choosing again

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.

“Mia” —performed for “You are not alone” on 7/17/22

You know what the worst part is of telling someone that you have an eating disorder? It’s not the assumptions, it’s not the pity, it’s not even the “oh, of course you do, you’re a bisexual millennial” tropes. It’s the way that your confidant will look you– up and down– and respond with “but you have a great body!”

I’ve taste-tested a little of every eating disorder. As if eating disorders were fancy chocolates and I just had to take a little nibble off of each one to know which I really wanted to sink my teeth into. But the bulimia chocolate was the siren calling to me. And yes, I ate boxes and boxes of those chocolates, just to throw them all up.

People with eating disorders have a myriad of metaphors for their eating disorders–personalizing them seems to give us some type of comfort. Or maybe it isn’t so much comfort we’re after, but a way of convincing ourselves that the eating disorders aren’t vile death traps that we are willingly exploring. A common nickname for bulimia is “Mia,” which makes this addictive, self-destructive, lonely, avoidant set of behaviors sound like the cute and super hip young woman with blue hair that lives in the brownstone next door. Naturally, Mia and I became fast friends.

As I began to craft this essay for y’all, I felt some fears creep up: what if I make eating disorders sound glamorous to others and they want to take Mia out for a spin (because I certainly was obsessively in love with her for a dozen or so years)?... or what if I remind myself of Mia’s sexy side and I want to ask her over?… just for a one night stand, of course.

And so, to counteract my fears, I offer you the reality of what bulimia was, for me: I wake up at 6am to go for a 6 mile run on an empty stomach. I grab a coffee, as breakfast, on the way into my PhD-student desk. I work until lunch, by which time I will be starved, but I only allow myself to eat a salad. I work until 4, and then eat a 90 calorie granola bar on the way to the gym where I teach 1 –or 2– fitness classes, and probably hit the gym afterward. I ignore my friends’ invites for a drink, citing the work I need to get done on my dissertation, and head home, stopping at a grocery store on the way.

A grocery store that I have on rotation–since I don’t want to be seen at a grocery store more than once or twice a week… and I need more food every night. I limit myself to $20 dollars worth of food to binge, because I cannot afford how much food I want to eat and throw up each day.

I shamefully pack the groceries and head back to my house, already drinking part of the 2L of diet soda and scarfing down the carrots I bought. Diet soda because the more liquid I consume, the easier the food will be to come up; carrots because they are bright orange and will signify to me, as I'm throwing up, that I've hit the end of the food in my stomach.

As soon as I’m home, I sit in front of the tv and eat all of the food I have purchased, as fast as I can, which usually means a couple bags of groceries in an hour, which is too much food to eat at once, and it makes my stomach stick out so far that it looks like I’m actually pregnant with this food baby and the baby kicks and causes intensely sharp jabs of pain.

Then, it’s time to throw up all the food. As I walk toward the bathroom I am afraid–what if I can’t get it all up? What if I purge so hard I pop a blood vessel? What if my teeth hit my knuckles with too much velocity and deepen the cuts that are already there?

But these fears are never enough to stop the process, and I begin sticking fingers down my throat. There are days when my fingers are not enough and I resort to a plastic bag. These days tears are streaming down my face as I purge. There is a constant process of examining everything that comes up, to try to remember how much more food is still to come, and then washing my hands to get the half chewed food off of them before sticking them back down my throat. I rinse my mouth obsessively between each purge in an effort to slow down the accelerated tooth decay I’m creating. The purging usually takes as long as the binging did–about an hour, and I’m left feeling exhausted, depleted, and ashamed at the end.

I brush my teeth thoroughly and stumble into my bed, promising myself that I will not do this again tomorrow, but knowing that I probably will. And then I wake, at 6am, dehydrated and depressed, and begin it all over again.

So, you may be thinking, Mia sounds like a real bitch–why were you so obsessed with her? The best way I can explain it is that she’s like that toxic ex you have that you just can’t seem to get out from under. An ex that texts you every fucking day. An ex that you’re reminded of EVERYWHERE you go. An ex that seems like they might leave you alone for a day, which only serves to make them more attractive.

And it is somehow easy to be seduced–over and over again. And the worst part is, you know that bitch Mia is out there fooling around with SO MANY OTHER people–getting them to fall for her same old shitty lines.

Which is fucking bullshit.

And we need to talk about her–out loud. Because it’s in the silence that toxic relationships take over your life.

When I started going to art therapy, the first of many tools that eventually helped me claw my way out of Mia’s arms, I met an older woman who had anorexia and a young mother who had bulimia. I remembered thinking to myself, “oh, yeah, one day I’ll be a mother with bulimia; one day I’ll be an older woman with anorexia.” Not because that’s what I wanted necessarily, but because I could see no way out: I didn’t know anyone who had recovered from an eating disorder.

But, once I decided I WANTED to let go of Mia, my tool box expanded and suddenly I began to chip away at the fake news living in my head. Through art therapy, practicing embodied movement like yoga and dance, and by processing through blogging and other forms of writing, I did find my way out of this decade long love affair. And, so, today, at least 5 years since any fingers, or, well, any of my fingers, have been in my mouth, I am so proud to stand here, smile, and say, "Mia who?"

imprinting myself

in 2018, i'm being wholeheartedly myself.  imprinting myself inwardly and outwardly. being fully truthful with myself and those around me. 

and, as part of my "fuck the patriarchy" or maybe "fuck that old eating disordered self" or more likely "fuck YES i'm living my life FULLY!," i turned off my fitness tracking on my iphone. i even took a #nomakeupselfie of myself doing it as proof.

i turned it off the afternoon of jan 2.  i had told myself to turn it off 100 times, and then finally set the date of jan 1 as a goal, saying to myself "it's ok to review your full year of exercise one more time."

of course i didn't need to do that.  i've kept track of my exercise in one form or another since i was 10.  did i really need to look at some evidence that i've beaten myself up and treated myself poorly ONE MORE TIME?  no.

and actually i didn't look at it.  i danced all day on jan 1.  it wasn't until i did a customary mileage check tuesday afternoon that i realized i hadn't turned it off yet.  and so, CLICK. 

it felt HELLA scary to turn off the fitness tracking.  "how will i know if i have run enough? how will i know if i have burned enough calories? isn't it just nice to know that i'm being healthy?" my eating disordered voice screamed excuses in the back of my mind as i calmly replied, "you don't need this to be happy. in fact, this is blocking your full expression of happiness."

(yes, i legit said those things to myself.)  and, after i told myself that, i struggled to believe it.  i kept thinking i would turn it back on.  i didn't know how it would feel to be totally rid of any form of tracking.  this action my phone had been taking on its own seemed safe; it wasn't something i was actively doing, so i had convinced myself it was an "ok" behavior.

but, realistically, i should have known how it would feel.  because EVERY SINGLE TIME i shed an eating disordered behavior, i feel like i'm walking on air. i feel lighter.  i feel happier.  i feel my true inner self imprinting itself into the world around me; i become more unafraid.

since i turned off my fitness tracking yesterday: i left my phone at my desk while walking to the printer; i left my phone in my apartment while walking to the garbage room (yes these microscopic portions of my mileage were not to be left uncounted); i left my phone charging while doing a workout; i didn't feel the urge to check and re-check my mileage instead of focusing on other things;

and i felt like i could more fully disconnect from my phone.  it lost its specialness, its attachment i had embedded somewhere between the battery and the phone shell.

AND, OH. MY. GOD. do you know how good that feels?  how good i feel?  i taught a yoga class this morning and i felt the freedom pouring out in my teaching.  afterward, a regular student told me "i love your classes; they're so different than any other class i go to" and i felt my happiness bubble. i felt that confirmation of my truths in her words.

IMPRINT: my body can regulate itself; i can trust this amazing body my soul calls home.

what eating disorder?

a week ago i was talking to someone about the history of my eating disorder. even though my eating disorder is not as impactful as it once was, there are remnants of it that still contribute to how i respond to things.

the person i was talking to wanted to know when the last time i had thrown up was, and i said that throwing up was only a small piece of my eating disorder; my eating disorder has multiple layers to it. the most recent layer i've pulled back was calorie-counting, and that was no small feat. i also mentioned that relaxing my strictness around exercise was (probably) the last layer i needed to work on... and that i didn't know that i wanted/needed to work on it.

is it so bad that i work out every day? that i prioritize it?  that i have to run before i leave for work for the day?  that i feel like i need to workout to deserve the food i eat?

later that night, i thought more about what i had said, and reflected on earlier layers of my eating disorder that i've since discarded.  things i used to think were "fine" include: calorie counting; recording all my food and exercise; constant excessive exercise; minimal binge/purge sessions; binging but just exercising off the calories (instead of throwing up); and extreme calorie restriction. because all of those things weren't as bad as binging and purging every day (or several times a day).

each time i shed a layer of the eating disorder, i am more accepting of the layer under it, thinking that i can live with this lesser version of my eating disorder.

that night, as i thought about what i had said, i remembered a few days before when i accepted an invitation to help a friend with her kids on a road trip this weekend. my only bartering chip had been to ask for time to run/yoga each morning. and i thought, "why did i have to say that? was that what was really most important to me?" 

because i'm scared that sometimes exercise is the most important thing to me, here i am, saying that i don't want it to dictate my life.

i don't want to stop exercising regularly; i want to live a healthy life that involves regular exercise but that doesn't revolve around it, so i brainstormed with my art therapist about what a good action step would be.  she said that i should "listen to my body, and workout when i needed to."

i couldn't help it; i laughed out loud when she said that. i was laughing hysterically, thinking, "that would never work!"  but, as i was laughing, i realized that when people used to say that i should listen to my body, and eat when i was hungry, i had also laughed, thinking that was impossible.

but now that's what i do. 

i used to ignore my body's cues around food, hit the "control" button and override what it was telling me. and now, i eat when i'm hungry.  i eat what i think my body needs.

therefore, i know that this new hurdle is also surmountable.  so i committed: i would listen to my body about when it needed activity instead of setting rules around what must happen.

this weekend, that's what i did.  not only did i chill the fuck out, but i didn't force myself to restrict sleep and get up super early for workout time; i didn't demand time to exercise; i didn't freak out about getting "enough" working out in; i wasn't thinking about my workout while spending time with the girls. 

oh.  and i felt great.       
***everything is possible***

next destiny

tonight i got a text from my husband; it told me that i'm now divorced.  four years after our split, we are finally divorced.

i didn't know how to reply to the text.  i wanted to say something elegant; i wanted to process everything i was feeling; i wanted us to heal our wounds. 

i replied "oh my god."

*****************************************

i did a two day teacher training with elena this weekend.  upon arriving, elena had us draw cards from a deck.  each card had a quote.  mine was:

Watch your thoughts, they become words;
watch your words, they become actions;
watch your actions, they become habits;
watch your habits, they become character;
watch your character, for it becomes your destiny.
--FRANK OUTLAW

i like the quote; i like thinking that what we practice becomes us. i also like that we can create our destiny; and, that if we read deeper, we can change our destiny.

which is what i've been focusing on for the past 5 weeks. 37 days of no calorie counting, no drinking, no mood altering anything.   each day has gotten easier.  and now i feel better than normal about food and exercise. better than normal because i know what it is like to feel so undeniably obsessed with it. saturday i drank a juice without examining the calorie label.  sunday i'm pretty sure i had four full meals.  monday i ate some yogurt from a larger tub without measuring out a 1/2 cup serving so i'd know the calorie count.  these things all seem like actual miracles to me.

sunday night, at the end of the yoga training, i approached elena in a panic about my 40 days being almost up.  elena looked me in the eyes, grabbed my mala beads that were around my neck, pulled my face nose to nose with hers, and told me that she had an easy solution: she assigned me 40 more days.  i instantly felt relieved and thus knew that she was right in her assignment.

and i started to think about what it really was that i was in recovery from.  yes, the eating disorder; yes, i'm not using other substances right now... but was there a single addiction here? 

i think it's that i was addicted to numbing feelings and avoiding feeling hard emotions. and i do need another 40 days to continue to find my way without returning to any of the number of avoidant crutches i've used.

*****************************************

it's that addiction which i will now openly credit with accelerating the dissolution of my past relationships. 

processing the text tonight was surprisingly hard, despite the fact that the divorce was not at all sudden. friends questioned "is it because it's the end of a chapter?" "is it because you weren't expecting it?" "is it because of the way he told you?"  i kept saying that i didn't know.  lydia facetimed me from sydney, immediately upon receiving my text, and encouraged me to cry it out and try to determine what i was feeling.  when i still couldn't understand it, she prescribed meditation.

i meditated.  i sat.  i followed my breath.  i was present.  all the attempted processing, the breathing, even the meditation didn't identify what felt so hard about that text.  but, i did what i've almost never done: i sat with the hard feelings. instead of allowing myself to shrink inside a constricted breath, i was able to expand my breathing.

i would tell my best friend, who just soberly processed the death of her grandmother so beautifully: i'm proud of you.  I'M SO PROUD OF YOU.

so i breathe a deep breath, an expanded breath, into that pride i try to direct back toward myself. 

and i swear i can feel my next destiny inside that breath.

icarus

it's the evening of day 20 of my 40 day challenge.  40 days of no substances and no calorie counting.  20 days in: i've learned a few things.

a la movies 

 

no substances: i'm fun, and can party just as ridiculously sans alcohol.  i've been out with friends drinking late on weekend evenings, dancing til the wee hours, totally sober.  well, okay, maybe the diet cokes hyped me up a bit. so maybe 99% sober. 

some people haven't been inviting me to things as much, fearful that i wouldn't go or that i wouldn't have fun without being able to drink. but i don't blame them; i would probably suspect the same of most of my friends. luckily i also have a bestie who is doing the challenge with me.  and we look very cute sober at a movie on a saturday night.

first dates, cocktail parties where i don't know anyone, and business dinners are all a little terrifying without any alcohol. however, i've met a few brave dates open to the challenge, and made friends at parties and dinners despite the sobriety.

personally, i've been feeling more confident and happy: realizing i'm fun on my own and that i can make it through these events sober has translated into less fear overall.   the confidence has even bled into other areas of my life.  i've stood up for myself with colleagues that weren't listening to my expertise, and i've expressed my needs to friends and partners more readily. 

it's also made me much more sympathetic to people who have quit drinking.  i've always thought that recovering from bulimia was very hard because food is something that is necessary: you cannot exist in a world where people do not eat.  although i had sympathy for anyone in any type of recovery, i still felt like "but you don't HAVE to be around (insert drug or alcohol here) if you don't want to!"

but i don't know how true that is for alcohol, really.  it's quite pervasive in our social lives.  although i'm quite happy not drinking right now, i also know that it's not forever.  so to my sober peeps: i'm sorry if i minimized your struggle, even if only in my own mind.  also: i'm totes up for sober parties, even after my 40 days are up.

no counting: eating without counting every bite and calculating each calorie is way less stressful.  i never liked counting every chip at the mexican restaurant, or estimating how many tablespoons of ketchup i just squeezed on to my plate. i was doing it to ease the craziness in my brain, but it was actually only contributing to it.  (i know, i know, if you have never dealt with this issue, it sounds like a "DUH" statement.)

i'm more present when i'm eating with friends.  i listen to them talking instead of re-counting the number of calories i have consumed thus far at the meal.  i can reply to them and engage in conversation instead of calculating whether i have enough calories left in my day to have a bite of the dessert they ordered.

it has been hard, a million moments of each day.  i've created a few thought exercises to distract myself when i start to try to count something on my plate when eating alone or start to try to remember all the things i've eaten in a day. (they involve trying to remember very minute details in other areas of my life.) but, in general, it feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders.  not basing my self-value on a number, and whether or not i feel like it is the right number, is freeing. 

i no longer wake up after a day where i decided i had 200 too many calories with a sense of dread: a feeling that i had to make up for being "bad" the day before by eating less or exercising extra, trying to find extra time for working out or brainstorming places to save calories.  or even panicking because i might have a social event in the evening that i knew would involve alcohol--and extra calories. which leads me to the following. 

and the combo of the two: alcohol has calories. i've definitely played the sorority girl game of eating less to drink more.  i've run extra to drink more.  i've chosen which drinks to enjoy based on their calorie count (no different than foods).

not drinking for the past few weeks has taught me how afraid of alcohol calories i really am: on mornings of social functions i used to feel anxiety.  lately i have not.  and, scarily enough, i've realized it's because i don't feel internal pressure to run an extra few miles to prep for the looming alcohol calories. i can workout the normal amount without the fear of "going over" the calorie count i've allotted for my day.

and i've also started to become terrified for the time when the 40 days is up.  not counting calories has been a really big step in my recovery.  what if i'm not able to refrain from calorie counting when i introduce alcohol back into the equation? what if i try to go overboard on running (again)? what if...

yeah.

if it was one of my friends saying things like this to me, i'd give the advice i always do: wasting time worrying about this in advance of the actual situation is not helpful.  and so, i keep up the meditation and the yoga.  i practice.  and i trust that i can keep flying that line between the sea and the sun.

clarity

today i started 40 clear days.  meaning no alcohol or mood changers of any type. i've never tried to go any expanded amount of time without being able to relax with a glass of wine.  i have friends that do "dry july," which i've never consider doing, since that's my birthday month.  i have friends who have done cleanses, which i just never really felt called to do.  and luckily i never get sick, so i'm never forced to go on breaks while on antibiotics.

but last week i decided i wanted to do 40 clear days.  kind of spontaneously actually.  i texted my bff and told her and she immediately signed up. ("signed up" means she said "ok, i'll do it too!") over the course of the next few days before i started, a few other friends committed to their own variations of the theme.

and then, last night, right before i started, i added a challenge: a challenge that is way scarier than going to dinner or bars with my friends and watching them drink; way more horrifying than feeling left out of a social situation; much more terrifying than fomo.  i decided that i'd try to stop counting my calories for the next 40 days.

counting calories is something i've been doing some version of for 25 years.  i don't write everything i eat down anymore, and i don't keep track of each day's input and output now, but i still keep a running tally in my head every day.  i know that my usual breakfast has 450 calories.  i know i usually run 6 miles a day.  i know i usually have -250 going into lunch.  i check my daily mileage tracker regularly to see if i get to count extra calories as "burned."  i try to fit extra activity in where i can and automatically subtract it off my total consumed for the day.  ...the math is constant.

harlem street food, exhibit 1.

and it's also exhausting.  my brain gets quite consumed by this activity.  when i'm bored in a meeting, i recalculate for the day.  when i'm eating, i'm actually calculating calories. i can't concentrate on conversation at the dinner table until i've figured out the calorie count.

so i decided to experiment with letting it go--since i was getting clear.

today: i had my usual breakfast.  so i knew how many calories there were without having to do any work.  i ran an hour, and i knew how many calories i burned, so i didn't have to do the math.  it wasn't working.

so for lunch, i skipped usual options and went rogue.  i went to a cart on the street and bought a falafel pita: something that would've taken me several attempts and re-attempts until i decided which calorie total was closest to the truth.

while i was eating it, my brain actually tried to start adding things up.  SEVERAL TIMES.  so i pulled up an article and focused really hard on reading it while i was eating.  and then went right to the next task and kept yelling at myself: DO NOT THINK ABOUT HOW MANY CALORIES WERE IN THAT WRAP.

very occasionally, cat is calm.

i had a few more meetings.  i prepped for evening teaching.  i went to yoga.  i rushed back to teach and grabbed a snack en route.  i knew there were 250 calories in what i was eating, but i didn't know what to add it to.  i didn't know what my total was for the day. it hurt my brain not to think about it, but i pushed it away as i rushed into the classroom. 

i ate dinner watching tv. i kept quieting my mind.  but writing this is still quite an effort in non-addition.

however, it's 1am and i don't know my daily total.  i don't know if i'm "over" or "under" for the day.  the mental energy to not add, subtract, and re-calculate all day was almost equal to the amount of energy i would have expended doing so. i assume it will be easier tomorrow.

and, if it isn't, i'll just scratch cat behind the ears and think about  how much a glass of wine would help me forget about counting calories.

you can't judge my body

a boy recently dumped me because he didn't like my body (too skinny).  at least, that's the reason i interpreted from the one minute break up conversation. 

why does this reason piss me off more than any other reason i've ever heard in my life?  i'm so glad you asked.  BECAUSE I HAVE SPENT YEARS TRYING TO LEARN HOW TO LOVE MY BODY.  the last thing i need is someone else telling me they don't like something about it.

when i was thinking about this a little more today, i thought "i don't think anyone i've dated or been friends with has ever judged my body."  i mean i have, for sure.  but i had to scan each person in my life until i finally remembered one other:  a guy i was casually hooking up with about 4 years ago, who was 21 and very buff (and on steroids), told me after sex one day "you know, you could stand to do a few squats." 

i responded "i'm 32; this is the best it's gonna get, honey."

and then i proceeded to never again have sex with him.  but i did start doing a lot more squats.

why?  because i was still very intertwined with my bulimia.  i had just run a marathon; i was nearly the skinniest i've ever been.  i was teaching tons of fitness classes; i was well toned.  there was no reason i should have felt bad about my body, but of course i did.  and hearing it confirmed from someone i had just had sex with tore at my ego.

but this one last week--it hurt way more.  in a totally different way.  i have done a FUCK TON of work to love this body just as it is.  not because of its shape.  but because it houses a beautiful and brave soul.

no one gets to judge my body: no one gets to say i'm too fat.  no one gets to say i'm too thin.  no one gets to say i need to do a few more squats.

INCLUDING ME.

re: that one minute call last week: i don't think i'm maddest about the judgment received or the self-judgement inflicted afterwards; it was that i didn't stick up for the years of work i've done.

i respect each person's unique fetishes and attractions.  i respect each person's decision to date who they want. 

but i really respect myself, and my body.  and so, my gift to myself today, on my 8th wedding anniversary (if i still do that type of thing), is to come to my own defense.

love letter

let me situate you in my life right now:

• yesterday i went to art therapy and was talking with my therapist about how i was fearful about the idea that other people may not approve of my lifestyle.
• on the way home from that session, i listened to a podcast and heard this: "i got married largely because i was trying to please my mother... neither one of my marriages seemed to make her particularly happy. so it occurred to me that i didn't need to get married to try to make someone else happy. only person i could make happy was me... so I don't need to get married again."
• this morning someone i started seeing recently called me and told me that they didn't want to date me anymore.

this afternoon, here i am, feeling fiercely independent and yet very unsettled. i taught yoga right after the upsetting call this morning, and it was hard to teach.  i centered myself for a few minutes before the class and then taught a class on twisting and releasing.  i expected to leave feeling a little more full, but i had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. 

the feeling in my stomach was familiar--it was the feeling that used to always trigger binging and purging.  i recognized this and texted a few friends.  texting friends meant that i was less likely to do it: i would have to answer to them later.  i then avoided eating lunch out of the fear that it would lead straight into a binge session.

then, at 4pm, i finally ate something. and didn't binge.  and didn't purge.

i think inherent in risking lots of emotional connections is that i'm sometimes going to feel unsettled about relationships in my life.  but it also means that i have a lot of other people around to talk to when i need extra support.

and so i owe my lovely independence that i love so much to you all.  xo

24 years (un)strong: cycles

this piece is originally posted on cycledork.com, but re-posted here for blog continuity.

i have struggled with eating disorders for most of my life, though i have only just realized how long.  through writing this piece it became clear to me that i started the practice of ignoring my body when i was 11.  after practicing that for so long, it's no wonder that it can seem normal to me.

i’ve written before about how long it took me to start listening to my body and its signals.  oddly enough being obsessed with my body was directly related to ignoring it.

when i think through the increased severity of the stages of the disordered eating choices i’ve made throughout my life, i can track the inverse relationship to being present in my body.  it may sound evident, but the effects of engaging with an eating disorder affect every part of sense of self.

--age 11: not allowing any fat in my diet
when i was young, my best friend’s mother started counting fat grams.  it was all the rage in the early 90s, and my best friend and i started counting as well; it seemed like a fun game.  i got pretty competitive with myself and tried to keep my fat grams just under the minimum suggested per day.  i stopped eating things i liked.  not because i wanted to lose weight; not because i wasn’t happy with my body.  i loved the game aspect of it: so much so that i didn’t care that i couldn’t eat cake at my friends’ birthday parties. i learned very quickly to ignore wants and cravings… for the sake of the game.  i invented reasons "oh, i just don't like cake; i never have!"

as a result of the extreme fat deprivation in my diet, i had severely dry skin.  my mom tried to get me to eat a spoonful of olive oil each day.  i refused to, but pretended i was by pouring a tiny bit out of the bottle each day. the low percentage of body fat then prevented me from getting my first period until i was a couple months shy of 15.

--age 21: becoming obsessed with exercise
i continued the fat gram counting, and later recording of fat intake and exercise output for years.  i didn’t become obsessed with exercise until i became a fitness instructor in undergrad.  the culture of teaching fitness is that “more is better” and i bought right into it.  i was teaching 8-10 fitness classes a week, and i went to at least another 5 a week for fun/experience/whatever i told myself was a good excuse.

ignoring body signals is pretty necessary when you are doing way too much exercise.  muscles hurt. injuries happen.  and ignoring them is the only way to continue that level of exercise. 

the length of my cycle extended during this time: i was having periods with less frequency and i wasn’t sure if it was normal for me or if something was wrong.

--age 23: restricting calories
i went on a hormonal birth control method at 22 that caused me to gain a lot of weight, despite me not changing my eating or exercise patterns. i panicked.  for the first time in my life i was upset with how my body looked.  but, i felt like i knew what i needed to do: eat less calories.  my eating got very competitive.  i tried to eat the fewest number of calories i could per day: this got down to about 600-800 a day.  and i was still working out 1-3 times a day.  the weight did begin to come off.

however, i was starving all of the time. i learned to ignore the hunger pains, and to hide them from others.  i would bring snacks to my grad school classes as a cover.  it would be one of the only things i would eat that night, but i wanted it to seem “normal” to other people.  i would eat the snack part way through class, trying to keep my stomach from making noises.  but it must have looked suspect as i broke a granola bar up into 6 pieces and slowly ate them over the course of an hour, watching the clock to keep it evenly spaced over the hour.  the reason i realized this was obvious was that one of my professors pulled me aside after class one day and asked me if i was experiencing any eating issues.  i laughed, and told her i had just gone off the birth control i had been on, and that the cause of any weight loss was probably a result of that.

during this time in my life, my periods were pretty irregular.  i often took pregnancy tests, certain it wasn’t a result of my diet.   but i was never so concerned that i thought of changing any of my exercise or dietary behaviors.

--age 25: binging and purging
i went through a break up, most likely the result of me being obsessed with calories and food instead of my life.  after the break up i finally decided to allow myself to eat food.  but i didn’t know how.  i would end up binging and eating so much food because i felt so hungry.  the next day i would then add a few hours of exercise on to my regimen to make up for it.  i was spending all day exercising, doing a little work on my PhD, and then binging.  after a few weeks of this, it became unmanageable.  and one day i ate so much food that my stomach hurt so badly that i couldn’t do anything—not even sit there.  so i made myself throw up.  i didn’t even know how to do it, but the food came up.

i immediately felt addicted to throwing up.  i had just saved three hours of excessive exercise for the next day and i was elated.

my choice to binge and purge involved extreme levels of ignoring my needs.  i had to mentally leave my body during the binge session: eating that quickly and that volume of food is not comfortable.  after a binge session, i never even remembered what tv shows i had watched during it: that’s how far i was from my body during binging. after binging came the purging.  even though i dreaded doing it, i would throw up and throw up until it was all out.  my throat would be raw, my eyes would bulge and look bloodshot, my hand became cracked and dry and would get cuts from my teeth.  i would fall asleep exhausted and wake up dehydrated with a headache.

i began to go to therapy the same week that i started throwing up.  in my head, i had just developed an eating disorder.  but in reality, i had been engaging with disordered eating for 14 years. 

it took me another 8 years to figure out that ignoring my body’s wants and needs was the real problem.  i stopped binging and purging but was still recording things.  i stopped recording things but still insisted on exercise through injuries and exhaustion.  it was a regular yoga practice and, later, the addition of a meditation practice that helped me finally begin to really tune in.

and once i was tuning in, there was a difference: i could notice things about my behavior and reactions and how they were related to things in my body.  i could notice things about my cycle and how they affected my mood and cravings. 

now it’s hard for me to binge and purge: being present during that process is not something i enjoy.  i’m still practicing being present.  i’m still practicing noticing all the signs. and now i can acknowledge that i’ve struggled with being fully alive in my body for a majority of my life. 

but seeing what my body can do, and noticing little changes and signals, is a gift.  one that i don’t take lightly. i’m excited for the possibility of one day experiencing a pregnancy.  for eventually going through menopause.  and for being present to all the little changes that happen along the way.

and to keep trending up, listen to this: i love this song.  

jane fonda and me

i was obsessed with jane fonda when i was little.  my mother used to do her workout video at home, and my sister and i loved getting involved.  especially since it involved costumes: mama let us borrow leg warmers!  shayna and i would do the workout with my mom, and we felt very grown-up.

the movie 9-5 cemented my obsession with jane.  i watched 9-5 so many times when i was young that it became part of who i am: i have been know to force someone i'm dating to watch the movie so that they can understand WHO I AM.

but it wasn't until jane fonda published her memoir that i learned more about her. jane struggled with bulimia a lot of her life, and there is one quote in her memoir that really hit home.  she said that she found herself engaging with her eating disorder when she was being inauthentic in her relationships.  here's a piece of a longer quote from a recent interview she did:

...Eating disorders don’t represent a lust for food. It represents a loss of authentic self. It’s when there’s something about our lives and our relationship to ourselves and others around us that is inauthentic. And we’re trying to fill an emptiness. That’s what I think it’s really about. It’s a spiritual and emotional hole that we’re trying to fill with food...  If girls are in inauthentic relationships, they are more apt to have eating disorders... They need to receive help, of a very specific kind. 

the first time i read the line about being inauthentic in relationships, it immediately resonated with me.  i knew that it was true for me as well.  i use bulimia as a coping mechanism for a number of things: stress, anxiety, and depression are common triggers.  but there's also the old "wanting to avoid a hard conversation" with someone trigger.

until this weekend i think i had only binged and purged once since moving to NYC.  i've been doing well on letting go of disordered eating patterns as well.  but this past saturday i chose to binge and purge.

i beat myself up about it afterward and tried to identify why i chose this coping mechanism over a healthy one.  i scrolled through everything in my life right now and ding-ding-ding found one of the usual suspects: i've been avoiding a hard conversation with a friend and have cancelled spending time with him in an effort to further deflect the talk.  inauthenticity in a relationship.  ah, yes.

i strongly considered not telling anyone, including my best friends and my blogosphere.  but not wanting to admit something is the hallmark of my need to.  and so i discussed it with coral sunday afternoon.  she told me that she would never judge me for anything that i do, and i felt the warm loving comfort of her authenticity.

so, reminder to self: stop being inauthentic! but also get over yourself and shake it off.  like jane fonda would do.

quantifying self-worth

i listened to a podcast today about quantified bodies: i.e. how health trackers are turning our lives into a numbers game.  as the podcast started, i almost switched to a different one for my run.  the very idea of listening to a podcast about tracking food and exercise seemed like it could be triggering for me: i've spent the past few years trying to STOP quantifying things in my life.  but, the hook reeled me in, and i listened.

and then i got mad.

i started tracking dietary and exercise habits from a very young age, way before there were tech things to assist the pursuit.  i slowly let go of several of these, though i secretly still keep a daily running calorie total in my phone, just so i know where i am for the day. someone saw me updating it the other night, which i usually try to do when no one is looking, and the shame hit me square in the face. i tried to play it cool, but i was so embarrassed.  

just so i can feel some pride in the face of admitting that, the things i have stopped tracking: 

writing down all food consumed and amounts; 

tracking daily grams of fat, protein, and fiber; 

cataloging exercise/activity i participated in each day on paper and then in an online calorie tracker; detailing written explanations for days taken off;

and i finally threw away the years of notebooks i had kept these things in.

and i'm sure there are more things that i've forgotten i used to track.

when i found out my iphone 6 was tracking all of my mileage, i panicked.  i had purposefully NOT gotten a fitbit when all of my friends did.  i do not have a smart watch.  i stopped using the map my run and runkeeper apps. yes, i still run a lot.  but not being as exact about my mileage means i can't try to be super exact with my calorie balancing.  truth: i now check the mileage in my health app on my iphone several times a day. 

let me get to the point: i think quantifying calories in/calories out is quite problematic.  i'm not talking about using a GPS watch to map a run when training for a race or doing a food diary for a couple of days to become aware of habits.  i'm talking about every day quantification. 

which is why this podcast made me so angry. 

there were people who called in with their stories of becoming obsessed and of letting the fitness trackers dictate their lives.  one man said that he got his 6-pack abs, but was left with no one to show them off to.  one woman talked about sneaking in extra steps around her kitchen in the middle of the night to try to beat her friend's steps for the day.  what the podcast didn't do was address the eating disorders that are developing in this new techy world.  when eating and exercise interfere with thought patterns or social plans or sleep regularly, that is an eating disorder.  

and to normalize these obsessive behaviors, to promote the extreme competition with one's self or one's friends, does everyone a disservice.  to act as if it is normal for us to all discuss each other's activity levels fosters a society that promotes eating disorders. 

i regularly get uncomfortable when people bring up their numbers for the day or week.  internally i begin to scream "lalalalalalalalala" to try to block out the voices.  i'm hearing the voice of my acquaintance, and i'm hearing my inner monologue berating me for not doing enough; telling me i should go out running again. not only is this triggering for people in recovery, but it is teaching this as "normal" to younger generations.  

normalizing disordered eating does not make it non-disordered.

my self-worth is not determined by how many steps i took today.  it is not determined by how many squats i did, how long my yoga practice was, or by how cleanly i ate.  it is not determined by a number on the scale or a fat/muscle ratio. 

yes, it is healthy to exercise.  yes, it is healthy to be aware of what you're eating.  the extremes of quantification and tracking are not.  exercise as many days as you can without sacrificing time with family and friends.  eat food that is good for you that you enjoy that you can partake in with your loved ones. 

but get over the tracking.  it's not healthy.  do things because they feel good and they make you feel good, not because some number isn't the one you think it should be.  numbers don't make happiness.  

eating. sitting. being.

on a day when most of the western world recommits to being healthy by starting exercise programs, i chose the same goal, but by doing the opposite.  today i: ate food, sat still, and took a day off. 

doing that was really hard for me.  i had planned it over the past week: make sure i get in all the running and yoga i wanted to do in advance so i could start my year off with resting my body.  maybe that was cheating; maybe i should've committed to taking a day off no matter what.  cheating or not, it was still hard.

the reason it was hard was because it was breaking my routine--the same reason that starting an on-going exercise program is hard for a majority of people.

no-make-up-resting-day-cat-selfie

at brunch this morning i actually panicked about the day.  i said to PR: "um, can you plan my day for me?  what am i going to do if i don't have to spend the afternoon exercising?" he brainstormed for me, and i went home, rather unconfidently.  once home i panicked again and ended up talking to a long-distance bestie for a few hours. 

the call was an overdue catch-up that lasted until late afternoon.  once it was over i needed another meal, and it was almost dark.  i felt relieved in a way: this meant i wouldn't really need to try to invent more excuses for myself not to run.  and as i got up to feed myself and cat, i thought, "today hasn't been so terrible; in fact, i feel happy."

i don't like making resolutions--i like trying to live healthfully, heartfully, and happily.  if i made resolutions, one might include trying to live more like today.

--enter the point where i considered ending this blog post--

ok.  there's another confession.  there was something else i did in the past few days getting ready to take a day off.  this wasn't an intentional plan.  it was one that got subtly implanted by a friend and that the remnants of my eating disorder fed (ironically) quite rapidly.

i considered not writing about this; not even talking about it.  and that is a sure sign that i needed to post it. 

three nights ago a friend suggested we didn't need a whole dinner; we just needed a light snack.  two nights ago we kind of slipped into that pattern together again.  last night i chose to deepen the groove of the pattern by skipping dinner before going out to a NYE party. 

i told PR i was going to skip dinner, and he fought me, but i rationalized i had had a late brunch and didn't feel hungry. afterward i had a lovely night--i didn't feel anxious about calories, and i didn't feel anxious about the new year's day off.

and then in the middle of the night, at 5am, lying in bed, i thought "oh. my. god.  i skipped dinner three nights in a row.  that is not healthy behavior."

i'm not a meal skipper.  i've never been a meal skipper.  this morning i was horrified to realize how quickly this had felt normal.  i was also horrified to post about this; to have my parents potentially worry about me, to have my loved ones potentially worry about things they say to me over potential ramifications.

but i recognized it.  i stopped the pattern.  i told my closest friends about it for support.  i put it here. 

even deeply-ingrained patterns, eating disordered choices that have circled though my mind for years, can change. i know this.  i live this.  i choose this life. 

so whatever choice you want to make today, and the next day, and the next day, is possible.  it doesn't have to be a resolution.  it doesn't have to even be a promise or a commitment.  it's just a choice each time.  and a little faith in yourself for trusting that inner self to know which choice is the right one.

double presence (and presents)

wednesday morning i received an email with this message:

Don't wait for something good to happen to you. Go out into the world with the intention to lift up the people around you and then see as good happens in return.

Say to yourself this morning "I am a gift, my presence is my offering."

Put a smile on your face and go into the world and give your joy away.

Watch as you get joy back. Watch as the effect you have on others lights you up. No matter where you go, you get to be the loving gift others need. You get to be the reminder of a loving world.

it was beautifully timed, as this whole idea of being present and offering my presence has been ringing through my life over and over this week: i've heard it through pictures, a podcast, emails, from friends, and (of course) in yoga classes.

this blog is about offering presence. which is more than just being present. it's actually like double-presence: there's an extra amount of presence that you have to pull off to be able to reflect your presence and offer it to those in your life.

level-up.

my friend's brother made this.  check him here!

i taught a yoga class wednesday with this theme: we focused on this very idea of offering our presence as a present. we lit ourselves up with bouncy love so that it could be reflected back out into the lives of our loved ones that day. and we practiced re-wiring our thinking to think of ourselves in that way.

and then, as i made my way through the day, i watched as the extra time i spent with a university student lit her up. i saw how when i stopped and smiled and chatted to an older doorman in front of a building downtown, he lit up. i found extra energy to make dinner for my friend that evening and watched him light up in return. i kept giving pieces of myself, and i watched it reflect light right back to me.

so there were successes. there are successes.  but. being so fully present in myself is ongoing work. friday night i was getting ready for a dinner out with friends, and i changed my clothes about seven times--maybe nine--because i felt so uncomfortable in my body; too big.

trying to shrink is typical eating-disorder behavior. i can recognize that my beliefs are not based in reason.i can recognize that i'm not seeing what other people are seeing.  i can recognize that i'm sabotaging my own presence.

in that hour, i was pulling away from myself: shrinking is the opposite of fully inhabiting my body. i was pulling away from my friends: i was late in the offering of my presence. this mini struggle felt so uncomfortable to be present within. and it was the polar opposite of double-presence.

extra practice, please.

i have one friend who continually reminds me of the value of his presence. i sometimes find this hilariously amusing. but mostly i'm completely in awe. his presence is on-point.

so my self-challenge and my holiday challenge to you, as things start to whirl around you, is two-fold: 1) be so fully present that you are double present, and 2) offer your presence.

and then, see what happens.

just share it already!

I've written before about how *not* telling people about bulimia makes me feel like I'm lying. I've written before about how being open about bulimia reduces my shame and helps dispel society's stigma.

today I next-level-ed it: I let my undergrad sexuality class ask me about bulimia. (it was relevant; we were discussing the female sexual body, including body image.) I told them I wanted them to be exposed to it in a real way and encouraged them to ask anything they wanted.

I was scared to death.

I'm not sure of what. judgement? that they'd lose confidence in me as a teacher? that they'd lose respect for me? that they'd find it inappropriate and report it? --I don't think it was any of those. i think it was just the extreme vulnerability.

I planned to write a whole blog about this tonight. I wanted to unpack this a little more. but, as I sat down to write, I got an email: an email from a young academic across the pond. she has written me before, and I shared something she said to me in an earlier blog post.

"L" shared something so vulnerable with me tonight. her vulnerability in sharing this with me (when she has never shared something like this before) humbled my vulnerability in class this afternoon. L asked me if I was willing to share it with my readers, and I feel honored to do so. she didn't feel that she had another outlet, and she didn't feel like that she could post it for herself, but she wanted to feel heard in some way. I'm not posting all of it; I've edited it a little for length and I've removed anything that could be construed as "tips" or things I thought might be extremely triggering for someone in recovery. read as much as you can:

Today, I woke up with stabbing pains in my stomach shortly before 7am. The laxatives I took last night before I fell asleep were kicking in. I lay there for what felt like hours, until the pains become so strong that I knew I urgently needed to get to the bathroom. I stumbled out of the bed and made my way across the hall. The pain is always the same – so excruciating that I swear to myself that I will never again take another laxative. There were tingles all over my body and I broke out in chills. My insides felt as though they were going to implode and for a second I thought about the damage I must be doing to myself. I stripped off and gazed at myself in the mirror, sucking in my belly as hard as I could. I pressed my hand to my stomach, checking to see if it somehow felt as flat as it did yesterday. I breathed a sigh of relief - it didn’t seem like I gained much weight from the horrific 12 hour binge purge marathon I had yesterday. I looked at the scales and wondered whether or not to get on. I knew that I would be horrified at what I saw, so thought it would be best to wait until tomorrow.

In the shower, and felt so weak that every move I made was an effort. It felt like my bones weighed 3 times as much as they should. My arms were so heavy that it was difficult to wash my hair or my body. I always hate the shower; it forces me to confront every inch of myself.

I made it to my desk a little after 11am, and collapsed onto my chair, out of breath and completely exhausted. Two friends emailed to ask if I wanted to go for lunch later that day. I spent over an hour going back and forth in my mind: ‘you can’t eat today - you ate too much yesterday’…‘if you eat you won’t be able to stop and will put on at least another pound’…‘but one more day of binging and purging won’t hurt in the long run, ‘this will be the last day, tomorrow you can start again’…‘if you do this you are throwing away all of the work you’ve put into losing weight so far’…’you’re fat enough as it is, don’t eat anymore’…’fuck it, just today so, tomorrow you’re only having 100 calories’.

And that was that.

I met them at 1pm and ended up eating a pretty large dinner instead of a lunch. To my friends, I looked the same, I smiled at them and laughed at their jokes. But all the while my heart was thumping in my chest. It felt like my thighs and stomach were getting bigger with every passing second, and I wanted nothing more than for them to just leave me alone. As I ate, I was hunched over, embarrassed and ashamed of my body, worried they would think that I was getting fat.

I figured if I just kept eating until I was completely full, I could purge it all up in one go. So I ate more, I bought 2 chocolate bars and ate those at the table, left my colleagues and went to the nearest corner shop. There I spent $25 on snacks and ate it all, and by then it felt like I had ripped the lining of my stomach. Unable to stand upright, for the third time today, the pain was so sharp I had tears in my eyes as I tried my best to get to the nearest toilet. Although I have gotten pretty good at purging; it is still a difficult thing to do, especially when I’m crying at the same time. My throat was still raw and sore from all of the purging I did yesterday. With one hand down my throat, I punched myself in the stomach with the other as hard as I could to help get the food up. Even though I was sore all over, I could feel my entire body relaxing, the panic and the fear became less as I vomited. There is nothing scarier to me than feeling full. I purge quite forcefully, so I was gasping for air as I sat on the floor in the cubicle trying to gain enough composure to continue purging. Sitting on the floor of a public toilet cubicle crying next to a toilet bowl full of vomit was not how I wanted to spend my day.

I cried as I walked from the bus stop to my house. Once inside, I raided the cupboards. Anything at all that didn’t need oven time or defrosting, I threw into my bag. It was 5:30; I was so overwhelmed with panic that I started to hyperventilate. I slammed the cupboards and the fridge, took the stairs 2 at a time, sat on my bed, and ate, and ate, and ate. The pain was excruciating. It was a struggle to breathe because each time breathed in, the pain got sharper and sharper. The front door opened – my dad was home from work. All I could think was ‘I need to get sick!!’ I rushed to the bathroom, locked the door and turned on the shower. I couldn’t bare to undress and actually get into the shower; my stomach was bloated and undressing makes me feel even more ashamed and disgusted with myself. Sometimes sleep in my clothes and tonight was going to be one of those nights. But I didn’t stop there.

I went downstairs, said hello and closed the kitchen door behind me and began prepping food for another purge. I ate the additional food when it was ready. Having purged so much today already, I knew this time would be extremely difficult; my gag reflex was completely gone.

There are already 3 vomit stains on my carpet, now I have a 4th. I cleaned up as best I could.

It’s 10pm and I am completely wiped out. My entire body aches and tingles, and my heart is racing. I lie across my bed, and a voice in my head keeps saying over and over ‘what are you doing to yourself?’

for me, reading this was like a distant memory of a nightmare I had once had. the parts where she talks about the emotions and constant self-bargaining, the body-checking in every mirror, the accelerated heartrate, the self-loathing as she falls asleep. I haven't had a day like that in years. but most of her story was very similar to days I've lived through. they are days I've tried to put behind me and forget about. but I also think that there is value here.

there's value for me: remembering where I don't want to be again.
there's value for those who haven't experienced eating disorders: a tidbit of understanding.
there's value for L: she got something off her chest--and believe me, i know the value in that.

there's value for society:

talk about it,

share it,

and get it out there.

be bold

for some reason the word "bold" struck me today. i had read a blog post about the idea that the way that you tell "your story" shapes your life. the author mentioned that she was striving to tell her story in a bolder way. and i started thinking "would my story have a bold protagonist? would people describe me as bold? does pink hair equal bold? can i be bolder?"

one definition of bold is acting fearless. a course in miracles dichotomizes the world into fear and love. if we take that perspective, being fearless can be interpreted as living fully in love.

approaching difficult conversations, interactions, or situations with an attitude of love: BOLD.


i used to talk about "when i developed bulimia" before my lifecoach insisted i change it to "when i chose to start binging and purging." it took me a while to incorporate that language choice into my lexicon, but, when i did, it actually became easier to talk about. owning my behaviors put me in the protagonist's role: i was no longer a victim of circumstance; i was no longer "sick" or someone to be pitied; i was not blaming anything in my life on anyone else.

i hear people every day attribute their perceived failures, big or small, to outside circumstances. if we consistently think that our life outcomes are outside of our control, we are let off the hook of taking action. but if we recognize that we can take ownership over our pasts, of our decisions and choices, of where we are currently in our life, we can move forward boldly.

and the best part is that it is never too late to take that ownership. it is never too late to change your perspective on your story, or the way you convey it to other people. this week i had a first date with someone. during this date, i talked freely about my part in the ending of my marriage, among other things that could be interpreted as life-fails. my date listened to part of "my story" and then replied with "wow, i didn't expect to hear that; thank you for sharing that in such an honest way."

that whole marriage-ending story is one i haven't quite mastered all of the boldness in yet. i tend to say "when my husband left me" or "when my husband moved continents without telling me" because of the drama of these statements. but no one has never complimented me on those re-tellings. a few chuckles or embarrassed side-glances, perhaps, but nothing more.

the relationship stories can be some of the most challenging to own. because there is always another person there: there is always another person that can be blamed. so it can be difficult to take the words and actions that are ours within a relationship, and to own the effect they have on the outcomes. we have to let go of the hurts enough to release the want to blame the other person for the story's ending.

and sometimes we might not even know how we got to a relationship's ending. one of my friends recently blogged about the struggles of today's dating world. and believe me, i know. owning my story in unexplainable situations is very challenging--when i think that i have acted as a bold individual but feel that i have received fear in return, the boldness can feel worthless... but i think that knowing where relationship outcomes are not directly related to ourselves is also pretty bold.

i don't want to be let off the hook in any area of my life. i want to take ownership. the shift we can make and the power we create for ourselves through such boldness is impressive. we get to decide. we get to act. we get to create. we get to be the author. and fuck, i think that's all any of us want.

today, i choose to be bold.

recovery is a long word

do you know what yik yak is? if you're not under 25, or one of my best friends, the answer is probably no. it's an anonymous twitter type app that i'm obsessed with--along with all 18-25 year olds. you can only see yaks that are posted in your immediate area, so if you're near a college campus, or in a big city, it will be super interesting. (if not, don't even attempt to download it!)

you can comment on people's yaks and up or down vote them. if a yak gets 5 down votes, it is automatically removed. which is kind of cool, because it is a little self-regulating. anyway, it can be a mean place (because it is anonymous), but it can also be a super supportive place (because it is anonymous).

point of the story: a young girl posted tonight about binging and purging. i replied, she replied, i replied, etc. she hadn't told anyone about her eating disorder; she kept it hidden; she didn't know what to do.

H E A R T B R O K E N
is how i felt. and i wanted to help her: i wanted to do all the things for her. i told her about how hiding it amplifies the shame, and about how admitting it (even anonymously) was a good first step.

that admission can be SO. HARD.

i've had other people grace me with their admissions in the past, both about eating disorders and other mental health issues. and every time i feel this intense yearning to soothe and nurture; to offer support; to provide forgiveness.

i know those feelings arise from the needs i have so strongly felt in my life. the needs that i was afraid to express, and afraid to have met--both by myself and others.

this morning i did an online yoga class with elena, and she said this:

the amount of energy that it takes to resist the expressions of our heart and recoil from our divine nature is exactly the same amount of energy it takes to surrender. this energy cannot do both at the same time.

when she said that, i freaked out a tiny bit. like it struck a chord inside me pretty deeply. i couldn't say for sure exactly why this morning.

and now, i feel like, oh, yeah. it's because all i do is struggle with how vulnerable i can be. how vulnerable can i be with exposing my sensitivities, my true feelings, and my insecurities? how vulnerable can i be with admitting TO MYSELF my sensitivities, my true feelings, and my insecurities?

seeing my struggle reflected back through a younger version of myself hurt. i wanted to protect her; i wanted to speed up her healing process.

not that i'm recovered.

not that any of us are.

from whatever.

but, you know, we're all ok anyway.

we're all on this journey of recovery.

which is actually just life.

so keep recovering. keep remembering that true nature. keep forgiving those who can't yet. keep supporting them. and put all your energy into the surrendering: to the vulnerabilities, sensitivities, feelings, and insecurities. i swear it's fucking worth it.

now watch this. #love

lies: little, white, and not-so-little, not-so-white

adi climbs in all kinds of boxes!

my 4-year-old best friend adi got into a cardboard box last time i was visiting with her. she wanted to play jack-in-the-box and then asked me to close her inside the box. as soon as i began to fold down the second two flaps, she squealed, "maybe this isn't a good idea; I can't breathe!" it was kind of cute; it was kind of hilarious.


and that's kind of what i felt like today: a little trapped, a little suffocated, a little scared... and a little like i brought this all on myself... and i just wanted someone to open the box right back up for me.


sometimes i lie to myself. the one i tell myself most often is: "i don't know why i'm feeling like this!!"

i do. i always do. i just sometimes don't want to admit it.

i told my mom about my eating disorder a little over a year ago. i hadn't told my dad yet, but i didn't feel anxious about that. i reasoned that mom was the "hard" one to tell--she is the dietitian and tends to take things personally. last week i told my dad. it was one of the hardest conversations in recent memory. and then i felt very "weird" for a few days. i tried to deny the emotions that were all still bubbling. i tried to pretend i felt the same as always. but i finally called a friend and talked about some of the emotions i was feeling.

i lied to a friend this weekend. in protection, of course, but a lie all the same. the last few days i've been obsessed with exercise. and i made myself throw up--just a tiny bit--last night. today i kept thinking "why on earth is my eating disorder voice screaming at me? why do i feel so crazy?" but i denied the knowing.

i texted a friend in australia a casual question this evening and he immediately said "are you ok?" i was like "yeah, of course." but a few hours later i replied that i wasn't--and how on earth could he tell from that one question?

apparently my behavior admits things before i do. while i was with my husband, i once kissed another man while out of the country. when i came back from the trip, i apparently acted differently... FOR NINE MONTHS. because nine months later he screamed in frustration "what the hell happened on that trip?!"

oh. i'm not a good liar.

i've also felt this behavior admitting something to my world before i'm ready to admit it. but i'm still really fucking good at ignoring it. today, when i was feeling very very guilty about the purges i've been engaging in, i finally faced the source and decided to take action and un-do the lie. i'm about to untie the knot--both the one in my stomach and the one between my friend and i--and i'm scared as fuck. i don't know how he'll respond; i don't know how he'll react. but i'm finally ready.

i read this in a morning email i received the other day:

My friend is really into this man. But last night she got a text from him that he isn't really feeling the spark between them. She was crushed.

I sat with her for a while. We cried and grieved and got angry and felt sad. Toward the end of the night I said, "I know this is so painful right now, but what if rejection is God's protection?"

What if exactly the right thing is happening right now? I know you want HIM, but he is clearly not your man right now. What if he is keeping you available for a love that is moments from surprising you?

When was the last time you felt rejected?

Can you see now that the rejection that once hurt was probably the best thing to have happened? How did it redirect your path?

Like water in a river, when it hits a rock, it doesn't stop. It doesn't complain that the rock is in its way. The water sees the rock as a redirection of its path and simply keeps flowing.

When we have perspective, we can see that we were being guided by the rejection. But when we are in the middle of it, it just plain hurts.

all types of rejection hurt. whether it is real, perceived, or even anticipated. but, just like ryan says, there's always another way to look at it. and today, with all things, i'm choosing the light. because light is everything.

accepting anger. and the rest.

growing up, my home was a super comforting place to be. if my sister or i ever got in trouble, we never heard screaming. maybe we were sent to a bedroom for a little while; maybe our already limited-television watching was further limited; or maybe we were told the way we had acted was "disappointing." i would know when my parents were angry with me, but i never saw the anger: i never witnessed what true anger looked like.

i saw this model and chose to take this into adulthood. if i'm mad at you, you probably won't know it. eventually, when i can't handle it eating me up inside anymore, i'll have a discussion with you. ...and that's progress, folks! i used to hold it in for, well, forever.

i was in a bathroom this weekend where the entire insides of the room were covered in tags, including the mirror. it looked gorgeous, and i snapped a photo of myself in there. but when i looked back at it later, i felt a little sad, a little uncomfortable. seeing myself in that mirror that was covered in other people's tags felt like a metaphor for all of this. avoiding seeing where i am or what i need; allowing other people's needs to come first; minimizing the self; feelings EVERYWHERE.... you can go on and on with interpretations.

i'm practicing getting to those uncomfortable conversations sooner. i'm practicing avoiding the avoidance. but those big feelings are super scary for me to feel.

after announcing to my work that i'm leaving my current position, my supervisors here haven't been overly supportive. the emails i now receive daily are not fun to read. i have strategies: avoid opening, forward to a friend, call friend and see how bad it is, forward to a student, get student to draft reply, review reply, send reply. --yeah, that happened last night/this morning; i still haven't read that last email i replied to. it's that scary for me.

that's pretty hard core avoidance of feeling anger. i'm much better at dealing with it in personal relationships than in work relationships. but i still tend to go to avoidance first.

so when i see people get angry, i'm actually pretty impressed. well, let me rephrase that. when i see people get angry for a good reason, i'm impressed.

to my friend getting pissed off at her ED: you're fucking working through it. that's hard work.

to my friend getting pissed off at his depression: you're fucking working through it. that's hard work.

to my friend constantly pissed off at her anxiety: you're fucking working through it. that's hard work.

anger can be a useful tool. it's like that inner voice telling you "something isn't balanced here; let's do something about it. let's process. let's talk. let's get it out."

so anyway, this was mainly for NK today--don't judge that anger, that sadness. keep feeling. take each feeling and wrap it up in a blanket of acceptance. accept that feeling for what it is. and then allow it to pass. i'm super proud of you.

emotional fly traps

when I was little, maybe 8 years old, I was sitting in the car with my mom. it was biloxi, mississippi. it was summer. it was HOT. so we had on shorts. I looked over at my mom and noticed aloud to her "my thighs are like less than half the size of your thighs!"

I don't remember what she said back. I don't think she was upset at all. she probably said something like "that's because I'm an adult." but I know that on some level I must have felt some hurt from her. because I still feel bad about that comment.

I am a sensitive girl; I hold things close to my heart; I feel bad for unintentionally hurting others. and i get hurt easily: by others and by my own doing.

there is someone in my recent life who has continually hurt me. I kept resisting cutting him out of my life, despite the pleading of many other friends. "all my friends don't have to like each other," I thought; "I'll be friends with him even though he isn't treating me well; at least he acknowledges he wants to do better."

yes: I now hear it. that sounds like someone in a domestic abuse situation. and emotionally, it kind of was. you know how it's always easier to comment on someone else's situation; how it's always easier to find the flaws that are a little more distal? seeing (or hearing) the harshness of this situation took me a long time, but finally figuring it out is good for me in more than one way.

what's he do that's so hurtful? he jokes about my attempts at romantic relationships. it got worse over the past few weeks as I started to stop joking back with him when he called me a slut. I began to notice how bad I felt after each snapchat that insinuated I'd have sex with anyone; after each uncomfortable call where he joked that I must be out on a date.

so I decided to put myself first: I'm removing myself from this "friendship." I feel sad about this. but also proud.

why have I constantly defended someone who treats me badly? why did I immediately respond to the negative way he spoke to me? I didn't grow up with critical messages from family or teachers. I've never been in an abusive relationship.

well. except the one with myself. and that's the emotionally abusive relationship that is hardest for me to see and/or admit to.

the way he spoke to me is how I often talk to myself. I'm quite judgemental and critical when it comes to, well, anything I do. so I guess it felt pretty natural and almost comfortable for me to receive those types of messages from him.

the reason I need to limit contact with him is because I internalize what he says to me. even though i don't agree with his judgemental view of my life, I find myself starting to believe him. it's almost impossible not to believe something you hear over and over.

the same thing happens in my own head: when I say something negative in my head often enough, my subconscious starts to really buy into it. and sometimes I'm shocked when my subconscious says something like "I am not doing enough." I think "who said that? why would you think that? where did that idea come from?" and then I realise I put that idea there. I'm the one who silently judges myself hundreds of times a day.

so hearing the messages from my friend didn't dissuade me from being friends with him. but when I found myself internalizing the judgements of my friend, I was finally able to recognise that i needed to limit contact. he wasn't changing; he wasn't apologising. but I could take control.

and loving myself enough to change that is the first step in limiting contact with my judgemental self.

i listened to a podcast interviewing ellen burstyn today about survival. and it ended with this: "I’ve learned a lot from my plants. I learn that if a plant’s not growing, it’s dying, and that growth is a state of health."

I choose to keep growing. and, to my mommy: sorry for what I said when I was 8. xo