Sharing stories

I love stories.  I love to tell stories, love to hear stories and love to remember stories.  My dad used to have us stand on the bricks of the fireplace and tell an account of our day.  He made a rule that if we made any pregnant pauses or said “umm”, we had to start over from the very beginning.  I always started the same way, “I woke up at X:XXam, and umm…”  Buzz!  “I woke up at X:XXam, got out of bed, went to the bathroom, went back to change my clothes, and umm…”  Buzz!  I remember making such an effort to get at least one step further every time before I had to restart. I normally began laughing or was distracted by comments being made from the peanut gallery that I’m really not all that sure I ever finished recounting a day.  I also feel like we did this exercise a lot but maybe it was only a few times.  I just remember it really clearly because it was such a great challenge.  One summer we all had to earn $100 in spending money to take on a trip to Hawaii.  My sister did so and then spent very little of that $100 while we were on vacation.  My dad had her stand on the bricks to tell us why she didn’t spend her money when my brother and I had.  While I don’t remember a word she said, I remember laughing hysterically watching her up there. 

In my active alcoholism and addictions my daily goal was to just get ‘there’, meaning anywhere but where I was.  The strange thing about it though, was that once I was ‘there’, the goal remained the same… get me anywhere but here.  So the cycle went.  This cycle was the beginning of the end of my drinking and using.  My drinking, eating and insert behavior here just stopped working.  No amount of anything could keep me out of me, and I just wanted me to disappear.  Obviously, quite a contrast to the type of escape I get from hearing stories, but I just can’t imagine a better high than laughing so hard my sides split, my eyes water and I lose my breath so badly that I start coughing before I can regain control. 

So, the reason I bring this up is that last week my sister, brother-in-law, mom, dad, husband and I were all in my parents’ kitchen last week, when the retelling of my many ‘wake up fits’ began.  My sister has the imitation of me down so well that it brings the whole event to life all over again.  This time she was focused in on an evening that I woke up at around 7 and frantically ran into the kitchen.  I was getting out cereal and milk and slamming my bowl down on the sink when my mom or dad asked me what I was doing.  Completed exasperated, I screamed back “WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT AM I DOING I’M TRYING TO EAT BREAKFAST AND I’M TOTALLY GOING TO FAIL MY TEST TODAY CAUSE I DIDN’T STUDY CAUSE I FELL ASLEEP I’M GOING TO FAIL!  WHAT DO YOU MEAN WHAT AM I DOING??!!!”  Family member, “Fran…”.  “YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND I’M GOING TO FAIL!!” “Fran, it’s 7 o’clock at night, not in the morning”.  “WHAT WHAT?!”  I was still waking up so it didn’t sink in instantly, but several more moments and it clicked that my dad was home and they were eating dinner.  As my sister reenacted the scene, we all broke into fits of laughter.  What a great feeling.  On the way home, I just kept getting the giggles seeing images of her playing the whole thing through and then experience the laughter all over again as my husband was playing her imitation over with me later. 

Stories give me perspective. They allow me to laugh at myself and at things once heavy and consuming.  They remind me of the value that every moment can hold.  They show me another side of my friends and family.  They reveal my own growth and the strength and love of others.   They take me to another place and my emotions and thoughts shift completely. Tell your story.  Listen to the stories of others.  Take it from me, it’s tough to find a better experience. 

A MIRACLE IN DISGUISE - well not really but seems I was fooled!

Been gone a while… and now I’m pregnant.  My last post was dated December 21^st 2012.  I found out I was pregnant on December 26^th.  Now I’m 22 weeks pregnant, and my oh my has it been a journey thus far!  I don’t like being pregnant.  I don’t understand women that say they enjoy it.  All that seemed to happen in the first five months was that I became even more incredibly sensitive than is normal for me (scary, seriously), felt sick all the time, got major gas I couldn’t control, my joints began to hurt terribly and feel somehow bruised inside, and my body image tanked.  Saying I ‘felt  fat’ was a gross understatement.  There have been some recent upturns.  A couple weeks ago I found out we’re having a girl.  My husband’s reaction to this has been classic.  I’ve thought many times about suggesting he enact a self ban from the internet and all things teenage girl horror story related.  It’s awesome and hilarious to watch his stages of panic to acceptance and back again, and I’m enjoying not being the only one a little sensitive these days.  So that was highlight #1.  Highlight #2 was the baby beginning to kick.  It’s really cool!  For a while I was having daymares and nightmares that she wasn’t alive or that I lost the baby, but since the kicking began my nightmares have turned a different tune.  Yes, I still get very strange nightmares all having to do with my own personal preservation but no more about losing the baby.  I’m grateful for that!   So that ends my highlight section.  Hahaha, like I said I’m not yet a woman who would claim to enjoy pregnancy.  I do ponder at the miracle of it all.  I have surreal moments where I just can’t believe my life shows the picture it does.  More importantly that I am experiencing life the way I am today.  It’s just baffling!   A miracle indeed!  Around my recovery community, I watch people get sober, experience a revival of virtues, become participants in life again and discover and rediscover relationships.  I am a part of this community and what I observe in others has happened to me.  A little over four years ago I had a really small God reserved only for begging to in the most desperate moments or thanking in the best of the best times, a feeling of utter isolation and hopelessness, zero confidence in my talents or ability to be successful, and my gut had such a gaping hole in it that I worried I may just be swallowed up into an abyss of despair.  Presently, I have I great big God walking me through every moment, a husband by my side, a loving and supportive family, a community of support, hobbies to pursue, passions to live out and a baby in my belly.  What???????????!!!!!!!!!!  Okay, okay maybe being a pregnant, sober, loved, blessed mommy isn’t so bad. 

Man, now I read that back to myself and realize I better get off my pity pot in a hurry!  I mean seriously Fran, talk about luxury problems.  Now here’s to all the pregnant mom’s that walk with grace instead of a waddle and a moan, who recognize the miracle they are carrying and share that blessing with the rest of the world.  My hat is off to you!  Here’s also to the pregnant mom’s who bitch and complain and take out their ever charging hormonal swings on their loved ones.  We also carry a miracle and I know deep down in all of us, we know this and will celebrate… one day.  I’m with you.  Just for today though, maybe we can try one thing differently and say thank you to all the folks that have to hear all the negative crap about the most positive gift we’re carrying.  Thank you husband, mom, dad, sister, brother, family, friend, co-worker, doctor.  Thank you.  :)

  In Gratitude.

Learning learning learning

While I've been away...

I have been learning and learning and learning and learning with change.  So much has been brought to my plate and I have gotten overwhelmed, frustrated and slightly depressed at times.  Each time I have hit an emotional wall, I have looked deep within myself and found I am okay.  So, I get back on the horse and continue learning.  That's the overview of the past month and a half or so.  There's really not much more to tell than that, minus the colorful background stories.  So here's the filler...

I got a new job and have been in my new role for over a month now.  It's a lot of the same daily duties as my last job, but a completely different schedule and company culture.  So far I hate it and am totally stressed out.  I have broken down four times at work.  Eeek!  Three of those breakdowns happened in front of people, including both my supervisors.  Being the crier I am, those moments have been super embarrassing.  I'm good at what I am doing and people seem to value what I'm adding, although I haven't settled in enough to do what I was hired to do.   The job provides stability and possibilities for future family making so yay.  Experience tells me it will be all good whether I come to like the job or not, so I am just walking through the new of it right now.  I finally got my second neck surgery scheduled.  It's in a week and a half!  I am really nervous and super excited at the same time.  I am so tired of being in pain all day, every day.  I don't handle it well, but I am told no one really handles chronic pain all that well.  The moments i crumble are times when I really believe that I can't do it anymore and that doing anything that day is just too much.  Getting up and going to work and meetings and family fun are completely unfathomable.  So I panic in the form of a temper tantrum of some sort with tears and snapping and yells.  It takes about thirty minutes or so for prayer to come to mind as an option and a couple more for meditation to come in the mix.  When they do and I use them, I begin to breathe normally again and feel comforted by all the love inside me and in my life.  I realize I am blessed and protected and finally I know I can successfully face the day.  Sounds rough I know, but it works for now.  I celebrated some of my new employee benefits with fun trips with family and friends and some days of self spoiling.  Let's see... we had a big family day that rocked, a couple of niece and nephew movie days, some camping and hiking, dive season is starting up new captains and all, one of my dear friends relapsed into drugs but came back alive and wants sobriety again, I found an awesome women's group that I feel at home in, I knitted my first teddy bear, my husband got me flowers on a whim atop all his cooking and cleaning for us everyday. 

So all this and I just feel like I'm on the learning train.  My life is full and amazing and changing!  I believe change opts me to learn or crumble.  I'm blessed to have the continued desire and stamina to learn through change.  So here's what I think I have learned or am learning through the last months:

1. Humility may just save my career and my relationships
2. I must make time for silliness
3. Exercise is a huge asset to my recovery
4. I need to say thank you without criticism attached on either end
5. Quiet time is essential to enabling me to feel peaceful and spiritually connected
6. Crafts are a good therapeutic outlet for me
7. Singing out loud or dancing inspires joy in me
8. It helps to assume people at work are cool with me until they show me otherwise
9. I'm smart and resilient
10. When it feels like to much, I can remember yesterday felt that way too and I've made it to today, so I'm already doing what I don't think I can.

      BONUS: God's got me no matter what, no matter what.

No Film

Keeping on the theme of my awesome nephew, my newest little buddy was baptized this past weekend.  What an amazing deal!  I’m telling you, I’m still blown away.  I was the camera girl, and I felt honored as usual in being asked to help.  I wonder when the novelty of being trusted with responsibility is going to wear off?  I hope never!  When everyone left for the church and I was left behind with my husband, I did have a moment of panic as physical pain and exhaustion took over.  I cried a few overwhelmed tears and took some medicine before I could join everyone at the church.  When I did, I was overwhelmed in a very different way.

Family and friends showed up in the usual rowdy fashion.  I got that old nervous feeling that we might get into trouble or insult someone for making so much noise inside the church.  That passed rather quickly though as I saw that the laughter, the hugs, the kisses and the play were nothing short of heavenly.  We, as a community, were lifting all that joy up to God.  It just kept getting better and better: the neighbor kids embracing one another; my nephew playing with dad between, under and over the pews; my young cousins reuniting and lining up excited and thrilled to be together in one long row; the priest processing in with both families of the soon to be baptized children to the tune of “He’s Got the Whole World in His Hands”; the proud Godparents smiling down at my beautiful nephew as the sacrament of baptism was performed; the sign of the cross being made on my nephew’s teensy two year old forehead by his parents, godparents, grandparents, aunts and big sister; my 3 ½ year old niece making the sign of the cross on her brother’s forehead with no knowledge of what that meant, but displaying all its depth with her simple desire to share the moment with him; both my niece and nephew crawling all over the pews, trying to be quiet and watching their brother take the spotlight (they don’t like that one bit!).  All of it was just so beautiful.  Then, to really bring it all home, the priest raised my nephew up in front of the altar, nice and high, over his head in awesome celebration.  We all swooned and awed at the magnificence of our newest family member.  A feeling of limitless love filled me as I shared all of this with my dearest of family and friends.

 

I got such great camera shots of all of this.  I mean, great shots.  I was really on top of it.  People were posing for me, asking for a copy to be sent to them later on, and giving me thumbs up as I clicked away.  And then I realized, there was no memory card in the camera.  I had taken it out that morning to print some pictures for house decorations for the reception after the ceremony.  This is one of those cameras that does NOT save any pictures on the hard drive.  They just don’t exist.  So bummed!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  I had pictures of all those moments digitally captured!  I was so sad and apologized profusely to just about everyone.  Of course, they all said it was no big deal and we’d just collect shots of the day from a bunch of other folks and make a collection.  Okay, I agreed, but mine were so good!! Hahahaha.

For lack of words... or pictures!

Now that a few days have passed and I look back on Sunday, I just know I do not need pictures to remember the inspiring love I felt inside that church.  In fact, the power of it seems to have grown.  What a gift to have my spirit so lifted.  There is no picture that could capture that.  It is magnificent, awesome, beautiful and infinite.  My heart and spirit are so full, and they will remember that day forever. 

To love freely...

I am incredibly tired today so I am a bit off but decided I had better blog anyway so as not to let this writer’s muscle of mine wither too much.  I have probably already passed that mark but here we go anyway…

It is a pretty amazing time for my family, and I am still a little overwhelmed to be a part of it.  My sister returned home from China a few weeks ago where she was adopting her third child, my new nephew.  An elaborate babysitting schedule was laid out by my sister and bro-in-law before she left, as my niece and nephew had to stay back in the states with working dad.  I took on a few days of babysitting, and my husband and I got to cook some meals for the gang.  I was filled with such a powerful sense of purpose that I really loved every bit.  My bro-in-law did a great job keeping mom and kids connected via Skype and even wrote a daily blog to loop in the extended family.  My new nephew is home now, and he’s a total rockstar!  There’s absolutely no question that he knows mom and dad and siblings are his.  It just blows me away, like it was meant to be and his heart just knows. 

I cannot even begin to understand what my nephew is thinking and feeling inside that little body of his.  I do like to guess at it though. :)   He seems a bit confused as to who I am and what’s going on sometimes, but that’s to be expected since he’s two years old and EVERYTHING JUST CHANGED.  He maintains a pretty fierce look for the most part with occasions of tears and more of brilliantly joyful smiles.  He has the coolest smile.  His whole face lights up!  Overall, I imagine a crazy amount of determination working inside him.  I project that his efforts are to focus, to understand, to communicate, to get fed (he really loves food!), to connect with mom and dad, and to explore his siblings.  I also wonder what he is feeling, aside from what he’s thinking, and simply have no clue.  I hope to spend more and more time knowing and loving him, but for now the mystery that is him is more than magnificent.

JUST FOR TODAY, 
I will love abundantly.

My reflections today really started, and end now, with my wanting to fix my relationship with a particular someone.  Let’s call this person Amanda.  I want control over what she thinks AND feels about me.  I want her to love me and trust me and confide in me the way she did a decade ago.  The wreckage of my past just slaps me right in the face some days, usually on the days I least expect it!!!  The thing is that I just don’t know what’s going on inside Amanda’s head and heart.  Unlike my new little nephew, I have a history with her and have decided some things based on that history.  She should forgive me.  She should believe I have changed.  She should know I love her and want her in my life.  She should reciprocate all my feelings.  As I write that I realize that what throws me is not that Amanda doesn’t meet all the ‘shoulds’, but that I just don’t know.  I feel lonely and scared- very different from the love and joy and hope I feel when watching my nephew without knowing.  I check myself with other people on this, and I find support in their feedback and find a greater love for Amanda in all her stubbornness and quirkiness.  The hurt remains of course, but hope is gained.  I believe and know I am taken care of and surrounded by the love of friends, family and God.  I would like some answers to emerge, and I would like even more for those answers to include Amanda and I becoming as close as we once were.  For now, I don’t have any answers so what can I do?  Probably nothing...  sitting still stinks.  Haha!  I hope to one day let go of my desire to control how other people think and feel towards me and to just love.  To love freely and without expectations is a practice that often eludes me.  Great thing is that sober experience and hope are on my side today.  And so, just for today, I will love abundantly!

MY PATH

I have heard in recovery that the road gets narrower.  Meaning that the longer a person stays clean and sober their scope becomes smaller in terms of things they find acceptable or venture to explore.  The flip side is also said - that life gets bigger.  I used to try to side with one or the other of these ideas, but today I realize both are a fit for me.

I have such a big life today!  I simply cannot physically or mentally experience everything I’d like to, and I imagine that my list of to-do’s will never shrink short enough to do it all.  In fact, I bet it just keeps growing.  People like having me around and they trust me.  With that I have discovered how much time a relationship, a close relationship, really demands.  It’s funny that I didn’t know that before, but I suppose I never really pursued healthy relationships, or probably more accurately, I never had the ability to put any consistent time or care into them.  Today I have been blessed with all these people in my life as the certain result of working off a different moral code than ever in my past.  I don’t tolerate deception or drama or bullshit of any kind for very long today.  I used to live immersed in lies and cheating and manipulation and gladly welcomed the same from people around me.  Now it’s just too uncomfortable for me to operate in that environment.  I simply find the pain of my old way of living unacceptable since having discovered and practiced a different way.  I really don’t try to push the limits all too much anymore.  I still crave excitement and once in a while I consider that crazy life again, and that lasts about 10 seconds.  Haha!  Seriously though, it only lasts a moment because it’s fairly impossible for me to think past a drink in my hand without then seeing complete chaos and destruction.  I find it comical that so many people draw an immediate assumption that I’m a goody-goody and always have been.  Actually, that can be bothersome to me at times because I want everyone to know that I’m not some naïve little princes, and I’ve seen more pain than they have probably only heard about.  You can see my enormous ego has not left me entirely!  Good part is that I don’t have to say a word about my past and the feeling of desperately needing them to know who I really am passes.  Lately two instances have occurred at work in which coworkers have tried to entice me into trying out some booze.  It’s hilarious that they assume I have never drank before.  I have forever assumed that people can detect the alcoholic in me.  I have hated that because I have felt branded.  Now, I feel uncomfortable with their assumption of my clean living.  Man, I spend a lot of time worrying about how others see me.  So silly. 

So yes, in many ways my road has narrowed.  I don’t seek crazy.  I don’t break the law.  I don’t keep secrets.  I quickly and directly admit when I lie.  I do not manipulate people or institutions.  I don’t go to bars and clubs just for a thrill.  I try not to hurt others.

My road has also widened.  I get together with bunches of recovering men and women, and I share and listen.  I babysit for my cousins and niece and nephew.  I have traveled to another country (yay!!! Finally!).  I coach teenagers to become better at my favorite sport and present them with more possibilities for their future.  I go out to eat and enjoy food.  I dance and sing and hike and swim and craft and play.  I have game nights with my husband.  I host alcoholics and addicts in our home when they seek my husband and I out for help.  I have made a home with my husband.  I pray and find peace in quiet.  I ask for help.  I really love who I am.  I am a recovering, faithful, smart, professional woman who loves her family and the silly things life, and most of the time I OWN IT!

Fat is NOT a feeling! - HFC Day 16

Eating disorders are not about weight. But so often people express that they feel ‘fat’. What feelings have you really been experiencing when you have said you feel fat? Or what do you think lie beneath the surface of others who express this. You can write directly in response to this blog prompt or why not alter it and look at your emotional experience of eating disorders – what did you feel? How did you know which emotion you felt? Why is it important to be aware of your emotions?

It is perfect that this was yesterday’s challenge, because yesterday I decided I was willing to weigh myself.  I very rarely weigh myself and sometimes I have to force myself to get on the scale just to ensure I’m not letting ED get away with anything ‘under the hood’ so to speak.  So I checked in with the scale yesterday, did not like what I saw and actually laid on the floor for a few moments before I could collect myself enough to carry on with my day.  It’s incredibly strange, even to a bulimic like me, how just a number can take hold of my emotions and feel so threatening and damning.  Two minutes before I weighed, I talked to my husband about needing to do it.  I gave myself a whole bunch of affirmations, felt great about my fitness level and body overall, and BAM! the number shot it all away.  The cool part is that I did NOT have to have a horrible day yesterday.  In fact, I was able to feel pretty darn confident and even like my reflection in the mirror.  What!!!!????  Nothing short of a miracle. 

For as long as I can remember, ‘that number’ directed my mood and my ability to walk through a day.  If the number wasn’t lower, I felt fat.  If I felt fat, that meant a whole bunch of bad.  It meant I wasn’t pretty, likeable, friend worthy, capable, intelligent, talented, lovable, forgivable, ugh - all goodness gone.  Feeling fat was my blanket holding and covering all my fears, insecurities, brokenness and anger.  I think I was challenged by every single one of my treatment providers with “Fat is not a feeling.  What are you feeling?  What’s inside?”  This was always frustrating to me.  I’m not sure what triggered me to decide that the feelings I had were not okay, but I decided it.  I couldn’t find a neat spot for the mess of emotions I had before ED, and they were too embarrassing to tell those I trusted the most.  I needed a hiding place for my feelings and that place became my eating disorder.  Once I hid my feelings there and found it to be an extremely effective safe zone, I became comfortable with it.  Saying “I feel fat” was completely okay with me.  I didn’t have to go any deeper and find unwanted truths or share hidden secrets from my past.  “I feel fat” was enough to keep the topic right there on the surface.  Of course, the time came when this was crippling to me, and it began to kill me.  I didn’t know how to go deeper.  I was so alone and I couldn’t find any number on the scale that would take away the fat feeling.   I know the reason I couldn’t shake it was because it wasn’t about fat at all.  It was about what was going on in my head, heart and soul. 

So yesterday, I freaked for a minute, regrouped and got my program on.  I told myself a mantra (borrowed from a friend and program) just for times like this ‘Take care of the spiritual and the mind and body will follow.’  I went over this as I got ready for work and as I drove in.  I also gave my sister a ring to commiserate about our God given ‘heavy genes’.  Upon walking from my car to the office, I connected with gratitude.  I thought about how blessed I am in my life today, how much I love my husband and family and friends, how I have a wonderful ability to show up for life today and how my body allows me to do that.  By the time I sat down at my desk, I had a smile on my face and I felt beautiful.  


I know!  Recovery is cool. 

A Letter to Little Me - HFC Day 15

Write a letter to yourself as a child – you can choose which ever age you feel is most relevant to you. What do you want to tell that child? What wisdom can you share with him/her? What encouragement can you give to that child? Tell that child what good qualities you see in him/her. After writing reflect on what you have written and recognize that those qualities still lie within you, as does that child.

Dear Francie,

Hello beautiful!!! So you are only six and I am thirty two but believe me when I say, I get you.  I know you love making lists so here’s a checklist for you to complete every day.  Feel free to rewrite it as many times as you like, and to cross out your completions with bold marker or circular scribbles, whichever you like. 

• Giggle.
• Tell your sister and brother you love them.
• Raise your hand in class and ask a question.
• Ask your parents to tell you a story about them when they were your age, they have some doosies!!
• Do a dance – freestyle.
• Get good and dirty.
• Mess up your hair.
• Sing a prayer or say it aloud.
• Cuddle with mom or dad or brother or sister.
• Give yourself permission to cry, even if you don’t cry, just remind yourself that it’s okay if you do.
• Find some water and get yourself soaking wet (bath, shower, hose, pool).
• Keep dreaming BIG.
• Remember you’re a kid and your parents will take care of you and your bro and sis no matter what, no matter what.
• See you body in the mirror and love it.  God gave it to you and it can do so much already!  You’re so fabulous exactly as you are.

This should be a good start.  Everything is going to be okay.  You are okay!  Have fun and be bold.  Be grateful for what you have and embrace it all with joy and laughter. You’re six!!!  Woohoo!

Crimes against Clients - HFC Day 14

Share your experiences about a professional or professionals (doctor, therapist, nurse etc.) that had a negative impact on your recovery. How did they make you feel? Did you speak with them about this? How did they respond? How did they impact you? How did you recover from that experience? How did you learn to seek help and trust professionals again?

This is a shaky one for me.  In my letter to medical professionals (Day 6) I expressed my frustration with my treatment over the years but also my gratitude for all the men and women who have treated me.  I believe that all my experiences, good and bad, have made me the recovery woman I am today.  I know that everyone I come in contact with is a teacher – some of what to do, some of what NOT to do.  Either way, I can learn from everyone.  Back in the throws of bulimia, I didn’t see it that way.  When a professional (aka role model) showed disease behavior, I took away bad habits and negative massages and fit them right onto me.  A lot of times I knew I was self-sabotaging and wanted to bring the pain.  Other times I was competitive or seeking attention.   Occasionally, that “I’ll show you how sick I am” mentality drove me.  In the most dangerous times, I just had no fight left and I was giving up. 

So, you may be wondering what made some folks such bad examples.  My perception may be off and my disease certainly filtered things said and done differently back then, but the number one reason I decided a professional was not worth my effort to recover was inconsistency.  If the message of the professional was inconsistent with their behavior, I was done.  The most obvious example I have is one therapist who owned a day treatment center and was my primary therapist.  This was an eight hour a day, five day a week deal, and I was a patient there for over two years.  I saw so much of this therapist that I could tell you what she would say next, if she was in a good or bad mood, and how she was doing with her food.  She was a recovery anorexic, or maybe just an anorexic.  Here was the inconsistency.  She spent all day, every day, telling us to embrace our bodies, sharing professional opinions, encouraging us to eat balanced and nourish ourselves while she did none of it herself. 

If I could go back now, I would ask her why she only ate 150 calories for lunch every day and how that made any sense to eat during our sessions.  I would show her that my meal of 500 calories, made no sense next to hers.  I would ask her why she got plastic surgery and showed off her cleavage at work while telling us we were perfect just as we were.  I would challenge her to explain her significant weight loss after her husband left against her claim that we did not have to use food to cope with any and all circumstances.  I would call to her attention that we were all competing with HER!  I would share my anger and confusion towards her and her behavior.  I would explain my pain in all its depth and tell her I wanted to be free.  I would walk away from two years of a dead end pursuit and look for help and hope in someone who had recovery.

I spent years being angry at this therapist.  I felt that I had lost so much time being sick because of her.  I don’t feel that way anymore.  I learned a lot from that experience.  Today, I interview my doctors and therapists.  They are working for me after all.  If I don’t find hope in their story, sense in their methods, or most important to me consistency in their words and actions, I find a new professional.  This has served me well and I am my own mental health advocate.  I tell a doctor or therapist when something doesn’t seem right or when I’m just not feeling comfortable with my progress.  I have learned what I don’t want in my treatment, so now I’m finding what I do.  

Viva La Difference - HFC Day 9

Today is about celebrating what makes people different. What makes humanity interesting is that we are all unique. What does it mean to be different? Write about yourself or someone you admire or people generally in terms of celebrating the differences that so often people are mocked for. 

What does it mean to be different?  To me that can mean a whole lot of things both good and bad.  The thing about people’s differences is that everyone carries them with a different level of confidence.  You see folks displaying that quirky confidence, the loud confidence, the silent but strong confidence, the silly shy confidence, the not-so-confident and shaky, the not-so-confident and showy, the not-so-confident and pained.  So I guess what I’m saying is even differences are different, depending on who’s wearing them.  Of course I wish I could shout from the rooftops or, better yet, tell each and every person in this whole world individually that they are God’s kid and that they are just the way they are supposed to be in every way. 

I’ve talked about how much I love being an Aunt, and how my niece and nephew amaze me every day with their love and innocence.  My nephew is what the world would call different.  My nephew was born with no thumbs.  He had four fingers but no thumbs.  Shortly after he came home, doctors made him thumbs by taking his pointer fingers and turning them to the outside of his hands.  They also moved a bone in each hand over towards his new thumbs to give his hands more support and strength.  Now my nephew has three fingers and one thumb on each hand.  He also has a lot of scars and not much strength in his hands in general.  He’s three and a half and has a three year old sister who is much more physically advanced than her brother.  I’ve been so amazed as I watch the two of them grow together.  At first, my niece had a hard time sharing, helping, and waiting.  My nephew lost patience with himself in the blink of an eye and went into frequent tantrums.  My sister and brother-in-law were consistent, supportive and open-minded.  Talk about celebrating differences!  They like to cheer and sing and dance for their children.  It’s beautiful and I believe their celebrations and consistent messages of love and tolerance have allowed for the picture that is today:

My nephew uses his thumbs!  He doesn’t have a lot of strength and is coming up on a muscular surgery to try to help with that, but he makes no arguments when he is reminded to use his thumbs.  His sister cracks me up when she says in her mama-mimic singsong voice, “Use your thumbs”.   He takes part in all kinds of games and can ask for help in a strong voice, no whining.  It’s not perfect but he knows he’s capable, and he is happy.  He loves loves loves his sister, and she loves loves loves her brother.  They spend hours giggling with one another, changing clothes or ‘costumes’, reading books, planning tricks or silly presentations for mom and dad.  My nephew is a total ham and a jokester.  He has this big beautiful personality and engages so well with people.  He gives the greatest hugs and will make faces at you until you laugh with him.  He knows he’s different and he certainly has a lot of frustrations because of his handicap, but I see the growth and the blessing he is.  I think he knows he’s great and special and loved too.  One unexpected gift that my nephew in all his uniqueness has given me is a very different meaning to my cutting scars.  He does not know how I got them, but he likes to compare our scars.  He puts his arms up to mine and points out that we are the same.  The first time he did this it brought tears to my eyes.  I have experienced the transformation from a painful and shameful memory to a loving purpose-filled gift.  This kid is so rad, I could go on for days!

My nephew is different.  Different is awesome!!!!

A picture is worth a thousand words - Day 8

Choose a picture (non-triggering) that speaks to you with regards to the experience of an eating disorder and/or recovery. Write in any way you choose about what it means to you and why and what lessons can be learned from that. You don’t have to write a thousand words, but if you would like to – feel free!

This was taken on my wedding day one year ago…

I don’t know what I weighed that day.  I did my own makeup, light and simple.  My hair turned out pretty cute.  My mom finished the happy yellow ribbon for the dress that morning.  Nothing was exactly in place but everything was absolutely as it was meant to be.  All day I embraced my own beauty inside and out, and I was totally present.  The abundance of laughter, hugs, kisses, dancing, and family that celebrated life with faith and love that day filled me completely. 

RECOVERY MADE THIS POSSIBLE.

Hungry for Change - Days 4, 2, 1

My ED…

Recovery…

This has been a powerful exercise for me.  It felt difficult, if not impossible, to depict what my disease and recovery really are to me in just a few words.  I wrote a bunch of random thoughts and feelings and arranged and rearranged words.  As I did, I found that I was really digging into the core messages of my disease and recovery.  My eating disorder started as a thing in which to find refuge, but quickly became nothing short of a living and very lonely hell.  The details are of no importance, that’s the core and ugly truth of the disease for me.  I was hoodwinked and then I was trapped.  I became resigned to my disease.  I knew sickness was all there was for me and I would die alone.  Heavy stuff.  Recovery is light.  My friend likes to say “wear recovery like a loose garment”.  I get it.  There is so much freedom in recovery and in being able to move in whatever direction I please.  I can do this because I’m secure in the beauty of my recovery, and in the amazing examples and support I have all around me. I don’t fear it all falling apart because what sense would that make?  I couldn’t figure out how to add a very well used mantra of mine to my slogan without making it too long, but it really does represent my hope and faith in recovery.  

In the voice of something bigger I hear, “I didn’t bring you this far just to drop you on your ass!”

When I’m in fear, when I think I need fixing, when I want a fix, when I’m too tired, when I can’t see the solution, I remember that I am never alone.

Weighing in briefly on my missed days…

1. I have faith and hope today. 
2. The freedom to dance. 
3. Being Auntie Frannie Fran Fran.
4. I LOVE my family.  I LOVE people.  I get to experience life with others.
5. I have my giggles back.
6. Women are special and priceless and I get to learn from other women today.
7. I trust in change today.  I pray for growth.
8. I ENJOY parties and banquets and holidays!
9. I have a purpose today.
10. I am alive and life is good.

One reason – I want everyone to hear and know

RECOVERY IS POSSIBLE

My Mascot - Hungry for Change - Day 3

Woo!  This brings me back to all those art therapy sessions.  I loved art therapy even though I’m a terrible artist.  It was one time I felt like there was no right answer and I didn’t have to try to be the best at it because it was all from our own experiences that our creative pieces came.  I thought they were all beautiful.  After looking at the other mascots chosen for the third day of the Hungry for Change May challenge https://www.facebook.com/hungryforchange, I have to say I haven’t changed a bit.  I find them all so beautiful!

My eating disorder recovery mascot is now, from today, A DIVER.  

In some sense it has been my mascot for years but I certainly didn’t call it that.  This picture is a perfect representation of my diving mascot for a couple reasons.  One is that she’s diving from a springboard.  I have developed a springboard diving metaphor for life.  It goes a little something like this…

In diving just about 90% of the dive’s success depends on the work that is done on the board.  You take careful steps, maintain strong and balanced posture, drive all your weight and power into the board to push it down and you up just so, and carefully time your arms and second push so that the board will seamlessly fling you up into the air and safely away from the board.  The success of the rest of your dive, however simple or complicated, will absolutely be affected by how well you’ve executed your board work.  The best part is in the freedom that comes after you’ve essentially catapulted yourself into the air.  If you’ve done it right, there’s not a whole lot you can do to mess it up.  If you’ve done it wrong, you might be saying some prayers as you come closer to hitting the water!  Either way you basically get to enjoy the ride and probably get a lot of laughs if it turns out to be more of a painful go.  Life is this way for me today in recovery.  I do the footwork and keep the ‘plug in the plate’ (as a good friend of mine likes to say), and I get to experience a freedom that welcomes all kinds of unexpected pains and pleasures.  What a thrill!

Before recovery, I knew what the day would bring – misery.  Today I have no idea what the future holds, so I continue to put one foot in front of the other and watch the results as they are revealed around me.   

The second reason I like this picture for my mascot is that she is doing my favorite type of dive, a twister.  This is my favorite because it’s both extremely complicated and fairly impossible to ‘think’ about.  You have to just do it and trust that your body knows how to take care of the dynamics in the air.  In diving this is called muscle memory and it takes some time to build up but once you’ve got it you learn to absolutely rely upon it.  In eating disorder recovery, this is compared to intuitive eating, turning away from the magnificent magnifying mind in the mirror, and the human instinct to survive no matter what.  The body know best and I have come to enjoy the freedom I get when I trust that. 

I’m built strong and healthy.  My body is able and capable.  My recovery allows me to take some pleasure, joy and comfort in that.  No more fighting.  I’m doing the work; I think I’ll enjoy the ride. J

  

I just love this picture.  I wish we still wore suits like this!!!

I read the news today

I was prompted to write while perusing news articles today.  Man oh man is it depressing to read the headlines alone!  I have asked why news has to be so violent, traumatic and tragic as a blanket question my entire life.  I’m not exaggerating. I think I’ve wondered this my entire life, or at least as long as I have had a high enough level of cognizance to wonder it.  I used to ask my mom to turn off the news or just not to watch it at all, because I couldn’t handle hearing all the chaos being reported.  I’ve always compartmentalized ideas, events, actions, people, and just about everything else. I couldn’t fit ‘the news’ in any of my acceptable spaces so it went into the unacceptable and intolerable bins. Yes, I lived a charmed and somewhat sheltered childhood.  My rather naive brain could not have possibly made sense of it all in my accustomed way - which was to make sense of it all.  This is probably pretty normal but what is a little odd is that I still do the same thing today as a 32 year old woman! 

I suppose I’ve gotten more comfortable with some of it. The major headlines that include just an overview idea don’t completely revolt me or send horrible visuals and/or real fear through me.  I certainly can decide whether or not to watch longer or read on based on those headlines.  If I decide to read an article and it immediately exploits someone, delves into unnecessarily horrific details, or contains a tone that is unsettling, I stop reading.  The problem comes when someone else, most often my husband, has chosen to watch something that I don’t like.  I can hear the crap through closed door and the shows I recognize, I can’t even stand all the dramatic music and I get pretty moody and bossy about what can and can’t be played in our home when I’m home. 

Again, I feel like I was born with this hyper sensitivity to violent or vulgar media, and as you can imagine it has really caused some frustration and embarrassment in the more recent years.  I used to put myself to sleep in a theatre if a movie was overwhelming to me.  Falling asleep anywhere on my own volition was a skill that served me well for years. I can’t do it as easily anymore but that might have to do with the absence of copious amounts of psychotropic drugs in my system.  From about 18 – 28, I was pretty much sleepy and lethargic all the time so given the opportunity to check out, I chose sleep quite often.  I think I also take after my dad; he fell asleep in the theatre (the real theatre) during The Phantom of the Opera which is like the loudest (in a good way) production ever!  Honestly, it was just so much easier, and I still think nicer, than cutting the movie short for me and whoever I’d gone to the theatre with.  So now that I don’t have such an easy switch to sleep capability, I don’t have another solution – yet.

I’ve tried a few things to no avail.  I’ve tried to close myself in the bedroom and play music while I read.  This usually ends in my temper flaring up because now I’ve cut myself off from socializing and from the kitchen J.  So that’s out.  I’ve tried to actually watch the shows.  Total disaster has ensued every time.  I have zero ability to control my extreme and emotional reaction to these shows – yet.  I’ve prayed and prayed for acceptance of both my limitations and other peoples’ tastes that I can leave if I’m bother WITHOUT acting the victim.  I need to pray more cause this hasn’t worked.  I’ve tried mandating that only the shows I approve of be played when I’m home.  This is actually where we’re at now because it’s kept the peace.  So far my husband has proved much more flexible than I, and yet I still react when suggestions for ‘the other’ shows are made.  Oh well, here’s room for growth.  Maybe some therapy is in order.  Maybe more creative outlets are options for me.  I don’t know what but more will be revealed.

Fixing Fear with Food

For a girl who once lived every single day wondering where, how, when and how much I could binge and purge so that I could relieve the excruciating pain in my heart and quiet the noise in my head, it seems strange to say I’m having any trouble at all with food today.  But for a girl who lived 15 plus years in the throws of bulimia, I can’t afford to decide I’m just the same as every other woman out there worried about body image and dieting.  This isn’t because I’m such an abnormal eater today or that I’m in a constant battle with food and weight because that’s just not true.  I enjoy a great deal of freedom in my meal plan and certainly ‘look’ normal in my approach to food.  People appear almost shocked when I do share my eating disorder story with them.  The reason I cannot afford to say I am a ‘normal’ food person is because that’s just not true either.  If I begin to playing with my food, adjusting portions to fit into a new size jean or feel better around certain people, I’m playing with my life.  If I allow myself one day of restricting, one binge, one purge, I’m opening a whole box of crazy, and there’s no telling if it will close again, ever.  I know how fast and hard I fall when I go there and in a very short time most everyone can see I have changed.  They might not know it is food that’s striking me psycho, but they know something is seriously wrong. 

So I am struggling with food lately and it’s really affecting my body image.   Interesting now that I wrote that, I don’t know which came first.  You see, my husband and I moved across town a few months ago, and I have been uncharacteristically shy around new people since.  I feel such a powerful loneliness even when surrounded by a hundred folks in recovery and I have frozen up and closed myself off.  So I show up and am in my head at meetings and gatherings thinking that everyone is judging me… BY THE WAY I LOOK.  Danger, Danger, Danger!!!   I don’t know about you but if people are just going to judge me by what I look like and decide from that if I’m good enough to talk to, I better look super duper uber HOT!!!!  I have no idea how much better I need to look to get to superduperuber, but I know darn well I’m not even close.  That’s enough for me to start the mental tirade against my own body and overall self worth.  I’m not pretty enough.  I’m not skinny enough.  I’m not fit enough.  I’m not good enough.  I’m not what I used to be.  I’m a failure.  I SHOULD FIX THIS.  If I can be skinny and fit and drop dead gorgeous again, THEN people will talk to me and like me and THEN I can be happy and outgoing again.  THEN I can be me again.  

The temptation to actually act on the barrage of criticisms in my head has been extraordinary.  I have felt the extra bites, the skipped breakfasts, the late night eating that I really, really wish would just fix my discomfort.  I want to believe my screaming head that says I can fix it with food, because that seems the quicker way.  Thankfully, I have been taught to seek the truth in all things before I act out of desperation and before I go on a full scale binge or purge or start weighing myself multiple times a day.  So, I took some time today to find the truth through all the bullshit in my brain and found it fairly quickly.  The truth is that change is really hard, and I am uncomfortable.  That’s it!  I have not recently become ugly or gross or less than or incapable of forming new friendships.  Nothing about the funny, outgoing, grace-filled, caring, friendly, recovering woman I am has changed.  I simply don’t like feeling vulnerable and am afraid of rejection.  Duh, I’m human.  So after two weeks of internal turmoil and self deprecating thoughts, I can see that my perception of myself, my own worth and my security were knocked off balance by the fear of change.  I will ask to be put back to center now and smile into the mirror a few times today in gratitude of the woman I see looking back.

 

Maybe this week I’ll play a different tape when I go to meetings that says, “I’m okay and what you think of me is none of my business anyway so what’s your story?”

Related Posts:  So little talk of food