I also stopped being such a soda snob and drank my soda warm when I had no other option.
Eventually, I was discharged and continued to move forward with my health. I was still drinking 6-10 Diet Cokes a day. One day, on the beach, I had a panic attack after drinking a bottle of Pepsi Max. That incident sparked my first ever voluntary separation from Diet Coke. It was brutal at first, but eventually I realized that it was great to wake up in the morning and not need caffeine.
I wish I could say that was the end of my love affair, but I went back and forth, back and forth for a couple of years.
In 2011, I had a rebirth of sorts. I started running and stopped drinking caffeine. I was the happiest and most relaxed I had ever been. Eventually, I caved and started drinking the occasional Diet Coke, but I would like to think I'm more balanced now. I rarely drink more than 2 a day (and when I do, I feel extremely guilty - the way I used to feel about food, but this makes more sense because I am probably doing my body more harm than good).
I have an addiction. To caffeine, to bubbles, to that specific flavor (although I'll occasionally drink caffeine free Diet Coke or a Sprite Zero). Compared to what it was, it's under control. There is so much research put there that diet soda causes cancer, obesity, and who knows what else. I would like to stop drinking soda, but when I stop, I miss it. Is it like smoking or drinking? Is it so bad for me that I need to stop? Research is inconsistent. When they start IDing me to buy a Diet Coke, maybe then I'll stop completely. But even if I totally quit, it will just be a long-distance love affair. Diet Coke and I really have something.
In the beginning, my diet soda addiction was a function of my eating disorder. Sugar-free Jell-O and Diet Coke were my favorite foods and as a 9th grmader, I constantly fantasized about the day four years in the future when I would move in to college and have a fridge stocked with nothing but those "essentials". Although my Diet Coke consumption was pretty high during my high school years, I started college ready to be healthier and normal, and stocked my room with Easy Mac and water. There was a vending machine downstairs in the residence hall. There were two vending machines, actually. One had snacks and one had sodas. I think I used the snack machine maybe three times but by October, I was already out of vending machine points due to my addiction to diet soda. It was a Pepsi school, and I drank 20 ounce bottles of Diet Pepsi like it was my job. In the morning, I'd pick one up on my way to class. I'd get one in the dining hall at lunch, another one to get through my afternoon class, a few at dinner since the all-you-can--eat dining hall provided free refills, and if I got a night snack, I had one then too. It wasn't "eating disordered." My eating disorder was the farthest thing from my mind during those early college years. But my addiction held strong. I never really saw it as a problem, just a quirk. "I drink a lot of Diet Coke," I'd say with a smile when asked for an interesting fact about me.
At the end of college, a few things happened. As a result, I moved off campus and no longer had access to vending machines, no longer had a meal plan. I had to buy soda at the grocery store! My eating disorder also set on fire, and my soda bill at Wegmans was higher than my food bill! Drinking sleeve after sleeve of Diet Coke did shed light on the fact that I was drinking a lot. I could actually see the evidence. I just didn't care.
The summer after graduation, I can recall a specific incident where I was arguing with my mom. Yelling and screaming, and yelling at her for not screaming. Directly before this fight, I had just consumed an entire 12-pack of Diet Dr Pepper. I didn't care.
Soon after that fight, I began day treatment at Renfrew. I told the dietitian how much soda I drank and she suggested I cut back. During breaks, I would sneak to the "illegal soda shop" and buy a Diet Coke (it was a wireless phone store, and they didn't have a permit from the Health Department to sell food or beverages so they covered up their soda fridges with newspaper. Perfect since drinking soda during day program was forbidden anyway). Some people would bring their sodas back up to the treatment rooms and sneak sips in between groups. I, on the other hand, would chug all 20 ounces, because even as an addict, I was a soda snob and wanted it cold and bubbly. I even met a friend, a fellow Diet Coke addict, who preferred her soda warm and flat. Sometimes we would sit in Starbucks after program drinking sodas and I would give her the end of mine. That is true friendship.
Residential treatment was a challenge, but it was one I was ready to take on. And in all seriousness, I was ready to conquer my eating disorder but not my soda addiction. Obviously, the soda addiction was psychological, but the caffeine addiction was real and physical (we were allowed one cup of caffeinated coffee in the morning, which I drank despite not liking coffee, but that didn't cut it since I was up to 20 sodas a day at that point). The first couple of days were painful. On the 3rd day, we went on an outing to CVS. My roommate stole a bottle of Coke (regular, not diet!) for me and another girl to share. We freaked out over whether it was worth it to drink the Coke, and I personally freaked out about whether I could consume something that had been shoplifted. I the end I had a few sips. Soon after, I was allowed out on passes and I would drink as much Diet Coke as possible while I was out. Then someone taught me how to bring soda back into the building without getting caught. I learned how to put up to three sodas in the crotch of my pants and walk past staff back to my room. I also stopped being such a soda snob and drank my soda warm when I had no other option.
Eventually, I was discharged and continued to move forward with my health. I was still drinking 6-10 Diet Cokes a day. One day, on the beach, I had a panic attack after drinking a bottle of Pepsi Max. That incident sparked my first ever voluntary separation from Diet Coke. It was brutal at first, but eventually I realized that it was great to wake up in the morning and not need caffeine.
I wish I could say that was the end of my love affair, but I went back and forth, back and forth for a couple of years.
In 2011, I had a rebirth of sorts. I started running and stopped drinking caffeine. I was the happiest and most relaxed I had ever been. Eventually, I caved and started drinking the occasional Diet Coke, but I would like to think I'm more balanced now. I rarely drink more than 2 a day (and when I do, I feel extremely guilty - the way I used to feel about food, but this makes more sense because I am probably doing my body more harm than good).
I have an addiction. To caffeine, to bubbles, to that specific flavor (although I'll occasionally drink caffeine free Diet Coke or a Sprite Zero). Compared to what it was, it's under control. There is so much research put there that diet soda causes cancer, obesity, and who knows what else. I would like to stop drinking soda, but when I stop, I miss it. Is it like smoking or drinking? Is it so bad for me that I need to stop? Research is inconsistent. When they start IDing me to buy a Diet Coke, maybe then I'll stop completely. But even if I totally quit, it will just be a long-distance love affair. Diet Coke and I really have something.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Recovery in the Calorie Culture
Weight loss. Diets. Calorie-burning. It seems like no matter where we go (aside from eating disorder treatment, where those words aren't allowed), we can't escape this cultural obsession. Even in my yoga classes, I hear about it. Why? Because if it doesn't help you to lose weight, people are not going to want to do it. When I was training for my first half-marathon, my running coach recommended that we all try to do yoga regularly to prevent injuries. A friend from my running group said "No way, that hardly burns any calories." Sometimes I wish I had the courage to say what comes to mind, because my thought was, "It burns more calories than you're going to burn while you're injured on the couch from not stretching enough!"
As someone who is recovered from an eating disorder, I no longer get "triggered" when someone mentions weight loss, diets, or calories. I do, however, still get annoyed when I'm trying to have this great mind-body experience in yoga or spin class and the instructor says, "Think of a goal. What are you trying to achieve by being here today?" and then before I have the time to think of a goal or intention, the instructor tells me that I am probably aiming to work off those "holiday pounds." I don't even know if I gained any "holiday pounds." And I don't care.
So what I am writing about today is something that took me five long years to figure out: how to fully recover despite society's constant weight loss messages.
Challenge #1: SET YOUR OWN GOALS. When I'm in a spin class or yoga class and the instructor says to set an intention or a goal, I think about what's really bringing me there. In general, I don't let myself work out if my deepest motivation is to burn calories and lose weight. So when I'm on the bike or sitting in sukhasana, I try to tap into why I am working out. If I realize that what brought me to the class today is weight-related, I try to think deeper. What is going on with me that I am so focused on weight right now? What void am I trying to fill? Have I been overwhelmed with the holidays? Stressed out? What do I need to take myself out of the superficial weight-centered mindset and go deeper? Often, my goal is a simple "I want to feel good." Sometimes it's "I want to feel strong" and other times it's "I want to feel balanced" or "I want to clear my mind." My running coach once asked us why we run. All of the other women in my group said that they were running to lose weight. I said I was running because it gave me a mental sense of peace that I couldn't find anywhere else. Exercising with a weight goal in mind turns it into a chore, but exercising because of the mental or spiritual benefit, the feeling that you get from a run, a spin class, or a yoga session, makes exercise enjoyable and takes you away from the old ED mindset of exercising for calorie burn.
Challenge #2: EAT WHAT YOU WANT. I still struggle with comparing myself to others from time to time. It's the hardest for me when I go out to lunch or dinner with a friend and they order a salad. Although salads are actually NOT always the healthiest choice on the menu, most of my friends believe that they are "being good" (food choices do NOT make you good or bad!) and sacrificing something by ordering salad, and I feel like if I order something more "fun" than a salad, they will get some feeling of satisfaction knowing that they are "being good" while I am "being bad." Is this possibly all in my head? Yes, very likely so. Which is why I fight against this urge. Recently, a friend wanted to order "just a cobb salad...I've been bad lately, I need to be good" and what I really wanted was a turkey burger with sweet potato fries. I had to remind myself that even if my friend believes that a salad is "good" while a burger is "bad," I KNOW that there are no good foods and bad foods. I also know that if I order a salad when I am really wanting something different, I will not feel satisfied. PUT THAT NUTRITION KNOWLEDGE TO GOOD USE! Many, if not most, people who have been through EDs, especially those of us who have been through treatment, have a much better understanding of nutrition than our counterparts. We have a long history of taking that nutrition knowledge and using it for sick purposes. Why not take that knowledge and use it to allow ourselves to enjoy our food and eat what we want!?
Challenge #3: SPEAK UP! I drive my therapist crazy when I tell her a story and say, "And then I was like, oh my god, you're so ridiculous, that's not the kind of thing you say to a person!" She always says, "Did you really say that?" and I say, "No, I just THOUGHT it." Well, recently, I've started to actually say something. Especially when it comes to friends' and family's (and strangers') misconceptions about food. I was so upset the first time I tried to explain hunger and fullness cues to my family. My parents seriously laughed at me, laughed at the thought of "listening to your body." I didn't let that get me down though. I've mentioned the concept of moderation and intuitive eating to my parents on other occasions (my dad is a member of the "clean plate club," as well as a hot dog addict, and believes that his high blood pressure is just genetic) and they've kind of stopped laughing at me. I've also spoken up to friends who are obsessed with dieting, encouraging them to embrace a health-based instead of restrictive attitude. Most recently, though, I started reading some nutritionists' blogs that I was really disagreeing with. These nutritionists were specialists in weight loss, it seemed, but they were encouraging their clients, when they wanted to maintain weight, to continue with a diet/calorie-obsessed outlook. I left comments about the importance of intuitive eating and moderation in weight maintenance. I have no clue if anyone actually read my comments, but by speaking up, I feel less a "victim" of the calorie culture and more a "renegade" in fighting the calorie and weight obsession!
Challenge #4: DISARM! Triggers are just that - they allow you to shoot a loaded gun. Unfortunately, the "calorie culture" is everywhere - on TV, on the radio, at the gym, in conversation with friends and family, all over the internet. One of the biggest challenge is to unload the ammunition from your gun. Former "triggers" still make me angry and frustrated sometimes, but they no longer cause an eating disordered behavior, or even thought. It's behavioral, really. Fight against the urge from a trigger a few times, and eventually you've unloaded it. It no longer triggers a behavior. I know that this is easier said and done, and I know that a big part of eating disorders exists outside of the societal obsession with weight. However, recovering in this culture really does require disarming our guns.
These are a few things that have been really instrumental for me in my recovery. I know that it's different for everyone, and that recovery is far more complex than a "how to" blog post, but these are little challenges that I find have helped me immensely. If you decide to try any of these challenges, I'd love to hear how it goes for you.
As someone who is recovered from an eating disorder, I no longer get "triggered" when someone mentions weight loss, diets, or calories. I do, however, still get annoyed when I'm trying to have this great mind-body experience in yoga or spin class and the instructor says, "Think of a goal. What are you trying to achieve by being here today?" and then before I have the time to think of a goal or intention, the instructor tells me that I am probably aiming to work off those "holiday pounds." I don't even know if I gained any "holiday pounds." And I don't care.
So what I am writing about today is something that took me five long years to figure out: how to fully recover despite society's constant weight loss messages.
Challenge #1: SET YOUR OWN GOALS. When I'm in a spin class or yoga class and the instructor says to set an intention or a goal, I think about what's really bringing me there. In general, I don't let myself work out if my deepest motivation is to burn calories and lose weight. So when I'm on the bike or sitting in sukhasana, I try to tap into why I am working out. If I realize that what brought me to the class today is weight-related, I try to think deeper. What is going on with me that I am so focused on weight right now? What void am I trying to fill? Have I been overwhelmed with the holidays? Stressed out? What do I need to take myself out of the superficial weight-centered mindset and go deeper? Often, my goal is a simple "I want to feel good." Sometimes it's "I want to feel strong" and other times it's "I want to feel balanced" or "I want to clear my mind." My running coach once asked us why we run. All of the other women in my group said that they were running to lose weight. I said I was running because it gave me a mental sense of peace that I couldn't find anywhere else. Exercising with a weight goal in mind turns it into a chore, but exercising because of the mental or spiritual benefit, the feeling that you get from a run, a spin class, or a yoga session, makes exercise enjoyable and takes you away from the old ED mindset of exercising for calorie burn.
Challenge #2: EAT WHAT YOU WANT. I still struggle with comparing myself to others from time to time. It's the hardest for me when I go out to lunch or dinner with a friend and they order a salad. Although salads are actually NOT always the healthiest choice on the menu, most of my friends believe that they are "being good" (food choices do NOT make you good or bad!) and sacrificing something by ordering salad, and I feel like if I order something more "fun" than a salad, they will get some feeling of satisfaction knowing that they are "being good" while I am "being bad." Is this possibly all in my head? Yes, very likely so. Which is why I fight against this urge. Recently, a friend wanted to order "just a cobb salad...I've been bad lately, I need to be good" and what I really wanted was a turkey burger with sweet potato fries. I had to remind myself that even if my friend believes that a salad is "good" while a burger is "bad," I KNOW that there are no good foods and bad foods. I also know that if I order a salad when I am really wanting something different, I will not feel satisfied. PUT THAT NUTRITION KNOWLEDGE TO GOOD USE! Many, if not most, people who have been through EDs, especially those of us who have been through treatment, have a much better understanding of nutrition than our counterparts. We have a long history of taking that nutrition knowledge and using it for sick purposes. Why not take that knowledge and use it to allow ourselves to enjoy our food and eat what we want!?
Challenge #3: SPEAK UP! I drive my therapist crazy when I tell her a story and say, "And then I was like, oh my god, you're so ridiculous, that's not the kind of thing you say to a person!" She always says, "Did you really say that?" and I say, "No, I just THOUGHT it." Well, recently, I've started to actually say something. Especially when it comes to friends' and family's (and strangers') misconceptions about food. I was so upset the first time I tried to explain hunger and fullness cues to my family. My parents seriously laughed at me, laughed at the thought of "listening to your body." I didn't let that get me down though. I've mentioned the concept of moderation and intuitive eating to my parents on other occasions (my dad is a member of the "clean plate club," as well as a hot dog addict, and believes that his high blood pressure is just genetic) and they've kind of stopped laughing at me. I've also spoken up to friends who are obsessed with dieting, encouraging them to embrace a health-based instead of restrictive attitude. Most recently, though, I started reading some nutritionists' blogs that I was really disagreeing with. These nutritionists were specialists in weight loss, it seemed, but they were encouraging their clients, when they wanted to maintain weight, to continue with a diet/calorie-obsessed outlook. I left comments about the importance of intuitive eating and moderation in weight maintenance. I have no clue if anyone actually read my comments, but by speaking up, I feel less a "victim" of the calorie culture and more a "renegade" in fighting the calorie and weight obsession!
Challenge #4: DISARM! Triggers are just that - they allow you to shoot a loaded gun. Unfortunately, the "calorie culture" is everywhere - on TV, on the radio, at the gym, in conversation with friends and family, all over the internet. One of the biggest challenge is to unload the ammunition from your gun. Former "triggers" still make me angry and frustrated sometimes, but they no longer cause an eating disordered behavior, or even thought. It's behavioral, really. Fight against the urge from a trigger a few times, and eventually you've unloaded it. It no longer triggers a behavior. I know that this is easier said and done, and I know that a big part of eating disorders exists outside of the societal obsession with weight. However, recovering in this culture really does require disarming our guns.
These are a few things that have been really instrumental for me in my recovery. I know that it's different for everyone, and that recovery is far more complex than a "how to" blog post, but these are little challenges that I find have helped me immensely. If you decide to try any of these challenges, I'd love to hear how it goes for you.
Monday, January 2, 2012
The Story of My Recovery
Judy Avrin, founder of Someday Melissa, who lost her daughter Melissa to bulimia, asked that those of us who have recovered or are in recovery can share our stories to give a message of hope to people who are struggling.
I suffered from an eating disorder (ED-NOS, more strongly identified with anorexia than bulimia, but more often identified by outsiders as bulimia due to purging and weight) for a long time, maybe eight years, before I was treated. It was on and off, but the eating disorder was always there somewhat. Since I was overweight before the start of my eating disorder, and my weight never dropped to a dangerous place, I flew under the radar virtually the whole time. As time has gone on, I have learned that maybe my family wasn't completely oblivious of everything, but they were unaware, for the most part, of what I was struggling with. However, although it wasn't outwardly obvious that I was sick, I was mentally getting to worse and worse places.
My journey toward recovery should have begun one day in April 2007, when I sought help at my college's counseling center. However, the counselor I saw said that I didn't look too sick and probably didn't need much help, that it's really no big deal - his wife "was bulimic and still purges sometimes," and that maybe I should look for a workbook. Maybe it was that my weight was fine. Maybe it was that it was just weeks before the end of the school year. Maybe it was that the guy knew nothing about eating disorders, and knew even less about mine. But that appointment only made things worse.
So it was June 2007 when I was driving home from Long Island, up the Cross-Island Parkway - a road where cars are always speeding and cutting you off - and was freaking out about the lunch that I had with a friend and decided that I would try to purge while driving since there was really nowhere to pull over and time was of the essence. After maybe ten seconds, I stopped myself. "What do you think you're doing!? You're going to DIE doing that on this road!" (apparently, it wasn't enough in my mind that purging could kill me, but at least I was cognizant of the fact that purging while driving on a crazy highway could)
About 20 minutes later, I called Renfrew.
The woman I spoke to that day, Jaime, made all the difference. She was sweet and understanding, and even when it turned out that my insurance at the time was out-of-network, she gave me continued encouragement to continue to seek help. I was rejected from an IOP program at a hospital because I was told that I would be uncomfortable since the rest of the patients are all underweight (again, what a horrible way to explain things to someone with an eating disorder!), but they offered me outpatient services. Shortly after that, though, my insurance company changed and I called Jaime back and eventually (though this was actually a 4-6 week long process) I got into the day program at Renfrew.
Renfrew didn't work out so well. I had started to get better but then insurance dropped me from day, and then I had a week off before I stepped down to IOP, and after that break in treatment, I just couldn't get myself back together. I ended up getting kicked out of the IOP program, due to miscommunications, with conditional readmission.
Renfrew had told me that I wasn't at a critical weight so they weren't even going to try inpatient/residential for me. However, I felt like that was what I needed. I searched some other treatment centers and found one, Cambridge Eating Disorder Center that was willing to take me.
I did well at CEDC, but due to insurance issues left prematurely. Less than two months later, I went back to CEDC, in the worst physical condition I had ever been in. However, it was this round of treatment when I really started to get somewhere.
I began to realize that I did not want a life in and out of treatment centers. I did not want to constantly be dehydrated to the point that my head was spinning. I wanted to be successful in graduate school (which I put off first for a semester and then for a second semester), working toward my Master's in Social Work. I couldn't become a therapist if I was sick, that just wasn't right.
My motivators were all external at the time and I think that's how it has to be in the beginning. By the end of that stint of treatment, I said to myself, "I never want to go through this again. I am SO SICK OF TREATMENT." I sped through the Renfrew day and IOP stepdown programs (at a different site than the one that had kicked me out) and my therapist at Renfrew discontinued our outpatient therapy after a few weeks, saying that it seemed that I really did not need therapy.
So I thought that I was done with treatment and therapy and had accomplished a full recovery. But really, my recovery was just beginning and a few months later, I would enter into a relationship with my current therapist, who I have been seeing for more than three and a half years now, since June 2008.
Recovery has been a lot of things for me. It has been trying new foods, learning to eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full and know that doing that will not "make me fat," learning that nothing is off-limits. It has been becoming aware of my body through yoga, developing a healthy relationship with exercise, and eventually becoming a runner and completing my first NYC marathon. It has been uncovering memories of traumas that contributed to my eating disorder, and taking some of the power away from those memories. It has been making new friends with eating disorders, separating from those friends whose eating disorders were bringing down my own recovery, reconnecting with some of those same friends after we took care of ourselves and came back stronger, and realizing that I am a complex person and can have fulfilling relationships with those individuals who do not have an eating disorder or other "issues", as well as with those who have struggled with those issues. It has been using my voice in friendships, work, and school, as well as in creative outlets. Recovery has been eating, drinking, laughing, running, jumping, crafting, bonding, crying, screaming, fighting, working, playing, gaining weight, losing weight, becoming whole.
I consider myself fully recovered now. I possess a level of recovery that, five years ago, I did not believe even existed. I am finishing up my last semester of graduate school and will graduate in May with my MSW from NYU. I ran the NYC Marathon. I have great friends. I have dreams of getting married and having a family one day soon. I am not tied down by my eating disorder history. If anything, it propels me forward, reminds me of the strength that I had to have in order to recover and that I still possess.
Recovery is different for everyone. What works is different. But what is the same is that every moment is a new opportunity to recover. You're never too far gone, whether you've struggled for 3 months or 30 years. It's important to believe in yourself though, and to truly believe that you have it in you to get through this and come out stronger. It may not be enough to just want it - you need to believe that you can achieve it. And when you believe that, it is absolutely possible.
I suffered from an eating disorder (ED-NOS, more strongly identified with anorexia than bulimia, but more often identified by outsiders as bulimia due to purging and weight) for a long time, maybe eight years, before I was treated. It was on and off, but the eating disorder was always there somewhat. Since I was overweight before the start of my eating disorder, and my weight never dropped to a dangerous place, I flew under the radar virtually the whole time. As time has gone on, I have learned that maybe my family wasn't completely oblivious of everything, but they were unaware, for the most part, of what I was struggling with. However, although it wasn't outwardly obvious that I was sick, I was mentally getting to worse and worse places.
My journey toward recovery should have begun one day in April 2007, when I sought help at my college's counseling center. However, the counselor I saw said that I didn't look too sick and probably didn't need much help, that it's really no big deal - his wife "was bulimic and still purges sometimes," and that maybe I should look for a workbook. Maybe it was that my weight was fine. Maybe it was that it was just weeks before the end of the school year. Maybe it was that the guy knew nothing about eating disorders, and knew even less about mine. But that appointment only made things worse.
So it was June 2007 when I was driving home from Long Island, up the Cross-Island Parkway - a road where cars are always speeding and cutting you off - and was freaking out about the lunch that I had with a friend and decided that I would try to purge while driving since there was really nowhere to pull over and time was of the essence. After maybe ten seconds, I stopped myself. "What do you think you're doing!? You're going to DIE doing that on this road!" (apparently, it wasn't enough in my mind that purging could kill me, but at least I was cognizant of the fact that purging while driving on a crazy highway could)
About 20 minutes later, I called Renfrew.
The woman I spoke to that day, Jaime, made all the difference. She was sweet and understanding, and even when it turned out that my insurance at the time was out-of-network, she gave me continued encouragement to continue to seek help. I was rejected from an IOP program at a hospital because I was told that I would be uncomfortable since the rest of the patients are all underweight (again, what a horrible way to explain things to someone with an eating disorder!), but they offered me outpatient services. Shortly after that, though, my insurance company changed and I called Jaime back and eventually (though this was actually a 4-6 week long process) I got into the day program at Renfrew.
Renfrew didn't work out so well. I had started to get better but then insurance dropped me from day, and then I had a week off before I stepped down to IOP, and after that break in treatment, I just couldn't get myself back together. I ended up getting kicked out of the IOP program, due to miscommunications, with conditional readmission.
Renfrew had told me that I wasn't at a critical weight so they weren't even going to try inpatient/residential for me. However, I felt like that was what I needed. I searched some other treatment centers and found one, Cambridge Eating Disorder Center that was willing to take me.
I did well at CEDC, but due to insurance issues left prematurely. Less than two months later, I went back to CEDC, in the worst physical condition I had ever been in. However, it was this round of treatment when I really started to get somewhere.
I began to realize that I did not want a life in and out of treatment centers. I did not want to constantly be dehydrated to the point that my head was spinning. I wanted to be successful in graduate school (which I put off first for a semester and then for a second semester), working toward my Master's in Social Work. I couldn't become a therapist if I was sick, that just wasn't right.
My motivators were all external at the time and I think that's how it has to be in the beginning. By the end of that stint of treatment, I said to myself, "I never want to go through this again. I am SO SICK OF TREATMENT." I sped through the Renfrew day and IOP stepdown programs (at a different site than the one that had kicked me out) and my therapist at Renfrew discontinued our outpatient therapy after a few weeks, saying that it seemed that I really did not need therapy.
So I thought that I was done with treatment and therapy and had accomplished a full recovery. But really, my recovery was just beginning and a few months later, I would enter into a relationship with my current therapist, who I have been seeing for more than three and a half years now, since June 2008.
Recovery has been a lot of things for me. It has been trying new foods, learning to eat when I'm hungry and stop when I'm full and know that doing that will not "make me fat," learning that nothing is off-limits. It has been becoming aware of my body through yoga, developing a healthy relationship with exercise, and eventually becoming a runner and completing my first NYC marathon. It has been uncovering memories of traumas that contributed to my eating disorder, and taking some of the power away from those memories. It has been making new friends with eating disorders, separating from those friends whose eating disorders were bringing down my own recovery, reconnecting with some of those same friends after we took care of ourselves and came back stronger, and realizing that I am a complex person and can have fulfilling relationships with those individuals who do not have an eating disorder or other "issues", as well as with those who have struggled with those issues. It has been using my voice in friendships, work, and school, as well as in creative outlets. Recovery has been eating, drinking, laughing, running, jumping, crafting, bonding, crying, screaming, fighting, working, playing, gaining weight, losing weight, becoming whole.
I consider myself fully recovered now. I possess a level of recovery that, five years ago, I did not believe even existed. I am finishing up my last semester of graduate school and will graduate in May with my MSW from NYU. I ran the NYC Marathon. I have great friends. I have dreams of getting married and having a family one day soon. I am not tied down by my eating disorder history. If anything, it propels me forward, reminds me of the strength that I had to have in order to recover and that I still possess.
Recovery is different for everyone. What works is different. But what is the same is that every moment is a new opportunity to recover. You're never too far gone, whether you've struggled for 3 months or 30 years. It's important to believe in yourself though, and to truly believe that you have it in you to get through this and come out stronger. It may not be enough to just want it - you need to believe that you can achieve it. And when you believe that, it is absolutely possible.
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Bethenny as a role model?
I'd like to start this off by saying that I love my friends who love Bethenny and I hope that none of them take this post as a personal insult!
I follow Bethenny Frankel on Facebook and Twitter. She can be funny, and her daughter is adorable. Plus, it gives me something to talk about with my friends, who are big fans. I have more than one friend who has said that Bethenny inspires her eating disorder recovery. I guess we all have different role models (mine are probably my therapist and nutritionist, but plenty of people look up to Jenni Schaeffer, Oprah, and other celebrities or semi-celebrities who they may or may not have met) but something has just sat with me as not right about this weight loss idol being a recovery role model.
Bethenny denies having an eating disorder, even denies having ever had an eating disorder aside from some occasional bingeing. The books she markets appeal to those considering recovery from anorexia and bulimia largely because she makes it appear that you can have it all – you can be thin and eat delicious things.
The first truth that I think people need to understand is that we can’t all be as thin as Bethenny. She writes Naturally Thin, but it’s important to realize that most people cannot be that thin HEALTHILY. Naturally, maybe, if you consider deprivation to be natural, but not healthily.
The thing that really ticked me off recently, though, was a post that Bethenny made on Facebook. She said that there’s nothing like starting off a Saturday morning with pancakes, even if they’re not real ones. Then she gave her recipe for “faux pancakes” – basically egg whites and sweetener. A truly healthy person would eat the real pancakes if she was craving pancakes – or maybe eat one pancake and some yogurt and fruit on the side. There are all different ways to integrate a food like pancakes into your life. By only eating “faux pancakes,” you are giving pancakes the “bad food” label.
There have certainly been foods that I have labeled as “bad” in my life, and avoided. However, I was never a diet idol – although I do like to think that some people look up to me as a recovery role model.
Bethenny really encourages an unhealthy attitude towards food and eating, and those who think her attitudes are healthy probably have their opinion colored by an eating disorder or the diet culture of the world we live in.
So I want to leave you with this – pancakes are delicious. Not good, not bad, but delicious. And if you like them, eat them. If you’re going to follow Bethenny, remember that she is not some amazing superhero who has figured out the secret to being thin. Remember that every body is different and your mind cannot be healthy if being thin is your top priority.
If you want some sound advice on moderation, check out my fabulous dietitian’s blog!
I follow Bethenny Frankel on Facebook and Twitter. She can be funny, and her daughter is adorable. Plus, it gives me something to talk about with my friends, who are big fans. I have more than one friend who has said that Bethenny inspires her eating disorder recovery. I guess we all have different role models (mine are probably my therapist and nutritionist, but plenty of people look up to Jenni Schaeffer, Oprah, and other celebrities or semi-celebrities who they may or may not have met) but something has just sat with me as not right about this weight loss idol being a recovery role model.
Bethenny denies having an eating disorder, even denies having ever had an eating disorder aside from some occasional bingeing. The books she markets appeal to those considering recovery from anorexia and bulimia largely because she makes it appear that you can have it all – you can be thin and eat delicious things.
The first truth that I think people need to understand is that we can’t all be as thin as Bethenny. She writes Naturally Thin, but it’s important to realize that most people cannot be that thin HEALTHILY. Naturally, maybe, if you consider deprivation to be natural, but not healthily.
The thing that really ticked me off recently, though, was a post that Bethenny made on Facebook. She said that there’s nothing like starting off a Saturday morning with pancakes, even if they’re not real ones. Then she gave her recipe for “faux pancakes” – basically egg whites and sweetener. A truly healthy person would eat the real pancakes if she was craving pancakes – or maybe eat one pancake and some yogurt and fruit on the side. There are all different ways to integrate a food like pancakes into your life. By only eating “faux pancakes,” you are giving pancakes the “bad food” label.
There have certainly been foods that I have labeled as “bad” in my life, and avoided. However, I was never a diet idol – although I do like to think that some people look up to me as a recovery role model.
Bethenny really encourages an unhealthy attitude towards food and eating, and those who think her attitudes are healthy probably have their opinion colored by an eating disorder or the diet culture of the world we live in.
So I want to leave you with this – pancakes are delicious. Not good, not bad, but delicious. And if you like them, eat them. If you’re going to follow Bethenny, remember that she is not some amazing superhero who has figured out the secret to being thin. Remember that every body is different and your mind cannot be healthy if being thin is your top priority.
If you want some sound advice on moderation, check out my fabulous dietitian’s blog!
Saturday, March 12, 2011
Friends
So, I'm taking a request and writing about having friends with eating disorders: the pros and cons, and so on.
For me, there was a time in my life when having friends with EDs was very important to me. It was important to be with people who understood my anxiety around food and could have supportive meals with me, could send and receive support texts, and could just make me feel less alone. When you're friends with people from treatment, you're generally at a similar place, teetering around, walking a narrow balance beam, not too sure if you're going to fall into recovery or relapse. When things are that uncertain, you have so many differences from people who are not eating disordered that you really only may feel close to the friends with EDs, even if you're not always talking about eating disordered things with them.
Then, you may start to develop some distance from your eating disorder and realize that you don't actually have that much in common with most of the eating disordered friends you made from treatment or the internet. So you slowly move away from them. Around that time, you might also start to realize that you are able to connect with people without eating disorders. You might be cautious about this, because you're not sure how much of you they understand, or how much you want them to understand, but you're at a different place. Hopefully, a lot of your friends have followed you to this same mental place and you can still connect with them.
As more time goes by though, you might be lucky enough to be doing better in your recovery than other people. You can probably clearly remember a time when you were that friend who wasn't doing so well, but now you're making progress. Chances are, some of your original ED friends are doing well, and others have relapsed and might be back in treatment, or need to be.
For me, I reached a stage beyond this, where an eating disorder is no longer part of my life, but I do still have friendships that I formed as a result of the eating disorder. I have a few specific friends - M, J, and B - who I am thinking of in relation to this. M is someone who I've known from the time that I've been in treatment, and she's been struggling with her eating disorder for as long as I've known her. We live far away, so we don't see each other so often. She is able to maintain great conversations about things other than her eating disorder, and I think that this is a big part of why we have been able to maintain a great friendship despite her struggling while I no longer struggle. J is someone who I met through an ED friend who I met on facebook, but by this time, none of that matters. We're no longer friends with that mutual friend, but we are very close friends, and right now, we are both doing well with things. There have been times when J was struggling while I wasn't, and she basically keeps to herself when she isn't doing so well.While this isn't necessarily a good quality for her own mental well-being, I think that it allowed us to still maintain a good friendship thereafter. B is someone who I met when I was doing well, and she was struggling. She's told me that she looks up to me, and I think that that "mentorship" type of relationship is what has kept our friendship strong. In the beginning of our friendship, we exchanged lots of long, honest and open emails, and now I trust her so much. I have never been afraid to tell her when I am dealing with something, and she's always supportive. Right now, she is doing well too, and I'm so glad. I have a couple of other friends in various stages of recovery from eating disorders, but these are the people who I am closest with.
I've also had to say goodbye to people who were struggling, because they "triggered" me, or frustrated me, or I just felt like I couldn't relate to them anymore. I've also been that friend that people had to say goodbye to. So, having to distance yourself from friends with EDs is pretty common, but there are some people who you might find you're able to keep around. I don't think there's a formula of when you "have to" say goodbye to someone, but for the most part, if the person is taking up a significant part of your therapy session, that's a good time to insert some serious distance.
For me, there was a time in my life when having friends with EDs was very important to me. It was important to be with people who understood my anxiety around food and could have supportive meals with me, could send and receive support texts, and could just make me feel less alone. When you're friends with people from treatment, you're generally at a similar place, teetering around, walking a narrow balance beam, not too sure if you're going to fall into recovery or relapse. When things are that uncertain, you have so many differences from people who are not eating disordered that you really only may feel close to the friends with EDs, even if you're not always talking about eating disordered things with them.
Then, you may start to develop some distance from your eating disorder and realize that you don't actually have that much in common with most of the eating disordered friends you made from treatment or the internet. So you slowly move away from them. Around that time, you might also start to realize that you are able to connect with people without eating disorders. You might be cautious about this, because you're not sure how much of you they understand, or how much you want them to understand, but you're at a different place. Hopefully, a lot of your friends have followed you to this same mental place and you can still connect with them.
As more time goes by though, you might be lucky enough to be doing better in your recovery than other people. You can probably clearly remember a time when you were that friend who wasn't doing so well, but now you're making progress. Chances are, some of your original ED friends are doing well, and others have relapsed and might be back in treatment, or need to be.
For me, I reached a stage beyond this, where an eating disorder is no longer part of my life, but I do still have friendships that I formed as a result of the eating disorder. I have a few specific friends - M, J, and B - who I am thinking of in relation to this. M is someone who I've known from the time that I've been in treatment, and she's been struggling with her eating disorder for as long as I've known her. We live far away, so we don't see each other so often. She is able to maintain great conversations about things other than her eating disorder, and I think that this is a big part of why we have been able to maintain a great friendship despite her struggling while I no longer struggle. J is someone who I met through an ED friend who I met on facebook, but by this time, none of that matters. We're no longer friends with that mutual friend, but we are very close friends, and right now, we are both doing well with things. There have been times when J was struggling while I wasn't, and she basically keeps to herself when she isn't doing so well.While this isn't necessarily a good quality for her own mental well-being, I think that it allowed us to still maintain a good friendship thereafter. B is someone who I met when I was doing well, and she was struggling. She's told me that she looks up to me, and I think that that "mentorship" type of relationship is what has kept our friendship strong. In the beginning of our friendship, we exchanged lots of long, honest and open emails, and now I trust her so much. I have never been afraid to tell her when I am dealing with something, and she's always supportive. Right now, she is doing well too, and I'm so glad. I have a couple of other friends in various stages of recovery from eating disorders, but these are the people who I am closest with.
I've also had to say goodbye to people who were struggling, because they "triggered" me, or frustrated me, or I just felt like I couldn't relate to them anymore. I've also been that friend that people had to say goodbye to. So, having to distance yourself from friends with EDs is pretty common, but there are some people who you might find you're able to keep around. I don't think there's a formula of when you "have to" say goodbye to someone, but for the most part, if the person is taking up a significant part of your therapy session, that's a good time to insert some serious distance.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
New Blog
I'll be keeping this around, but I started a new blog for my food adventures, both for me to chronicle the yummies, and for other people to hopefully be inspired by the freedom from and enjoyment of food that I am able to experience.
Normal Nomming
Normal Nomming
Friday, September 17, 2010
Nothing to Hide
For one of my classes, we had to post on the class discussion board about what brought us to social work, what brought us to NYU specifically, and why now. After a few days of having the assignment open, none of my classmates had posted, so I posted a brief paragraph about what brought me to where I am. After reading my classmates' posts though, I began to feel guilty for not sharing as much as they did. And I began to think about why.
Although I was always interested in psychology, I decided early on that it would be too suspicious a career field. I assumed that people would think that I was only in the field to heal myself, and that I was too unstable to study psychology. I wasn't so afraid of strangers' assumptions as I was of my friends' and family's. By the time I had started college, I'd flip-flopped through various psychiatric diagnoses, been to more than 10 different therapists, and tried ten or so different medications. Those who knew this, I thought, would definitely look down on me for choosing to study psychology, and would believe that I was incompetent and uncapable.
Those beliefs had to come from somewhere. Why did I believe that they would think these things? Did I subconsciously believe that I wasn't stable enough to go into this career field? Would I judge someone else from a similar background and believe that they were only in it to "fix" them? Where did I get the message that people who've struggled shouldn't help others through their struggles?
I don't really know the answers to those questions, but going away to college was life-changing for me. Within a matter of days, I had grown tremendously, and after sitting through one session of a calculus class for my math and special education major, I decided that this was my life and I had to live it for me. I navigated the system (and thanked the heavens that I went to a small college with accessible administrators), and successfully change my major to psychology. I was brave enough to tell my parents, even though I was expecting to hear, "But you always wanted to be a teacher" or even, "Do you think this is okay, given your own psychiatric history?" They seemed to welcome my first life-altering adult decision.
Once a psychology major, I often said that I didn't really know what I wanted to do. But I knew. I wanted to be a therapist. The funny thing was, at that point in time, I didn't believe that therapy would ever help me. I was a firm believer that most psychopathology was biological, and medication was the only cure. Still, I knew that talking helps. It helps people without psychiatric disorders, and it can also help people who are suffering. I didn't necessarily believe that it was curative, but I believed that it would help people get through the day. And then, I thought, I can guide them to see a good psychiatrist and get them onto the right medications.
Did I tell my family and friends this? No. I told them that I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, and that I was so glad that psychology majors have so many different graduate and career options. I decided that I could be pretty honest with my professors, though, since they didn't know anything about my past. So with some guidance, I decided that I was interested in clinical psychology. To be honest, the graduate school admission standards were intimidating and I didn't think I'd ever get in. As I learned more, I also began to feel that I didn't want to dedicate such a large chunk of my life to research. A PsyD was sounding pretty good, but then I learned about social work.
Social work had a little "something else." It had a two-year field experience, instead of the one-year internship in the PsyD and even PhD programs. It had endless career options, in case I really was choosing to be a therapist based on a desire to solve my own problems. Most importantly, it had these morals underneath it. Social work wasn't about research papers and new treatments. It's about understanding people, helping them to use their own strengths to grow, and the inherent belief that every person is of equally great worth and deserves success, in whatever form success may take in their life.
On the surface, social work was my quick, two-year path to becoming a therapist. In fact, if life had gone according to plan, I'd be a therapist right now, at some agency. I would have graduated 16 months ago and would have a great supervisor, and be working toward an LCSW.
Something that I didn't realize, however, is that life does not always go according to plan. In my past, it seemed to always go the way I wanted it to. I guess you could call me pretty lucky.
Life started to take some turns that I wasn't expecting. In response, I relapsed into my eating disorder. I went into treatment. I recovered. I started therapy, I started school part-time. I worked full-time. I interned part-time. I quickly got overwhelmed. I had more panic attacks than I could handle. I went into the hospital. I quit my job. I dropped out of school for the semester. I left my internship. I started babysitting. I started fresh that January with classes, and then in September with another internship. I began to make headway toward graduation.
And all the while, I healed. And healed, and healed, and healed. I continue to grow and change, through therapy and through my life. And with all this growth, I deserve to be open about why I want to be a social worker.
I was born sensitive, reactive. Maybe my amygdala is bigger than average, if you want to cite the temperament studies. Physically and emotionally. My sensitivity caused my to cry a lot as a child, to have severe anxiety, to have difficulty feeling comfortable. However, by adolescence, I began to realize that my sensitivity was not only a negative thing. I was also sensitive to the needs of others, and I was a very skilled listener. I was a natural giver and helper and caretaker. I suppressed most of these traits in childhood, and presented as anxious, hypersensitive, and difficult to console. Once I began to slowly let my sensitivity take a more positive route, I knew that I had a gift. I am often complimented on my patience. On my empowering advice. On my empathy and compassion. I let these gifts guide me towards a career in social work.
Sure, maybe having my own problems sparked an interest in psychology and led the way for a while, but it's much deeper than that. My own problems allowed me to grow and develop, to enter therapy and heal, and to become someone truly capable of helping. If I want to understand and help myself, I go to therapy. And when I become a therapist, I will continue to go to my own therapy. I also want to understand and help others, to use my gifts in a positive way. For that reason, I am going to be a therapist.
Although I was always interested in psychology, I decided early on that it would be too suspicious a career field. I assumed that people would think that I was only in the field to heal myself, and that I was too unstable to study psychology. I wasn't so afraid of strangers' assumptions as I was of my friends' and family's. By the time I had started college, I'd flip-flopped through various psychiatric diagnoses, been to more than 10 different therapists, and tried ten or so different medications. Those who knew this, I thought, would definitely look down on me for choosing to study psychology, and would believe that I was incompetent and uncapable.
Those beliefs had to come from somewhere. Why did I believe that they would think these things? Did I subconsciously believe that I wasn't stable enough to go into this career field? Would I judge someone else from a similar background and believe that they were only in it to "fix" them? Where did I get the message that people who've struggled shouldn't help others through their struggles?
I don't really know the answers to those questions, but going away to college was life-changing for me. Within a matter of days, I had grown tremendously, and after sitting through one session of a calculus class for my math and special education major, I decided that this was my life and I had to live it for me. I navigated the system (and thanked the heavens that I went to a small college with accessible administrators), and successfully change my major to psychology. I was brave enough to tell my parents, even though I was expecting to hear, "But you always wanted to be a teacher" or even, "Do you think this is okay, given your own psychiatric history?" They seemed to welcome my first life-altering adult decision.
Once a psychology major, I often said that I didn't really know what I wanted to do. But I knew. I wanted to be a therapist. The funny thing was, at that point in time, I didn't believe that therapy would ever help me. I was a firm believer that most psychopathology was biological, and medication was the only cure. Still, I knew that talking helps. It helps people without psychiatric disorders, and it can also help people who are suffering. I didn't necessarily believe that it was curative, but I believed that it would help people get through the day. And then, I thought, I can guide them to see a good psychiatrist and get them onto the right medications.
Did I tell my family and friends this? No. I told them that I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, and that I was so glad that psychology majors have so many different graduate and career options. I decided that I could be pretty honest with my professors, though, since they didn't know anything about my past. So with some guidance, I decided that I was interested in clinical psychology. To be honest, the graduate school admission standards were intimidating and I didn't think I'd ever get in. As I learned more, I also began to feel that I didn't want to dedicate such a large chunk of my life to research. A PsyD was sounding pretty good, but then I learned about social work.
Social work had a little "something else." It had a two-year field experience, instead of the one-year internship in the PsyD and even PhD programs. It had endless career options, in case I really was choosing to be a therapist based on a desire to solve my own problems. Most importantly, it had these morals underneath it. Social work wasn't about research papers and new treatments. It's about understanding people, helping them to use their own strengths to grow, and the inherent belief that every person is of equally great worth and deserves success, in whatever form success may take in their life.
On the surface, social work was my quick, two-year path to becoming a therapist. In fact, if life had gone according to plan, I'd be a therapist right now, at some agency. I would have graduated 16 months ago and would have a great supervisor, and be working toward an LCSW.
Something that I didn't realize, however, is that life does not always go according to plan. In my past, it seemed to always go the way I wanted it to. I guess you could call me pretty lucky.
Life started to take some turns that I wasn't expecting. In response, I relapsed into my eating disorder. I went into treatment. I recovered. I started therapy, I started school part-time. I worked full-time. I interned part-time. I quickly got overwhelmed. I had more panic attacks than I could handle. I went into the hospital. I quit my job. I dropped out of school for the semester. I left my internship. I started babysitting. I started fresh that January with classes, and then in September with another internship. I began to make headway toward graduation.
And all the while, I healed. And healed, and healed, and healed. I continue to grow and change, through therapy and through my life. And with all this growth, I deserve to be open about why I want to be a social worker.
I was born sensitive, reactive. Maybe my amygdala is bigger than average, if you want to cite the temperament studies. Physically and emotionally. My sensitivity caused my to cry a lot as a child, to have severe anxiety, to have difficulty feeling comfortable. However, by adolescence, I began to realize that my sensitivity was not only a negative thing. I was also sensitive to the needs of others, and I was a very skilled listener. I was a natural giver and helper and caretaker. I suppressed most of these traits in childhood, and presented as anxious, hypersensitive, and difficult to console. Once I began to slowly let my sensitivity take a more positive route, I knew that I had a gift. I am often complimented on my patience. On my empowering advice. On my empathy and compassion. I let these gifts guide me towards a career in social work.
Sure, maybe having my own problems sparked an interest in psychology and led the way for a while, but it's much deeper than that. My own problems allowed me to grow and develop, to enter therapy and heal, and to become someone truly capable of helping. If I want to understand and help myself, I go to therapy. And when I become a therapist, I will continue to go to my own therapy. I also want to understand and help others, to use my gifts in a positive way. For that reason, I am going to be a therapist.
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Tales from the Obese Body
I never ever thought I'd admit this publicly. But I am obese. This is not an eating disordered comment. If you look at the national institute of health's BMI calculator, I do, in fact, have an obese Body Mass Index.
So why am I writing here about this? Not to complain about my body. To tell you how AWESOME my body is.
I can run miles. I can work do chatturanga after chatturanga after chatturanga during my yoga class. I can carry around babies for hours. I can climb, tumble, and play with the best of the toddlers. I can twist my body into a pretzel, squeeze into small spaces, do headstands and cartwheels. I shop in your standard stores, in the juniors and petites and misses sections, even in the kids section from time to time.
I'm pretty sure that when the NIH developed BMI calculators and split weights into categories, they didn't think that "obese" looked like me. I still have a bit of an eating disordered brain and see myself as "okay" but "definitely overweight." Friends, family, even doctors have told me that I don't "look overweight." So it boggles my mind that I could be considered obese. They do say not to use these calculators for bodybuilders or professional athletes. I'm really neither.
I'm stronger, healthier, and more goddamn attractive than I was 20 or 30 pounds ago. I was always pretty strong. I managed to stay relatively healthy. And I never thought I was that attractive. But in regaining physical and mental health (and a few pounds), I've been able to turn my life around. And around. And around. And around.
I'm somewhere that I never thought possible. RecoverED (not in recoverY) And at a terrifyingly high weight. An "obese" weight. That's not medically unhealthy at all. I have low-normal blood pressure, perfect cholesterol, great bone density (above average, thank you G-d! I must have had SUPER DENSE bones before the ED and insane Diet Coke addiction took their toll), flawless lung functioning. I eat healthily: my nutritionist once told me that people should eat a healthful, balanced diet 75% of the time, and whatever they want the other 25% of the time. I think that's about where I'm at. Any of my physical problems (lower BP, easily dehydrated, tendency towards orthostatic hypotension, crappy immune system) are due to my history of anorexia and bulimia.
I have friends. I have faith. I have clothes that I look and feel good in. I have a treatment team I can depend on. I have a SELF that I can depend on, too. I am goddamn fine. Technically, obesity refers to body FAT, and I wouldn't really qualify, but since the easy way to figure that out is through BMI, most would just consider me "obese." I'm really NOT okay with THAT. But I am okay with myself.
So why am I writing here about this? Not to complain about my body. To tell you how AWESOME my body is.
I can run miles. I can work do chatturanga after chatturanga after chatturanga during my yoga class. I can carry around babies for hours. I can climb, tumble, and play with the best of the toddlers. I can twist my body into a pretzel, squeeze into small spaces, do headstands and cartwheels. I shop in your standard stores, in the juniors and petites and misses sections, even in the kids section from time to time.
I'm pretty sure that when the NIH developed BMI calculators and split weights into categories, they didn't think that "obese" looked like me. I still have a bit of an eating disordered brain and see myself as "okay" but "definitely overweight." Friends, family, even doctors have told me that I don't "look overweight." So it boggles my mind that I could be considered obese. They do say not to use these calculators for bodybuilders or professional athletes. I'm really neither.
I'm stronger, healthier, and more goddamn attractive than I was 20 or 30 pounds ago. I was always pretty strong. I managed to stay relatively healthy. And I never thought I was that attractive. But in regaining physical and mental health (and a few pounds), I've been able to turn my life around. And around. And around. And around.
I'm somewhere that I never thought possible. RecoverED (not in recoverY) And at a terrifyingly high weight. An "obese" weight. That's not medically unhealthy at all. I have low-normal blood pressure, perfect cholesterol, great bone density (above average, thank you G-d! I must have had SUPER DENSE bones before the ED and insane Diet Coke addiction took their toll), flawless lung functioning. I eat healthily: my nutritionist once told me that people should eat a healthful, balanced diet 75% of the time, and whatever they want the other 25% of the time. I think that's about where I'm at. Any of my physical problems (lower BP, easily dehydrated, tendency towards orthostatic hypotension, crappy immune system) are due to my history of anorexia and bulimia.
I have friends. I have faith. I have clothes that I look and feel good in. I have a treatment team I can depend on. I have a SELF that I can depend on, too. I am goddamn fine. Technically, obesity refers to body FAT, and I wouldn't really qualify, but since the easy way to figure that out is through BMI, most would just consider me "obese." I'm really NOT okay with THAT. But I am okay with myself.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
What are you afraid of?
When someone who doesn't know much about you finds out that you struggle with anxiety, they might ask you what you're anxious about, what you're afraid of.
There are people out there who can explain their fears, phobias, obsessions, and so forth. But then there are people like me, who know that they're anxious but don't even fully know what they're so anxious about. Those workbooks don't always work either. Of course with this baseline level of anxiety, it's easy to get anxious about the little things in life, and those simple CBT exercises can work then, but as far as the basal anxiety, there's no way to explain it. You can't really effectively explain what the fear is, or even how it feels. It's not "being afraid of" something, it's different. You know that there's a difference between anxiety and fear.
When someone tells you, "don't worry," you know that they just don't get it. You're not worrying. Anxiety isn't an action, like worrying. It's a thing. A thing that can overtake you and a thing that can shut you down.
It's also a thing that can be overcome, but personally, I'm still working on that.
One song that we learned while I was in Israel is called "Kol Ha'olam Kulo," also known as "the narrow bridge" song.
The English translation of the song is that the whole world is a very narrow bridge, but the most important thing to remember is to not be afraid, at all.
When you're anxious, it definitely feels like the whole world is a very narrow bridge. One that's missing a few slats. One that might fall apart any minute. One that you have to stay on, somehow, because otherwise you fall in. It's shaky and it's scary and through the anxiety that the bridge builds, we become afraid of falling. The main thing is to not be afraid.
For someone like me, someone who has suffered from an anxiety disorder since age two or earlier, it's a good message. It's not saying to stop being anxious; it's saying to stop being afraid. The world being a narrow bridge basically, to me, says that the things that make us anxious (or that trigger any other negative emotion or feeling or behavior) are inescapable. We can avoid them sometimes but there will always be some. The most important thing we can do for ourselves is to stop letting those triggers affect us. Stop being held back. Stop being afraid - fear isn't going to make the narrow bridge any wider!
Basically, my chronic anxiety will never be fully alleviated. I've come to terms with that, although I know that it can definitely get better and be pretty dormant sometimes. But anxiety is one thing, fear is another. I need to live with my anxiety (and we need to live with the fact that the world is a very narrow bridge) but I need not let it control my life because that will only let it get worse (and we need to remember to not be afraid because that will distract us as we walk across the narrow bridge!).
So. I may not be able to describe what I'm afraid of or what my anxiety feels like, but it's different than fear and yet so tied to this beautiful song about having no fear.
There are people out there who can explain their fears, phobias, obsessions, and so forth. But then there are people like me, who know that they're anxious but don't even fully know what they're so anxious about. Those workbooks don't always work either. Of course with this baseline level of anxiety, it's easy to get anxious about the little things in life, and those simple CBT exercises can work then, but as far as the basal anxiety, there's no way to explain it. You can't really effectively explain what the fear is, or even how it feels. It's not "being afraid of" something, it's different. You know that there's a difference between anxiety and fear.
When someone tells you, "don't worry," you know that they just don't get it. You're not worrying. Anxiety isn't an action, like worrying. It's a thing. A thing that can overtake you and a thing that can shut you down.
It's also a thing that can be overcome, but personally, I'm still working on that.
One song that we learned while I was in Israel is called "Kol Ha'olam Kulo," also known as "the narrow bridge" song.
The English translation of the song is that the whole world is a very narrow bridge, but the most important thing to remember is to not be afraid, at all.
When you're anxious, it definitely feels like the whole world is a very narrow bridge. One that's missing a few slats. One that might fall apart any minute. One that you have to stay on, somehow, because otherwise you fall in. It's shaky and it's scary and through the anxiety that the bridge builds, we become afraid of falling. The main thing is to not be afraid.
For someone like me, someone who has suffered from an anxiety disorder since age two or earlier, it's a good message. It's not saying to stop being anxious; it's saying to stop being afraid. The world being a narrow bridge basically, to me, says that the things that make us anxious (or that trigger any other negative emotion or feeling or behavior) are inescapable. We can avoid them sometimes but there will always be some. The most important thing we can do for ourselves is to stop letting those triggers affect us. Stop being held back. Stop being afraid - fear isn't going to make the narrow bridge any wider!
Basically, my chronic anxiety will never be fully alleviated. I've come to terms with that, although I know that it can definitely get better and be pretty dormant sometimes. But anxiety is one thing, fear is another. I need to live with my anxiety (and we need to live with the fact that the world is a very narrow bridge) but I need not let it control my life because that will only let it get worse (and we need to remember to not be afraid because that will distract us as we walk across the narrow bridge!).
So. I may not be able to describe what I'm afraid of or what my anxiety feels like, but it's different than fear and yet so tied to this beautiful song about having no fear.
Kol Ha'olam kulo
Gesher Tsar me'od
Gesher Tsar me'od
Gesher Tsar me'od -
Kol Ha'olam kulo
Gesher Tsar me'od -
Gesher Tsar me'od.
Veha'ikar - veha'ikar
Lo lefached -
lo lefached klal.
Veha'ikar - veha'ikar
lo lefached klal.
IN ENGLISH:
The whole world
is a very narrow bridge
a very narrow bridge
a very narrow bridge
The whole world
is a very narrow bridge -
A very narrow bridge.
And the main thing to recall -
is not to be afraid -
not to be afraid at all.
And the main thing to recall -
is not to be afraid at all.
כל העולם כולו
גשר צר מאוד
והעיקר, והעיקר
לא לפחד, לא לפחד כלל.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Been there, done that.
It's been a while since I wrote a blog entry. I was actually kind of impressed that people asked/demanded that I write again :)
This is actually something that I wrote after Clinical Practice with Groups class, a class where the "first half" of the class is a simulated group (although the group has taken up almost the entire class time most of the time) that kind of takes on a support group setting. I'm usually an advice-giver in the group more than a seeker. These are my thoughts about being me.
So I feel kind of like the resident nutjob wherever I go. I know that I am open to talking about the fact that I have recovered from eating disorders, and the fact that I am in therapy, because there shoud be no shame in that. But I feel like my psychiatric hospitalization makes me stand out like a scarlet letter. When I feel a panic attack coming on and need to pop an ativan, I wonder if people think I'm taking an advil, getting high, or just taking my prescription meds. When I relate to something someone says in class, I always feel as though I'm divulging information that I shouldn't be sharing with, as Meredith put it, a room full of strangers. Although maybe not so much because they'd judge me, as much as the professor would judge me for still being so "mentally ill" yet ignorantly going in pursuit of this MSW, something that should be reserved for the stable person.
Me? In all honesty, I think I'm pretty stable. I am the go-to person for many of my friends, those whose lives have given them more severe and less severe circumstances than my own. And when I have my own problems, I look to my resources - my treatment team tends to come first, and one or two close friends, but when I need to, I can and do reach out farther, accepting a hug from a classmate when I spent the class period crying, or calling a friend to get me out of my rut. I know more CBT and DBT than most of my professors, and my mostly psychodynamic orientation is a combination of treatment I've received and professors I've had.
The scars on my body are healed, faded, hidden, and more than five years old. The psychiatric hospitalization that traumatized me more than the panic attacks and flashbacks that brought me there, was nearly six months ago now. The advisor who dismissed me as mentally ill and doubted my ability to handle HB3 ( a class in which I know all the answers and have been asked my the professor to first see if other people can figure something out before I give them the answer that I knew all along) is no longer my advisor, no longer a part of my academic career. I will even be re-taking practice I and she will just be a memory. So why do I feel that my diagnoses are showing through? That I have a lot to offer but it all comes out in personal experience. I have nearly two years experience in social work roles. First as a service coordinator for early intervention and then as a counselor for a partial care program for adults with severe and persistent mental illness. I also interned as an undergraduate at a behavioral health rehabilitative services agency, and completed nearly one semester in field placement at Rockland Children's Psychiatric Center. These are my relevant experiences. BA in psychology from SUNY Geneseo. 1.5 years as a resident assistant. These are the things I can feel okay talking about. But the truth is that a lot of my life experience came from outside my "credentials." What happened in that second half a year as an RA? Why did I only complete just shy of one semester at RCPC? Why do I no longer work as a clinical case manager at the job I adored with clients who I miss terribly? The answers to these questions are the ones that are just screaming to come out in class.
But like I said today, will the group think I'm crazy? There's always someone who's crazier and someone who's not as crazy. But someone has to be the ultimate, and what if, in this case, I'm the nut? I know people who have gone through this same program whose issues are worse than mine (in my opinion), who are more impaired by their "mental illnesses" and unfortunate circumstances. But comparison all depends on company and if I am amongst a bunch of relatively sane students, independent students who live on their own far from home, do I become the crazy girl who still lives at home with her parents, who babysits instead of having a field placement, who was in the psychiatric hospital when everyone else was in class.
I guess it all depends on how you present it.
I'm more than a number, a diagnosis, a label. We all are.
If I preface a statement to "I learned this in treatment/in the hospital," will it help or hurt my credibility? It's something that I have to judge individually in each situation. And something that we can misjudge, no matter how carefully we made that decision.
Self-disclosure with clients and self-disclosure with peers are distinctly different.
This is actually something that I wrote after Clinical Practice with Groups class, a class where the "first half" of the class is a simulated group (although the group has taken up almost the entire class time most of the time) that kind of takes on a support group setting. I'm usually an advice-giver in the group more than a seeker. These are my thoughts about being me.
So I feel kind of like the resident nutjob wherever I go. I know that I am open to talking about the fact that I have recovered from eating disorders, and the fact that I am in therapy, because there shoud be no shame in that. But I feel like my psychiatric hospitalization makes me stand out like a scarlet letter. When I feel a panic attack coming on and need to pop an ativan, I wonder if people think I'm taking an advil, getting high, or just taking my prescription meds. When I relate to something someone says in class, I always feel as though I'm divulging information that I shouldn't be sharing with, as Meredith put it, a room full of strangers. Although maybe not so much because they'd judge me, as much as the professor would judge me for still being so "mentally ill" yet ignorantly going in pursuit of this MSW, something that should be reserved for the stable person.
Me? In all honesty, I think I'm pretty stable. I am the go-to person for many of my friends, those whose lives have given them more severe and less severe circumstances than my own. And when I have my own problems, I look to my resources - my treatment team tends to come first, and one or two close friends, but when I need to, I can and do reach out farther, accepting a hug from a classmate when I spent the class period crying, or calling a friend to get me out of my rut. I know more CBT and DBT than most of my professors, and my mostly psychodynamic orientation is a combination of treatment I've received and professors I've had.
The scars on my body are healed, faded, hidden, and more than five years old. The psychiatric hospitalization that traumatized me more than the panic attacks and flashbacks that brought me there, was nearly six months ago now. The advisor who dismissed me as mentally ill and doubted my ability to handle HB3 ( a class in which I know all the answers and have been asked my the professor to first see if other people can figure something out before I give them the answer that I knew all along) is no longer my advisor, no longer a part of my academic career. I will even be re-taking practice I and she will just be a memory. So why do I feel that my diagnoses are showing through? That I have a lot to offer but it all comes out in personal experience. I have nearly two years experience in social work roles. First as a service coordinator for early intervention and then as a counselor for a partial care program for adults with severe and persistent mental illness. I also interned as an undergraduate at a behavioral health rehabilitative services agency, and completed nearly one semester in field placement at Rockland Children's Psychiatric Center. These are my relevant experiences. BA in psychology from SUNY Geneseo. 1.5 years as a resident assistant. These are the things I can feel okay talking about. But the truth is that a lot of my life experience came from outside my "credentials." What happened in that second half a year as an RA? Why did I only complete just shy of one semester at RCPC? Why do I no longer work as a clinical case manager at the job I adored with clients who I miss terribly? The answers to these questions are the ones that are just screaming to come out in class.
But like I said today, will the group think I'm crazy? There's always someone who's crazier and someone who's not as crazy. But someone has to be the ultimate, and what if, in this case, I'm the nut? I know people who have gone through this same program whose issues are worse than mine (in my opinion), who are more impaired by their "mental illnesses" and unfortunate circumstances. But comparison all depends on company and if I am amongst a bunch of relatively sane students, independent students who live on their own far from home, do I become the crazy girl who still lives at home with her parents, who babysits instead of having a field placement, who was in the psychiatric hospital when everyone else was in class.
I guess it all depends on how you present it.
I'm more than a number, a diagnosis, a label. We all are.
If I preface a statement to "I learned this in treatment/in the hospital," will it help or hurt my credibility? It's something that I have to judge individually in each situation. And something that we can misjudge, no matter how carefully we made that decision.
Self-disclosure with clients and self-disclosure with peers are distinctly different.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Meg Dalton.
I had an idea of a post I was going to write. It was going to be a combination of a couple of different ideas, and it integrated my good friend Meg Dalton. But I decided that I didn't like that post idea. I had already told Meg that I would write about her, though, and now she wants her post :) I've decided, though, that instead of integrating Meg into one of my posts, I'm going to integrate a post into Meg. A few various concepts.
1. Unexpected Friendships
Who would have thought that the little drunk girl who visited Chelsea at CEDC while I wanted to nap would be someone who I have maintained a long-lasting and important bond with today!? I never thought so. When she added me on Facebook, it took a little while for me to figure out who she was! We began to talk more regularly and soon became integral part of each other's days. I've found that unexpected friendships are some of the best ones that I've come across. Of course I have friends from childhood, friends from high school and college, from work and grad school, but the unexpected friendships are the ones that have generally been stronger. Those friendships aren't built out of convenience. In fact, it takes a lot more to make them work. You don't see each other every day. You don't slowly learn about each other. You kind of just immerse yourself in the other's world by reading their facebook wall, and by texting back and forth about your days. They happen, when this person stays in your life after those other 50 "random friends" you've added on facebook disappear from your mind and your life. Meg Dalton is not my only unexpected friendship, but she definitely is a reminder that you never know where you're going to find one of those people who you don't know how you ever lived without.
2. Watching someone genuinely struggle (really truly fighting) when you're not isn't so much triggering as it is both scary and empowering.
When you're the one struggling, as scary as it may be, and as close to death as you might be told you are, you know somewhere deep down that it really is in your hands. But when it's someone else, especially someone who you've grown to care about, it's scarier because there is - in many ways - nothing you can do. Sure, you can offer support and friendship, but you can't fix them, and you can't convince them that they can get better, that they need to get better. Meg was already struggling when I met her. At first, I didn't know if she had a full-blown eating disorder or if she was just messing around with it, but I soon learned that she was fully entrenched in it. Every time Meg was admitted into the hospital, I could breathe easier, and every time she came home and decided it wasn't worth it to try, I waited for the day when she stopped answering my text messages because she was dead. Thank God, that day has not come. But the fear, it was so real.
Empowering, I said, too. It can be empowering. Kind of like being a big sister. Actually, a LOT like being a big sister. As much as you want to wear diapers and sleep in the crib again, it's a "look what I can do! I can wear underwear and sleep in a big bed!" Like a big sister asking mommy if she can have a crib again too, we think, "hmm, maybe it'd be better/easier/simpler if I were back in the hospital/if I were starving/if I stopped fighting this." But when we DON'T reach for the bottle or the pacifier, when we don't resort back to our outgrown coping mechanisms, we might continue to struggle, but we feel this twinge of pride as we walk on, as we live full lives. And like a big sister, we hope -no, we KNOW- that our little sister will be able to walk like us, to read and write and talk and be a big girl, just like we are. Just like how I knew Meg would be able to move forward as well. I didn't know how or when it would happen but I knew she had it in her. And she's not the only one.
3. Being Real
I could write for hours about being real, but at the same time, I don't know if I need to. So I won't say too much. I know a big part of my problems come from repressing myself - my words, my art, my thoughts, my body my appetite. However, Meg Dalton is my "being real" outlet. We talk about happy and sad things, bodily functions and food. I need to tell someone that I'm farting like crazy or burping up chik'n nuggets. I know it keeps me sane.
4. Turnaround
Perhaps the most amazing thing about Meg is something that I did not come to know until recently. I had most certainly caught glimpses of the person that Meg is underneath her eating disorder, but I had never really come to know that part of her. After spending a few hours with her at the end of her residential treatment, I met with my therapist and just cried about how happy she made me. Not only to see that she is happy-ish and healthier, but this person who came out of her who was just more there than ever. Kind of like a "glow" except it was inside and out, and it was like meeting an old friend for the first time, if that makes any sense. Like, I think about a couple of moments and just see rainbows and butterflies in my mind. I always want to hug her and not let her go, but now I know that I can let her go because she'll be there next time. Life is a constant journey. I won't stop growing, progressing, changing, and working through life until I'm dead. And neither will Meg. Her recovery is only beginning, as is mine. I might have two years of recovery on her, and four years of life, but in the grand scheme of things, we are just two young people who have a lot ahead of us and we're lucky - in some ways - to have gone through what we have, because we're that much better prepared for the future. I don't know how people can enter adulthood without having gone through massive amounts of therapy, honestly. But I know I'm ready, and I think that soon she'll be ready too. I believe that one day, 65 years from now, Meg and I will be old ladies sitting on the couch with our blankies and our kitties, watching SVU and looking back at the old-fashioned ways we used to communicate, like BBM and facebook.
Summer 2009
(I wish there were a better pic but the other one of us both is in a hospital bed...)
1. Unexpected Friendships
Who would have thought that the little drunk girl who visited Chelsea at CEDC while I wanted to nap would be someone who I have maintained a long-lasting and important bond with today!? I never thought so. When she added me on Facebook, it took a little while for me to figure out who she was! We began to talk more regularly and soon became integral part of each other's days. I've found that unexpected friendships are some of the best ones that I've come across. Of course I have friends from childhood, friends from high school and college, from work and grad school, but the unexpected friendships are the ones that have generally been stronger. Those friendships aren't built out of convenience. In fact, it takes a lot more to make them work. You don't see each other every day. You don't slowly learn about each other. You kind of just immerse yourself in the other's world by reading their facebook wall, and by texting back and forth about your days. They happen, when this person stays in your life after those other 50 "random friends" you've added on facebook disappear from your mind and your life. Meg Dalton is not my only unexpected friendship, but she definitely is a reminder that you never know where you're going to find one of those people who you don't know how you ever lived without.
2. Watching someone genuinely struggle (really truly fighting) when you're not isn't so much triggering as it is both scary and empowering.
When you're the one struggling, as scary as it may be, and as close to death as you might be told you are, you know somewhere deep down that it really is in your hands. But when it's someone else, especially someone who you've grown to care about, it's scarier because there is - in many ways - nothing you can do. Sure, you can offer support and friendship, but you can't fix them, and you can't convince them that they can get better, that they need to get better. Meg was already struggling when I met her. At first, I didn't know if she had a full-blown eating disorder or if she was just messing around with it, but I soon learned that she was fully entrenched in it. Every time Meg was admitted into the hospital, I could breathe easier, and every time she came home and decided it wasn't worth it to try, I waited for the day when she stopped answering my text messages because she was dead. Thank God, that day has not come. But the fear, it was so real.
Empowering, I said, too. It can be empowering. Kind of like being a big sister. Actually, a LOT like being a big sister. As much as you want to wear diapers and sleep in the crib again, it's a "look what I can do! I can wear underwear and sleep in a big bed!" Like a big sister asking mommy if she can have a crib again too, we think, "hmm, maybe it'd be better/easier/simpler if I were back in the hospital/if I were starving/if I stopped fighting this." But when we DON'T reach for the bottle or the pacifier, when we don't resort back to our outgrown coping mechanisms, we might continue to struggle, but we feel this twinge of pride as we walk on, as we live full lives. And like a big sister, we hope -no, we KNOW- that our little sister will be able to walk like us, to read and write and talk and be a big girl, just like we are. Just like how I knew Meg would be able to move forward as well. I didn't know how or when it would happen but I knew she had it in her. And she's not the only one.
3. Being Real
I could write for hours about being real, but at the same time, I don't know if I need to. So I won't say too much. I know a big part of my problems come from repressing myself - my words, my art, my thoughts, my body my appetite. However, Meg Dalton is my "being real" outlet. We talk about happy and sad things, bodily functions and food. I need to tell someone that I'm farting like crazy or burping up chik'n nuggets. I know it keeps me sane.
4. Turnaround
Perhaps the most amazing thing about Meg is something that I did not come to know until recently. I had most certainly caught glimpses of the person that Meg is underneath her eating disorder, but I had never really come to know that part of her. After spending a few hours with her at the end of her residential treatment, I met with my therapist and just cried about how happy she made me. Not only to see that she is happy-ish and healthier, but this person who came out of her who was just more there than ever. Kind of like a "glow" except it was inside and out, and it was like meeting an old friend for the first time, if that makes any sense. Like, I think about a couple of moments and just see rainbows and butterflies in my mind. I always want to hug her and not let her go, but now I know that I can let her go because she'll be there next time. Life is a constant journey. I won't stop growing, progressing, changing, and working through life until I'm dead. And neither will Meg. Her recovery is only beginning, as is mine. I might have two years of recovery on her, and four years of life, but in the grand scheme of things, we are just two young people who have a lot ahead of us and we're lucky - in some ways - to have gone through what we have, because we're that much better prepared for the future. I don't know how people can enter adulthood without having gone through massive amounts of therapy, honestly. But I know I'm ready, and I think that soon she'll be ready too. I believe that one day, 65 years from now, Meg and I will be old ladies sitting on the couch with our blankies and our kitties, watching SVU and looking back at the old-fashioned ways we used to communicate, like BBM and facebook.
Summer 2009
(I wish there were a better pic but the other one of us both is in a hospital bed...)
Monday, February 1, 2010
Adventures in Babysitting
I've heard it said many times that having babies makes women appreciate their bodies. This just boggled my mind for the longest time, probably because I still have never been through it.
However, just spending time with a little 3-month-old baby girl, A, lately, has helped me to appreciate my own body.
Why?
Baby A smiled at me today for the first time. She was laying on me napping, then started to cry. Usually when she starts to cry, you need to pick her up and walk around, bouncing her up and down, and patting her back. I was so tired of doing that though and decided to see if something else would work. I put Baby A's feet on my tummy and started bouncing her. Not only did she smile, but she giggled! We bounced together and giggled and made silly faces. If my tummy didn't bounce, Baby A and I would never have had that fun bonding experience where we laughed and smiled together.
I definitely have wide hips. I don't mean this in an "OMG my hips are so fat" kind of way as much as I mean, "my hipbones cover a great width." On top of that, I do carry a fair amount of my body fat on my hips. And, I hate it. I look at my "love handles" and "muffin tops" in the mirror, look at how wide I am, and try to wear long shirts to cover it up. As I mentioned, Baby A needs to be walked around when she cries. She likes to be held all the time, likes to be moving, and likes to be close to your heart. Well, I definitely am thankful for my upper body strength, because at about 12 pounds, Baby A is not an itty bitty baby anymore. But even my strong chatturanga arms need some help. Luckily, I have hips - one on either side of my body - that help me keep Baby A lifted up even when I think my arms might be giving out.
Breasts. Pretty much every woman either loves them or hates them. They're too big or too small. Me? I've always been pretty content with mine. Neither too big nor too small, although the twisted voice inside of me says that they - like everything else - should always be smaller. Nothing reinforced the wrongness of that voice like the way Baby A's head rests perfectly alongside my breast. Really, if they weren't there, and weren't that size, she might suffocate. But it helps me to hold her at the perfect angle. Helps her to comfortably nap - and it's convenient that she can hear my heartbeat right there too. It even helps ME to comfortably relax while she naps.
And my height. I've never been particularly bothered by my height, although finding jeans is difficult, and actually, finding sweats or yoga pants that are the appropriate length is even more difficult. But Baby A's mom and I are the same height. This makes it easier for her to adjust to a different caregiver - still having the same shape body to hang on to. It also makes it easier for me to pass Baby A to her mother while she's still sleeping - she barely has to adjust her positioning at all, and just continues her nap on mommy when I have to leave.
When a baby holds onto you, sleeps on you, drools on you, and just shows that she needs you, and everything that your body can do that she can't yet, it puts things into perspective. You don't need to pull down your shirt to hide your "fat that's sticking out," especially since no one can see it, and also since changing position would wake the baby up. You don't need to have washboard abs or a flat belly, because who wants to bounce on a hardwood floor or, well, a washboard? No baby that I know. Keep it human! You don't need bigger, firmer, smaller, or non-existent breasts in order to be perfect, or just in order to fit into that shirt. You need to find a better shirt that fits you because the way you are is important to someone else. If you can't be important enough for you, find someone else. That's advice that I give a lot. Of course, you should be your own #1 motivator, but if you're not, it doesn't hurt to give someone else, even an infant, that role until you can find it on your own.
All this from a few hours of babysitting. I can only imagine what nine months of pregnancy (not to mention the process of raising a child after birth!) can do to your perception.
However, just spending time with a little 3-month-old baby girl, A, lately, has helped me to appreciate my own body.
Why?
Baby A smiled at me today for the first time. She was laying on me napping, then started to cry. Usually when she starts to cry, you need to pick her up and walk around, bouncing her up and down, and patting her back. I was so tired of doing that though and decided to see if something else would work. I put Baby A's feet on my tummy and started bouncing her. Not only did she smile, but she giggled! We bounced together and giggled and made silly faces. If my tummy didn't bounce, Baby A and I would never have had that fun bonding experience where we laughed and smiled together.
I definitely have wide hips. I don't mean this in an "OMG my hips are so fat" kind of way as much as I mean, "my hipbones cover a great width." On top of that, I do carry a fair amount of my body fat on my hips. And, I hate it. I look at my "love handles" and "muffin tops" in the mirror, look at how wide I am, and try to wear long shirts to cover it up. As I mentioned, Baby A needs to be walked around when she cries. She likes to be held all the time, likes to be moving, and likes to be close to your heart. Well, I definitely am thankful for my upper body strength, because at about 12 pounds, Baby A is not an itty bitty baby anymore. But even my strong chatturanga arms need some help. Luckily, I have hips - one on either side of my body - that help me keep Baby A lifted up even when I think my arms might be giving out.
Breasts. Pretty much every woman either loves them or hates them. They're too big or too small. Me? I've always been pretty content with mine. Neither too big nor too small, although the twisted voice inside of me says that they - like everything else - should always be smaller. Nothing reinforced the wrongness of that voice like the way Baby A's head rests perfectly alongside my breast. Really, if they weren't there, and weren't that size, she might suffocate. But it helps me to hold her at the perfect angle. Helps her to comfortably nap - and it's convenient that she can hear my heartbeat right there too. It even helps ME to comfortably relax while she naps.
And my height. I've never been particularly bothered by my height, although finding jeans is difficult, and actually, finding sweats or yoga pants that are the appropriate length is even more difficult. But Baby A's mom and I are the same height. This makes it easier for her to adjust to a different caregiver - still having the same shape body to hang on to. It also makes it easier for me to pass Baby A to her mother while she's still sleeping - she barely has to adjust her positioning at all, and just continues her nap on mommy when I have to leave.
When a baby holds onto you, sleeps on you, drools on you, and just shows that she needs you, and everything that your body can do that she can't yet, it puts things into perspective. You don't need to pull down your shirt to hide your "fat that's sticking out," especially since no one can see it, and also since changing position would wake the baby up. You don't need to have washboard abs or a flat belly, because who wants to bounce on a hardwood floor or, well, a washboard? No baby that I know. Keep it human! You don't need bigger, firmer, smaller, or non-existent breasts in order to be perfect, or just in order to fit into that shirt. You need to find a better shirt that fits you because the way you are is important to someone else. If you can't be important enough for you, find someone else. That's advice that I give a lot. Of course, you should be your own #1 motivator, but if you're not, it doesn't hurt to give someone else, even an infant, that role until you can find it on your own.
All this from a few hours of babysitting. I can only imagine what nine months of pregnancy (not to mention the process of raising a child after birth!) can do to your perception.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Morals, Values, and God...?
I saw the movie To Save a Life today. I didn't realize that it would have such a religious undercurrent to it - being "saved" and stuff. I didn't necessarily judge the movie based on that, but it did give me some interesting thoughts about society. Actually, I was having thoughts that were somewhat related to this before the movie.
Why does it seem like, in this day and age, it's so rare to see someone who has strong morals and values that they hold true to, unless they are religious?
I am by no means a religious person, although I have becoming more spiritual and even maybe developing a desire to become more religious recently. I do, however, think that I am and always have been a very moral and ethical person, with strong values. Of course, many of my friends from Catholic school disagree with a lot of my values and would say that this post is stupid but I don't care.
What I'm getting at, though, is how people treat people. Why did it take a church youth group to bring a feeling of welcomeness at a high school, even after the suicide of an outcast? Why does the protagonist of To Save a Life find God before being able to treat people with respect?
Why can't we find it within ourselves to treat others with love and respect? I don't care if you're old or young, stupid or brilliant, gorgeous or ugly, black or white, I will treat you with love and respect. I'm completely human and have many flaws, and DO judge people internally, but I refuse to let my judgments - which I am trying to change but haven't totally been able to - impact the way I treat people. You might call that fake, but I call it ME. I won't pretend to think you're the most amazing person in the world if I just don't like you, but I will give you the time of day. I will be there if you need to talk. I will donate money if I have it and an organization is legit. I will donate time to a cause I believe in.
I'm not doing this for God. I'm not sure who God is, or what, or where. All I know is, I'm doing it for me.
(of course, my belief is leaning towards the fact that God is inside everyone, so perhaps it is God. Perhaps God is what drives good things, but maybe God is just a synonym for the charge of positive energy and love. I don't know if I believe in God as a person-ish thing, but if God is energy and love and respect coming from one and channeled to another, then I guess you could say that I am sure that I believe)
** Funny thing is, this post was kind of taking a very non-religious standpoint... "Why do we need to use religion as a reason to be nice to people? Why can't we just treat people well without doing it because we want to go to Heaven, we fear God and don't want to get on his bad side, etc? Why can't we all just realize that as humans we are all inherently equally deserving of everything?" and yet, I kind of surprised myself at the end.
Why does it seem like, in this day and age, it's so rare to see someone who has strong morals and values that they hold true to, unless they are religious?
I am by no means a religious person, although I have becoming more spiritual and even maybe developing a desire to become more religious recently. I do, however, think that I am and always have been a very moral and ethical person, with strong values. Of course, many of my friends from Catholic school disagree with a lot of my values and would say that this post is stupid but I don't care.
What I'm getting at, though, is how people treat people. Why did it take a church youth group to bring a feeling of welcomeness at a high school, even after the suicide of an outcast? Why does the protagonist of To Save a Life find God before being able to treat people with respect?
Why can't we find it within ourselves to treat others with love and respect? I don't care if you're old or young, stupid or brilliant, gorgeous or ugly, black or white, I will treat you with love and respect. I'm completely human and have many flaws, and DO judge people internally, but I refuse to let my judgments - which I am trying to change but haven't totally been able to - impact the way I treat people. You might call that fake, but I call it ME. I won't pretend to think you're the most amazing person in the world if I just don't like you, but I will give you the time of day. I will be there if you need to talk. I will donate money if I have it and an organization is legit. I will donate time to a cause I believe in.
I'm not doing this for God. I'm not sure who God is, or what, or where. All I know is, I'm doing it for me.
(of course, my belief is leaning towards the fact that God is inside everyone, so perhaps it is God. Perhaps God is what drives good things, but maybe God is just a synonym for the charge of positive energy and love. I don't know if I believe in God as a person-ish thing, but if God is energy and love and respect coming from one and channeled to another, then I guess you could say that I am sure that I believe)
** Funny thing is, this post was kind of taking a very non-religious standpoint... "Why do we need to use religion as a reason to be nice to people? Why can't we just treat people well without doing it because we want to go to Heaven, we fear God and don't want to get on his bad side, etc? Why can't we all just realize that as humans we are all inherently equally deserving of everything?" and yet, I kind of surprised myself at the end.
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