Today I feel more hopeful than I have in a long time. You know — that real, true, energizing sense of hope.
This morning I drove to the Buddhist Monastery. I got just a tiny bit lost driving there, as it was only my second visit. The first time someone else had driven, so I didn’t really pay attention how to get there. Now I know.
It was a beautiful, warm, sunny day. I parked the car and decided to walk up the grassy hill towards the Buddha shrine. Two monks were walking the path around it, talking, so I continued past, up the hill, on a footpath through a field of wildflowers, not wanting to disturb them. For some reason, I felt lucky passing them. Last time we hadn’t seen any monks. At the top, I surveyed the beautiful landscape. There are rolling green hills, bright green trees, and blue-grey mountains capped with snow in the distance. Behind all of that was the bright blue sky with some fluffy cotton ball clouds. I stood there for a while, breathing, taking in the energy, and enjoying the effect of nature all around me.
Then I walked back down. The two monks were still walking. I had an urge to greet them and ask if I could walk a few times around the Buddha with them, but I was too shy, and afraid I would cry. As I approached them, the younger of the two greeted me with a friendly smile. He asked where I was from and told me a bit about the monastery. I asked if I could walk with him a bit, and he said, “Of course.” His older companion walked silently a few steps behind us. He spoke a bit, then I burst into tears, apologized, and told him I was there to pray for a very sick child. He took my hand and told me not to worry. He said they will pray for him, and asked me the boy’s name.
We circled around the Buddha several times, and then I felt calm and thanked him for walking with me. He shook my hand. His older companion bowed to me and I bowed back. Then I walked down, peacefully, to the meditation room.
I walked into the building, took off my shoes, and walked up the wooden stairs to a large room. There are pictures of various Lamas adorning the wall behind the altar. To the right and left of it are two tables with several tea lights burning, and a large golden Buddha statue almost as large as I am presides on the right hand side. In front of the altar are two low tables on either side, decorated with flowers and other ornaments, and then several pillows in a row behind them on the floor. The monks probably sit or kneel on them when they meditate. Brown wicker chairs with burgundy pillows line the other three sides of the room. I sat in a chair at the back of the room and took in the beauty of it. Then I closed my eyes and meditated.
After a while, that monk came into the room. He sat down next to me and showed me a red silky cotton band with a knot in the middle. He said I could have it to meditate. He gestured how to use it, but I misunderstood him, so he gently took it out of my hand and then tied it around my wrist. Then again, he told me not to worry. They will pray. He smiled, touched my cheek, and was gone.
I stayed in the room a while longer. Gradually a sense of peace began to flow through my body, filling me up. I felt light and peace within me. Shortly thereafter I left. Again I took a slight detour, but I basically knew where I was. I drove past a very interesting house, with paintings painted on the outside. They almost covered two whole sides of the house. There were bright objects in the garden. It really looked like someone has a fun place to live.
Eventually I made it to the lake, which borders on a large town. After walking around there for a while, enjoying the view of the water, the houses in the distance, boats, and lots of ducks swimming around, I walked a couple of blocks into town and stopped for a cup of coffee and a piece of apple strudel. It felt so good to be quiet, among people but only observing.
There was still an hour left on the parking meter, and I happened to walk by a museum that I’d read about just a few days earlier. I walked inside. The first installation is a carousel. It’s an old ride from an amusement park. There are two-seater cups which you sit in, and pull the bar down. There’s a round umbrella roof over each one. The visitor can get on it, and go for a ride. It is extremely slow, so one round takes approximately 13 minutes. All kinds of things go through one’s head during that time. There were only 4 other people there (a family). Everyone was very quiet. When they spoke, then only in whispers.
After looking at the brochure for a few minutes, I sat back to enjoy the ride. It was a strange sensation. After a while, it was as if I was simply drifting off in space, off on a tangent from the rest of the planet, in this hushed room in the middle of nowhere. The only noise was the quiet humming of the machinery. Just letting go, sitting back, letting my feet dangle and existing was very relaxing. There were three other installations, but the carousel was my favorite.
A few years ago, His Holiness the Dalai Lama recommended (among other things) to go somewhere you’ve never been once a year. I took that advice to heart, and do it more than once a year. Sometimes I go somewhere new emotionally, in an otherwise familiar situation. Today was like stepping into a little fairytale. I’ve told you the story in detail, and hope that you will be encouraged to have your own fairytale once in a while.
Take a few hours, or a whole day, plan it a bit, but be open and let your feet lead you. Anybody can do this. Whether you are actively bulimic, in recovery, have some other eating disorder, or none at all, you are invited to have a fairytale hour or day — or anything in between. My plans for today were changed on me yesterday, so I used the unexpected window for a spiritual experience and adventure. My only real plan was to go to the monastery and pray, and then go to the lake.
Now I’m home again, centered and in the present. Right now. And right now everything is as it should be. I focus on what is, letting go of fears about the future — whether immediate or long-term. None of that matters now.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Expect a miracle
I wasn’t going to write today, because the mood is rather subdued. I ran over a cat while I was driving home last night and feel terrible about it. Not that I could have prevented it. I was driving slow enough, but it just shot out of nowhere right in front of me. Until last night, I’d always managed to stop. There are several cats in the neighborhood and I’m used to watching out for them. So today I am pondering how suddenly things in life can change — from one second to the next, and how important it is to always be aware and alert. In the now. I intended to pick a goddess card, but got distracted. (By the way, here’s the name to google: Goddess Guidance Oracle Cards if anyone is interested.)
In the meantime, I just heard from a friend that his son’s illness has worsened and they don’t expect him to live more than a few days. That really devastated me. I’d known he was ill, but he’d been stable for a while, so I kind of expected him to recover.
When I got the email about his son, I sat here and cried, not knowing what to answer. We’d planned to meet tomorrow, and he was cancelling due to the worsening situation. I sat quietly. I did not want to already offer condolences. Then I knew what to say. I told him what I’d heard just the other day: “As long as you are breathing, there is hope.” And I promised to light a candle, which I’ve already done.
The friend I had moaned to this morning about the cat wrote back and asked me which goddess card I’d picked. I had completely forgotten about it! (I’d mentioned to her that it seemed like it was a good day to pick a card.) In the middle of writing back, I stopped, not wanting to get distracted again. The deck nearly split as I lay out the cards.
Who did I pick? Mother Mary. She says: “Expect a miracle. Trust that your prayers will be heard. Trust is the light which shines upon your path. Without trust, the future appears to be terrifying. Thus it is necessary for you to take every step in good faith and trust. Please don’t give up hope — not for yourself and not for others. Let the light of faith shine in your soul. Even the smallest spark of hope can chase away the darkness of doubt. Be the light that can shine for others when they lose hope. When you support others, you not only help yourself. You help the whole world.” She advises one to “Think positive. Let go of all worries and fears. Be aware and follow the godly direction you receive. Pray. Focus on spiritual healing.”
That is exactly what I needed to hear. I will pray and trust and expect a miracle. I cannot determine ahead of time what the miracle will be, but I will pray until I glow with hope and faith, and that miracle will occur.
Remember: As long as you are breathing, there is hope.
In the meantime, I just heard from a friend that his son’s illness has worsened and they don’t expect him to live more than a few days. That really devastated me. I’d known he was ill, but he’d been stable for a while, so I kind of expected him to recover.
When I got the email about his son, I sat here and cried, not knowing what to answer. We’d planned to meet tomorrow, and he was cancelling due to the worsening situation. I sat quietly. I did not want to already offer condolences. Then I knew what to say. I told him what I’d heard just the other day: “As long as you are breathing, there is hope.” And I promised to light a candle, which I’ve already done.
The friend I had moaned to this morning about the cat wrote back and asked me which goddess card I’d picked. I had completely forgotten about it! (I’d mentioned to her that it seemed like it was a good day to pick a card.) In the middle of writing back, I stopped, not wanting to get distracted again. The deck nearly split as I lay out the cards.
Who did I pick? Mother Mary. She says: “Expect a miracle. Trust that your prayers will be heard. Trust is the light which shines upon your path. Without trust, the future appears to be terrifying. Thus it is necessary for you to take every step in good faith and trust. Please don’t give up hope — not for yourself and not for others. Let the light of faith shine in your soul. Even the smallest spark of hope can chase away the darkness of doubt. Be the light that can shine for others when they lose hope. When you support others, you not only help yourself. You help the whole world.” She advises one to “Think positive. Let go of all worries and fears. Be aware and follow the godly direction you receive. Pray. Focus on spiritual healing.”
That is exactly what I needed to hear. I will pray and trust and expect a miracle. I cannot determine ahead of time what the miracle will be, but I will pray until I glow with hope and faith, and that miracle will occur.
Remember: As long as you are breathing, there is hope.
Mothers
They love you dearly. They are always there to listen. They can drive you crazy. They don’t have a clue. They give up a lot for you. They are your biggest fan. And now I know how it is to be one. I am fortunate to still have both of my parents, but with my husband went through the loss of both of his parents, just two months apart from each other.
The last New Year’s Eve we celebrated with his parents, I told my mother-in-law how much I appreciate her and the fact that she accepts me as I am. I know it was difficult for her at times, because we had very different ways of doing things, but she never criticized or put me down. So I told her that she was a great mother-in-law, so different from the ones in films! And I gave her a big hug. That fall she called me on my birthday and wished me the best of everything. She said she hoped that I would accomplish all I set out to do in life. Two weeks later, she passed away, unexpectedly. It was as if we both had known we had to make use of the time we had.
For my husband it was especially difficult, because he was not close to either of them. His relationship with his mother had just begun to blossom after many years of silence, and then she was gone. His father loved him dearly and was very proud of him, but they just couldn’t talk. There were many things left unsaid. I felt his pain for a long time and often cried for him. It was so sad.
My mother can drive me crazy, but I love her very much. We are very close and I treasure that. It pains me to know that someday she will go. As long as we still have our parents, we can express and share many things. But when they are gone, they are still with us.
The last New Year’s Eve we celebrated with his parents, I told my mother-in-law how much I appreciate her and the fact that she accepts me as I am. I know it was difficult for her at times, because we had very different ways of doing things, but she never criticized or put me down. So I told her that she was a great mother-in-law, so different from the ones in films! And I gave her a big hug. That fall she called me on my birthday and wished me the best of everything. She said she hoped that I would accomplish all I set out to do in life. Two weeks later, she passed away, unexpectedly. It was as if we both had known we had to make use of the time we had.
For my husband it was especially difficult, because he was not close to either of them. His relationship with his mother had just begun to blossom after many years of silence, and then she was gone. His father loved him dearly and was very proud of him, but they just couldn’t talk. There were many things left unsaid. I felt his pain for a long time and often cried for him. It was so sad.
My mother can drive me crazy, but I love her very much. We are very close and I treasure that. It pains me to know that someday she will go. As long as we still have our parents, we can express and share many things. But when they are gone, they are still with us.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Numbers and Self-Worth
My recent thoughts on weight have inspired further reflection. When I consider the power that numbers have over us, it just seems insane. How many years did I step on the scale — several times a day — to monitor my weight? Those numbers on the scale determined my self-worth! I used to count calories as well. Those weird numbers determined if food was good or not, and if I was good or not. There are other numbers as well: salary, bank account, value of the house, price of the car, that apparently have something to say about our own value.
There's a great song in German which translates to: Why am I not satisfied? That’s what it’s about. We try to compensate or build up our low self-worth with symbolic numbers. And what happens is, we invest these numbers with an immense power over us, and struggle each day in the hope of achieving certain ideals. Generally, these numbers are unattainable, because as soon as we reach them, we want more (or less, depending on the situation) — to the point of becoming addicted.
Clothing sizes are also numbers. Think about it. What are they for? Their purpose is to help us find clothes that fit us, rather than having to try everything on that’s hanging on the rack. Whether I am a 7, 9, 11, 12 or 14 doesn’t matter. It does not determine my value as a human being. It simply helps me find something to wear that will fit me. During the time when I began to lose weight, I greedily eyed the “petite” sizes, hoping to eventually fit into them. Now I know better — 5′ 7″ is not petite!
When I was really skinny, I can remember not going clothes shopping. I was afraid, because I didn’t know what size I was, and I didn’t want anyone to find out. (Not that I had much spare money to spend on clothes, since most of it went towards bingeing!) Yet I am just as guilty of proudly announcing my size to a woman who was a few sizes larger. As if that made me better or something, it gave me sick satisfaction! Now I accept myself as I am, and the competitive comparison is no longer necessary. On the contrary, I enjoy the company and presence of other women, and treasure each one’s unique appearance, without value judgment.
I don’t like giving other people control over me, and the thought of numbers having control over me is even less desirable. I grew up reacting, discerning my worth through the reflection perceived in other people’s eyes. My self-esteem was a situative variable that had nothing to do with me. That was a poor existence, and no numbers either way could help it. I always assumed the worst. Yet this very desire to please made me willing to undertake immense efforts to try and change myself to fit some predetermined image, size or number which had nothing to do with me.
My tendency towards faith in conspiracy theory supports the notion that this supposed importance of numbers regarding weight and size is instilled in women to keep them under control. Can you imagine the blast of energy, creativity and power that would be unleashed if women stopped expending so much energy and time on these numbers? Wow!
There is still a lot of anger simmering inside of me. Anger at myself for buying into this crock and being so deep into self-destruction for so long, and anger at my environment for promoting these plastic, superficial values. I royally screwed up a lot of things in my life because of it. I damaged my body, I betrayed myself, I barely remember my youth and young adulthood. If I hadn’t written so much in my journal, the gaps in memory would be much worse. True, I trust in the universe, and I am doing a damn good job at making the most of what is left, but sometimes it makes me want to scream. Still, let’s not forget the big picture. Everything happens for a reason and in the end it will all make sense. Remember, this is life now and we can reclaim it and enjoy it. And I want to have some fun!
There's a great song in German which translates to: Why am I not satisfied? That’s what it’s about. We try to compensate or build up our low self-worth with symbolic numbers. And what happens is, we invest these numbers with an immense power over us, and struggle each day in the hope of achieving certain ideals. Generally, these numbers are unattainable, because as soon as we reach them, we want more (or less, depending on the situation) — to the point of becoming addicted.
Clothing sizes are also numbers. Think about it. What are they for? Their purpose is to help us find clothes that fit us, rather than having to try everything on that’s hanging on the rack. Whether I am a 7, 9, 11, 12 or 14 doesn’t matter. It does not determine my value as a human being. It simply helps me find something to wear that will fit me. During the time when I began to lose weight, I greedily eyed the “petite” sizes, hoping to eventually fit into them. Now I know better — 5′ 7″ is not petite!
When I was really skinny, I can remember not going clothes shopping. I was afraid, because I didn’t know what size I was, and I didn’t want anyone to find out. (Not that I had much spare money to spend on clothes, since most of it went towards bingeing!) Yet I am just as guilty of proudly announcing my size to a woman who was a few sizes larger. As if that made me better or something, it gave me sick satisfaction! Now I accept myself as I am, and the competitive comparison is no longer necessary. On the contrary, I enjoy the company and presence of other women, and treasure each one’s unique appearance, without value judgment.
I don’t like giving other people control over me, and the thought of numbers having control over me is even less desirable. I grew up reacting, discerning my worth through the reflection perceived in other people’s eyes. My self-esteem was a situative variable that had nothing to do with me. That was a poor existence, and no numbers either way could help it. I always assumed the worst. Yet this very desire to please made me willing to undertake immense efforts to try and change myself to fit some predetermined image, size or number which had nothing to do with me.
My tendency towards faith in conspiracy theory supports the notion that this supposed importance of numbers regarding weight and size is instilled in women to keep them under control. Can you imagine the blast of energy, creativity and power that would be unleashed if women stopped expending so much energy and time on these numbers? Wow!
There is still a lot of anger simmering inside of me. Anger at myself for buying into this crock and being so deep into self-destruction for so long, and anger at my environment for promoting these plastic, superficial values. I royally screwed up a lot of things in my life because of it. I damaged my body, I betrayed myself, I barely remember my youth and young adulthood. If I hadn’t written so much in my journal, the gaps in memory would be much worse. True, I trust in the universe, and I am doing a damn good job at making the most of what is left, but sometimes it makes me want to scream. Still, let’s not forget the big picture. Everything happens for a reason and in the end it will all make sense. Remember, this is life now and we can reclaim it and enjoy it. And I want to have some fun!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Weight
I was just about ready to have some breakfast, but was writing to someone about weight and (I think) I’d like to share on that. The underlying problems of the bulimic/anorexic are not about weight. I remember wanting to be skinny and weightless, because that was childlike, and I missed being a child. Life seemed so much easier then — looking back, at least. And yet, weight is a major issue, besides learning to love, trust, forgive, mourn, …. and live. Feel free to insert your own issues. Those were my major ones.
I hadn’t really thought about it for a long time, but like I said, I just did. I generally avoid numbers and weights, knowing that we are all so competitive, but I will dare to give some hard numbers. Before I do that, though, I will confess that I am still slim and still concerned about my appearance. In fact, I am practically vain, and don’t think I could stand to be overweight. Recovery doesn’t mean you don’t care about your appearance. You just care differently. For me, it just means accepting my normal weight — which I didn’t get to pick as ideal. My body settled at that all by itself.
So, now to the numbers. I won’t actually give the weight, just comparisons. During my last major relapse-trying-to-recover phase, I weighed around 15 pounds more than at my worst skin-and-bones phase. At that time, I considered it to be the ideal weight, and hoped to recover and keep that weight. It wasn’t enough and I was still starving, so the inevitable binges kept happening. I also couldn’t sleep (ketosis?). Now, get a load of this, I weigh nearly 20 pounds more than that ideal weight. And I am still skinny!!! (But not in an unhealthy way.) These numbers simply knock me over!
I don’t want to brag about weighing so much more than I once did, but I want to state it as a fact of necessity. How many times I actually wished I could magically weigh this much again, because I just couldn’t bear the reality of having to gain the weight back. It was awful. Gaining weight is about giving up control, and I needed to have things under control. Yet, back then when I looked in the mirror, I would gain ten pounds just by looking. At first glance, I would think, “Oh, I’m slim.” Then I’d look closer, and “realize” that I was horribly fat. I never left out an opportunity to look in a mirror, or at my reflection in a store window. I kept hoping to see how I “really” looked, but I wasn’t able to find myself. Not until I looked within and let myself come out.
I think I’d been concerned about looking good, because I felt that what was inside of me was so ugly and deformed, that no one could possibly stand it. So I tried to make up for it by being thin. I know, that’s a strange logic, but it’s how I thought.
It wasn’t until I absolutely surrendered and decided to eat, to do what it takes, and to give up control, that I was able to gain the weight back. Whatever my body settled on, I would accept. I guess the switch was that I really wanted to live, so my body became the vehicle to enable that rather than being my definition. I like my body now. I look in the mirror and I like what I see. I like how I feel, too. It’s all part of me, and feels just right. And now I am finally going to go have my breakfast!
Oh, one more thing. This past summer I had the feeling of going back 30 years and picking up where I left off in my emotional development. (Yes, there are still some issues to be dealt with!) I felt a strong urge to buy the two Supertramp CDs that I had listened to as records back then (Even in the Quietest Moments and Crime of the Century). Many songs I still know by heart. They got me through some of my darkest hours. You might want to check them out.
I hadn’t really thought about it for a long time, but like I said, I just did. I generally avoid numbers and weights, knowing that we are all so competitive, but I will dare to give some hard numbers. Before I do that, though, I will confess that I am still slim and still concerned about my appearance. In fact, I am practically vain, and don’t think I could stand to be overweight. Recovery doesn’t mean you don’t care about your appearance. You just care differently. For me, it just means accepting my normal weight — which I didn’t get to pick as ideal. My body settled at that all by itself.
So, now to the numbers. I won’t actually give the weight, just comparisons. During my last major relapse-trying-to-recover phase, I weighed around 15 pounds more than at my worst skin-and-bones phase. At that time, I considered it to be the ideal weight, and hoped to recover and keep that weight. It wasn’t enough and I was still starving, so the inevitable binges kept happening. I also couldn’t sleep (ketosis?). Now, get a load of this, I weigh nearly 20 pounds more than that ideal weight. And I am still skinny!!! (But not in an unhealthy way.) These numbers simply knock me over!
I don’t want to brag about weighing so much more than I once did, but I want to state it as a fact of necessity. How many times I actually wished I could magically weigh this much again, because I just couldn’t bear the reality of having to gain the weight back. It was awful. Gaining weight is about giving up control, and I needed to have things under control. Yet, back then when I looked in the mirror, I would gain ten pounds just by looking. At first glance, I would think, “Oh, I’m slim.” Then I’d look closer, and “realize” that I was horribly fat. I never left out an opportunity to look in a mirror, or at my reflection in a store window. I kept hoping to see how I “really” looked, but I wasn’t able to find myself. Not until I looked within and let myself come out.
I think I’d been concerned about looking good, because I felt that what was inside of me was so ugly and deformed, that no one could possibly stand it. So I tried to make up for it by being thin. I know, that’s a strange logic, but it’s how I thought.
It wasn’t until I absolutely surrendered and decided to eat, to do what it takes, and to give up control, that I was able to gain the weight back. Whatever my body settled on, I would accept. I guess the switch was that I really wanted to live, so my body became the vehicle to enable that rather than being my definition. I like my body now. I look in the mirror and I like what I see. I like how I feel, too. It’s all part of me, and feels just right. And now I am finally going to go have my breakfast!
Oh, one more thing. This past summer I had the feeling of going back 30 years and picking up where I left off in my emotional development. (Yes, there are still some issues to be dealt with!) I felt a strong urge to buy the two Supertramp CDs that I had listened to as records back then (Even in the Quietest Moments and Crime of the Century). Many songs I still know by heart. They got me through some of my darkest hours. You might want to check them out.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Windows
Okay, this will be my last mention of housework for a while, and of windows in particular. I actually took my own advice, and simply decided to get started. I put on some good music and got to work. Believe it or not, it was just like I said! The moon is in Gemini (I just checked my calendar), the windows were easy to clean, absolutely no smearing, and the time flew by. I got to listen to three whole CD’s (Gung Ho and Land, disc one, from Patti Smith and Stadium Arcadium, Jupiter, RHCP). That was quite pleasant.
I confess, it took me a while to get started, but that was because I had to cook lunch, and anyway, you’re not supposed to clean windows when the sun is shining directly on them. In the morning I was too busy (had a second cup of coffee and sipped very slowly), so I had to wait. In the meantime, I practiced that cute little insanity song I wrote the other day — over and over. I really like it. It has a very catchy tune.
The process of doing the windows and listening to music is very healing. Is it a coincidence that my thoughts are clearer now – like the windows? I doubt it. It’s good now and then to do something different, take care of a task from the bottom of the list. Some days I focus on really stupid things that I consider a waste of time, but it’s nice when they’re done. (You know – like wiping off the stair railing, door knobs and light switches, or the tops of light fixtures.) It’s kind of like clearing things out in the subconscious – nobody notices it, yet there is a different feeling in the air. And your hands don’t stick to the doorknobs! (My daughter had a couple of friends over the other day, and they helped her finally finish off her Easter bunny. All I can say is, teenagers can make just as much of a mess as toddlers!)
During a break I briefly discussed something I’d hesitated to mention with my husband. It didn’t bring quite the results I wanted, but it was one more step towards better communication. That’s good enough for today.
The moral of the story is: Just get started. It’s not as difficult as it seems.
I confess, it took me a while to get started, but that was because I had to cook lunch, and anyway, you’re not supposed to clean windows when the sun is shining directly on them. In the morning I was too busy (had a second cup of coffee and sipped very slowly), so I had to wait. In the meantime, I practiced that cute little insanity song I wrote the other day — over and over. I really like it. It has a very catchy tune.
The process of doing the windows and listening to music is very healing. Is it a coincidence that my thoughts are clearer now – like the windows? I doubt it. It’s good now and then to do something different, take care of a task from the bottom of the list. Some days I focus on really stupid things that I consider a waste of time, but it’s nice when they’re done. (You know – like wiping off the stair railing, door knobs and light switches, or the tops of light fixtures.) It’s kind of like clearing things out in the subconscious – nobody notices it, yet there is a different feeling in the air. And your hands don’t stick to the doorknobs! (My daughter had a couple of friends over the other day, and they helped her finally finish off her Easter bunny. All I can say is, teenagers can make just as much of a mess as toddlers!)
During a break I briefly discussed something I’d hesitated to mention with my husband. It didn’t bring quite the results I wanted, but it was one more step towards better communication. That’s good enough for today.
The moral of the story is: Just get started. It’s not as difficult as it seems.
Daily stuff or: Why am I not satisfied?
After my comments yesterday about the windows, what did I hear on the radio this morning? The woman who does the early show actually had the nerve to announce for everyone to hear that today is a good day to wash windows! So it looks like that’s what I’ll be doing. Writing about housework yesterday inspired me with the motivation to take on some larger tasks today, above and beyond the daily maintenance stuff. My secret is to put on good, loud, energizing music. Generally I listen to “Die Toten Hosen” - a German punk band. One time I was cleaning the bathroom, listening to “Warum werde ich nicht satt?” (”why am I never satisfied?”) and I had to laugh. I’m definitely on this planet with a higher calling than scrubbing toilets, but that is part of life!
If this all seems too non-bulimic in content, by the way, don’t be fooled. Part of recovery is also learning to be silly, laugh, and generally take the serious business of life (and ourselves) a tad less seriously. A playful, open, creative approach can go a long way. In a sense, it’s that childlike attitude that we adults tend to mourn losing, as we rediscover it in our own children and marvel at their ability to live in the now.
Since there is no specific topic today and I’m just finishing my coffee before starting those windows, I want to mention how happy I am that some bulimics have contacted me. It is not only rewarding to hear that my site has been a “blessing” to them (as one woman wrote), but also encourages me that I am on the right path. Originally, my book was supposed to be the way to reach people with my story. It still is. But that was before I’d heard of blogging. I consider blogging a wonderful way to reach out — both to give support and to seek it. It’s like one big anonymous meeting at my fingertips, available any time of day — at everyone’s convenience. Perfect! I’ve often complained about being born into this age of hi-tech, but this invention is definitely positive!
I think it’s wonderful that a few people have gathered their courage together and taken the step to contact me, simply because in that process they were able to let go of some denial, admit they have a problem and realize that they want to do something about it. That is a process of its own, and can take a while. I am not a therapist, but have collected a wealth of experience and have a lot to share. If it is an option, I strongly recommend therapy — either individual or group. Both possibilites I have used and both were helpful. In the meantime, feel free to continue writing, asking questions or just commenting.
If this all seems too non-bulimic in content, by the way, don’t be fooled. Part of recovery is also learning to be silly, laugh, and generally take the serious business of life (and ourselves) a tad less seriously. A playful, open, creative approach can go a long way. In a sense, it’s that childlike attitude that we adults tend to mourn losing, as we rediscover it in our own children and marvel at their ability to live in the now.
Since there is no specific topic today and I’m just finishing my coffee before starting those windows, I want to mention how happy I am that some bulimics have contacted me. It is not only rewarding to hear that my site has been a “blessing” to them (as one woman wrote), but also encourages me that I am on the right path. Originally, my book was supposed to be the way to reach people with my story. It still is. But that was before I’d heard of blogging. I consider blogging a wonderful way to reach out — both to give support and to seek it. It’s like one big anonymous meeting at my fingertips, available any time of day — at everyone’s convenience. Perfect! I’ve often complained about being born into this age of hi-tech, but this invention is definitely positive!
I think it’s wonderful that a few people have gathered their courage together and taken the step to contact me, simply because in that process they were able to let go of some denial, admit they have a problem and realize that they want to do something about it. That is a process of its own, and can take a while. I am not a therapist, but have collected a wealth of experience and have a lot to share. If it is an option, I strongly recommend therapy — either individual or group. Both possibilites I have used and both were helpful. In the meantime, feel free to continue writing, asking questions or just commenting.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Getting a handle on what I can handle
I was going to call this the Monday morning ramble, but I just realized it’s Wednesday. No, I’m not totally withdrawn or out of touch with the world, I’m just tired and it’s that Monday morning atmosphere. I’ve been wondering lately what it is that made me go along with so many things. Looking back, I think I was so thrilled about recovering that I let other things slide. It was ingrained in my head that as long as I wasn’t bingeing and/or puking everything else was fine, and I lost touch. It really is a tightrope act — to balance between being justifiably relieved and thrilled to recover, but then humble enough to acknowledge that there is definitely more to life than the survival mode.
A recognizable pattern is emerging. There is a tendency to make a change, be elated, sail along with this for a while, meanwhile slipping backwards so slowly that it only becomes apparent when this reverse process is rather advanced. Relationships are a good example. We have a really good 4-hour talk and everything comes out. Afterwards, I am exhausted, relieved and optimistic. For a few weeks the communication continues, but at the same time it gradually subsides. Soon enough, the walls are back up, the wordlessness has resumed, and it makes me wonder if anything actually happened. I need to be aware every day of what I am doing.
There is a tendency to get comfortable and rest on one’s laurels, but beware! Resting too long can jeopardize further development. On the other hand, it takes what it takes. If I don’t get it right the first time - or the ninth time - I’ll just keep getting the chance. Every day it is possible to start over, start new. I just bear in mind that things also get more complicated with every new chance, which brings me to the conclusion that I want to deal with as much as possible now. Recently I met with my former therapist. He said, “You’re not the fastest, but you’re steady in your development.” Part of that has to do with the amount of hidden excess baggage that I still carry and only now become aware of. With this new revelation, I think I’d like to accelerate just a tiny bit.
Once it was a comfort to trust that god/higher power only gives us what we can handle. That is comforting, but it contains a challenge as well. When I recognize that there is something to do, that is the time to act on it. Oh, but it’s not easy to know what to do! And then there’s also a balance to maintain between personal issues and concern for those around us. What a world! What a life!
Meanwhile I read the morning paper. Catastrophes abound. Millions of people are starving, refugees, homeless because of flooding. Oil is at an all-time high. Prices for everything are rising. Yet another case of child sexual abuse has been reported. From the obituary page I see that I’ll be attending a funeral tomorrow. Coma drinking among teenagers is on the rise. And somebody found a bag with 16,000 Euros in it and brought it to the police. The delighted rightful owner rewarded generously. My horoscope says I should go for a walk. My thoughts wander and eventually come upon Gilda Radner’s famous words: “It’s always something!”
Ideally I want to remain cheerful and optimistic, open and ready to face each new (or old) challenge as a gift — something to learn from. I want to be patient, not put excessive pressure on myself, yet not procrastinate. I guess that’s where higher power comes in. I think I’ll ask h.p. once again to help me be honest and realistic, and not beat on myself just because I don’t get everything right the first time around.
A recognizable pattern is emerging. There is a tendency to make a change, be elated, sail along with this for a while, meanwhile slipping backwards so slowly that it only becomes apparent when this reverse process is rather advanced. Relationships are a good example. We have a really good 4-hour talk and everything comes out. Afterwards, I am exhausted, relieved and optimistic. For a few weeks the communication continues, but at the same time it gradually subsides. Soon enough, the walls are back up, the wordlessness has resumed, and it makes me wonder if anything actually happened. I need to be aware every day of what I am doing.
There is a tendency to get comfortable and rest on one’s laurels, but beware! Resting too long can jeopardize further development. On the other hand, it takes what it takes. If I don’t get it right the first time - or the ninth time - I’ll just keep getting the chance. Every day it is possible to start over, start new. I just bear in mind that things also get more complicated with every new chance, which brings me to the conclusion that I want to deal with as much as possible now. Recently I met with my former therapist. He said, “You’re not the fastest, but you’re steady in your development.” Part of that has to do with the amount of hidden excess baggage that I still carry and only now become aware of. With this new revelation, I think I’d like to accelerate just a tiny bit.
Once it was a comfort to trust that god/higher power only gives us what we can handle. That is comforting, but it contains a challenge as well. When I recognize that there is something to do, that is the time to act on it. Oh, but it’s not easy to know what to do! And then there’s also a balance to maintain between personal issues and concern for those around us. What a world! What a life!
Meanwhile I read the morning paper. Catastrophes abound. Millions of people are starving, refugees, homeless because of flooding. Oil is at an all-time high. Prices for everything are rising. Yet another case of child sexual abuse has been reported. From the obituary page I see that I’ll be attending a funeral tomorrow. Coma drinking among teenagers is on the rise. And somebody found a bag with 16,000 Euros in it and brought it to the police. The delighted rightful owner rewarded generously. My horoscope says I should go for a walk. My thoughts wander and eventually come upon Gilda Radner’s famous words: “It’s always something!”
Ideally I want to remain cheerful and optimistic, open and ready to face each new (or old) challenge as a gift — something to learn from. I want to be patient, not put excessive pressure on myself, yet not procrastinate. I guess that’s where higher power comes in. I think I’ll ask h.p. once again to help me be honest and realistic, and not beat on myself just because I don’t get everything right the first time around.
Housework and Self-Improvement
What does housework have to do with eating disorders? More than you may realize! First of all, when I look back to my worst times — living alone in a studio apartment in New York City (that was the good part!) and bingeing blindly (you can guess which part that was), my apartment was a disaster! I will skip the details, but let’s just say I didn’t clean very often. When I did, it was usually in the middle of the night. It would have taken me the whole day to get motivated, or I might just do it on an impulse.
Somehow, cleaning my apartment at night, while normal people were asleep, I felt like an elf in a fairy tale. You know - I’d wake up the next day and — SURPRISE! — my apartment would be clean! But let me get back to the dirty part. There I would be, scrubbing away at the bathroom walls, and think to myself: “Gee, doing housework isn’t so bad. It’s just getting started that’s the worst part. I can do this more often, then the mess won’t be so bad.” Is that what I did? Of course not! The weeks passed once again.
Since I’ve recovered (and live with a very orderly, cleanliness-loving man), my housecleaning habits have improved considerably — if not drastically. But lately it has occurred to me that I do housework often just not to get a scolding, which is really quite stressful, so I’ve relaxed a bit. He’s not complaining anymore, because I’m not putting up with it anymore. Or maybe he’s walking on eggshells, now that I’m not? I’m not going to get into that today. The point is, I’ve relaxed things a bit and feel less pressure.
So much for my cleaning history as a bulimarexic and as a healthy woman. More important to me are the lessons life gives me, which also includes having to get through some difficult situations. It occurred to me while writing to someone that these challenges, issues and problems are kind of like housework. Whether I deal with them today, tomorrow, next week or even never — they won’t go away. So why not relax and deal with them when I’m motivated? Just like I do with the housework?
In fact, it just occurred to me. I’m sure anyone who does housework knows that some days are better than others. That is true about any work, actually. There are days when everything flows, the work seems to almost get done by itself. Equally, there are other days, when even the minor tasks seem to take forever or just don’t go well. For several tasks, it would make sense to consult a calendar. Depending on which sign of the zodiac the moon happens to be in (I don’t know if I’m saying this right, but you can check any good calendar), certain tasks are better done or left alone. I’m serious! For example, there are only a few days a month on which it makes sense to clean windows. Unfortunately, I haven’t cleaned my windows for a few months, because it either rained on those days, I had company, or — oh, dear! — I just didn’t feel like it. Yes, that can happen, too, regardless of the calendar.
Looking at it from this perspective, even though there are things about myself and life that need work, it really isn’t so terrible if I don’t get it all done this week. But rather than doing a marathon job once a year, maybe this could also be broken down into smaller tasks. Then less “mess” would collect over time. Theoretically, at least. When the relatives come, they always leave a mess!
I’m just about finished, but there is one more topic that must be discussed, since I’m talking about work. Free time. “All work, no play, for me that is a lousy day.”
And yet, I find it so difficult to play sometimes, because there is still so much work to do. Playtime could also be put into the schedule. Oh, I’m so sorry if this sounds like I’m making up rules. I really shouldn’t do that, because the first thing I’ll do is break them. Several years ago, in a sudden burst of honesty, I gave up making New Year’s Resolutions. For me, there is absolutely no point. “Must, should, have to, ought to, supposed to…” are words I don’t particularly care for, regardless of context.
So don’t let me try to tell anybody what to do. It’s just a thought that housework and life work will not run away from us, so maybe we could stress ourselves less with the thought of what we ought (ouch!) to do and see it more as something that can be built into the flow of our day. Free time is unfortunately made of different material properties. If we don’t consciously make time for it, it disappears like a rainbow.
Somehow, cleaning my apartment at night, while normal people were asleep, I felt like an elf in a fairy tale. You know - I’d wake up the next day and — SURPRISE! — my apartment would be clean! But let me get back to the dirty part. There I would be, scrubbing away at the bathroom walls, and think to myself: “Gee, doing housework isn’t so bad. It’s just getting started that’s the worst part. I can do this more often, then the mess won’t be so bad.” Is that what I did? Of course not! The weeks passed once again.
Since I’ve recovered (and live with a very orderly, cleanliness-loving man), my housecleaning habits have improved considerably — if not drastically. But lately it has occurred to me that I do housework often just not to get a scolding, which is really quite stressful, so I’ve relaxed a bit. He’s not complaining anymore, because I’m not putting up with it anymore. Or maybe he’s walking on eggshells, now that I’m not? I’m not going to get into that today. The point is, I’ve relaxed things a bit and feel less pressure.
So much for my cleaning history as a bulimarexic and as a healthy woman. More important to me are the lessons life gives me, which also includes having to get through some difficult situations. It occurred to me while writing to someone that these challenges, issues and problems are kind of like housework. Whether I deal with them today, tomorrow, next week or even never — they won’t go away. So why not relax and deal with them when I’m motivated? Just like I do with the housework?
In fact, it just occurred to me. I’m sure anyone who does housework knows that some days are better than others. That is true about any work, actually. There are days when everything flows, the work seems to almost get done by itself. Equally, there are other days, when even the minor tasks seem to take forever or just don’t go well. For several tasks, it would make sense to consult a calendar. Depending on which sign of the zodiac the moon happens to be in (I don’t know if I’m saying this right, but you can check any good calendar), certain tasks are better done or left alone. I’m serious! For example, there are only a few days a month on which it makes sense to clean windows. Unfortunately, I haven’t cleaned my windows for a few months, because it either rained on those days, I had company, or — oh, dear! — I just didn’t feel like it. Yes, that can happen, too, regardless of the calendar.
Looking at it from this perspective, even though there are things about myself and life that need work, it really isn’t so terrible if I don’t get it all done this week. But rather than doing a marathon job once a year, maybe this could also be broken down into smaller tasks. Then less “mess” would collect over time. Theoretically, at least. When the relatives come, they always leave a mess!
I’m just about finished, but there is one more topic that must be discussed, since I’m talking about work. Free time. “All work, no play, for me that is a lousy day.”
And yet, I find it so difficult to play sometimes, because there is still so much work to do. Playtime could also be put into the schedule. Oh, I’m so sorry if this sounds like I’m making up rules. I really shouldn’t do that, because the first thing I’ll do is break them. Several years ago, in a sudden burst of honesty, I gave up making New Year’s Resolutions. For me, there is absolutely no point. “Must, should, have to, ought to, supposed to…” are words I don’t particularly care for, regardless of context.
So don’t let me try to tell anybody what to do. It’s just a thought that housework and life work will not run away from us, so maybe we could stress ourselves less with the thought of what we ought (ouch!) to do and see it more as something that can be built into the flow of our day. Free time is unfortunately made of different material properties. If we don’t consciously make time for it, it disappears like a rainbow.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Spring wake-up efforts
After a workout at the gym today, I felt much better. I need to work out regularly. It helps me stay in shape, keeps me strong and in a better mood, prevents osteoporosis and weight gain. (Since passing 40, I’ve noticed a tendency to gain weight more easily if I don’t get enough exercise.) Sounds like a good deal to me! Okay, I’m motivated! (It’s kind of hard, because I’ve just never been the type that wants to do something all the time, though it does me good. But once I’m there, I enjoy it!) It just occurred to me that this recent slide into darkness coincided with my reduction in activity. I’m sure it’s connected. So if you’re feeling down, when’s the last time you moved that body?
But before I went to the gym, I picked two goddess cards – two because two made themselves noticeable. That does happen on occasion. (The deck is by Doreen Virtue, in case anyone is curious.) Who did I pick? First Sarasvati, then Oonagh beckoned. They were both appropriate. (The descriptions are my rough translation from German.)
Sarasvati is a Hindu goddess of the fine arts. Her message is: “You are a boundless being. If you perceive limits – be they temporal, financial or otherwise – that is only your perception, because you are focussed on the material world. You can remove these boundaries by changing your focus. Music is of major importance for the expression of non-materialistic ideals and energy. It helps us move beyond the limits of thinking and existence. Surround yourself with music and let it stimulate new ideas and awaken your creativity. Flow with the music and allow yourself to experiment. Enjoy your boundlessness.” Her advice is to sing, dance, be creative, and/or make music.
Oonagh is a Celtic goddess of lightness/ease. Her message is: “To really be involved in a relationship/project is a long-term commitment, which one should not enter upon lightly. It is so important to me what happens to my planet and loved ones that I will stick by them no matter what. That is not always easy, but it is the only way I can be sure that everything will be resolved and heal. I listen to my heart. I show my loved ones how much they mean to me. I do something to keep matters moving. Don’t worry about other people’s opinions – you profit by pursuing your main goals. You will feel good when you create time and space for matters of the heart. Do what you need to do, and do it with your whole heart. And remember, there is no competition for the true purpose in life, so you don’t have to worry, hurry, or put pressure on yourself.” She says everything will happen in good time. Nor should I take any drastic measures. One step at a time, consistently moving forward, is the best way to go. Ease gently into your new life, don’t be in a rush.
I bet both cards are appropriate for others besides me today, and stumbling upon them here and now is very close to picking them. That’s why I’m sharing them.
I’m following Sarasvati’s advice and surrounding myself in music. One magical song I've been listening to is "Hide in your shell" by Supertramp. Youtube-it! I was 15 when it came out. It was one of the few times I felt understood. I don’t think it needs more comment.
But before I went to the gym, I picked two goddess cards – two because two made themselves noticeable. That does happen on occasion. (The deck is by Doreen Virtue, in case anyone is curious.) Who did I pick? First Sarasvati, then Oonagh beckoned. They were both appropriate. (The descriptions are my rough translation from German.)
Sarasvati is a Hindu goddess of the fine arts. Her message is: “You are a boundless being. If you perceive limits – be they temporal, financial or otherwise – that is only your perception, because you are focussed on the material world. You can remove these boundaries by changing your focus. Music is of major importance for the expression of non-materialistic ideals and energy. It helps us move beyond the limits of thinking and existence. Surround yourself with music and let it stimulate new ideas and awaken your creativity. Flow with the music and allow yourself to experiment. Enjoy your boundlessness.” Her advice is to sing, dance, be creative, and/or make music.
Oonagh is a Celtic goddess of lightness/ease. Her message is: “To really be involved in a relationship/project is a long-term commitment, which one should not enter upon lightly. It is so important to me what happens to my planet and loved ones that I will stick by them no matter what. That is not always easy, but it is the only way I can be sure that everything will be resolved and heal. I listen to my heart. I show my loved ones how much they mean to me. I do something to keep matters moving. Don’t worry about other people’s opinions – you profit by pursuing your main goals. You will feel good when you create time and space for matters of the heart. Do what you need to do, and do it with your whole heart. And remember, there is no competition for the true purpose in life, so you don’t have to worry, hurry, or put pressure on yourself.” She says everything will happen in good time. Nor should I take any drastic measures. One step at a time, consistently moving forward, is the best way to go. Ease gently into your new life, don’t be in a rush.
I bet both cards are appropriate for others besides me today, and stumbling upon them here and now is very close to picking them. That’s why I’m sharing them.
I’m following Sarasvati’s advice and surrounding myself in music. One magical song I've been listening to is "Hide in your shell" by Supertramp. Youtube-it! I was 15 when it came out. It was one of the few times I felt understood. I don’t think it needs more comment.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Obsessing, prophetic winks and book recommendations
When I have thought about a problematic situation endlessly and come to no clear conclusion (some people call this obsessing), that seems to be the time to let go and do something else. Then, to my surprise, if not the answer then at least suggestions seem to appear from nowhere. Although this has occurred countless times, it never ceases to amaze me.
Where do the answers come from? A telephone conversation, a billboard, a newspaper article, an ad in the subway, a book I’m reading. Books especially seem to provide the best answers. I can remember going through a difficult time with my daughter - one of those phases during which I feel like I did everything wrong and I just don’t know what to do. At that time, I was reading a book about Sri Ramana Maharshi, and the strangest things happened. It is quite a thick book, so it took a while to get through it. During that time, I often had the feeling that his spirit was with me. I had vivid dreams. Often I would think about a problem, pick up the book, and an answer would be there. That was a very special experience.
At one of my lowest points, the person narrating the story told about his own childhood and how his father had done his utmost to prevent his son from becoming a holy man, as the astrologers had predicted at his birth. Despite all of his father’s efforts, and ignorant of them until much later, the man fulfilled his destiny. When I read that, I thought to myself: “And I am trying to nurture my daughter, not stand in her way. Surely she will find her way and fulfill her own destiny.” (That was a borrowed book and I don’t remember the name.)
Recently, I’ve read books about strong women. That wasn’t my intention, but it just seemed to happen, and was exactly what I needed. I read Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza, who told her amazing story of surviving the Rwandan holocaust in 1994. In A Circle of Quiet Madeleine L’Engle talks about keeping on, despite various struggles, believing in herself, and finally having success with her book A Wrinkle in Time. In fiction I read Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende. In the early 1980’s I first read My Life by Isadora Duncan, and have carried that small paperback with me across the ocean and through several different apartments. Recently, it whispered to me from the bookshelf “read me!” - so I did, and was duly inspired by her free, matter-of-fact thinking. It seems as though she never doubted herself and was totally merged with the universe.
For the past 6 months I’ve been reading the biography of Frida Kahlo from Hayden Herrera. That is taking a long time. Yet each time I pick it up again, the timing is perfect. It had been several weeks again, and last night I decided to read further. I just happened to be at the part where she had separated from her husband (whom she later remarried) and wanted to make it on her own. She was having a difficult time and wrote to a friend: “This is the absolute worst time of my life. I don’t know how I’ll get through this.” As the author wrote in the closing sentence to that chapter, “but of course she did indeed get through it.” What better encouragement can I ask for?
Then there are affirmations and oracles, like Heart Thoughts: A treasure of inner wisdom by Louise Hay. That is good for simply opening up to the right page to find an affirmation that suits the day exactly. Or my Goddess cards. People smile sceptically when I tell them, but the cards are always right on. (Haven’t picked one for a while. I think I’ll do that after I finish writing this.) Recently I picked the same card two days in a row. It was telling me among other things to get outdoors, get fresh air, move. I prefer indoor activities like reading, listening to music, writing and talking on the phone. On the third day, I was a bit annoyed and thought, “I don’t want to get that card again. I don’t WANT to go outside.” Well, I picked a different goddess, but this one also told me to go outside. I had to laugh, and ended up going for a walk. I grudgingly admit that I felt better afterwards.
I won’t go beyond mentioning the impact of music and lyrics. Lyrics have always been a fascinating source of emotional nourishment for as long as I can remember. As a ten-year-old I copied a quote from the song ”I am a rock” by Simon and Garfunkel into my diary. I felt so understood!! There is a wealth of support to be found there.
What I’m saying is, I don’t recommend running away from one’s problems. Rather, if the approach up until now hasn’t worked, then maybe it’s time to let go of it. Let go of trying to control and figure everything out. Quiet down, open up and see what’s out there. Find out about other people - what they are doing, going through, have been through, and what they have to say about their experiences. Although it is not easy to let go, and can be a little scary (fear of the unknown?!), there is also something very exciting about making a change and trying something new. For myself, I am at a turning point, and I’m definitely open to a new approach. So many old behavior and thought patterns stopped working or never worked. I’m ready for new ones. By the way, I’ve heard from several people about the worst time of their lives - and they got through it!
As an afterthought, I’ve gotten really sloppy about going to the gym regularly. I always seem to be so busy. Last year I was in better shape. What did my horoscope in today’s paper say? Exactly that: “A year ago you were in much better shape physically. Do something!!” So, I will consult my goddess cards, and then I will get to the gym today!
Where do the answers come from? A telephone conversation, a billboard, a newspaper article, an ad in the subway, a book I’m reading. Books especially seem to provide the best answers. I can remember going through a difficult time with my daughter - one of those phases during which I feel like I did everything wrong and I just don’t know what to do. At that time, I was reading a book about Sri Ramana Maharshi, and the strangest things happened. It is quite a thick book, so it took a while to get through it. During that time, I often had the feeling that his spirit was with me. I had vivid dreams. Often I would think about a problem, pick up the book, and an answer would be there. That was a very special experience.
At one of my lowest points, the person narrating the story told about his own childhood and how his father had done his utmost to prevent his son from becoming a holy man, as the astrologers had predicted at his birth. Despite all of his father’s efforts, and ignorant of them until much later, the man fulfilled his destiny. When I read that, I thought to myself: “And I am trying to nurture my daughter, not stand in her way. Surely she will find her way and fulfill her own destiny.” (That was a borrowed book and I don’t remember the name.)
Recently, I’ve read books about strong women. That wasn’t my intention, but it just seemed to happen, and was exactly what I needed. I read Left to Tell by Immaculée Ilibagiza, who told her amazing story of surviving the Rwandan holocaust in 1994. In A Circle of Quiet Madeleine L’Engle talks about keeping on, despite various struggles, believing in herself, and finally having success with her book A Wrinkle in Time. In fiction I read Daughter of Fortune by Isabel Allende. In the early 1980’s I first read My Life by Isadora Duncan, and have carried that small paperback with me across the ocean and through several different apartments. Recently, it whispered to me from the bookshelf “read me!” - so I did, and was duly inspired by her free, matter-of-fact thinking. It seems as though she never doubted herself and was totally merged with the universe.
For the past 6 months I’ve been reading the biography of Frida Kahlo from Hayden Herrera. That is taking a long time. Yet each time I pick it up again, the timing is perfect. It had been several weeks again, and last night I decided to read further. I just happened to be at the part where she had separated from her husband (whom she later remarried) and wanted to make it on her own. She was having a difficult time and wrote to a friend: “This is the absolute worst time of my life. I don’t know how I’ll get through this.” As the author wrote in the closing sentence to that chapter, “but of course she did indeed get through it.” What better encouragement can I ask for?
Then there are affirmations and oracles, like Heart Thoughts: A treasure of inner wisdom by Louise Hay. That is good for simply opening up to the right page to find an affirmation that suits the day exactly. Or my Goddess cards. People smile sceptically when I tell them, but the cards are always right on. (Haven’t picked one for a while. I think I’ll do that after I finish writing this.) Recently I picked the same card two days in a row. It was telling me among other things to get outdoors, get fresh air, move. I prefer indoor activities like reading, listening to music, writing and talking on the phone. On the third day, I was a bit annoyed and thought, “I don’t want to get that card again. I don’t WANT to go outside.” Well, I picked a different goddess, but this one also told me to go outside. I had to laugh, and ended up going for a walk. I grudgingly admit that I felt better afterwards.
I won’t go beyond mentioning the impact of music and lyrics. Lyrics have always been a fascinating source of emotional nourishment for as long as I can remember. As a ten-year-old I copied a quote from the song ”I am a rock” by Simon and Garfunkel into my diary. I felt so understood!! There is a wealth of support to be found there.
What I’m saying is, I don’t recommend running away from one’s problems. Rather, if the approach up until now hasn’t worked, then maybe it’s time to let go of it. Let go of trying to control and figure everything out. Quiet down, open up and see what’s out there. Find out about other people - what they are doing, going through, have been through, and what they have to say about their experiences. Although it is not easy to let go, and can be a little scary (fear of the unknown?!), there is also something very exciting about making a change and trying something new. For myself, I am at a turning point, and I’m definitely open to a new approach. So many old behavior and thought patterns stopped working or never worked. I’m ready for new ones. By the way, I’ve heard from several people about the worst time of their lives - and they got through it!
As an afterthought, I’ve gotten really sloppy about going to the gym regularly. I always seem to be so busy. Last year I was in better shape. What did my horoscope in today’s paper say? Exactly that: “A year ago you were in much better shape physically. Do something!!” So, I will consult my goddess cards, and then I will get to the gym today!
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Sunday ramblings and revelations
I guess I’ll just dive in. I listened to calm music last night to fall asleep, and it wasn’t calm enough!! There was some percussion that kept jolting me. So I need to check out music for falling asleep. That doesn’t really surprise me, being a person of extremes. Now that I have surrendered to the need for calm music, it has to be REALLY calm! I put on the Gregorian chants, and that was better.
While cooking lunch today, my phone rang. It was my sleepyhead daughter calling from upstairs. She’d come home late the night before and had just woken up. With motherly intuition, I answered the phone: “Meals on wheels. How can I help you?” She replied, “I’m hungry. Can you make something with spinach?” I just happened to be making spinach crepes, which is one of her favorite meals. (It is odd: she doesn’t like many vegetables, but she likes spinach.)
Meal preparation is a good time to let one’s stream of consciousness run free. Various thoughts occurred to me. I’m still feeling helpless, as if I don’t have control over my life. I remember the year before my 26th birthday, when I decided it was now or never with recovery, because I had spent half my life as a bulimic. If I didn’t stop at 26, it would become more than half of my life.
I moved here (to my then-boyfriend-now-husband) when I was 23, and this fall I turn 46. Once again, that half-way point of life is lurking in the shadows of my consciousness. Maybe I’m going through this struggle all over again to better show what is involved in recovery - beyond the simple information on how it is possible. I wanted to offer my story as encouragement for recovery. What better way to emphasize that recovery is a life-long process than to share my next big step? It’s a little harder this time, because other people are involved - a husband and two children. Nor do I have any substances to get me through it. Alcohol doesn’t work. Nor do I want to smoke or eat sweets. What to do when there’s nothing left - nowhere to hide? I don’t know yet.
Once I had the necessary determination. I need it again. Maybe the bulimia recovery was just the dress rehearsal to prepare for true emotional recovery. This is the big show - the main performance. (Until the next one, that is!!) I learned to recover, to eat, to take fairly good care of myself, but emotionally didn’t quite restore the complete sense of self worth. Now it’s growing, and it’s a challenge to remain in the daily routine. In fact, I’m changing things step by step.
One very important step in recovery is humility. Every time I start to get too full of myself and think I’m on top of the world, something happens to remind me that I’m like everyone else. I need to remain humble and grateful for each day. That keeps me grounded. I’ve generally been the one to offer advice, be strong, help others, or play a leading role, so it is a strange feeling to be so slow on the path and look to others for guidance. But those ahead of me are also humble, and they encourage me - shining the light and beckoning for me to come join them. That is a wonderful gesture.
While cooking lunch today, my phone rang. It was my sleepyhead daughter calling from upstairs. She’d come home late the night before and had just woken up. With motherly intuition, I answered the phone: “Meals on wheels. How can I help you?” She replied, “I’m hungry. Can you make something with spinach?” I just happened to be making spinach crepes, which is one of her favorite meals. (It is odd: she doesn’t like many vegetables, but she likes spinach.)
Meal preparation is a good time to let one’s stream of consciousness run free. Various thoughts occurred to me. I’m still feeling helpless, as if I don’t have control over my life. I remember the year before my 26th birthday, when I decided it was now or never with recovery, because I had spent half my life as a bulimic. If I didn’t stop at 26, it would become more than half of my life.
I moved here (to my then-boyfriend-now-husband) when I was 23, and this fall I turn 46. Once again, that half-way point of life is lurking in the shadows of my consciousness. Maybe I’m going through this struggle all over again to better show what is involved in recovery - beyond the simple information on how it is possible. I wanted to offer my story as encouragement for recovery. What better way to emphasize that recovery is a life-long process than to share my next big step? It’s a little harder this time, because other people are involved - a husband and two children. Nor do I have any substances to get me through it. Alcohol doesn’t work. Nor do I want to smoke or eat sweets. What to do when there’s nothing left - nowhere to hide? I don’t know yet.
Once I had the necessary determination. I need it again. Maybe the bulimia recovery was just the dress rehearsal to prepare for true emotional recovery. This is the big show - the main performance. (Until the next one, that is!!) I learned to recover, to eat, to take fairly good care of myself, but emotionally didn’t quite restore the complete sense of self worth. Now it’s growing, and it’s a challenge to remain in the daily routine. In fact, I’m changing things step by step.
One very important step in recovery is humility. Every time I start to get too full of myself and think I’m on top of the world, something happens to remind me that I’m like everyone else. I need to remain humble and grateful for each day. That keeps me grounded. I’ve generally been the one to offer advice, be strong, help others, or play a leading role, so it is a strange feeling to be so slow on the path and look to others for guidance. But those ahead of me are also humble, and they encourage me - shining the light and beckoning for me to come join them. That is a wonderful gesture.
Clear Intentions
It took me three days to finally accomplish the big next step: getting to the store to check out music for meditation and relaxation. I kept forgetting. There was always something else to do, and I find it hard to relax sometimes. (Tomorrow!!) Luckily, we needed groceries yesterday, so I had to go out.
On the way there, I felt a sudden rush of connection and excitement. The sun was shining and I felt something churning up inside. The idea of viewing each day as an adventure came to mind. That’s nothing new, but to feel that anticipation, to “grok” it (anybody read “Stranger in a Strange Land”?), was nice. Grok means to really get something, to feel and understand it with every cell of your body. It seemed that by letting go, surrendering, and taking a step towards enhanced well-being, I was already being shown a new, more positive approach.
At the store, I was delighted to see that, at least in CD form, “Pure Peace” is quite inexpensive - only €3.99! For the price of one regular CD, I picked out three CDs - letting myself be totally influenced by the packaging and the names of the songs. I was sure that higher power (and good ad copy) would direct me well. I’m on the second CD, and quite pleased thus far.
There’s a picture of a calm sea, with mountains in the background, which just happens to be framed by a golden sunset. I’m really ready for some calmness. In space and quiet, new possibilities, new ideas can spring forth. Obviously, some of the old ones are no longer appropriate. As any creative person knows, it’s hard to produce creativity on demand. Although, the more practice one gets, the more fluid it becomes. It also helps to let up on the pressure and expectations on yourself!
Since somebody who has very similar taste to my own recommended calm music, let me pass on the suggestion. For myself, listening to loud rock/punk music is a way to express feelings (especially determination and anger) - through singing along. The serene music goes beyond those feelings to open my heart. I trust.
On the way there, I felt a sudden rush of connection and excitement. The sun was shining and I felt something churning up inside. The idea of viewing each day as an adventure came to mind. That’s nothing new, but to feel that anticipation, to “grok” it (anybody read “Stranger in a Strange Land”?), was nice. Grok means to really get something, to feel and understand it with every cell of your body. It seemed that by letting go, surrendering, and taking a step towards enhanced well-being, I was already being shown a new, more positive approach.
At the store, I was delighted to see that, at least in CD form, “Pure Peace” is quite inexpensive - only €3.99! For the price of one regular CD, I picked out three CDs - letting myself be totally influenced by the packaging and the names of the songs. I was sure that higher power (and good ad copy) would direct me well. I’m on the second CD, and quite pleased thus far.
There’s a picture of a calm sea, with mountains in the background, which just happens to be framed by a golden sunset. I’m really ready for some calmness. In space and quiet, new possibilities, new ideas can spring forth. Obviously, some of the old ones are no longer appropriate. As any creative person knows, it’s hard to produce creativity on demand. Although, the more practice one gets, the more fluid it becomes. It also helps to let up on the pressure and expectations on yourself!
Since somebody who has very similar taste to my own recommended calm music, let me pass on the suggestion. For myself, listening to loud rock/punk music is a way to express feelings (especially determination and anger) - through singing along. The serene music goes beyond those feelings to open my heart. I trust.
Hanging by a Thread
That’s what I’m doing emotionally these days, because my life is kind of upside down and really needs some shaking out. I spent some time reading inspirational posts by real people like me, who are also not perfect, who have also experienced a lot, who have faced incredible challenges and still have more to go, and that gives me hope.
I guess I’d been floating on this plateau for a while, not realizing that a storm was brewing. Or maybe I just needed to be oblivious for a while to gather my strength. Or I was so scared that I did all I could to keep the storm in the kettle with the lid on, but didn’t know how to turn off the stove. Anyway, I don’t feel particularly strong right now. I’m just kind of sitting here. Suddenly it occurred to me: That is okay, too. Then I had the vision of hanging by a thread and thought to myself: Yes, that could be quite a catchy tune, and right now, that’s about all you can do with it. Maybe make a funny song out of it.
See, sometimes we really just need to hang. To pray, to admit our helplessness, and be willing to let higher power take over for a while, because our free will hasn’t been so free. Or maybe it got us into more trouble than we bargained for. That is okay. Take off the pressure. There are others who are putting it together now, linking the thoughts and insights that I need, for which I am so grateful.
All that has gone before makes us what we are today. I keep hearing that, and I do believe it. I’m not spouting wisdom today. Instead, I’m walking around holding out my apron to catch all the wisdom and insight that others offer. And I’m not going to feel guilty about it or put myself down for being selfish. I’m just going to thank everyone. And I will keep thanking them, keep hanging by my thread, and keep listening. Standing there with my apron, I look at the lush green fields, the blue-grey snow-tipped mountains outlined in the sky, and take in the energy.
Life is up and down, a series of waves, with different phases. Right now I’m in a phase of holding on. When the time is right, I’ll be able to let go again - and then probably laugh when I realize I didn’t fall very far at all! Breathe and laugh, breathe and laugh. The next change is going to be a big one!
I guess I’d been floating on this plateau for a while, not realizing that a storm was brewing. Or maybe I just needed to be oblivious for a while to gather my strength. Or I was so scared that I did all I could to keep the storm in the kettle with the lid on, but didn’t know how to turn off the stove. Anyway, I don’t feel particularly strong right now. I’m just kind of sitting here. Suddenly it occurred to me: That is okay, too. Then I had the vision of hanging by a thread and thought to myself: Yes, that could be quite a catchy tune, and right now, that’s about all you can do with it. Maybe make a funny song out of it.
See, sometimes we really just need to hang. To pray, to admit our helplessness, and be willing to let higher power take over for a while, because our free will hasn’t been so free. Or maybe it got us into more trouble than we bargained for. That is okay. Take off the pressure. There are others who are putting it together now, linking the thoughts and insights that I need, for which I am so grateful.
All that has gone before makes us what we are today. I keep hearing that, and I do believe it. I’m not spouting wisdom today. Instead, I’m walking around holding out my apron to catch all the wisdom and insight that others offer. And I’m not going to feel guilty about it or put myself down for being selfish. I’m just going to thank everyone. And I will keep thanking them, keep hanging by my thread, and keep listening. Standing there with my apron, I look at the lush green fields, the blue-grey snow-tipped mountains outlined in the sky, and take in the energy.
Life is up and down, a series of waves, with different phases. Right now I’m in a phase of holding on. When the time is right, I’ll be able to let go again - and then probably laugh when I realize I didn’t fall very far at all! Breathe and laugh, breathe and laugh. The next change is going to be a big one!
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Lost Time
I’m so glad I wrote that about the blessings of bulimia, because I realized it wasn’t all lost time. Ever since I recovered, I’ve been going at a steady pace, sometimes frenetic, and definitely with shades of workaholic behavior woven into the pattern. The other day I realized that this is related to the chip on my shoulder: I feel like because I lost so much time through the sickness I have to make up for it.
There are so many projects. There is so much I want to accomplish in this short lifetime, and I wasted so much time! So I’ve been busting my a– to make up for it. That really isn’t the way to go. If I continue at this pace, I’ll end up dropping from sheer exhaustion. My social life and relaxation generally wait on the back burner. But there’s so much going on, I’ll never get around to them if I don’t make the time.
The other day, I was on the phone with my mother. She reminded me of what Granny used to say: “Did you get outside today? Did you smell the flowers?” I didn’t lose time. I’m right on schedule, even though I would have planned it differently. But I’m not the one who plans this stuff, I’m just a dot in the universe! Today’s note is short, because I’m going to practice yoga – now!
Have a great day! And please do me a favor, let’s everybody do something nice for themselves and someone else today! Just for fun!
There are so many projects. There is so much I want to accomplish in this short lifetime, and I wasted so much time! So I’ve been busting my a– to make up for it. That really isn’t the way to go. If I continue at this pace, I’ll end up dropping from sheer exhaustion. My social life and relaxation generally wait on the back burner. But there’s so much going on, I’ll never get around to them if I don’t make the time.
The other day, I was on the phone with my mother. She reminded me of what Granny used to say: “Did you get outside today? Did you smell the flowers?” I didn’t lose time. I’m right on schedule, even though I would have planned it differently. But I’m not the one who plans this stuff, I’m just a dot in the universe! Today’s note is short, because I’m going to practice yoga – now!
Have a great day! And please do me a favor, let’s everybody do something nice for themselves and someone else today! Just for fun!
Noticeable Change
Recently I hooked up with some spiritual, positive-thinking people, and feel a refreshing wave of hope and humanity returning to my life - and that, despite the sad world situation. It has often bothered me that I react with anger over stupid situations, and more often than not make a fool of myself. In the process, there is often a bad aftertaste on both sides. Most of the time, it has to do with being in a bad mood, feeling sorry for myself, or oh, so misunderstood. Then I tend to jump to conclusions, and more often than not, attack some innocent bystander verbally with my frustration.
Last Wednesday was different. I’d just come out from my singing lesson, and there was a huge truck parked behind my car, so I couldn’t leave the parking space. Feeling calm and optimistic, I looked at the driver’s seat - empty. Then I went around to the back and saw two guys unloading stuff. In a - get a load of this!! - friendly voice, I simply asked if they were going to be there for a long time, because they were blocking my car. One guy said, yes, but they could move the truck. I started to go back to my car, then I said, “Well, if you’re not going to be too much longer, I could quickly run to the store and let you finish what you’re doing.” The other guy said, “No, I’ll move the truck. It’s going to take us a while longer.” So he moved the truck back, I got out of the parking space, and drove by with a friendly wave.
Afterwards I felt a rush of — happiness through cooperation. I don’t know what else to call it. Sometimes I am so stuck in my world and feel like everyone is out to get me, especially when confronted with an unexpected obstacle. On the other hand, I so admire people who stay calm and simply cope with a situation, not assuming the worst. The realization that we are all in this together, that they were just doing their work, and that we can solve little and big problems with friendly, considerate communication is clear enough, just sometimes the stress of daily life blinds me to that.
Looked at from a different, more generous perspective, such situations are opportunities to connect, to celebrate our common humanity and utilize our wonderful gift of being human: We have the ability to think before we speak, and to see things in a positive way. We can be open and assume the best instead of the worst. I don’t mean to make such a big deal of this, but for me it is. I really prefer when that better part of me shines through. That does indeed have an effect. All of us left the interaction in a good way, so we were more inclined to be kind and friendly to the next person we met. Like a pebble tossed into a lake…
Last Wednesday was different. I’d just come out from my singing lesson, and there was a huge truck parked behind my car, so I couldn’t leave the parking space. Feeling calm and optimistic, I looked at the driver’s seat - empty. Then I went around to the back and saw two guys unloading stuff. In a - get a load of this!! - friendly voice, I simply asked if they were going to be there for a long time, because they were blocking my car. One guy said, yes, but they could move the truck. I started to go back to my car, then I said, “Well, if you’re not going to be too much longer, I could quickly run to the store and let you finish what you’re doing.” The other guy said, “No, I’ll move the truck. It’s going to take us a while longer.” So he moved the truck back, I got out of the parking space, and drove by with a friendly wave.
Afterwards I felt a rush of — happiness through cooperation. I don’t know what else to call it. Sometimes I am so stuck in my world and feel like everyone is out to get me, especially when confronted with an unexpected obstacle. On the other hand, I so admire people who stay calm and simply cope with a situation, not assuming the worst. The realization that we are all in this together, that they were just doing their work, and that we can solve little and big problems with friendly, considerate communication is clear enough, just sometimes the stress of daily life blinds me to that.
Looked at from a different, more generous perspective, such situations are opportunities to connect, to celebrate our common humanity and utilize our wonderful gift of being human: We have the ability to think before we speak, and to see things in a positive way. We can be open and assume the best instead of the worst. I don’t mean to make such a big deal of this, but for me it is. I really prefer when that better part of me shines through. That does indeed have an effect. All of us left the interaction in a good way, so we were more inclined to be kind and friendly to the next person we met. Like a pebble tossed into a lake…
Monday, June 9, 2008
Early Morning Coffee
Well, I was rather annoyed because - being the nice mother I am - I offered to drive my daughter to the bus stop in the pouring rain this morning. The annoying part was, she was so slow-moving, that she managed to miss the bus and I ended up driving her to school. But that’s okay. I made a point of getting out of bed on the right foot this morning (which in my case happens to be my left foot), so I came home, had breakfast, and am settled with a cup of coffee at the computer.
As I said, it’s raining and dreary outside, which makes it a wonderful day for keyboard rambling. I have hesitated to mention this in more detail, because in a sense I started this blog to tell people about my book. You know: “Look at me, I am healthy. Read my story and you can recover, too.” I am 100% convinced about the story, but the catch is: I didn’t live happily ever after. In fact, as I’ve already mentioned, things have been building up inside recently.
This is what happened. I wrote my book, and in that process a lot of stuff came up again. The book is comprised of nearly 50 journals, which I wrote between the ages of 10 and 31 years. Most of it I had completely forgotten. So that first round was quite heavy, including a depressive break of a few months. Rather, I took a few months off, otherwise I would have become seriously depressed. Still, I managed.
I live in a German-speaking country, so during the past year I translated the book. I don’t know why, but through the process of translating, it all hit me even harder. Perhaps because in my mother language, it was all rather automated and I read it more as an editor. Whereas translating it into a different language really made me think.
I know, I am meandering, but that is my style, and this is difficult besides. I finished this round of work on the book with a lot of sadness, because I realized a few things. First of all, my heart has always been elsewhere, but I never pursued it honestly, because I was convinced that I am not loveable. Ouch! Second, I never really had anything in common with my husband, except that he was willing to put up with me. Ouch again!
This past Christmas I went home to New York City for one week. What does one do with so little time? Of course - I went to Barnes & Noble. And there I was looking for 2 specific books. I didn’t find either one, but I ended up with three wonderful books: one on Arthur Rimbaud & Jim Morrison, one compiled collection of sample writings from the beat generation, and one on verbally abusive men (by Patricia Evans). It took me nearly half an hour of leafing through before I could convince myself that the third book might be applicable. I read that book on a train ride along the Hudson River and time and again felt tears of relief brimming. “Oh, it’s not all me! It’s not my fault! He really is not behaving appropriately!” I hate to admit it, but it took me 23 years in this relationship to accept the gut feeling that I am not happy with him nor will I ever be.
Don’t get me wrong! He’s wonderful - kind, reliable, faithful, generous, isn’t an alcoholic, doesn’t hit me, doesn’t smoke, gives me my freedom to do as I please. But from the beginning, I loved him most when we were separated, and always breathed a sigh of relief when he went away on business. And he knew enough not to be too nice to me. I’ve already mentioned that - because if he were too nice, I would have considered him a jerk like all the rest and left him early on. The bad part is, he’s neat and I’m sloppy - and that’s just the beginning. He makes me feel stupid, can be very condescending, looks at me like I am a jerk. Sometimes I have difficulty with the language, which doesn’t help. If I say “What?” three times, he often says, “Oh, forget it.” But after all these years, he hasn’t learned to speak loudly or clearly enough to avoid that, as some of my other friends do.
I am still not completely sure how much of the problems have to do with my acting out patterns that I learned as a child. I consider this situation an opportunity to grow. Perhaps I’m crazy, scared, or maybe just procrastinating, but at the moment, I am changing the interaction, and then I’ll see what happens. To leave now, I feel like I would be setting a bad example for my children, and probably pick up the same problems with the next relationship (after the honeymoon, of course). I want to work things through, so that we can separate as two mature adults. That may be wishful thinking. In fact, we might even change our relating to such an extent that we get along better, and according to the book I read, some men can change. Either way, I believe this relationship is an opportunity to learn, and perhaps it’s lasted so long because I’ve been too afraid to learn. Instead of speaking out, I hid in my room and cried alone.
At this point I am focussing on growth within the present situation. I am also focussing on getting my life together. I am not in a position (yet) to simply leave. Actually, I feel a certain elative thrill as I learn to stick up for myself. If he gives me a “stupid” look, I don’t accept it. I give it back and clearly explain what I did/said, etc. and why it makes sense. That also takes a lot of energy and awareness, but I feel better than I do expending the energy to suffer quietly, anticipate his every reaction, or try to keep harmony at all costs. While other people were “walking on sunshine” as Katrina sang, I was walking on eggshells. Now I’m trampling the eggshells, scooping them up and scattering them on the compost heap, convinced that something better will grow, and I’m ready to walk on sunshine!
So, I hope I’m not disappointing anybody by not sticking to the “I am recovered and holier than thou” routine, but that just wouldn’t be authentic. And right now, authenticity is what it’s all about. Just through blogging I have come across some wonderful people, and it warms my heart. In the long run, that’s really what it’s about - sharing and participating in a community. And from what I’ve heard, abusive relationships are no rarity! Especially among people who have/had eating disorders!
Today’s message in a nutshell: Let’s talk about this stuff! And like I said the other day: Recovery is life, so it’s an ongoing process. I thought my book would close one chapter of my life, but it turned around on me and opened a new one!
As I said, it’s raining and dreary outside, which makes it a wonderful day for keyboard rambling. I have hesitated to mention this in more detail, because in a sense I started this blog to tell people about my book. You know: “Look at me, I am healthy. Read my story and you can recover, too.” I am 100% convinced about the story, but the catch is: I didn’t live happily ever after. In fact, as I’ve already mentioned, things have been building up inside recently.
This is what happened. I wrote my book, and in that process a lot of stuff came up again. The book is comprised of nearly 50 journals, which I wrote between the ages of 10 and 31 years. Most of it I had completely forgotten. So that first round was quite heavy, including a depressive break of a few months. Rather, I took a few months off, otherwise I would have become seriously depressed. Still, I managed.
I live in a German-speaking country, so during the past year I translated the book. I don’t know why, but through the process of translating, it all hit me even harder. Perhaps because in my mother language, it was all rather automated and I read it more as an editor. Whereas translating it into a different language really made me think.
I know, I am meandering, but that is my style, and this is difficult besides. I finished this round of work on the book with a lot of sadness, because I realized a few things. First of all, my heart has always been elsewhere, but I never pursued it honestly, because I was convinced that I am not loveable. Ouch! Second, I never really had anything in common with my husband, except that he was willing to put up with me. Ouch again!
This past Christmas I went home to New York City for one week. What does one do with so little time? Of course - I went to Barnes & Noble. And there I was looking for 2 specific books. I didn’t find either one, but I ended up with three wonderful books: one on Arthur Rimbaud & Jim Morrison, one compiled collection of sample writings from the beat generation, and one on verbally abusive men (by Patricia Evans). It took me nearly half an hour of leafing through before I could convince myself that the third book might be applicable. I read that book on a train ride along the Hudson River and time and again felt tears of relief brimming. “Oh, it’s not all me! It’s not my fault! He really is not behaving appropriately!” I hate to admit it, but it took me 23 years in this relationship to accept the gut feeling that I am not happy with him nor will I ever be.
Don’t get me wrong! He’s wonderful - kind, reliable, faithful, generous, isn’t an alcoholic, doesn’t hit me, doesn’t smoke, gives me my freedom to do as I please. But from the beginning, I loved him most when we were separated, and always breathed a sigh of relief when he went away on business. And he knew enough not to be too nice to me. I’ve already mentioned that - because if he were too nice, I would have considered him a jerk like all the rest and left him early on. The bad part is, he’s neat and I’m sloppy - and that’s just the beginning. He makes me feel stupid, can be very condescending, looks at me like I am a jerk. Sometimes I have difficulty with the language, which doesn’t help. If I say “What?” three times, he often says, “Oh, forget it.” But after all these years, he hasn’t learned to speak loudly or clearly enough to avoid that, as some of my other friends do.
I am still not completely sure how much of the problems have to do with my acting out patterns that I learned as a child. I consider this situation an opportunity to grow. Perhaps I’m crazy, scared, or maybe just procrastinating, but at the moment, I am changing the interaction, and then I’ll see what happens. To leave now, I feel like I would be setting a bad example for my children, and probably pick up the same problems with the next relationship (after the honeymoon, of course). I want to work things through, so that we can separate as two mature adults. That may be wishful thinking. In fact, we might even change our relating to such an extent that we get along better, and according to the book I read, some men can change. Either way, I believe this relationship is an opportunity to learn, and perhaps it’s lasted so long because I’ve been too afraid to learn. Instead of speaking out, I hid in my room and cried alone.
At this point I am focussing on growth within the present situation. I am also focussing on getting my life together. I am not in a position (yet) to simply leave. Actually, I feel a certain elative thrill as I learn to stick up for myself. If he gives me a “stupid” look, I don’t accept it. I give it back and clearly explain what I did/said, etc. and why it makes sense. That also takes a lot of energy and awareness, but I feel better than I do expending the energy to suffer quietly, anticipate his every reaction, or try to keep harmony at all costs. While other people were “walking on sunshine” as Katrina sang, I was walking on eggshells. Now I’m trampling the eggshells, scooping them up and scattering them on the compost heap, convinced that something better will grow, and I’m ready to walk on sunshine!
So, I hope I’m not disappointing anybody by not sticking to the “I am recovered and holier than thou” routine, but that just wouldn’t be authentic. And right now, authenticity is what it’s all about. Just through blogging I have come across some wonderful people, and it warms my heart. In the long run, that’s really what it’s about - sharing and participating in a community. And from what I’ve heard, abusive relationships are no rarity! Especially among people who have/had eating disorders!
Today’s message in a nutshell: Let’s talk about this stuff! And like I said the other day: Recovery is life, so it’s an ongoing process. I thought my book would close one chapter of my life, but it turned around on me and opened a new one!
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Harmony and Coping Mechanisms
There is no perfect way to recover, just as there is no one right way to live. Parents cannot instruct their children to avoid making mistakes (though I have tried!), and I as a recovered bulimic cannot explain how to recover. Along the lines of the 12-step programs, I choose to share my story and insights, and perhaps they will spark something off in someone to help her on her own path. Sometimes it’s hard to find our own way, and yet that is a gift from the universe: We are each entitled to our own unique path. My only advice: Get help! Therapy is priceless, worth it, and may save you a few years of your life!
Because I am stubborn, or it’s simply my nature, when I am told how to do something, I am immediately sceptical. I tend to feel suffocated by rules – real or imagined – and I just want to find my own way. There is a certain pride involved, I must admit.
Recently I realized that the problem with some of the songs I write is that they are too repetitive and predictable. (Somebody already told me that as well, but I had to figure it out myself!) They need more variety. During a walk yesterday evening, it occurred to me that sometimes the unexpected twists in songs are what make them especially interesting, not the harmonious aspect.
Since it is my nature to relate to things on different levels, I immediately thought to myself: It’s like a relationship. Perfect harmony with no discord gets to be boring and may not be authentic. The less-than-harmonic situations tend to be the ones that promote our growth and bring us closer. Or it’s like eating habits. When I was first in recovery, I ate the same breakfast and lunch every day, because I just couldn’t deal with more at the time. After a while, I did add variety, and I felt so much better!
This can be found in many aspects – in our work situation, or how we spend our free time. Studies come to mind in which workers had one task that they always did, while others rotated among different tasks. That latter group had much higher job satisfaction, and a stronger sense of actually producing something. If I recall correctly, they even did a better job! As opposed to simply identifying themselves with one isolated part.
Which brings me to the subject of coping mechanisms. After several years of sickness, I realized that my bulimic/anorexic behavior was actually a coping mechanism! It helped me deal with an otherwise impossible situation – my parents’ divorce and the aftermath, things beyond the control of a child. I recall my therapist commenting at one point that he was amazed that I had survived as well as I did. The problem was, that once I was grown up and in a position to take control over my life, I didn’t have any other coping mechanisms in my repertoire! These had to be developed, one at a time.
What to do with free time? What to do with meal requirements? What to do with feelings like pain, sadness, happiness, excitement, disappointment, nervousness, hunger, fear, anger, anticipation…? The list goes on and on. I began by simply sitting, or eating the same meal, or writing in my journal. Then I expanded the repertoire, learning to go for a walk, take a relaxing bath, go to the movies, listen to music, or call a friend. Much later I started writing songs. The possibilities are endless.
During the process of developing these coping strategies, I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was doing. My first goal was simply not to binge or throw up, and that was how I judged success for a long time. During early student life, I focussed on preparing for exams without getting into the food. Passing or failing became secondary. It was a developmental process in which I gradually learned to structure my life. It also helped assuage my fear of failure (e.g. not being perfect) and made me realize that life is about so much more than passing tests.
Recently I was in a dark space. I don’t mean a relapse; I just mean things were rather difficult for a while. My thoughts drifted back to the meeting rooms, where I haven’t been for nearly 25 years, but they left a lasting impression. I remember the mention of sitting with the pain, feeling the feelings, accepting them and going on. That is still what it’s about! It is normal to have such trying times! The other day, I went to bed and cried for a while, and then I watched a movie (Chocolat with Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche – scrumptious!!!). At one point, my husband came into my room. One look at my swollen eyes and my wave of dismissal were enough. He patted my shoulder, walked back out, and took care of sending the kids to bed and closing things down for the night. After the movie, I went to bed. The next day, I felt peaceful and almost optimistic. And then I was able to talk to him about it.
I believe that the difficult situations are gifts from the universe. They provide opportunities to grow, explore and try new things. When I’m feeling down, I thank the universe for yet another gift. It doesn’t immediately give me an incredible boost, but it’s usually good for a smile.
Because I am stubborn, or it’s simply my nature, when I am told how to do something, I am immediately sceptical. I tend to feel suffocated by rules – real or imagined – and I just want to find my own way. There is a certain pride involved, I must admit.
Recently I realized that the problem with some of the songs I write is that they are too repetitive and predictable. (Somebody already told me that as well, but I had to figure it out myself!) They need more variety. During a walk yesterday evening, it occurred to me that sometimes the unexpected twists in songs are what make them especially interesting, not the harmonious aspect.
Since it is my nature to relate to things on different levels, I immediately thought to myself: It’s like a relationship. Perfect harmony with no discord gets to be boring and may not be authentic. The less-than-harmonic situations tend to be the ones that promote our growth and bring us closer. Or it’s like eating habits. When I was first in recovery, I ate the same breakfast and lunch every day, because I just couldn’t deal with more at the time. After a while, I did add variety, and I felt so much better!
This can be found in many aspects – in our work situation, or how we spend our free time. Studies come to mind in which workers had one task that they always did, while others rotated among different tasks. That latter group had much higher job satisfaction, and a stronger sense of actually producing something. If I recall correctly, they even did a better job! As opposed to simply identifying themselves with one isolated part.
Which brings me to the subject of coping mechanisms. After several years of sickness, I realized that my bulimic/anorexic behavior was actually a coping mechanism! It helped me deal with an otherwise impossible situation – my parents’ divorce and the aftermath, things beyond the control of a child. I recall my therapist commenting at one point that he was amazed that I had survived as well as I did. The problem was, that once I was grown up and in a position to take control over my life, I didn’t have any other coping mechanisms in my repertoire! These had to be developed, one at a time.
What to do with free time? What to do with meal requirements? What to do with feelings like pain, sadness, happiness, excitement, disappointment, nervousness, hunger, fear, anger, anticipation…? The list goes on and on. I began by simply sitting, or eating the same meal, or writing in my journal. Then I expanded the repertoire, learning to go for a walk, take a relaxing bath, go to the movies, listen to music, or call a friend. Much later I started writing songs. The possibilities are endless.
During the process of developing these coping strategies, I wasn’t consciously aware of what I was doing. My first goal was simply not to binge or throw up, and that was how I judged success for a long time. During early student life, I focussed on preparing for exams without getting into the food. Passing or failing became secondary. It was a developmental process in which I gradually learned to structure my life. It also helped assuage my fear of failure (e.g. not being perfect) and made me realize that life is about so much more than passing tests.
Recently I was in a dark space. I don’t mean a relapse; I just mean things were rather difficult for a while. My thoughts drifted back to the meeting rooms, where I haven’t been for nearly 25 years, but they left a lasting impression. I remember the mention of sitting with the pain, feeling the feelings, accepting them and going on. That is still what it’s about! It is normal to have such trying times! The other day, I went to bed and cried for a while, and then I watched a movie (Chocolat with Johnny Depp and Juliette Binoche – scrumptious!!!). At one point, my husband came into my room. One look at my swollen eyes and my wave of dismissal were enough. He patted my shoulder, walked back out, and took care of sending the kids to bed and closing things down for the night. After the movie, I went to bed. The next day, I felt peaceful and almost optimistic. And then I was able to talk to him about it.
I believe that the difficult situations are gifts from the universe. They provide opportunities to grow, explore and try new things. When I’m feeling down, I thank the universe for yet another gift. It doesn’t immediately give me an incredible boost, but it’s usually good for a smile.
Saturday, June 7, 2008
My Children and their Food
I confess, I wanted to be a perfect mother. Now that I have more experience in the matter, I opt for the “good-enough mother” description. As long as I do the best I can with the resources available at the moment, I am doing my job. You see, I ran myself ragged the first few (10?) years, and then realized that it was to nobody’s benefit.
Naturally, there is one especially important issue: Food. I have a burning desire to prevent eating disorders in my children. How? I never make them finish everything on their plates – not even if there’s only one bite left. I encourage them to serve themselves, so they get a sense of how much they need. Now I sometimes regret that I wasn’t more insistent about them at least trying new things, but that’s how it is.
Part of my recovery was about being good to myself, which means the food looks nice, and if it’s meant to be served warm, then that’s how I want to eat it. A cold, chopped-up half-portion on a child’s plate does not interest me. As a rule, I never finish things on their plates. Table scraps are table scraps, and I am not a garbage can! Neither are my children!
My husband grew up without eating disorders but with less abundance, and has a tendency to finish things. (His parents experienced the Second World War and the food scarcity, which left an impression on him.) He suggests that the children finish things on their plates, but it’s more a reflex on his part – a habit I gently ignore. They don’t let it bother them. He has mentioned the starving children in China, and my son at one point asked: “What good will it do them if I eat this?” Lately, I’ve taken to joking: “Ask Papa if he wants to eat it. Otherwise I’m sending it to China.” By no means do I encourage waste, I just don’t want things swallowed at all costs.
Unfortunately, I was overzealous with my first-born. I cooked vegetables and pureed them myself, but overdid it on the carrots. To this day, she cannot eat carrots. (Back then I didn’t quite get it about the need for variety.) In fact, she doesn’t like most vegetables, which is a shame, but I can’t force her to eat them. I keep hoping she’ll end up with a boyfriend who likes vegetables. Never underestimate the power of love! (Meanwhile, a couple of her favorite meals actually have vegetables smuggled into them!)
I definitely made some mistakes, but on the positive side: I breastfed both babies for 9 or 10 months, I give them regular meals, and don’t have much snack food in the house. Now that they are teenagers, they like to take their meals in front of the TV at times – and sometimes their schedule varies, because they are out with friends or hanging out in their rooms on the weekend, and at 10 pm suddenly realize they are starving! But generally we eat together at the table. There is no TV in that room, and the radio is always off during meals. For me, the importance of the meal is not what’s on the table, but that we are all sitting together.
My daughter has a weakness for ice cream, but I blame that on the heat wave during my pregnancy. Cold baths and ice cream were a matter of survival! She definitely does tend towards sweets. I have enough in the house to prevent feelings of deprivation, but not enough that it becomes a problem.
My son is easier. He likes vegetables and has always been a good eater. Maybe that’s because he had more variety from the start. He likes sweets as well, but is quite moderate. (Funny enough, during that pregnancy there was another heat wave, but I didn’t eat quite as much ice cream.) His behavior reassures me that either I didn’t do everything wrong, or that a lot has to do with a person’s character. (I don’t mean just about eating!) He is the athletic type and easy going.
Watching children eat and grow is a unique experience. Sometimes it seems like they get by on nothing. Other times they consume large quantities as if they’re starving and you can literally watch them grow.
My daughter had the tendency to get a bit pudgy, then shoot up a few inches. That was her rhythm. She is not very athletic. (She gets that from me! I think we both grew too quickly and were thus uncoordinated. As an adult, I’m coordinated and enjoy sports more than I did back then.) When she was 11 years old, her tummy was again round for a long time. I made a subtle effort to be more active and cut back on cookies, but I did not make an issue of it. I remember one occasion when we went out to dinner with two other families. One of the fathers and his teenage son are both somewhat overweight and he had mentioned it as a problem on past occasions. My daughter wanted dessert. This man, meaning well, I am sure, said something to the effect of: “Are you sure you want dessert? Look at that stomach! Don’t you want to have a nice figure?”
I was furious, but managed to control myself. I glared at him and indicated that he be quiet. My daughter told him that she always gets a bit round before growing taller, just as I had explained to her at some point. After she enjoyed her dessert and went outside with the other children to play (they have a wonderful yard and play area at this restaurant, which is very popular with families), I told him that I’d had an eating problem for several years, that I would not make an issue out of a little tummy in puberty, that I don’t want him to make any more such comments in her presence, and that guilt is not the way to deal with it – the best way to start an eating disorder is to feel guilty and go on a diet. I won’t go into exact details, but today he is still overweight, and my daughter is now taller than I am, beautiful, and slim. And she still enjoys the occasional dessert!
She still has a slightly round tummy, which sometimes bothers her. I tell her she looks fine, which she does. Actually, since she’s started going out more and walking more (and I stopped driving her everywhere), that tummy has diminished of its own accord.
An experience of my own comes to mind. When I was 13, a male friend of the family patted me on the butt and made a comment about my curves. That shocked me, and I felt dissatisfied with my body and very uncomfortable.
I remember when my daughter was in kindergarten, she came home one day and asked me if I thought my thighs were too fat! I was quite surprised, but said, “No. I’m happy just the way I am.” I’ve worked hard to promote that image, as I know how much we pick up from our mothers. (Mine was tall and skinny and always on a diet! I realized later she used to binge and then fast. Many years later she confessed that she’d even tried to throw up, but had never been able to do it. Gee, am I surprised about my own behavior as a young woman?)
So, it’s not easy. I do the best I can as a mother, and still have to cope with outside/societal influences as well, over which I have no control. Things are generally working out well. I have conveyed an attitude towards food as being a pleasant necessity, but not overly important. It is definitely not an enemy, which is how I once perceived it. In retrospect, there are a few things I would do differently, but isn’t life always like that?
My daughter just got home after a long day at school and said, “Mommy, I’m starving! Please make me something nourishing to eat!” Little things like that make my day.
Naturally, there is one especially important issue: Food. I have a burning desire to prevent eating disorders in my children. How? I never make them finish everything on their plates – not even if there’s only one bite left. I encourage them to serve themselves, so they get a sense of how much they need. Now I sometimes regret that I wasn’t more insistent about them at least trying new things, but that’s how it is.
Part of my recovery was about being good to myself, which means the food looks nice, and if it’s meant to be served warm, then that’s how I want to eat it. A cold, chopped-up half-portion on a child’s plate does not interest me. As a rule, I never finish things on their plates. Table scraps are table scraps, and I am not a garbage can! Neither are my children!
My husband grew up without eating disorders but with less abundance, and has a tendency to finish things. (His parents experienced the Second World War and the food scarcity, which left an impression on him.) He suggests that the children finish things on their plates, but it’s more a reflex on his part – a habit I gently ignore. They don’t let it bother them. He has mentioned the starving children in China, and my son at one point asked: “What good will it do them if I eat this?” Lately, I’ve taken to joking: “Ask Papa if he wants to eat it. Otherwise I’m sending it to China.” By no means do I encourage waste, I just don’t want things swallowed at all costs.
Unfortunately, I was overzealous with my first-born. I cooked vegetables and pureed them myself, but overdid it on the carrots. To this day, she cannot eat carrots. (Back then I didn’t quite get it about the need for variety.) In fact, she doesn’t like most vegetables, which is a shame, but I can’t force her to eat them. I keep hoping she’ll end up with a boyfriend who likes vegetables. Never underestimate the power of love! (Meanwhile, a couple of her favorite meals actually have vegetables smuggled into them!)
I definitely made some mistakes, but on the positive side: I breastfed both babies for 9 or 10 months, I give them regular meals, and don’t have much snack food in the house. Now that they are teenagers, they like to take their meals in front of the TV at times – and sometimes their schedule varies, because they are out with friends or hanging out in their rooms on the weekend, and at 10 pm suddenly realize they are starving! But generally we eat together at the table. There is no TV in that room, and the radio is always off during meals. For me, the importance of the meal is not what’s on the table, but that we are all sitting together.
My daughter has a weakness for ice cream, but I blame that on the heat wave during my pregnancy. Cold baths and ice cream were a matter of survival! She definitely does tend towards sweets. I have enough in the house to prevent feelings of deprivation, but not enough that it becomes a problem.
My son is easier. He likes vegetables and has always been a good eater. Maybe that’s because he had more variety from the start. He likes sweets as well, but is quite moderate. (Funny enough, during that pregnancy there was another heat wave, but I didn’t eat quite as much ice cream.) His behavior reassures me that either I didn’t do everything wrong, or that a lot has to do with a person’s character. (I don’t mean just about eating!) He is the athletic type and easy going.
Watching children eat and grow is a unique experience. Sometimes it seems like they get by on nothing. Other times they consume large quantities as if they’re starving and you can literally watch them grow.
My daughter had the tendency to get a bit pudgy, then shoot up a few inches. That was her rhythm. She is not very athletic. (She gets that from me! I think we both grew too quickly and were thus uncoordinated. As an adult, I’m coordinated and enjoy sports more than I did back then.) When she was 11 years old, her tummy was again round for a long time. I made a subtle effort to be more active and cut back on cookies, but I did not make an issue of it. I remember one occasion when we went out to dinner with two other families. One of the fathers and his teenage son are both somewhat overweight and he had mentioned it as a problem on past occasions. My daughter wanted dessert. This man, meaning well, I am sure, said something to the effect of: “Are you sure you want dessert? Look at that stomach! Don’t you want to have a nice figure?”
I was furious, but managed to control myself. I glared at him and indicated that he be quiet. My daughter told him that she always gets a bit round before growing taller, just as I had explained to her at some point. After she enjoyed her dessert and went outside with the other children to play (they have a wonderful yard and play area at this restaurant, which is very popular with families), I told him that I’d had an eating problem for several years, that I would not make an issue out of a little tummy in puberty, that I don’t want him to make any more such comments in her presence, and that guilt is not the way to deal with it – the best way to start an eating disorder is to feel guilty and go on a diet. I won’t go into exact details, but today he is still overweight, and my daughter is now taller than I am, beautiful, and slim. And she still enjoys the occasional dessert!
She still has a slightly round tummy, which sometimes bothers her. I tell her she looks fine, which she does. Actually, since she’s started going out more and walking more (and I stopped driving her everywhere), that tummy has diminished of its own accord.
An experience of my own comes to mind. When I was 13, a male friend of the family patted me on the butt and made a comment about my curves. That shocked me, and I felt dissatisfied with my body and very uncomfortable.
I remember when my daughter was in kindergarten, she came home one day and asked me if I thought my thighs were too fat! I was quite surprised, but said, “No. I’m happy just the way I am.” I’ve worked hard to promote that image, as I know how much we pick up from our mothers. (Mine was tall and skinny and always on a diet! I realized later she used to binge and then fast. Many years later she confessed that she’d even tried to throw up, but had never been able to do it. Gee, am I surprised about my own behavior as a young woman?)
So, it’s not easy. I do the best I can as a mother, and still have to cope with outside/societal influences as well, over which I have no control. Things are generally working out well. I have conveyed an attitude towards food as being a pleasant necessity, but not overly important. It is definitely not an enemy, which is how I once perceived it. In retrospect, there are a few things I would do differently, but isn’t life always like that?
My daughter just got home after a long day at school and said, “Mommy, I’m starving! Please make me something nourishing to eat!” Little things like that make my day.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
Time for a Change
I really should be practicing my guitar, but I just feel like writing something non-bulimic, since I seem to have jumped in pretty deep lately. Strange things are happening, I’m not even sure what. There seems to be a shift coming on. I will do my best to let go and trust the universe. I don’t have to know what is going to happen, but I do have some preferences.
Yesterday I read a couple of other people’s blogs for a few hours, and it did so good to simply immerse myself in something else. The endless chatter in my brain stopped for a while. Yeah, even though I’m “healthy” there is still stuff to change about my life. It’s like trying to wear old clothes. After a while, they just don’t fit anymore, or they are falling apart. I was impressed by the prolific writing, positivity, communication, generosity, and empathy. How come it took me so long to get here? I’ve been feeling so isolated on my post-bulimic planet. See, I’m beginning to realize how much more we have in common than the symptoms - and I am delighted!
I feel just a bit insecure. Everyone else is much younger, and so well-versed - in computers and life, it seems. I feel kind of stupid at my age, just realizing things that an almost-30-year-old already knows! But that’s life. And luckily, there are people like that who are sharing their wisdom and experience. We can’t do or be it all. Each of us has something special to offer. We just need to find it.
Living on the outside is lonely at times. It gives me a different perspective on things (not necessarily better or worse, just different), but seems to require a lot of strength which I at times don’t have. I’m kind of rambling today. Two steps forward, one step back. And every ten steps fall down and scrape your knee. You might see something you would have otherwise missed. In the meantime, it will heal. In any case, I don’t want to walk on eggshells anymore. I don’t want to be concerned about whether or not people like me. On my good days, I don’t care, because I know better. But not every day is so good. I want to make changes in my life, so I am asking for support.
What I’m trying to say is, we are never finished with recovery. There’s always one more level. Like I’ve said before, I think that is the nature of life. We just keep learning and growing. I’m saying this for other people and for myself, because I tend to still have very high expectations and put a lot of pressure on myself. It’s not easy! Today I will summon up my energy and go out for a walk and breathe.
Yesterday I read a couple of other people’s blogs for a few hours, and it did so good to simply immerse myself in something else. The endless chatter in my brain stopped for a while. Yeah, even though I’m “healthy” there is still stuff to change about my life. It’s like trying to wear old clothes. After a while, they just don’t fit anymore, or they are falling apart. I was impressed by the prolific writing, positivity, communication, generosity, and empathy. How come it took me so long to get here? I’ve been feeling so isolated on my post-bulimic planet. See, I’m beginning to realize how much more we have in common than the symptoms - and I am delighted!
I feel just a bit insecure. Everyone else is much younger, and so well-versed - in computers and life, it seems. I feel kind of stupid at my age, just realizing things that an almost-30-year-old already knows! But that’s life. And luckily, there are people like that who are sharing their wisdom and experience. We can’t do or be it all. Each of us has something special to offer. We just need to find it.
Living on the outside is lonely at times. It gives me a different perspective on things (not necessarily better or worse, just different), but seems to require a lot of strength which I at times don’t have. I’m kind of rambling today. Two steps forward, one step back. And every ten steps fall down and scrape your knee. You might see something you would have otherwise missed. In the meantime, it will heal. In any case, I don’t want to walk on eggshells anymore. I don’t want to be concerned about whether or not people like me. On my good days, I don’t care, because I know better. But not every day is so good. I want to make changes in my life, so I am asking for support.
What I’m trying to say is, we are never finished with recovery. There’s always one more level. Like I’ve said before, I think that is the nature of life. We just keep learning and growing. I’m saying this for other people and for myself, because I tend to still have very high expectations and put a lot of pressure on myself. It’s not easy! Today I will summon up my energy and go out for a walk and breathe.
My Food History (Why it's not all health food)
I am a child of the late 1960’s. Shortly after the Woodstock festival, we began to spend a lot of time in the town of Woodstock, and my mother discovered the health food store there.
It didn’t take long before our sweet breakfast cereals were replaced with granola, and the candy bars became sesame treats. We had a large garden, so vegetables were always a main staple. My mother was an excellent cook. It wasn’t until after the divorce when she started working that we discovered canned foods.
She has a tendency to be extreme, which I resented. So, when I got healthy, there was one thing I was sure about: I was not going to be extreme. My food would be middle-of-the-road, a little of this, a little of that. That’s exactly how it is.
Now that I’m older and understand more about nutrition, I appreciate my mother’s knowledge and am trying to improve our diet. Just gradually, so they barely notice it. I believe it is important to take care of myself, but I am not willing to go to such an extreme that I eat something just because it’s healthy, and deny myself something just because it’s unhealthy. My motto is: Everything in moderation. I know that sounds kind of boring and reasonable, but it’s not. It means I can have everything!!! (Just not in mass quantities!) In heart, I am a hedonist. I believe that my enjoyment is of equal importance as the nutritional value.
My daughter has a nickel allergy, and has a rash on her stomach from a belt buckle. She was complaining about it, and I mentioned it to my mother, who immediately made some nutritional suggestions. I welcome the opportunity as a chance for change. My daughter’s wish for nice clear skin makes her willing to eat better, so we are working on that. (She’s willing to eat less white bread and more whole wheat.) I prefer the approach of working with food to feel good as well as to support health, rather than food being an enemy I have to cope with. I also found a place that sells nickel-free belt buckles, and she actually found two that she likes!
Over the years, my mother and I have had some heated discussions about the pros and cons of various approaches to eating. At this point, I’m not so concerned about whether or not one of us is right. I still consider her approach extreme, but I am willing to take her advice on some things. For me it’s very important that I feel good and comfortable about how I eat. Just as eating disorders are about more than the food, so is healthy eating!
It didn’t take long before our sweet breakfast cereals were replaced with granola, and the candy bars became sesame treats. We had a large garden, so vegetables were always a main staple. My mother was an excellent cook. It wasn’t until after the divorce when she started working that we discovered canned foods.
She has a tendency to be extreme, which I resented. So, when I got healthy, there was one thing I was sure about: I was not going to be extreme. My food would be middle-of-the-road, a little of this, a little of that. That’s exactly how it is.
Now that I’m older and understand more about nutrition, I appreciate my mother’s knowledge and am trying to improve our diet. Just gradually, so they barely notice it. I believe it is important to take care of myself, but I am not willing to go to such an extreme that I eat something just because it’s healthy, and deny myself something just because it’s unhealthy. My motto is: Everything in moderation. I know that sounds kind of boring and reasonable, but it’s not. It means I can have everything!!! (Just not in mass quantities!) In heart, I am a hedonist. I believe that my enjoyment is of equal importance as the nutritional value.
My daughter has a nickel allergy, and has a rash on her stomach from a belt buckle. She was complaining about it, and I mentioned it to my mother, who immediately made some nutritional suggestions. I welcome the opportunity as a chance for change. My daughter’s wish for nice clear skin makes her willing to eat better, so we are working on that. (She’s willing to eat less white bread and more whole wheat.) I prefer the approach of working with food to feel good as well as to support health, rather than food being an enemy I have to cope with. I also found a place that sells nickel-free belt buckles, and she actually found two that she likes!
Over the years, my mother and I have had some heated discussions about the pros and cons of various approaches to eating. At this point, I’m not so concerned about whether or not one of us is right. I still consider her approach extreme, but I am willing to take her advice on some things. For me it’s very important that I feel good and comfortable about how I eat. Just as eating disorders are about more than the food, so is healthy eating!
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
20 Years of Wondering: a different kind of book excerpt
I wonder if I’ll be in this house 2 months from now. I am so scared. I need a shoulder to cry on. I am so upset, I don’t know what to think.
I wonder if there is so much to sex after all.
I wonder what’s wrong with me – why I ask for so much. He didn’t say much.
I wonder what her first impression was. I’ve been dying all day long to gorge and puke, and it’s been really hard, because Mom’s been around constantly – watching everything I eat, and so suspiciously!
I was just talking to Mom, and said that I wonder if Desmond is attracted to me.
Mom said she doesn’t agree with all I say, but has faith because I believe in me. I wonder what I wrote to spark that off?
I wonder if people still know right away that I’m a foreigner.
I wonder what expression I have on my face when I pass a bum/beggar and pretend not to notice?
I wonder if there’s something lacking in my diet? Maybe it’s simply a lack of sleep.
I’ve been in the tunnel for so long – I wonder if there really is a light? I keep thinking I see it – but it’s only an illusion, or perhaps a crack in the roof – because darkness sweeps over me again and still again to successfully obliterate any gleam of light or hope. There is none. I am destined to struggle. To be scared, miserable and sad. Oh, so lonely.
I wonder if everyone has gone through this? Ah, the ultimate of inner peace – unplug the fucking phone. There is so much pressure, so much bother, I need to get out of it. Fear – what if I’m really stupid? I am a fuck-up and nobody knows it yet?
Young people at Jim Morrison’s grave - I wonder if they hang out there every day? One guy had a guitar and was playing unusual, soothing, music.
At one point, he said something about my health being good. I wonder if he knew.
I wonder about Doug. Mom said if we’re meant to be in love, it’ll take many years. I believe that.
Funny, when the idea of OA first came, I wondered what to do until it was time to go. And now, the meeting has already begun.
It really is so different from anything I’ve ever known – that in itself scares me sometimes, as I wonder if it’s really true – really happening.
I wonder if it’s because I’ve stopped smoking? It really is strange. But then, there are so many possibilities – strange air in the new office, the bus ride. Maybe it’s the cockroaches. They keep multiplying and I’m feeling defeated.
Feel so young and stupid. At times like this I wonder if it hasn’t been frozen - a Polaroid shot that’s taken 5 years to develop – of stupid adolescence. Need something to wake me up. Pushing hard to open eyes. And, God, that’s why I started this letter.
When I got here, my travel bag was on the floor. I wondered where I’d been, since I must have just got back from somewhere far away. But the light was on – and I heard a moan. Goldilocks (Stacey) caught in the act – in bed with her boots on. She ate too much porridge, and fell asleep.
Such a strong feeling of being in love on the one hand, while on the other I wonder how I would ever get out of here.
Maybe I should rethink it anyway? I wonder if it might not be such a bad idea to take it easy now – take the time to build up my strength?
It all seems so harmless, but then I wonder. I’m 24 – not 10 – so it sounds strange to think I’m going to see him to play – but that’s the way I feel.
I wonder if maybe I’m too busy comparing instead of making an effort. Observed us tonight – when I’m not so bitter, it is also fun.
At times I still can’t believe he loves me so much, then I wonder why, and wonder if I should hold on to him? That implies the fear of not being loved again – very improbable.
Probably right – comfort is NOT a good reason to get married. More and more, I wonder what a “good” reason could be – other than children. (And is that really good?)
I wonder if the bulimia is the reason behind the cramps all those years. As far as I can remember, I didn’t have cramps in the very beginning. I’m sure the psyche also played an important role, but the constant nutritional deprivation was surely a major factor. Was functioning for so long on so little energy.
The change bothers me – and I wonder if the focus on sex is a means of avoiding shyness and openness to love.
Creativity in life – as I please, how I choose – don’t have to prove anything, or provide evidence of worthy existence. I’m here. And I wonder how it all came to be. How we all got to be as we are, why, how different we all are from each other. Or is the actual difference less than the varying degrees of courage of expression? Still trapped, not kidding anybody. But working towards at least a taste of that luxurious creative freedom of life – of days gone by.
I wonder if I chose a similarly difficult marriage to that of my parents, in order to prove that divorce is not necessary. I also wonder if I chose someone to whom I could never totally give my heart – as a protective mechanism. I’ve always secretly hoped that he would leave me, since we are so incompatible. But, not wanting to abandon someone, I never had the heart to leave him. Yet I am so grateful to him. I wonder if things had to be so difficult so that I could enjoy my present life as much as I now do.
We’ve made so many mistakes, had so many critical misunderstandings. Sometimes I wonder if the damage done is too destructive to be corrected. Then I feel helpless, like we’re doomed, stuck together with no way out and no way to improve the situation.
I wondered why he asked – did he feel guilty or what. I said he’s free and doesn’t have to feel responsible for keeping me busy. If he’s out having fun, that’s fine.
I wonder if something else happened as well, although that really was traumatic enough.
From a distance, I wonder if it will really help. It certainly was a help last year – and towards the end it felt like I was just beginning to open up. My gut feeling is – therapy would be good.
I wonder if my hurt soul didn’t need that more than stage lights.
Contrary to habit, I am NOT going to explain this! Thank you.
(Excerpts from my book: "Diary of a Recovered Bulimic")
I wonder if there is so much to sex after all.
I wonder what’s wrong with me – why I ask for so much. He didn’t say much.
I wonder what her first impression was. I’ve been dying all day long to gorge and puke, and it’s been really hard, because Mom’s been around constantly – watching everything I eat, and so suspiciously!
I was just talking to Mom, and said that I wonder if Desmond is attracted to me.
Mom said she doesn’t agree with all I say, but has faith because I believe in me. I wonder what I wrote to spark that off?
I wonder if people still know right away that I’m a foreigner.
I wonder what expression I have on my face when I pass a bum/beggar and pretend not to notice?
I wonder if there’s something lacking in my diet? Maybe it’s simply a lack of sleep.
I’ve been in the tunnel for so long – I wonder if there really is a light? I keep thinking I see it – but it’s only an illusion, or perhaps a crack in the roof – because darkness sweeps over me again and still again to successfully obliterate any gleam of light or hope. There is none. I am destined to struggle. To be scared, miserable and sad. Oh, so lonely.
I wonder if everyone has gone through this? Ah, the ultimate of inner peace – unplug the fucking phone. There is so much pressure, so much bother, I need to get out of it. Fear – what if I’m really stupid? I am a fuck-up and nobody knows it yet?
Young people at Jim Morrison’s grave - I wonder if they hang out there every day? One guy had a guitar and was playing unusual, soothing, music.
At one point, he said something about my health being good. I wonder if he knew.
I wonder about Doug. Mom said if we’re meant to be in love, it’ll take many years. I believe that.
Funny, when the idea of OA first came, I wondered what to do until it was time to go. And now, the meeting has already begun.
It really is so different from anything I’ve ever known – that in itself scares me sometimes, as I wonder if it’s really true – really happening.
I wonder if it’s because I’ve stopped smoking? It really is strange. But then, there are so many possibilities – strange air in the new office, the bus ride. Maybe it’s the cockroaches. They keep multiplying and I’m feeling defeated.
Feel so young and stupid. At times like this I wonder if it hasn’t been frozen - a Polaroid shot that’s taken 5 years to develop – of stupid adolescence. Need something to wake me up. Pushing hard to open eyes. And, God, that’s why I started this letter.
When I got here, my travel bag was on the floor. I wondered where I’d been, since I must have just got back from somewhere far away. But the light was on – and I heard a moan. Goldilocks (Stacey) caught in the act – in bed with her boots on. She ate too much porridge, and fell asleep.
Such a strong feeling of being in love on the one hand, while on the other I wonder how I would ever get out of here.
Maybe I should rethink it anyway? I wonder if it might not be such a bad idea to take it easy now – take the time to build up my strength?
It all seems so harmless, but then I wonder. I’m 24 – not 10 – so it sounds strange to think I’m going to see him to play – but that’s the way I feel.
I wonder if maybe I’m too busy comparing instead of making an effort. Observed us tonight – when I’m not so bitter, it is also fun.
At times I still can’t believe he loves me so much, then I wonder why, and wonder if I should hold on to him? That implies the fear of not being loved again – very improbable.
Probably right – comfort is NOT a good reason to get married. More and more, I wonder what a “good” reason could be – other than children. (And is that really good?)
I wonder if the bulimia is the reason behind the cramps all those years. As far as I can remember, I didn’t have cramps in the very beginning. I’m sure the psyche also played an important role, but the constant nutritional deprivation was surely a major factor. Was functioning for so long on so little energy.
The change bothers me – and I wonder if the focus on sex is a means of avoiding shyness and openness to love.
Creativity in life – as I please, how I choose – don’t have to prove anything, or provide evidence of worthy existence. I’m here. And I wonder how it all came to be. How we all got to be as we are, why, how different we all are from each other. Or is the actual difference less than the varying degrees of courage of expression? Still trapped, not kidding anybody. But working towards at least a taste of that luxurious creative freedom of life – of days gone by.
I wonder if I chose a similarly difficult marriage to that of my parents, in order to prove that divorce is not necessary. I also wonder if I chose someone to whom I could never totally give my heart – as a protective mechanism. I’ve always secretly hoped that he would leave me, since we are so incompatible. But, not wanting to abandon someone, I never had the heart to leave him. Yet I am so grateful to him. I wonder if things had to be so difficult so that I could enjoy my present life as much as I now do.
We’ve made so many mistakes, had so many critical misunderstandings. Sometimes I wonder if the damage done is too destructive to be corrected. Then I feel helpless, like we’re doomed, stuck together with no way out and no way to improve the situation.
I wondered why he asked – did he feel guilty or what. I said he’s free and doesn’t have to feel responsible for keeping me busy. If he’s out having fun, that’s fine.
I wonder if something else happened as well, although that really was traumatic enough.
From a distance, I wonder if it will really help. It certainly was a help last year – and towards the end it felt like I was just beginning to open up. My gut feeling is – therapy would be good.
I wonder if my hurt soul didn’t need that more than stage lights.
Contrary to habit, I am NOT going to explain this! Thank you.
(Excerpts from my book: "Diary of a Recovered Bulimic")
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Making Changes
I love my cat, but I decided to be myself today. Although, when I look at him sleeping over there on my bed, it is tempting to switch places. He sleeps all day, gets up for a meal now and then, and goes out at night. That’s definitely my kind of lifestyle!
I started taking vitamins recently (my mother is a very knowledgeable helper on the subject), hoping that they will help with my mood swings. Well, actually, I’m taking them for other reasons, but a friend suggested they might also help with that, and I actually noticed I’ve been feeling better. This opens up a whole pandora’s box for me. I still don’t know, if this is just the ups and downs of life, or if it’s worse.
Am I crazy or just different? I don’t expect anyone out there to know, but I just wanted to let you know that recovering doesn’t mean that everything is perfect all the time - and they all live happily ever after or something. It’s still up an down, just now I can deal with it better.
In any case, the universe, higher power, god, goddess, whatever it may be, it an essential element. The other night it occurred to me: It’s not WHAT you believe, but THAT you believe. Amen!
I started taking vitamins recently (my mother is a very knowledgeable helper on the subject), hoping that they will help with my mood swings. Well, actually, I’m taking them for other reasons, but a friend suggested they might also help with that, and I actually noticed I’ve been feeling better. This opens up a whole pandora’s box for me. I still don’t know, if this is just the ups and downs of life, or if it’s worse.
Am I crazy or just different? I don’t expect anyone out there to know, but I just wanted to let you know that recovering doesn’t mean that everything is perfect all the time - and they all live happily ever after or something. It’s still up an down, just now I can deal with it better.
In any case, the universe, higher power, god, goddess, whatever it may be, it an essential element. The other night it occurred to me: It’s not WHAT you believe, but THAT you believe. Amen!
The Blessings of Bulimia
You think I’m kidding, right? Well, I’m not. There are blessings to be found, if one is willing to look. First of all, right at the start, bulimia is a loud warning signal. Something is very wrong and we are trying to cope. It is a call for help, and some are fortunate enough to have it heard early on. Deep inside, you know something isn’t right. You are looking out for yourself, but you’re not in a position to do it all alone. You’re doing the best you can.
Often enough, the signal is overlooked. As in my dysfunctional family with the parents in the middle of a nasty divorce, nobody really had the time or energy to notice. Anyway, I couldn’t just fall apart, because I was supposed to be perfect. Eventually it became impossible to oversee, but by then I was pretty far along. More and longer help would have been necessary.
Beyond this warning signal, it was a coping mechanism. My life had become horrible and was totally out of control. I felt lost and helpless, but focussing on the food and weight loss gave me the sense that I had power over something. Don’t get me wrong! By no means do I think this is good in itself, but it was the best I could do at the time.
Eventually, it became an addiction. There is no blessing about this chapter. I’m not sure what was more addictive – the eating or the vomiting. There was a lot of anger and fear I needed to get rid of, and that certainly gave me the feeling of emptying myself.
Oh! Actually, even then there were blessings. I began to talk about it a little, and people listened. Someone told me about Overeaters Anonymous. At those meetings, and through group therapy, I met other sufferers. Soon I didn’t feel so alone anymore. Well, at least not all the time!
The most memorable blessings occurred during the process of recovery. Where do I begin? I learned to eat normally and to accept my body, because it was a matter of life and death. Who knows? Otherwise I might be stuck in the yo-yo effect today and permanently dissatisfied, or dead. So much for the cosmetic side. Wait a minute! That’s not true. Accepting my body is more than cosmetic. It has become my partner in crime – carrying me from one adventure to the next. The regular meals give me the energy to keep going. There’s something cosmic about that.
During therapy I learned that I am entitled to seek help when I need it. I don’t have to figure everything out all by myself. I also learned that I don’t have to stop therapy when the symptoms stop. In fact, once the symptoms stopped, I was in better shape to work on the emotional side of the illness and deal with the underlying problems.
The actual process of recovery taught me: One step at a time. This knowledge I use on a daily basis. I learned to be patient, and that projects can be broken down into smaller components. Thus I am no longer easily overwhelmed and tempted to give up before I even get started.
During the early years of recovery, the occasional slip into a binge or even vomiting served again as a warning signal or stress indicator – just like in the beginning. Wake up! Something needs attention! At this point, I was in a position to take action myself. Sometimes it just meant I needed more sleep, or more fun. I needed to take better care of myself.
The occasional slips had an additional benefit: I learned to accept the truth of two steps forward, one step back. They emphasized that I don’t need to be perfect. My recovery didn’t have to be perfect. I could fall down and stand up again as many times as necessary. Just because I stumbled didn’t mean I’d blown it or all was lost. I kept going.
Through the acceptance of eating as a long-term project, and that there is no quick fix, I learned diligence and perseverance. I can keep at it, and plod along on the days when things seem to be excruciatingly de-accelerated. I learned to simply sit and wait, as that is occasionally necessary.
Last but not least, if I’m in a slump, the memory of my recovery gives me something to hold on to. Every once in a while it does good to remind myself that I survived and got over it.
Thirteen years of slow suicide while not really wanting to die was a high price to pay, but since that includes these learning experiences as well, it wasn’t all lost time.
Often enough, the signal is overlooked. As in my dysfunctional family with the parents in the middle of a nasty divorce, nobody really had the time or energy to notice. Anyway, I couldn’t just fall apart, because I was supposed to be perfect. Eventually it became impossible to oversee, but by then I was pretty far along. More and longer help would have been necessary.
Beyond this warning signal, it was a coping mechanism. My life had become horrible and was totally out of control. I felt lost and helpless, but focussing on the food and weight loss gave me the sense that I had power over something. Don’t get me wrong! By no means do I think this is good in itself, but it was the best I could do at the time.
Eventually, it became an addiction. There is no blessing about this chapter. I’m not sure what was more addictive – the eating or the vomiting. There was a lot of anger and fear I needed to get rid of, and that certainly gave me the feeling of emptying myself.
Oh! Actually, even then there were blessings. I began to talk about it a little, and people listened. Someone told me about Overeaters Anonymous. At those meetings, and through group therapy, I met other sufferers. Soon I didn’t feel so alone anymore. Well, at least not all the time!
The most memorable blessings occurred during the process of recovery. Where do I begin? I learned to eat normally and to accept my body, because it was a matter of life and death. Who knows? Otherwise I might be stuck in the yo-yo effect today and permanently dissatisfied, or dead. So much for the cosmetic side. Wait a minute! That’s not true. Accepting my body is more than cosmetic. It has become my partner in crime – carrying me from one adventure to the next. The regular meals give me the energy to keep going. There’s something cosmic about that.
During therapy I learned that I am entitled to seek help when I need it. I don’t have to figure everything out all by myself. I also learned that I don’t have to stop therapy when the symptoms stop. In fact, once the symptoms stopped, I was in better shape to work on the emotional side of the illness and deal with the underlying problems.
The actual process of recovery taught me: One step at a time. This knowledge I use on a daily basis. I learned to be patient, and that projects can be broken down into smaller components. Thus I am no longer easily overwhelmed and tempted to give up before I even get started.
During the early years of recovery, the occasional slip into a binge or even vomiting served again as a warning signal or stress indicator – just like in the beginning. Wake up! Something needs attention! At this point, I was in a position to take action myself. Sometimes it just meant I needed more sleep, or more fun. I needed to take better care of myself.
The occasional slips had an additional benefit: I learned to accept the truth of two steps forward, one step back. They emphasized that I don’t need to be perfect. My recovery didn’t have to be perfect. I could fall down and stand up again as many times as necessary. Just because I stumbled didn’t mean I’d blown it or all was lost. I kept going.
Through the acceptance of eating as a long-term project, and that there is no quick fix, I learned diligence and perseverance. I can keep at it, and plod along on the days when things seem to be excruciatingly de-accelerated. I learned to simply sit and wait, as that is occasionally necessary.
Last but not least, if I’m in a slump, the memory of my recovery gives me something to hold on to. Every once in a while it does good to remind myself that I survived and got over it.
Thirteen years of slow suicide while not really wanting to die was a high price to pay, but since that includes these learning experiences as well, it wasn’t all lost time.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Bulimia, Stress and Starting Over
Someone told me that she looks forward to when finals and school are over, and hopes that things will get better. My heart dropped when I read that. Although it is true that we relax when stressful situations are over, there are always new ones. I used to hope that when one thing was finished and another one started – be it a new job, a new apartment, a new relationship, life in a new city or country – that I would stop throwing up. In the beginning, I thought it was just a trick that had gotten a bit out of hand, but I still had control and would stop it when I’d had enough. (I ignored the fact that I’d used up all my savings on food and had lost around 25% of my body weight.) It took quite a while to realize I couldn’t simply stop doing it.
I don’t have all the answers, but I can tell you what finally got me on the right track. Basic background information: I graduated high school, went away for a year as an AFS exchange student, moved to NYC shortly after I returned, moved several times because I was subletting apartments, got my own apartment, broke up with my boyfriend, found a new boyfriend (in Europe), moved to Europe, and started attending night school – because my high school diploma was not enough to allow me to attend the university there. I mention all those things, because I indeed hoped after each one that I would magically recover. And of course, with every volume of my journal that I filled, I hoped the next one would be about recovery.
When the realization that I’d really had enough finally came, I committed to recovery, no matter what it took. At the time, I was still attending night school. I decided to sit out one semester and just focus on myself, without the stress of homework and studying. I probably could have managed to continue with school, but I wanted as little stress as possible during that time. That was when I joined a therapy group specifically for women with bulimia and anorexia. I also signed up for a few workshops (esoteric topics, theatre, bioenergetics), and generally tried to be good to myself. It was all for me – one whole semester to focus on recovery, to find out what I liked to do – and do it.
First I had to surrender and admit that I couldn’t do it alone, which I really had expected from myself all those years. What a relief it was to finally seek help and let a therapist and the other group members be there for me. Don’t worry – we are still each responsible for herself, but we don’t have to figure everything out for ourselves, we don’t have to know everything, and we don’t have to do it all alone. Seeking help is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign of courage and strength. It just took me a while to get that.
The reason I frequently mention that I was sick for several years is, I want to assure long-term bulimics that there is hope. On the other hand, if you are relatively “new” at this, there is no need to wait for years. Bulimia and anorexia are symptoms of underlying problems. The sooner you get help, the better.
I don’t have all the answers, but I can tell you what finally got me on the right track. Basic background information: I graduated high school, went away for a year as an AFS exchange student, moved to NYC shortly after I returned, moved several times because I was subletting apartments, got my own apartment, broke up with my boyfriend, found a new boyfriend (in Europe), moved to Europe, and started attending night school – because my high school diploma was not enough to allow me to attend the university there. I mention all those things, because I indeed hoped after each one that I would magically recover. And of course, with every volume of my journal that I filled, I hoped the next one would be about recovery.
When the realization that I’d really had enough finally came, I committed to recovery, no matter what it took. At the time, I was still attending night school. I decided to sit out one semester and just focus on myself, without the stress of homework and studying. I probably could have managed to continue with school, but I wanted as little stress as possible during that time. That was when I joined a therapy group specifically for women with bulimia and anorexia. I also signed up for a few workshops (esoteric topics, theatre, bioenergetics), and generally tried to be good to myself. It was all for me – one whole semester to focus on recovery, to find out what I liked to do – and do it.
First I had to surrender and admit that I couldn’t do it alone, which I really had expected from myself all those years. What a relief it was to finally seek help and let a therapist and the other group members be there for me. Don’t worry – we are still each responsible for herself, but we don’t have to figure everything out for ourselves, we don’t have to know everything, and we don’t have to do it all alone. Seeking help is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign of courage and strength. It just took me a while to get that.
The reason I frequently mention that I was sick for several years is, I want to assure long-term bulimics that there is hope. On the other hand, if you are relatively “new” at this, there is no need to wait for years. Bulimia and anorexia are symptoms of underlying problems. The sooner you get help, the better.
The Organizational Talents of the Bulimic
Yesterday I heard from with someone who is still actively bulimic. She mentioned all the time that goes into her eating disorder – setting up the situation, scheduling her life around the binges and purges, all the plans she postpones for her eating disorder. That brought back memories. At one point, I did regret all the energy I’d invested in bulimia/anorexia, thinking about what I could’ve accomplished if I’d put it towards something more productive.
But I don’t want to beat on myself or anyone else with things like, “Oh, you should… You could have…” No, I simply want to address the fact of our wonderful talents. Yes, indeed, just think about all we are capable of accomplishing. We manage for years to surreptitiously procure large amounts of food, smuggle it into our lair and devour it all by ourselves, and then get rid of it again and hide the traces behind us. Meanwhile, we are diligent housewives, apt students, reliable employees, and doting mothers. We are incredibly clever and able to hide it from most people. Of course, some do notice that we’re skinny and shy, but most people are so busy with their own lives that they don’t really bother about us.
When I lived alone in New York City, I had a whole ritual developed. I knew when the doormen switched shifts, so no one would see me carrying home 4 bags of groceries twice. Since we used to put our garbage outside the apartment door, I used to make sure that mine was folded together as small as I could possibly make it, so as not to attract attention. And when I think about the routine itself, I’m impressed. The groceries were chosen according to preparation times, so I could eat and be preparing the next food already, have something else in the oven, etc. And of course, the consistency was important. I was quite the scientist – I knew which foods and what combinations worked best and had a very systematic approach at times.
So, praise yourself for your talents! You are intelligent, creative and resourceful. You are also suffering, in great pain, and deserve help. Just because you are as gifted as you are, doesn’t mean you have to do it all alone. If you get help, you can learn to use your gifts to your real advantage and feel good about yourself!
But I don’t want to beat on myself or anyone else with things like, “Oh, you should… You could have…” No, I simply want to address the fact of our wonderful talents. Yes, indeed, just think about all we are capable of accomplishing. We manage for years to surreptitiously procure large amounts of food, smuggle it into our lair and devour it all by ourselves, and then get rid of it again and hide the traces behind us. Meanwhile, we are diligent housewives, apt students, reliable employees, and doting mothers. We are incredibly clever and able to hide it from most people. Of course, some do notice that we’re skinny and shy, but most people are so busy with their own lives that they don’t really bother about us.
When I lived alone in New York City, I had a whole ritual developed. I knew when the doormen switched shifts, so no one would see me carrying home 4 bags of groceries twice. Since we used to put our garbage outside the apartment door, I used to make sure that mine was folded together as small as I could possibly make it, so as not to attract attention. And when I think about the routine itself, I’m impressed. The groceries were chosen according to preparation times, so I could eat and be preparing the next food already, have something else in the oven, etc. And of course, the consistency was important. I was quite the scientist – I knew which foods and what combinations worked best and had a very systematic approach at times.
So, praise yourself for your talents! You are intelligent, creative and resourceful. You are also suffering, in great pain, and deserve help. Just because you are as gifted as you are, doesn’t mean you have to do it all alone. If you get help, you can learn to use your gifts to your real advantage and feel good about yourself!
Sunday, June 1, 2008
The Hermit
Last week I was feeling a bit lost. Among other things, the truth of my life as a hermit was weighing me down. Although I am married and have two children, I still live in my own little world. It’s not even so much the fact of physically being alone or not that matters. I’ve always been an outsider. The bulimia pushed me even further away from the norm, but that was just a symptom. Recovery didn’t make me the normal, cheerful all-American girl. I never was that.
Anyway, there I was, giving myself a half-hearted pep talk about how I simply have to accept my “otherness” as a fact of life. My life. It fit the mood, as the past few weeks have been low energy. I think I’d just written a blog, since I decided to click on the link “Goddess in a Teapot” and see what my friend Carolyn had to say.
Get a load of this. The entry that appeared was: “To the Hermit’s Cave” – No, I am NOT kidding! It was a wonderfully written piece and I was so happy to read it – and the comments – and feel like part of the hermit community. I added my own grateful comment, and went about my cheerful hermitty way.
An hour or two later, I wanted to read it again. (One dose of positivity isn’t always enough.) This time I clicked directly onto her blog. The hermit was gone!!! I didn’t panic, but went back to my blog and clicked on the link as I’d done before. She still wasn’t there! (Her blog is about spirituality and art in women’s lives, so this hermit is definitely female.) By then I was slightly irritated. What was going on? I kept getting the last entry she’d written.
So I searched officially for the hermit. She appeared promptly at my beckoning. Then I noticed the date. That piece had been written in November! I looked at the comments. They were also from November!
Of course, I told Carolyn about it. To this day, neither of us can explain how it happened. I can only speculate that the hermit goddess heard my call for help and came to me. Oh, now I remember what I was expounding before I fell into this little depression: Do what you can and let go! Put it out to the universe! It will give you all that you need!
Anyway, there I was, giving myself a half-hearted pep talk about how I simply have to accept my “otherness” as a fact of life. My life. It fit the mood, as the past few weeks have been low energy. I think I’d just written a blog, since I decided to click on the link “Goddess in a Teapot” and see what my friend Carolyn had to say.
Get a load of this. The entry that appeared was: “To the Hermit’s Cave” – No, I am NOT kidding! It was a wonderfully written piece and I was so happy to read it – and the comments – and feel like part of the hermit community. I added my own grateful comment, and went about my cheerful hermitty way.
An hour or two later, I wanted to read it again. (One dose of positivity isn’t always enough.) This time I clicked directly onto her blog. The hermit was gone!!! I didn’t panic, but went back to my blog and clicked on the link as I’d done before. She still wasn’t there! (Her blog is about spirituality and art in women’s lives, so this hermit is definitely female.) By then I was slightly irritated. What was going on? I kept getting the last entry she’d written.
So I searched officially for the hermit. She appeared promptly at my beckoning. Then I noticed the date. That piece had been written in November! I looked at the comments. They were also from November!
Of course, I told Carolyn about it. To this day, neither of us can explain how it happened. I can only speculate that the hermit goddess heard my call for help and came to me. Oh, now I remember what I was expounding before I fell into this little depression: Do what you can and let go! Put it out to the universe! It will give you all that you need!
Blame it on Bulimia
Once upon a time, my only goal was to get through the day without bingeing or throwing up. For a while, I managed, as long as nothing unexpected happened.
Then my goal changed to include the unexpected, as well as predictable stress situations like final exams. For a long time, it was enough to make it through the challenging situation, regardless of the outcome, just as long as I didn’t get into food games.
A few years passed, and I was no longer satisfied with “not throwing up” as a criterion for success. That was when the gradual change occurred, during which I learned to accept myself and to trust in my abilities. I also learned to trust in the universe, and to accept that things don’t always turn out for the best – even if I don’t binge. That’s just how life is.
Most of my dissatisfaction in life goes back to the bulimia. If I hadn’t been sick, I would have had so much more energy, could have been more creatively productive at a younger age, would have read and written more, could have a better vocabulary, would have a better-functioning mind, could have made something out of my life, would be in better shape now, might have a better marriage, would have been…, could have been…, might have been…, should have been…, etc. etc.
Well, that might be true. But, as is true for countless other women, that’s not how things turned out. I developed my artistic talent for scavenging, making the most out of what was left over, salvaging the scraps and pieces that were still usable, rebuilding my body and confidence, knowing that some of the destroyed parts and wasted time were lost forever. This truth is bitter and HURTS. And some days, it hurts more than others.
Fortunately, there are also other days, on which I count my blessings and perceive the unexpected gifts that the bulimia experience gave me. (I’ll write about that later.) So, all is not lost. And I have to admit, I do have a pretty good life now.
For a long time, the bulimia was a great excuse for anything that didn’t go right. Strangely enough, I didn’t really fail so miserably. In fact, I began to realize that I often didn’t do such a bad job at all. It’s just that somewhere along the line I got the idea that anything less than perfect is failure. On the Geometry Regents I got a 99 (forgetting to say that two lines were parallel cost me one point). Was I happy? No! For the longest time I was upset that I’d screwed it up. It could have been perfect! If one of my kids came home with that grade, I’d be thrilled!
Once I had to write an English paper in High School – on Eugene O’Neill. I loved his work. I remember thinking: Ah, this is wonderful! Just when you think it can’t get any worse, it does!!! (I have always had kind of a strange sense of humor, but I like it now.) I kept procrastinating (sound familiar?), mostly because I was afraid I couldn’t do a good job, but then came the day before it was due. I stayed up all night, listening to the Beatles, bingeing, puking, and writing. What did I get? An A minus. I’d expected worse, but was actually almost happy, because I knew the teacher didn’t just give away good grades. I generally expected the worst, and there was that ever-present fear of failure, which often paralyzed me. I felt pretty lousy the next day in school. That was definitely to be blamed on the bulimia.
Then my goal changed to include the unexpected, as well as predictable stress situations like final exams. For a long time, it was enough to make it through the challenging situation, regardless of the outcome, just as long as I didn’t get into food games.
A few years passed, and I was no longer satisfied with “not throwing up” as a criterion for success. That was when the gradual change occurred, during which I learned to accept myself and to trust in my abilities. I also learned to trust in the universe, and to accept that things don’t always turn out for the best – even if I don’t binge. That’s just how life is.
Most of my dissatisfaction in life goes back to the bulimia. If I hadn’t been sick, I would have had so much more energy, could have been more creatively productive at a younger age, would have read and written more, could have a better vocabulary, would have a better-functioning mind, could have made something out of my life, would be in better shape now, might have a better marriage, would have been…, could have been…, might have been…, should have been…, etc. etc.
Well, that might be true. But, as is true for countless other women, that’s not how things turned out. I developed my artistic talent for scavenging, making the most out of what was left over, salvaging the scraps and pieces that were still usable, rebuilding my body and confidence, knowing that some of the destroyed parts and wasted time were lost forever. This truth is bitter and HURTS. And some days, it hurts more than others.
Fortunately, there are also other days, on which I count my blessings and perceive the unexpected gifts that the bulimia experience gave me. (I’ll write about that later.) So, all is not lost. And I have to admit, I do have a pretty good life now.
For a long time, the bulimia was a great excuse for anything that didn’t go right. Strangely enough, I didn’t really fail so miserably. In fact, I began to realize that I often didn’t do such a bad job at all. It’s just that somewhere along the line I got the idea that anything less than perfect is failure. On the Geometry Regents I got a 99 (forgetting to say that two lines were parallel cost me one point). Was I happy? No! For the longest time I was upset that I’d screwed it up. It could have been perfect! If one of my kids came home with that grade, I’d be thrilled!
Once I had to write an English paper in High School – on Eugene O’Neill. I loved his work. I remember thinking: Ah, this is wonderful! Just when you think it can’t get any worse, it does!!! (I have always had kind of a strange sense of humor, but I like it now.) I kept procrastinating (sound familiar?), mostly because I was afraid I couldn’t do a good job, but then came the day before it was due. I stayed up all night, listening to the Beatles, bingeing, puking, and writing. What did I get? An A minus. I’d expected worse, but was actually almost happy, because I knew the teacher didn’t just give away good grades. I generally expected the worst, and there was that ever-present fear of failure, which often paralyzed me. I felt pretty lousy the next day in school. That was definitely to be blamed on the bulimia.
New Garden
I suggest to you, let us stop placing this stone
at each other’s feet or before our own.
Let’s push it aside to open a door
to a healthier place we’ve been longing for.
There’s a Japanese garden
growing in my mind.
Creativity and necessitycaused it to be designed.
I took the boulderthat’s been on my shoulder
the one we’ve been pushing all these years,
which has caused such anguish and tears.
Yeah, so I took that rock and set itnext to a tiny pool
dreamed up a trickling stream
and some flowers on the rim.
Pink ones for the heart,
violet for the soul,
expressing spirituality
which helps to make us whole.
The rock is yet to be transformed.
It still weighs upon my shoulder,
brought from another lifetime
and we keep getting older.
We’ve been rolling it back and forth
weighing each other down,
caught in the silence of speechlessness
leading each other to frown.
Now I’ll add some rays of the sun,
to make us feel warm and alive.
Then this masterpiece will be done
which will help us again to thrive.
Come sit with me on this smooth boulder,
lean up against my lightened shoulder.
Take a moment to bathe in the sun,
soon enough there’s more work to be done.
at each other’s feet or before our own.
Let’s push it aside to open a door
to a healthier place we’ve been longing for.
There’s a Japanese garden
growing in my mind.
Creativity and necessitycaused it to be designed.
I took the boulderthat’s been on my shoulder
the one we’ve been pushing all these years,
which has caused such anguish and tears.
Yeah, so I took that rock and set itnext to a tiny pool
dreamed up a trickling stream
and some flowers on the rim.
Pink ones for the heart,
violet for the soul,
expressing spirituality
which helps to make us whole.
The rock is yet to be transformed.
It still weighs upon my shoulder,
brought from another lifetime
and we keep getting older.
We’ve been rolling it back and forth
weighing each other down,
caught in the silence of speechlessness
leading each other to frown.
Now I’ll add some rays of the sun,
to make us feel warm and alive.
Then this masterpiece will be done
which will help us again to thrive.
Come sit with me on this smooth boulder,
lean up against my lightened shoulder.
Take a moment to bathe in the sun,
soon enough there’s more work to be done.
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