this blogpost was written for someone close to me--as a way to inspire them in their own recovery. sending prayers that it ignites something for you.
I had an eating disorder before I knew that I had an eating disorder. And then, at some point, I had to admit that I had an eating disorder–to myself and to people around me. That first admission, in 2005, was the beginning of my recovery, but not nearly the most important step. I started going to therapy as soon as I made that admission –which was the day after the first time I made myself throw up. But even though I could admit that I had an eating disorder, I didn't yet want to get better. So the therapy didn’t do much except act as a front (“see? I’m doing something about it!”).
Something about the eating disorder was familiar, which I could interpret as comforting, safe, and helpful. And so it seemed to be serving a purpose in my life. And it wasn’t TOTALLY ruling my life: my eating disorder and I were living in what appeared to be harmony. It was years before I would decide that I didn't want to live life according to my eating disorder’s rules (and there were a lot of them!). And when I decided that I wanted to change; that I wanted to be in charge instead of my eating disorder; that I wanted to get better–that’s when my eating disorder started fading into the background.
The first person that presented my eating disorder to me as something that I was actively “choosing” was Elena Brower–a yoga teacher that I was doing some life coaching with. She told me that I needed to realize it was a “choice” to continue with my eating disorder, rather than the passive way I was thinking its control over me. I had a lot of resistance to seeing my eating disorder in this way: I had some training in psychology, and I knew that eating disorders were considered diagnosable mental health illnesses. But it was also true that by referring to my eating disorder in this way, I was giving up any perceived control in the healing process. So, I decided to try something different. I began to think of my eating disorder as something I was actively choosing in my life.
I was choosing to do an extra workout instead of seeing my friend for dinner.
I was choosing to binge and purge over taking a bath and relaxing.
I was choosing to re-count my calories over and over instead of meditating.
Each little choice added up. Each little decision became another decision that amounted to something that was actively destroying my life. But it was hard to see–sure I had finished my PhD and was accomplishing a lot at work. Sure, I was in a relationship and had close friends. So the costs seemed small, but they added up too: the hours I spent binging and purging could have been more productivity, or more sleep, or more intimate connections with people in my life. The countless hours I spent over-exercising took tolls on my body and my relationships. And the mental gymnastics I did around calorie intake/output meant that I had no brain-space to create, to manifest, to dream, or to just be at peace in my life.
I could deny the destruction because it was in small doses.
I could deny it because I didn't know what my life looked like without it.
But there was one thing I couldn't deny–if my eating disorder was allowed to be unchecked, I would die from it–and that was one choice I wasn't willing to make. But, as long as it seemed to be relatively in check, I allowed it to coexist with me. Then, in late 2012, when my husband announced he was moving out, I heard a loud alarm reverberate through my body. His presence in my home had acted as a boundary for my eating disorder: it couldn’t take over as long as I had to pretend to be normal in front of him. But, without him there, there would be no containment–I knew that my eating disorder would be able to take over. And that I could potentially die in effect.
And that’s the first time I decided to choose again. I thought, “Actually, I'm not ready to die. I don’t want to binge and purge myself to death.” and so that week I showed up to therapy with a new attitude: one that said, “I want to get better, for real… because I want to LIVE.”
It was almost alarmingly easy to recover from my eating disorder once I decided to. One at a time, I peeled away layers of my eating disorder: I quit binging and purging; I quit over-exercising; I quit keeping track of calorie intake/expenditure; I quit forcing myself to run everyday; I quit the rules I had around food… eventually, the eating disorder became more of a ghost that would occasionally drop by to haunt me.
And sure, those things took effort–they took determination. But I had determination in spades–the amount of energy it took to engage with my eating disorder every day was actually more than it took to pull myself away from it. And the effects of choosing recovery have been far more worth it than the alternative.
Deciding to recover–actively making the choice that I wanted to live–was the hardest thing I have ever done. It took me seven years from the admission that I had an eating disorder to make that choice. But once I realized that it WAS a choice, it was also the easiest thing I have ever done.
