Let's Get Personal: Part III: My Experience With an Eating Disorder (Part 4 // Final)

Heads up: this is a long post, but it's the most important one out of all of my eating disorder posts (it's also the final one), so definitely worth reading it all 😏

One day, after thinking I had overcome and recovered from my eating disorder, only to quickly and with full-force catapult myself right back into it, I woke up with swollen eyes and throat, my heart heavy with my dark secret, and I knew that I couldn't give up. I couldn't give in. If I did, I would destroy myself. And I would destroy those closest to me - innocent bystanders standing next to a hurricane they didn't even know was happening. 

I researched counselors in the area and found one who specialized in, among other areas, eating disorders. I went into her office for the first time full of hesitation and doubt. I had already done this. I had been in an office like this one before. I had gone through years of this already. And the therapy I had soldiered through in the past hadn't stuck. Why would I trust hers? Let me be clear: I didn't blame the people who had tried to help me in the past. I didn't scorn the yoga or the hypnotherapy or the hours of journaling and meditation. I blamed myself. I scorned myself. Because I was the one who couldn't be fixed. I was the one who relapsed. It wasn't the fault of others or of external forces - it was my own. I had failed. And damned be the soul who tried to help me.

So there I sat on her couch, uncomfortably picking at a loose string on my sweater, thinking of all of the reasons why I should leave. And yet I stayed. There was something about her that drew me to her (maybe I admired her bluntness - that woman didn't sugarcoat shit), and besides that, I was desperate to heal. I didn't absorb her in the way that I did with my previous counselor; eating up every word she said and feeling my soul grow lighter with every session, but I did grow to respect her and value her insight. I grew to trust her. We explored so many things together: what was causing my pain (she was convinced it had everything to do with my parents, and with my father in particular), why old coping mechanisms were being used, what was triggering these old coping mechanisms, and my relationship with food in general. She started, with a few of her closest patients in mind, an eating disorder support group, myself included. She redefined so many things that I had grown to believe as truth (for example, "Food can be categorized as good or bad". No, food is neither good nor bad. It is simply food. The power we place on it is what is good or bad).

I found myself surrounded by an unexpected source of strength: this woman's rawness and no-bullshit approach to my unfortunate situation; the stories of other women in the support group going through, in their own way, exactly what I was going through; a new approach of seeing said unfortunate situation. I no longer looked at what I was experiencing through rose-colored lenses (which is what I had with my previous therapy and found to be incredibly beneficial in its own right), but now saw it for what it was: ugly and raw and, most importantly, fixable. Instead of "om"-ing my way through my struggles (thank you holistic therapy and yoga retreats), now I was forced to tackle it head on. Instead of reading and writing poetry about the universe within us all and the beauty and resilency we are all capable of (my previous approach), I turned over every single little fucking stone in my memory bank to discover (and therefore fix) what the cause of my misery was.  It helped. It was hard, but it helped. And I was grateful. But, in full transparency, I still was occasionally triggered and indulged (ugh, I hate to use that word but it's how I felt at the time) in a binge-and-purge every once in a while. I was on a very slow path to what felt like complete recovery. Slow and steady wins the race, right? Or so I told myself.

And then, I got pregnant. All of a sudden I had this other tiny and fragile body growing within my own. I had this foreign and innocent soul living within my body. I realized that every time I hurt myself, I was hurting this beautiful little passenger. And damn, what a fucked up way to bring someone into the world, right? How could I jeopardize her or his developing body by putting my own through hell? What kind of negative energy would I be subjecting him or her to? It was no longer about me - it was about creating a safe place for the child I had desperately wanted and prayed for for 12 months. So I stopped. Just like that. Cold turkey. I can honestly say that my son lived for the first 9 months of his life in a body that was warm and welcoming and healthy. That was the beginning of an unconditional and completely selfless love that has only grown stronger each day since his birth.

I had gone through years and years of therapy and various methods of overcoming an eating disorder. And, I can reasonably say that, with more years of that, those methods probably would have slowly pulled me from the grasp of my dark passenger (any one else love the show 'Dexter'?...just ignore that reference if you're not familiar). But, as I sit here typing this, I can honestly say that my son 100% saved my life. If it were not for him, I still may be struggling with my toxic way of venturing through life.

That all being said, I don't place some weird or unhealthy pressure or expectations on my son to make me "better". He was my motivation to change, but in no way is he responsible for my happiness or well-being. Becoming his mom just happened to be exactly what I needed to put things into perspective and realize that life is delicate and beautiful and short....way too short to be consumed with the type of self-abuse, negativity and toxicity I was subjecting myself to.

And, most importantly, watching my body dramatically change to make, grow, protect and love another human made me realize how amazing the human body (and a woman's body in particular) really is. Abusing it in the way that I had for years just didn't fit into the equation anymore. Through pregnancy, labor and delivery, and motherhood, I grew to finally step back and look at my body for what it is: a beautiful, resilient, fucking strong, and miraculous vessel not only for my own soul, but for another's, as well. Wow. Isn't that powerful?

I would be lying if I said that every so often old thought patterns don't come creeping back, and that during times of high stress I don't think about releasing my anxiety by resorting to previous coping mechanisms. Sometimes, when life is spinning crazily around me and I feel like I have zero control, I do think about something I can control (i.e. what enters and leaves my body...also, get your mind out of the gutter...I'm talking about food, nasty 😜). But then I remember how quickly I get sucked into it, and how fast I lose control over the situation. And I reflect on all of the years I spent healing myself, and I look into my son's face, and I use the tools I've learned to redirect my thoughts.

So how do I overcome old thinking patterns? I spend A LOT of time working out now, not to punish my body like I used to, but to explore its strength. I spend as much time outside as I possibly can, because breathing fresh air does wonders for the soul. I connect with my friends; laughing and crying with them is even more healing than fresh air. I actually acknowledge what I'm fucking feeling, instead of trying to drown it with the adrenaline rush of a binge (unless you've been bulimic, I don't expect you to understand that last part). I continue to go to therapy - I look at it as preventative care  (like taking your car in for an oil change). I talk about it. I surround myself with people that make me feel good and at peace. I probably drink too much (just being honest).

Struggling with an eating disorder is a hellacious experience. There were so many times that I felt helpless, hopeless, ashamed, alone. There were many moments I didn't think I would survive it, much less overcome it. But here I am; I am proof that it can be done. And telling my story has opened up the conversation with so many other women who have suffered from the same thing. I am thankful for the women who have trusted me with their own stories. I have discovered there is a whole community of people who are currently struggling with or who have overcome an eating disorder, but the topic still feels taboo so we don't really talk about it.

If telling my story helps just one person know that they're not alone, that they are stronger than their disease, and that there is hope, then it's worth it for me to revisit my ugly memories and expose myself in such a raw and vulnerable way. Thank you for reading my story and allowing space within yourself to receive it.

At the height of my eating disorder - I saw this picture of myself and thought I looked fat.

Over 10 years later and finally able to appreciate and love my body and its strength.