I feel like in society, there’s this idea that we can’t ask for help until all hell breaks loose, until we’re in complete crisis, until we’re having a major meltdown, until the shit hits the fan… However you want to put it, our pride can often stop us from asking for help until we absolutely need it. We wait until we’re at rock bottom before asking for advice, asking for a hand with our uni work, asking for a shoulder to cry on, asking for help to follow our meal plan, asking for accountability for something we may be struggling with. This isn’t even specific to eating disorders – I think to some degree, this can be true of us all at various times throughout our lives. Continue reading
This morning I had a cup of milk on my cereal. I know it was a cup, because I measured it. This is not something I usually do. This morning I had to force myself to measure out a cup of milk, as per my dietitian’s request, because this is not something I usually do and whilst I measure my cereal I do not measure my milk. I have always pronounced this to health professionals triumphantly – I do not measure my milk, therefore I am not obsessive and I can be flexible and I am smashing this whole recovery thing. Continue reading
Long time, no blog. I’ve had lots of ideas floating around in my mind about things I’ve wanted to write about, but I haven’t been able to string the words together quite as I’ve wanted to. I figured though, that I may as well give it a crack. This blog post is something I’ve been thinking about recently, something I’ve needed to write for myself and be reminded of, and something I’ve wanted to write for those who may also be at a crossroads similar to my own. So here we have it – a blog about the overwhelming nature of recovery from an eating disorder. Thanks for reading, pals. X
I am a Christian, and I have an eating disorder. Continue reading
I’d forgotten a lot of things about recovery. Like that it’s exhausting. Not just physically exhausting, but emotionally too. And terrifying.
Terrifying because of the fear of the unknown and the giving up of something that has served such a beautiful, yet awful purpose. I’d forgotten all of the difficult things about it, like that it absolutely breaks you into pieces to see your weight rise, to see your body repair itself after all the damage the eating disorder has caused over time. I’d forgotten the feeling of dread that sits in your gut every time you sit down for a meal and really feel no sign of hunger whatsoever and everything within your being is shouting at you not to pick up that ham and cheese and tomato toasted sandwich and bite into it, but you know you need to do it or else you’re going to end up having to gulp down a mug of Ensure. I’d forgotten about all of the comparing that your eating disorder imposes upon you as you seek to be well again. About the difficulty of urges that come alongside the feeling of fullness, about the difficulty of merely sitting with those urges instead of engaging in compensatory behaviours.
I remembered perhaps a handful of the difficulties that come with recovery, yes. But I never remembered the recovery process itself being this hard.
I’d also forgotten all of the beautiful things about recovery. Like that at first it is scary, but at some point it becomes kind of enjoyable. That you begin to take pleasure in the small things again, like the taste of soggy cereal and the appreciation of thighs that touch, like the smell of Indian food at dinner time and hot chocolates at supper time, even though they scare you. I’d forgotten that laughter was a good thing, that crying over eating chocolate cake twice in a day is acceptable, because for now it’s where you are at and where you’re at is okay because you’re learning to become you again.
I’d forgotten what it was like to not care. To not care about arms that are bigger or cheeks that are fuller – albeit brighter. I’d forgotten the beauty of just sitting and being and existing and for that being enough.
I’d forgotten that there was a much happier version of myself that existed before now and that I liked that person very much, even if she wasn’t perfect, and that is who I want to be again.
Lastly, I’d forgotten that I deserved better. Better than an eating disorder, better than the same food day in and day out, better that overexercise and exhaustion and sadness and isolation. I’d forgotten that I deserved to be nourished and well. I’d forgotten that I deserved recovery.
Don’t forget it. You deserve it too. You truly, truly do.