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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

Awareness of Eating Disorders

I wrote this for National Eating Disorders Awareness Week this past February.

I’ve been thinking especially about how eating disorders take up so much of our valuable time and energy. The preoccupation with one’s weight and appearance, as well as acting out the behavior of the disorder can be a full-time job - in addition to the work done for a paycheck. When I was in the midst of acute bulimia, I spent hours buying food, eating it, and throwing up. One prolonged binge could last six to eight hours. Afterwards I was exhausted and in no shape to bother about more pressing concerns - whether my own or those of the world.

I’ve been thinking about the trap of falling for the impossible, unrealistic ideal body and getting caught up in the craziness of dieting. Sometimes I wonder, since anorexia and bulimia are predominantly female diseases (and I’m assuming that women still diet more and consume more diet products than men), if this preoccupation isn’t a ploy (supported by the media) to prevent women from realizing their true strength, which would enable them to play a more important role in their lives and in society. That’s just a thought I had today.But rather than get caught up in conspiracy theory contemplations, I would like to think about the bottom line. After being symptom-free for so long, I’m still growing emotionally and would like to share a recent revelation. Once upon a time, I gave up on life. I gave up on myself. A shadow of that mood has haunted me all these years. Now I am ready to believe in myself and summon my energy to achieve all I possibly can in this lifetime.

To celebrate the awareness of eating disorders, I would like to reach out to other sufferers and tell them: You are entitled to enjoy your life. It’s not at all about what you “should” do, it’s about what you deserve. Go out there, get the help and support you need and live the life that is your destiny. It’s never too late!