If You’ve Been Hurt by the Church

I’ve been wanting to write this post for awhile now but it’s been difficult to know where to start. It’s quite a difficult and divisive topic, and it’s taken some reflecting on my end to figure out how to write this in a sensitive way and in a way where people aren’t left feeling condemned or shamed. So my aim is to avoid those 2 things. I hope what I write speaks to your experiences and is instead validating and loving.

A few years back, I attended a pretty well known church in the city. It was a big church which made it hard to get to know people on a deeper level unless you were actively involved in ministry or bible study or a mentoring program – I was involved in all of those things, but I still felt like a bit of an outsider. Nevertheless, I continued attending church there each week as I got a lot of encouragement and spiritual growth from the teaching and music. Overall, the teaching was brilliant. Sadly, the pastoral care was lacking enormously. I don’t know if that’s because the church is so big or if it’s because people just forget the significance of pastoral care. Perhaps it’s because more broadly, society (and churches in this context) aren’t very good at knowing how to deal with poor mental health and mental health issues. Regardless, there were a number of things about this church that made me feel shame, and ashamed, and uncared for, and “different”. I still do have close relationships with a handful of people from there and I love those friends and value their friendship beyond measure, but those beautiful people were the minority. After leaving that church I wasn’t quiet about my experiences and other people reached out to say that they too had felt similarly and had also had experiences like mine. Sadly, there was one particular person who called me to let me know they thought my speaking out about the hurt I had experienced at the church was childish, and let me know that they had advised other people in the church ignore me.

This semester at college I’ve been studying Christian Ethics, and whilst one would hope that would be of great encouragement and contribute to one’s spiritual growth, I would say that it’s left me feeling a little resentful toward the church and the ways in which the church has been known to shame and condemn people who make choices that they would not make themselves. One would hope that the church would be a place where people could find refuge, feel loved, cared for and valued. Sadly, that’s not the experience for a number of people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with sharing thoughts and opinions that you hold, and I don’t think it’s an issue if those differ from the world more broadly, but there’s a difference between standing up for what you believe, and dismissing people and their very real issues. Just quietly, I also think we need to acknowledge that we live in a world where things happen that we may not necessarily agree with but that definitely will not be changing and in part we almost need to accept that and bite our tongues about some things. The church has quite the rep for holding some very strong opinions about a lot of things, and sometimes the ways in which we go about professing those beliefs aren’t doing the church or peoples perspectives or views of Jesus any favours.

I’m so bloody sorry if you, for whatever reason – be it mental health, your sexuality, relationship breakdown, gender, choices you’ve made regarding your marriage or children, opinions you’ve held regarding big topics like euthanasia or abortion – I’m so, so sorry if you have felt shamed for, uncared for or unloved by the church because of these things. It makes sense to me that if you’ve had a bad experience in this regard, you wouldn’t want anything to do with the church. It makes sense to me that you would find it difficult to forgive the church, or not be willing to forgive them.

And to the church: we can do better. We should be doing better. We should be actively loving, caring for and looking after people who we cross paths with. It’s not too much to ask. It’s not as complex as you think. We need to stop shaming people simply because they hold different beliefs to ours. It’s pretty straightforward really.

Peanut Butter || Salty Tears

I am often told there are two parts to me: my “healthy self” and my “eating disordered self.” I disagree. There is me, just me. Rebekah. One human with numerous parts, all as complex as the next. I can see it though, this going back and forth between who I am and who I want to be. I see the behaviours I display now that are not how I want to present to the world and I see me – the real me, the one who can laugh freely and loudly, the funny one, the kind one, the fiercely protective and caring one. The human I was created to be.

All people contain contradictions but for me the struggle is a secrecy and darkness toward which I am uncontrollably pulled. A place of deceit and lies and shame, a place where my mind is overwhelmed by my body, by disgust and a special kind of hatred I reserve only for myself.

If only people knew who you really are, my mind whispers. They wouldn’t like you so much then.

But that whispering voice is mine. It is me and it is still in my world. The voice is a part of my mind and though it may quieten down every now and then, it is always with me. It is never entirely silent.

Nine years ago I had an eating disorder relapse. Since then, I have had differing levels of “wellness” but I have never quite made it back to how I was prior to 2012. My whole world became my eating disorder. I exercised for six hours a day. I burned through a pair of trainers every few months. I showered sitting down on the bathroom floor because I was too tired to stand. I hid everything; I threw out food, I lied about how much I was exercising. I ate the same things every single day, day in and day out, at the same times because that was the only way I could justify eating. I once accidentally dropped in the dirt a banana I had permitted myself to eat. I ate it anyway because it was all I had. I could not go and buy another in case I ended up eating “more” than I would have otherwise. I slept restlessly each night because my blood sugars would plunge dangerously. My little heart chugged along at 42 beats per minute. My blood pressure was through the floor. My father cried as he told me he was scared his only daughter was going to die, that I was too thin and that he thought I was set on killing myself before the age of 30.

I have returned home from walks with a body temperature of 33ºC after being out for hours on end in the pouring rain. I have felt so cold I could not move my fingers; so tired, achy, and mentally drained. I have felt as though as I was dying, and I had resigned myself to that.

I have been hospitalised many times for my eating disorder.

So.

Many.

Times.

I stopped counting the number once it went above double digits. I did not want to know. I was ashamed. It is a different world in there, in this clinic where there are boys and girls and men and women of various weights and shapes and heights and ethnicity. Some have travelled from interstate to be admitted to the clinic because the treatment for eating disorders in Australia is entirely inadequate. Seeking help is painfully difficult, treatment options are limited.

We eat six or seven times a day. Meals, snacks; we see a dietitian. We see a psychiatrist. We go to group therapy. We talk about how we want to be better. We are scared though, and so we remain stuck. We remain stuck in this shell of a body where we cannot be our full selves and life has shrunken down to practically nothing. This has been my world for so long. Too long. I forget what life was like before this, before now, although I do get glimpses every once in awhile. Every Wednesday I meet my best friend for coffee and we sit, her with her soy flat white and me with my soy cap, extra froth and no chocolate please. We sit there in the sun with her six month old Theo who is almost crawling now. I did not see him for two months while I was last in hospital and he has somehow grown into a Very Big Boy. Theo fills my heart with delight. I can hold him up in the air above my head, this physically stronger version of myself who has gained weight and energy. Mentally, I am still back in the eating disordered world. Frighteningly, I am also moving closer toward the “healthy self.” I have become a walking contradiction and I often feel stuck, caught between these two worlds of subjugation and liberation, these two worlds of seemingly endless darkness and a joy beyond all comparison. This is my liminal space; it is the vestibule in which I hesitate, contemplating the recovered world.

My last hospital admission was different to any other I have had before. I hit my rock bottom before going in – not my lowest weight or my worst physical state, per se, but the point where I realised that if I did not change – if I did not make a change – then I would die.

I was there for five weeks and for three of those weeks I had a nasogastric tube. I was on the biggest meal plan I had ever been on and I started restoring weight at a faster pace than I ever had, much to the distress of my “eating disordered self”.

But –

I could not go on as I was.

I could not continue to live my life in this way.

I was tired. I am tired.

And so,

because of that fatigue,

because of that mental exhaustion

I chose life.

I will continue to choose life.

I am afraid to leave behind my eating disorder; I am so very afraid. “I don’t want to be fat” I say, “I don’t want to gain weight”. Honestly, it is all bullshit. Really, more than anything, I am frightened to be me. Who will I be without the eating disorder? How can I avoid adulthood? What excuse will I have for being a failure? I am near 30 now, I am unemployed, single and without children. I do not know what I want, but what I do know is that as much as I fear recovery, I do not want to walk hand in hand with my eating disorder any longer. And I want to live. I really, really want to be alive. The very fact that I can sit here and write those words fills my throat with fear and excitement and my eyes with tears. I want to live in a different world than I am now and because of that, I must.

“ I am learning every day to allow the space between where I am and where I want to be to inspire me and not terrify me.”

– Tracee Ellis Ross

Each day I am finding more and more reasons to continue to exist: My best friend’s bubba, Theo. My cat, Frankie. Stringing words together, clumsily. New jars of peanut butter (the superior toast spread). Sitting on the swings at the beach and realising I am too tall for them now. Sunshine gently brushing my cheeks as I sit here and type. Soy cappuccinos (but really, they’re better with the chocolate). Breakfast dates with friends. Conversations with strangers. Spring. Magnolias. My dog, Oscar. New episodes of my favourite podcast. Songs I have never heard. A sunrise different to the one yesterday and sunsets I have never seen. Boiling and baking bagels (the best lockdown skill I have acquired, to date).

The idea that maybe things can be different. Possibilities I had not considered. Hope I had never before felt.

My “eating disordered self” developed from a particular set of circumstances and events in my early childhood. It stems from trauma and genetics, my environment and our society. My eating disorder is a painting of my past; it reveals my history. It is a representation of a world which I no longer dwell within, but has remained with me nevertheless. It is how I have managed to survive; it has kept me alive for 29 years. I have spent the last 12 years believing I could not live without my eating disorder but I have spent the last two months questioning that notion and wondering if perhaps there is another option. There was my eating disordered world, there is now, and then there is freedom.

I expect that I will find it soon.

you do not have to justify your existence

I really dread the question “so what do you do?” We all ask it. It’s the classic way to start a conversation with someone we’ve not met before. We have questions we’re “expected” to ask, and in turn we’re expected to answer them. What do you do. Where are you from. What are you studying. Where do you work.

You all know the drill.

I dread the question because here’s the thing: I don’t currently work. I previously have studied (and graduated). I have had jobs on and off over the last few years but haven’t maintained anything for a good long while. I have deferred a social work degree which I probably won’t return to anytime soon. It’s not because I’m not smart or capable, it’s not because I’m “lazy” and “a bludger”. The reason I don’t currently work is as simple and as complicated as this: I’m not well, I haven’t been for awhile now and my life essentially revolves around my eating disorder. Recovery from anything is in itself a full-time job, anything mental OR physical. Recovery requires time and effort and commitment and intention, it involves conversations and appointments and more conversations and more appointments. It’s hard, it’s really hard work. But I won’t be stuck in this position forever. I won’t always be unemployed, I won’t always have so many appointments and blood tests and rigidity and structure and routines and days that look exactly the same as the one before; I won’t always have so many days that look exactly the same as the next.

However, here’s the thing. I feel shame. I feel shame when someone asks me “so what do you do?” Truth be told, I’ve rehearsed my answer before you’ve even asked because I knew you would ask. It’s what we do. Heck, I’ve even caught myself asking people this a few times. How would it be though, if we answered with the entire truth? Would my honest answer make you feel uncomfortable? Would you judge me? Probably yes, to both of those things. Would you get it? Probably not. And so I rehearse my vague answer and quickly deflect. I turn the question back on you.

This is how my life is now and this is where I’m at. It’s not always where I will be, it is just a snapshot of a moment of time. It is a snapshot of how my life currently looks. It’s how it is for now and it is how it will continue to be, for a time.

I don’t need to be DOING anything in order to contribute to society in some meaningful way. I’m a daughter and a friend and a granddaughter and a sister. I’m a cat lover and a dog lover, in equal measure. I’m assertive. I have a deep love for peanut butter and reading and writing and making bagels. I have a penchant for purchasing books at a faster rate than I can read them. I can make people laugh and I can make small talk and I do my best, which is all any of us can do, really.

I don’t need to justify my existence by doing all of the things society expects of me. I’m no less of a person because I’m not working or studying or having my own family or saving to buy a house. Each day, I’m striving to grow and striving to better myself as a person. My worth doesn’t stem from the things that I do in this world, I simply am worthwhile because I am here. The same goes for all of us. We exist and that’s the most important thing of all.

Today my psychiatrist told me that when people ask him what he does he often says “nothing”. Let me assure you, he does a heck of a lot but he knows his worth doesn’t stem from that and that whilst his work does form part of his identity, it’s not WHO he is. Today he told me that I need to bring all of myself and nothing more. So here it is. Here I am.

More than anything, I want all of the people in my life to bring all of themselves and nothing more too. All of their flaws and imperfections, their snorty laughs and their accidental mispronunciation of words, their dislike of broccoli and their undying love of dark chocolate digestives. Their not knowing their right from their left. Their bravery in standing up to bullies and their fear of public speaking. Their courage to speak to strangers and their inclination to avoid parties with friends. We’re all works in progress, and that is what our lives are made up of.

We’re becoming who we’re meant to be, and that’s the most successful thing we’ll ever do.

Hospital Won’t Make You Well.

My very first hospital admission was in 2013. I was 20 years old and naïve; I was relatively new to treatment and had never had a conversation with anyone who’d been in an inpatient setting before. I was super motivated – I thought I’d go in, get my food on track, increase what I was eating, gain the weight that I’d lost and then be good – ready to discharge and life would be back to how it was before I relapsed.

But that’s not what happens and that’s not how it works.

on living and connecting.

I’ve always known recovery from an eating disorder is possible, because I’ve read books about it. I’ve heard people share their recovery stories. I’ve even had the privilege of witnessing it happen from time to time. I’ve known that recovery is possible, but I’ve only known this on an intellectual level – not in my own experience. Whilst I’ve definitely had times where I’ve been more “well” in the last 7 years, I’ve certainly not yet reached a place in that time where I would say my life has been substantially improved, regardless of how things have been perceived by others, or by my friends and family.

Before, Now, After.

There is always a before, a now and an after. Take the current COVID19 pandemic, for example. In just a few short weeks, everyone’s lives have turned completely upside down. Before this, we could sit in the park with a friend drinking a takeaway coffee and not even have to consider the distance between us or be concerned a cop might rock up and give us a fine. We could walk down the main street of our hometown and explore the little shops, wander around the bookshop, pop into Vinnies. We didn’t have to avoid people on our morning walks and make an obvious point of walking around them. We weren’t necessarily wearing gloves to buy groceries or sanitising and washing our hands obsessively or wearing masks or feeling anxious if the person in our train carriage had a cold. Indeed, we could even catch public transport without an ounce of anxiety.

eating disorders & COVID-19

 

In the last few days I’ve been thinking about writing a blog post discussing how disabilities and mental health issues can lead to isolation and a general feeling of being ostracised in the community but there’s something else that’s come up in these last few weeks and even more so in these last few days that I feel is a more pressing issue to write about.

Obviously, everyone is pretty aware of the current situation regarding COVID-19. It’s a scary time for many, particularly those who are the most vulnerable. We’re conscious of not being too close to people, we’re aware of minimising contact, people are feeling anxious about touching coffee cups and handling money, sitting on trains and buses, going to church, entering shopping centres. There’s huge financial burdens and stresses on people which is just adding to the anxiety. Grocery stores are empty, broccoli is $11.90 a kilo (wtf) and everyone is panicking. Honestly, it took me 3 days and 6 grocery stores to find a bag of oats (shout out to Aldi). People are rationing and hoarding; walking around our local Woolies is genuinely really distressing and depressing. Every second shelf is empty and a lot of people are somehow managing to get by without the basics. Life has enough stress without this. There is still rent to pay, dogs to take to the vet, appointments to attend. There are children to protect and teach and work to be done. There are weddings and funerals and other sicknesses to be managed. Just generally, there’s a great deal of tension around. COVID-19 is constantly on peoples minds.

Obviously there are people who are more vulnerable to getting sick – REALLY sick from Coronavirus. The elderly, those with chronic illness (things you might not even think of – diabetes, heart or lung disease, cancer, various autoimmune diseases, HIV and AIDS, Down Syndrome and eating disorders, for example) are particularly more at risk than your average Joe.

So: eating disorders. It’s taken me awhile to get around to the main point of this post (soz fam, but thanks if you’ve read until now). I’ve been worried the last few days about people I’ve met in hospital who might be freaking out with all this food hoarding and panic buying going on and just today a conversation surrounding that has happened amongst a few of us. It’s going to trip a lot of us up. People who might not have an entirely clear understanding of eating disorders may not realise that some of us really struggle to be flexible with foods we eat or with specific brands that we buy. And it’s so easy to use that as a reason to forgo our meal plan or to restrict our intake. I don’t know how to address this because it obviously is what it is and some of us will certainly find ways of adapting, but not all of us are in a place where we can. What’s the point of posting about it if I don’t have a clear solution? I don’t know. But I just want people to be aware, I guess. It’s not so easy for someone to just eat pasta if they only feel they can manage rice. It’s not so easy for us to choose a different brand of yoghurt or have a different snack or have a different muesli bar than usual. Honestly, it doesn’t make sense even to me but the anxiety that comes up is real and there and undeniable. I’m worried about people with eating disorders because we’re already more at risk of getting very unwell were we to contract this virus but even MORE vulnerable if it shakes up our meal plan or routine and things become or seem unmanageable. I know for myself I’m already freaking out about the prospect of what might happen if I’m unable to be outside and exercise and how that might impact my meal plan. It all has a flow on effect. I do want to acknowledge also that there are people with allergies or intolerances who are also restricted in their food options, so it’s important to be mindful of this as well.

Please be aware of this. Those who know people with eating disorders, those who have family members with eating disorders – please know we might need some extra support with foodstuff at this crazy time. There is likely to be greater anxiety and we might need extra encouragement. We might need you to swap muesli bars with us if you don’t really give a shit what flavour you have. We might need you to grocery shop with us so we don’t have huge panic attacks in the cereal aisle, or even shop for us. This is a crazy time for everyone but there are different layers to this for different people and groups.

And for those who this is an issue – reach out. Share with people what’s going on in your head; share what the eating disorder might be shouting in that head of yours. Maybe you feel undeserving of food, or feel like you need to leave it for others but this is not the case – you deserve it. You need it. You need food just as much as anyone and you are so worthy of that.

So. Here ends the blog post.

Bek x

for Liam & for you & for me & us all.

I’ve been thinking about writing this post all day and had carefully crafted in my mind everything I’d wanted to say. But here I am, 8pm on Thursday night and I’m at a loss for words. But anyway, let’s see how we go.

This week, an old school friend of ours died. He would’ve been 28 this year. We’re all shocked and understandably devastated in our own ways and for different reasons. For me, Liam was one of those guys in school who I’d always have a bit of a laugh with. He was a jokester. He had nice eyes. The goofiest laugh. A friendly smile. A dry sense of humour. He was smart. He was unique. There was no other guy like Liam in our year; he was friends with everyone. He was special to a lot of us. I definitely had a crush on him at some point. He was a goofball. I loved that.

After we left school in 2010. Liam and I stayed in contact. The odd message here and there. Mentions of catch ups and coffees but life always managed to get in the way, as life does. At times when I was really struggling with my eating disorder, he’d always reach out. He always read my blog and he’d always message me after a post if something I’d written had really resonated with him. He encouraged me during some really hard times and was so open and honest about his own struggles with other addictions and his own recovery in that.

Liam believed in recovery from addiction and from mental illness. He believed in me and MY recovery. If he knew others who struggled with similar issues, he believed in them and their full recovery too.

So this is why I blog. For people like Liam who read my words and who can relate. For family and friends who want a better understanding of mental health and addiction and compulsive behaviours. For people to not feel so damn alone and isolated in this. We’re all here, doing life together as best we can, so let’s keep doing it. We need to do the best we can with what we have and we need to show our love and care and concern for others so they don’t fall between the cracks.

Big love,

Bek X

stick around for the good days.

You might not believe it, but the good days exist. Or the good moments exist. The good minutes, even. A stranger walking by who catches your eye and smiles. Sunshine after a week of rain, or rain after the driest summer on record. The beautiful meow of your cat when you arrive home. The magazine you subscribe to arriving in the mail. Peanut butter. Bowls of rice. The satisfaction of finishing a book. Giggles escaping from your mouth that you didn’t even anticipate occurring. Your favourite song playing on the radio. Cards in the mail from friends; text messages saying hey thinking of you praying for you love you I’m glad you exist. Delicious smells of fresh bread when you walk by a bakery. Wisecracks from oldies. Cups of tea before bedtime and soy flat whites during the day. Breakfast. Breakfast for breakfast, lunch and dinner because it’s the damn best.

Green, lush grass that a month ago was crunchy and dead beneath your feet because of the lack of rain. Thunderstorms. Walking by the ocean. Watching a sunrise; watching a sunset. New, fresh tubes of toothpaste. Sleeping through the night. Dogs. Your dogs. Strangers dogs. Big dogs. Little dogs. Fluffy dogs. All kinds of dogs.

I’ve barely scratched the surface of all the good things.

Good days exist, good moments exist and good things exist, but some days we need to look extra hard for them. Some days are painful. Some days feel unbearable and it can feel like it’s just one horrible thing after the next. Depression isn’t just mental, it’s physical. It’s crushing and ever present. But there’s blue among the grey and I hope the grey starts to become less and less for you all x

Mental Illness is not a Flaw in Character.

We’re not very good as a society at talking about mental health. It’s awkward. It’s kind of gross, all that vulnerability that is felt when you put yourself out there and share parts of life that aren’t all that nice. We fear people will judge us, that we will be seen as attention seeking, looking for sympathy. It’s just generally not a nice vibe. And so we conceal it all inside of ourselves, and we become inauthentic because we aren’t being our true selves with friends and family