It seemed like a fairly normal eventful Saturday — my son had confirmation. After months of preparation, the day had arrived. My husband was nervous that we would get there too late and not get a seat. (That’s what happened last year at my daughter’s confirmation.) He was rather irritating — scolding and complaining that we were not ready soon enough. That really put a bad taste in my mouth, and I was upset. What was supposed to be a special day was turning out just awful. I told him that I had announced at lunch what time we would leave, and that is exactly what time the children and I were ready.
When we got to the church, hardly anyone was there yet. Before we went in, I told my husband in front of the children that I’d had enough of his grumpiness and wanted him to stop. It is a special day, and that’s how I want to remember it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that this little speech pleased both children, my son especially. They had been ignoring him and refusing to let him take their picture. That was their way of expressing their discontent with his behavior. We went inside the church, found a nice place to sit, and that was it.
Since I’ve already shed so many tears of sentimental disbelief at my children growing up, I was dry-eyed during the entire ceremony. The feeling of pride that he had really made it was stronger. I had told both children that it was up to them if they wanted to be confirmed, as I am no church-goer, and feel more at home with Hinduism and Buddhism. Both children took on the responsibility with no complaints. There were several excursions, several trips to church, and twice they had to be there at 6 am! No complaints. So I leaned back in the pew and thought to myself: “Well done, my children!”
Since I only go to church for funerals, weddings and my children’s milestones (baptism, first communion, confirmation), there usually is a strong tendency towards tears. This time it was strange. I just felt a wonderful sense of calm and not at all sentimental.
Then what happened? Towards the end of the ceremony, the girls’ choir sang “Top of the World” — one of the hits from the Carpenters. For those who don’t know, Karen Carpenter died 25 years ago in February while recovering from her eating disorder. That song shocked me out of my coolness. A wave of gratitude washed over me, leaving a few tears welled up in my eyes, as it occurred to me that I could have died as well.
I am so grateful that I survived those days as a young woman struggling in New York City — a walking toothpick, bingeing and vomiting incessantly, sometimes even vomiting blood, depressed and alone, paranoid and afraid, having blackouts and hearing voices as I walked to work. I wanted to live, but I had lost hope and was waiting for death. Instead, I recovered. And despite all the annoyances that come with marriage and children, I am eternally grateful for this chapter of my life, for the opportunity to raise two healthy children and enjoy them. Thank you, Higher Power!
Showing posts with label bulimia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bulimia. Show all posts
Saturday, July 12, 2008
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
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.
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.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
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
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.
Why am I not satisfied when I eat?
I see that someone used this as a search term today, and that got me thinking. There are some basic reasons I can think of.
Because:
- I want something else
- I eat so fast that I don’t really taste it
- I feel guilty and think I should really eat something else
- I don’t eat enough
- I’m distracted
- I’m not really hungry
- I’m starving
- I want more
- I don’t feel good
- I want love
- my eating is so screwed up that I don’t feel hunger or satisfaction
- I want to relax
- I am tired
Of course, it depends on whether this lack of satisfaction is meant on a physical (satiation) or more emotional level. I can be satisfied when my needs and desires are met.
My thoughts wander to reflection on what I want. What would satisfy me? As a matter of fact, that is how I learned to eat foods that used to trigger a binge. They were the so-called sinful, forbidden delights. I turned it around. Rather than they being forbidden fruits (ok, not fruits, they were usually sweeter), I asked myself: What do I want? If I want a piece of that, I can have it. Which led to: What do I want now? Do I want anything now? Sure enough, after a while, I realized it wasn’t about taking whatever was offered. Not at all. It was about how I felt at the moment. It was my choice. That was not about discipline; it was about what I chose and how I felt.
It’s not as if I’m invited out all the time, but there plenty of occasions where tempting things are offered. If I am hungry, I will take a piece. If I want to. I am allowed to eat what I want, because I said so. I am also allowed to say No.
This brings me to the affirmation that there is enough for me. There will always be enough and it will be there at the appropriate time. As a matter of fact, there is more than enough, so it is my right to pick and choose. See, when you turn it around, you can fulfill your needs. Self-denial is no longer necessary. And when that is the case, there is no more guilt. And when that is the case, there is no need to gulp down a dozen, while at the same time swearing I’ll never eat it again. And it doesn’t occur to me to wolf down anything, because I am entitled to enjoy it.
Sometimes I wonder if our basic drive to survive plays a role. Going back to the gatherers and hunters, they had to eat what was there. Our western civilization has evolved incredibly to the point that we have way too much food, but perhaps our bodies still react in that primitive way when they see food: Eat it! There may not be any more for a long time after this! It takes a while to re-condition.
This all takes a lot of honesty, clarity and practice, but it does work. And it works on a long-term basis, which is what recovery and normal eating are about – for me. I can only speak for myself and what I consider to be normal. After a while, it stretches out to include much more than food. Do I want company? Do I want to be alone? What do I want in this relationship? What is being offered? Is that enough? In a sense, I suppose I can’t be satisfied until I know what I want.
I know I kind of went off on a tangent, and I don’t know what you were looking for, but maybe these thoughts might help.
Because:
- I want something else
- I eat so fast that I don’t really taste it
- I feel guilty and think I should really eat something else
- I don’t eat enough
- I’m distracted
- I’m not really hungry
- I’m starving
- I want more
- I don’t feel good
- I want love
- my eating is so screwed up that I don’t feel hunger or satisfaction
- I want to relax
- I am tired
Of course, it depends on whether this lack of satisfaction is meant on a physical (satiation) or more emotional level. I can be satisfied when my needs and desires are met.
My thoughts wander to reflection on what I want. What would satisfy me? As a matter of fact, that is how I learned to eat foods that used to trigger a binge. They were the so-called sinful, forbidden delights. I turned it around. Rather than they being forbidden fruits (ok, not fruits, they were usually sweeter), I asked myself: What do I want? If I want a piece of that, I can have it. Which led to: What do I want now? Do I want anything now? Sure enough, after a while, I realized it wasn’t about taking whatever was offered. Not at all. It was about how I felt at the moment. It was my choice. That was not about discipline; it was about what I chose and how I felt.
It’s not as if I’m invited out all the time, but there plenty of occasions where tempting things are offered. If I am hungry, I will take a piece. If I want to. I am allowed to eat what I want, because I said so. I am also allowed to say No.
This brings me to the affirmation that there is enough for me. There will always be enough and it will be there at the appropriate time. As a matter of fact, there is more than enough, so it is my right to pick and choose. See, when you turn it around, you can fulfill your needs. Self-denial is no longer necessary. And when that is the case, there is no more guilt. And when that is the case, there is no need to gulp down a dozen, while at the same time swearing I’ll never eat it again. And it doesn’t occur to me to wolf down anything, because I am entitled to enjoy it.
Sometimes I wonder if our basic drive to survive plays a role. Going back to the gatherers and hunters, they had to eat what was there. Our western civilization has evolved incredibly to the point that we have way too much food, but perhaps our bodies still react in that primitive way when they see food: Eat it! There may not be any more for a long time after this! It takes a while to re-condition.
This all takes a lot of honesty, clarity and practice, but it does work. And it works on a long-term basis, which is what recovery and normal eating are about – for me. I can only speak for myself and what I consider to be normal. After a while, it stretches out to include much more than food. Do I want company? Do I want to be alone? What do I want in this relationship? What is being offered? Is that enough? In a sense, I suppose I can’t be satisfied until I know what I want.
I know I kind of went off on a tangent, and I don’t know what you were looking for, but maybe these thoughts might help.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Normal Eating: How I learned to eat
My 13-year history of anorexia/bulimia left me with an enhanced sensitivity about food. My own eating behavior at this point is pretty normal. Some people might even consider it boring! My awareness extends more to other people. I observe the eating behavior of those around me – not in a condescending way, but I am simply curious why so many people have such difficulty with food, on both ends of the spectrum. I observe unrealistic expectations and lack of enjoyment. Just think how often you hear people say, “Oh, it looks sinfully good. I really shouldn’t.” If they eventually eat the sinful object, they feel guilty.
Consider one essential ingredient of most women’s magazines. At the airport recently, I was looking for something interesting, but almost every one of them was bragging about some great diet. I think one of them even claimed you could lose 8 pounds in 12 days. Actually, not to go off on a tangent, but this reminds me of the pollution problem. How often have we heard about how much waste is involved with packaging? We are told not to wrap presents, to buy with “waste awareness.” But if one takes a good look around, packaging is increasing at a rapid pace, and the packaged items are getting ever smaller. It is absurd.
How does that relate to food? Well, how many times have we heard that to lose or maintain weight, we need to change our diet or have a consistent diet, and that it is unhealthy to lose more than a couple of pounds in a certain time frame? Anyone who has ever dieted knows this, I am sure. There is no quick fix. Those who keep looking for one are probably intimately acquainted with the yo-yo effect.
So, today I thought I would outline my steps toward lasting recovery. In addition to Overeaters Anonymous and therapy, at some point I finally realized that food is actually fuel to keep me going. Despite my desire to deny it, I admitted that I wanted to live, and accepted that I needed food to survive. Recovery is about honesty.
Let me warn you from the start: This is not a how-to-recover list of instructions; it’s just what I did. Since I’ve always been stubborn and felt that I had to do everything on my own, I did it with the food as well. As I have said time and again, I wish I’d consulted a nutritionist. But I didn’t.
After several near recoveries, lasting anywhere from a few days to a few months, I realized two things: I wasn’t eating enough during the times of recovery; thus I would binge at some point simply because I was so hungry. The second enlightening realization was: I didn’t know HOW to eat! I set out to research roughly how many calories I actually needed, and what three normal meals a day would look like.
Then I decided to eat three meals a day consistently – no more and no less. From previous experiences with recovery, I knew that I would be constipated, feel funny, possibly gain weight, feel weird or even panicky. So at the outset I vowed to see it through. You see, I’d decided that I’d really had enough of the sickness and I was willing to do whatever was necessary to recover. (I was only doing it for myself, by the way, not to make anyone else happy!)
There were no forbidden foods, no diet foots, and no low-calorie foods to binge on. My goal was normal eating. The only criteria was: it had to taste good. Why? Because I wanted to be satisfied, and I am a person of extremes. If I am not satisfied, I will eventually want more. (That was usually the point when I went off to the races.) I did get a fair amount of exercise at the time – jogged a couple of times a week for about 30 minutes, biked to work and night school – since I hoped that regular exercise would get my metabolism going.
When I ate, I always made sure that I had enough time, and chewed thoroughly. That enabled me to taste the food, to enjoy it, and by eating slowly, the body could send the “full” signal at the appropriate time. (I remember reading that somewhere as well. It’s true!) Now I am still a slow eater. When I try to “keep up” with other people, I generally end up with an upset stomach. It’s much pleasanter to eat slowly.
After a few months (or possibly longer, I don’t remember), something happened. I actually began to feel hunger and satiation. That brought me to the next step: varying the amounts, depending on my degree of hunger. Sometimes I ate more, sometimes less, but it always balanced out. It was important to not overeat, as that feeling was uncomfortable and to be avoided.
Of course it didn’t stop from one day to the next. During the first year or two, there were a few incidents. They generally were stress-related, and so I learned to recognize them as a warning signal and work with them. There was no need to punish myself or feel bad, I just took it to mean that my coping mechanisms needed some fine tuning.
Since I’d been somewhat underweight when I began recovery, I did gradually gain some weight back. Through regular, normal eating, my body was able to find its comfortable/appropriate working weight, and that has been my weight now for nearly 20 years (with the exception of two pregnancies, and over the winter I sometimes put on an extra 3 or 4 pounds, but that disappears by itself). There is no more up and down. (Oops! I actually have gained a few pounds since turning 40, but it was so gradual and barely noticeable, that I still feel the same. I just wanted to say that, to avoid fostering another unrealistic expectation!)
What you need to realize is: There is no quick fix. It doesn’t pay to deprive yourself – you’ll make up for it eventually! And recovery is about making a commitment to yourself. You are not perfect and don’t have to do it perfectly. Life is about ups and downs, why should recovery be different?
Although an eating disorder is awful, it is familiar. It’s kind of like being stuck in a bad relationship. My biggest hindrance in life is and has been fear – fear of everything and fear of the unknown. It was a big help to be willing to open up and try something different, a different way of life. But I think I’ll save that, as well as the issue of a distorted self-image, and the fact that bulimia and anorexia are not just about food for another blog, because the sun is shining and I want to go out for a walk. And I think this one offers enough food for thought. Remember? One step at a time!
Consider one essential ingredient of most women’s magazines. At the airport recently, I was looking for something interesting, but almost every one of them was bragging about some great diet. I think one of them even claimed you could lose 8 pounds in 12 days. Actually, not to go off on a tangent, but this reminds me of the pollution problem. How often have we heard about how much waste is involved with packaging? We are told not to wrap presents, to buy with “waste awareness.” But if one takes a good look around, packaging is increasing at a rapid pace, and the packaged items are getting ever smaller. It is absurd.
How does that relate to food? Well, how many times have we heard that to lose or maintain weight, we need to change our diet or have a consistent diet, and that it is unhealthy to lose more than a couple of pounds in a certain time frame? Anyone who has ever dieted knows this, I am sure. There is no quick fix. Those who keep looking for one are probably intimately acquainted with the yo-yo effect.
So, today I thought I would outline my steps toward lasting recovery. In addition to Overeaters Anonymous and therapy, at some point I finally realized that food is actually fuel to keep me going. Despite my desire to deny it, I admitted that I wanted to live, and accepted that I needed food to survive. Recovery is about honesty.
Let me warn you from the start: This is not a how-to-recover list of instructions; it’s just what I did. Since I’ve always been stubborn and felt that I had to do everything on my own, I did it with the food as well. As I have said time and again, I wish I’d consulted a nutritionist. But I didn’t.
After several near recoveries, lasting anywhere from a few days to a few months, I realized two things: I wasn’t eating enough during the times of recovery; thus I would binge at some point simply because I was so hungry. The second enlightening realization was: I didn’t know HOW to eat! I set out to research roughly how many calories I actually needed, and what three normal meals a day would look like.
Then I decided to eat three meals a day consistently – no more and no less. From previous experiences with recovery, I knew that I would be constipated, feel funny, possibly gain weight, feel weird or even panicky. So at the outset I vowed to see it through. You see, I’d decided that I’d really had enough of the sickness and I was willing to do whatever was necessary to recover. (I was only doing it for myself, by the way, not to make anyone else happy!)
There were no forbidden foods, no diet foots, and no low-calorie foods to binge on. My goal was normal eating. The only criteria was: it had to taste good. Why? Because I wanted to be satisfied, and I am a person of extremes. If I am not satisfied, I will eventually want more. (That was usually the point when I went off to the races.) I did get a fair amount of exercise at the time – jogged a couple of times a week for about 30 minutes, biked to work and night school – since I hoped that regular exercise would get my metabolism going.
When I ate, I always made sure that I had enough time, and chewed thoroughly. That enabled me to taste the food, to enjoy it, and by eating slowly, the body could send the “full” signal at the appropriate time. (I remember reading that somewhere as well. It’s true!) Now I am still a slow eater. When I try to “keep up” with other people, I generally end up with an upset stomach. It’s much pleasanter to eat slowly.
After a few months (or possibly longer, I don’t remember), something happened. I actually began to feel hunger and satiation. That brought me to the next step: varying the amounts, depending on my degree of hunger. Sometimes I ate more, sometimes less, but it always balanced out. It was important to not overeat, as that feeling was uncomfortable and to be avoided.
Of course it didn’t stop from one day to the next. During the first year or two, there were a few incidents. They generally were stress-related, and so I learned to recognize them as a warning signal and work with them. There was no need to punish myself or feel bad, I just took it to mean that my coping mechanisms needed some fine tuning.
Since I’d been somewhat underweight when I began recovery, I did gradually gain some weight back. Through regular, normal eating, my body was able to find its comfortable/appropriate working weight, and that has been my weight now for nearly 20 years (with the exception of two pregnancies, and over the winter I sometimes put on an extra 3 or 4 pounds, but that disappears by itself). There is no more up and down. (Oops! I actually have gained a few pounds since turning 40, but it was so gradual and barely noticeable, that I still feel the same. I just wanted to say that, to avoid fostering another unrealistic expectation!)
What you need to realize is: There is no quick fix. It doesn’t pay to deprive yourself – you’ll make up for it eventually! And recovery is about making a commitment to yourself. You are not perfect and don’t have to do it perfectly. Life is about ups and downs, why should recovery be different?
Although an eating disorder is awful, it is familiar. It’s kind of like being stuck in a bad relationship. My biggest hindrance in life is and has been fear – fear of everything and fear of the unknown. It was a big help to be willing to open up and try something different, a different way of life. But I think I’ll save that, as well as the issue of a distorted self-image, and the fact that bulimia and anorexia are not just about food for another blog, because the sun is shining and I want to go out for a walk. And I think this one offers enough food for thought. Remember? One step at a time!
Greetings from the Roller Coaster
Resurfacing once again out of the depths. It certainly is strange. Even though I’m healthy, I still have depressive mood swings. The grief of the world gets to me, and my personal irritations add to the aggravation. Soon enough those dark, clingy arms encircle me, nearly suffocating, and drag me d-o-w-n. Sensible as I am, and despite the wealth of experience collected, it is nevertheless a harrowing time. I know that it will soon pass, but that doesn’t really serve to alleviate the pressure.
Some things do help, though. I sleep as much as possible, don’t expect too much of myself, and simply accept that I need a break. It also helps to call a friend, be lazy and spend a Sunday afternoon in bed with a book, or go to the movies.
Lately I have recognized that old demon “perfection” sneaking stealthily back into my life. (Did it really ever leave?) Why is it such a challenge for me to simply enjoy life? For example, the other day I went into the recording studio to play & record a bunch of songs, from which I will narrow down the selection for the CD I want to record. I could have simply had a good time, enjoyed singing and playing, and that’s it.
Instead, I was nervous and concerned that I sound good, that the technician “like” the songs. And a few times I lost courage, thinking to myself: “That poor guy. Just imagine all the crap he has to listen to all day.” Well, get off it! It’s his job! It’s just like going to a therapist. You don’t pay for them to listen to how nice and wonderful you are, do you? Sure, sometimes we have sessions in which we feel the impulse to present ourselves that way, but that isn’t the point.
So I go in, can’t breathe, my voice is constricted and thin, my fingers shaky on the guitar strings, and I’m frustrated and dissatisfied with my efforts. This is ridiculous! Sometimes I wish I could have been the born optimist who is full of herself and convinced that she’s great, but I wasn’t.
If I was, I probably wouldn’t have been bulimic all those years. I was indoctrinated with the belief that everybody has to like me, and that I have to be nice and please everyone. And it almost goes without saying that everything I do has to be perfect and a success on the first try. Otherwise I’m not a good person.
I know, I know. You’re probably thinking: come ON! You are 45 years old. Why don’t you get it together and say you don’t care what others think of you? I mean, you’ve been proposing that now for 30 years, and still you are not free of it. Maybe that is your big task in life – to be true to yourself, regardless. Why is that so darn difficult?
Is it so difficult? What holds me back? I’ll let you know when I’ve got it figured out.
Some things do help, though. I sleep as much as possible, don’t expect too much of myself, and simply accept that I need a break. It also helps to call a friend, be lazy and spend a Sunday afternoon in bed with a book, or go to the movies.
Lately I have recognized that old demon “perfection” sneaking stealthily back into my life. (Did it really ever leave?) Why is it such a challenge for me to simply enjoy life? For example, the other day I went into the recording studio to play & record a bunch of songs, from which I will narrow down the selection for the CD I want to record. I could have simply had a good time, enjoyed singing and playing, and that’s it.
Instead, I was nervous and concerned that I sound good, that the technician “like” the songs. And a few times I lost courage, thinking to myself: “That poor guy. Just imagine all the crap he has to listen to all day.” Well, get off it! It’s his job! It’s just like going to a therapist. You don’t pay for them to listen to how nice and wonderful you are, do you? Sure, sometimes we have sessions in which we feel the impulse to present ourselves that way, but that isn’t the point.
So I go in, can’t breathe, my voice is constricted and thin, my fingers shaky on the guitar strings, and I’m frustrated and dissatisfied with my efforts. This is ridiculous! Sometimes I wish I could have been the born optimist who is full of herself and convinced that she’s great, but I wasn’t.
If I was, I probably wouldn’t have been bulimic all those years. I was indoctrinated with the belief that everybody has to like me, and that I have to be nice and please everyone. And it almost goes without saying that everything I do has to be perfect and a success on the first try. Otherwise I’m not a good person.
I know, I know. You’re probably thinking: come ON! You are 45 years old. Why don’t you get it together and say you don’t care what others think of you? I mean, you’ve been proposing that now for 30 years, and still you are not free of it. Maybe that is your big task in life – to be true to yourself, regardless. Why is that so darn difficult?
Is it so difficult? What holds me back? I’ll let you know when I’ve got it figured out.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Awareness of Eating Disorders: Take two
I wrote this blog recently for her circle ezine and would like to share it here as well…
According to the National Eating Disorders Association, February 24 to March 1 is Eating Disorders Awareness Week. My own story comes to mind. Rather than go into personal detail, I would like to share what I learned in the process of recovery after 13 years of bulimarexia.
There will always be enough for me, whether it be food or love. I can say “No” to dessert or requests that demand too much of me. I can say “Yes” to dessert if I have room in my stomach, if it looks good, and if I WANT some. I do not consider that a sin. Nor do I consider it a sin to say “Yes” and do someone a favor, if I find it acceptable or within my means. Good eating is about 3 meals a day, a regular thing. It is not about diets or fasts. I feed my body regularly. It has come to depend on me for nurturing. In return, it gives me strength, energy, determination and the ability to pursue my dreams. I consider that a fair deal.
I have learned that eating is not about will power or discipline, neither of which I claim to have. It is about taking time for myself. I eat slowly and chew thoroughly. That allows me to enjoy food, prevents indigestion, and gives my body plenty of time to send the “satisfied” signal. Afterwards I feel good and can devote myself to other activities.
I admitted that I didn’t know how to eat, or what hunger and satiation felt like. I wanted to recover and enjoy life. In the process of recovery, it helped me to set up a basic food plan and commit myself to eating “normally” for six months, no matter what. That is a realistic alternative to the quick-fix mentality of this day and age. It doesn’t mean someone will lose a certain amount of weight in 10 days, but rather, that they nourish their body and let it find its own ideal weight where it can function best. This long-term approach is life-enhancing.
Recently I encountered some recovery myths in a conversation. I would like to set things straight. Now that I am healthy, I still get sad, feel lonely, screw things up, get tired, act like a child when I’m angry, don’t know everything, make mistakes, get irritable when I’m hungry, have undesirable habits, and am still rather untidy. My marriage did not improve as drastically in the long run as I’d hoped. But I also often feel happy, enjoy spending time with people, actively pursue my hobbies and derive great pleasure through them, enjoy my children, feel energetic, enjoy a good meal, love to listen to music and read. In other words, many of the less enviable qualities have remained, but health has enriched my life incredibly. 2008 is my 20th year of health.
According to the National Eating Disorders Association, February 24 to March 1 is Eating Disorders Awareness Week. My own story comes to mind. Rather than go into personal detail, I would like to share what I learned in the process of recovery after 13 years of bulimarexia.
There will always be enough for me, whether it be food or love. I can say “No” to dessert or requests that demand too much of me. I can say “Yes” to dessert if I have room in my stomach, if it looks good, and if I WANT some. I do not consider that a sin. Nor do I consider it a sin to say “Yes” and do someone a favor, if I find it acceptable or within my means. Good eating is about 3 meals a day, a regular thing. It is not about diets or fasts. I feed my body regularly. It has come to depend on me for nurturing. In return, it gives me strength, energy, determination and the ability to pursue my dreams. I consider that a fair deal.
I have learned that eating is not about will power or discipline, neither of which I claim to have. It is about taking time for myself. I eat slowly and chew thoroughly. That allows me to enjoy food, prevents indigestion, and gives my body plenty of time to send the “satisfied” signal. Afterwards I feel good and can devote myself to other activities.
I admitted that I didn’t know how to eat, or what hunger and satiation felt like. I wanted to recover and enjoy life. In the process of recovery, it helped me to set up a basic food plan and commit myself to eating “normally” for six months, no matter what. That is a realistic alternative to the quick-fix mentality of this day and age. It doesn’t mean someone will lose a certain amount of weight in 10 days, but rather, that they nourish their body and let it find its own ideal weight where it can function best. This long-term approach is life-enhancing.
Recently I encountered some recovery myths in a conversation. I would like to set things straight. Now that I am healthy, I still get sad, feel lonely, screw things up, get tired, act like a child when I’m angry, don’t know everything, make mistakes, get irritable when I’m hungry, have undesirable habits, and am still rather untidy. My marriage did not improve as drastically in the long run as I’d hoped. But I also often feel happy, enjoy spending time with people, actively pursue my hobbies and derive great pleasure through them, enjoy my children, feel energetic, enjoy a good meal, love to listen to music and read. In other words, many of the less enviable qualities have remained, but health has enriched my life incredibly. 2008 is my 20th year of health.
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!
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!
What is recoveredbulimic about?
As a bulimic 16-year-old, I had the glorious idea that I would recover, become a psychotherapist to help other bulimics, and write a book about my story. In the meantime, nearly 30 years have passed. Five years ago I got my Master’s Degree in Psychology, but I realized that I would rather write and perform music than become a therapist. I did write the book: Diary of a Recovered Bulimic. It came out this past summer. I suppose it is a bit late, as there are plenty of diaries on the subject, but I really had no choice. I was not able to write it sooner, yet if I never wrote it, that would have nagged me for the rest of my life.
The book is the story of my struggle, which began in puberty and ended when I was 26. At least, the symptom ended. The emotional recovery has been going on ever since. As I am a spiritually oriented person, I believe the recovery goes hand in hand with personal growth. Maybe it’s the same thing. Recovery doesn’t mean I have figured everything out and don’t have any more problems. It just means I can depend on my strong healthy body to help me cope with whatever my life has in store. I’ve learned to roll with the punches and to experience pure joy.
Now that the book is finished, I’ve had several new insights. It reminds me of taking exams at the university. I was nervous and did the best I could. Once the exam was over, I relaxed and then everything seemed to make more sense. Just as I often got good grades, I am also pleased with how the book turned out, but there is more that I want to say. Thus I can say it here. I hope to get feedback and communicate with other people who may be recovered or in the process. It is always helpful to compare notes with others in similar situations, as many issues do tend to be related. I hope my work will be helpful to other people.
My self-definition is not restricted to “recovered bulimic” but also includes mother, poet and musician. Thus, some of my other work will appear here as well. In the meantime, I have a more down-to-earth project in the works: I want to find a job!
The book is the story of my struggle, which began in puberty and ended when I was 26. At least, the symptom ended. The emotional recovery has been going on ever since. As I am a spiritually oriented person, I believe the recovery goes hand in hand with personal growth. Maybe it’s the same thing. Recovery doesn’t mean I have figured everything out and don’t have any more problems. It just means I can depend on my strong healthy body to help me cope with whatever my life has in store. I’ve learned to roll with the punches and to experience pure joy.
Now that the book is finished, I’ve had several new insights. It reminds me of taking exams at the university. I was nervous and did the best I could. Once the exam was over, I relaxed and then everything seemed to make more sense. Just as I often got good grades, I am also pleased with how the book turned out, but there is more that I want to say. Thus I can say it here. I hope to get feedback and communicate with other people who may be recovered or in the process. It is always helpful to compare notes with others in similar situations, as many issues do tend to be related. I hope my work will be helpful to other people.
My self-definition is not restricted to “recovered bulimic” but also includes mother, poet and musician. Thus, some of my other work will appear here as well. In the meantime, I have a more down-to-earth project in the works: I want to find a job!
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