Feeling helpless - feeling triggered

A couple months ago my life and my summer plans took an interesting turn.
We had big plans for camping trips, fishing trips, horseback riding, etc. We weren't going anywhere extravagent - I just bought a new car. BJ just bought a new truck. We were planning on doing a lot of grand adventures, just close to home adventures.

Then BJ's dad had to have open heart surgery. (A quintuple bypass!) BJ's dad has been the full-time caregiver to BJ's mom. She can't walk and can't do anything for herself. BJD (BJ's Dad) was beside himself with worry about what would happen to BJM (BJ's Mom). The three kids in the area decided we would take shifts and stay with the parents to make sure they were taken care of.

Because BJ and I have to get work done during the week, our shift is the weekend. Basically, for two months, I have either been working or at BJ's parents. We took the horses out a couple of times, but they've had to be fast evening rides. We went fishing for an hour. We had his grandkids come to the house to play for a couple hours, and then had to go back to work after they left at 8pm.

It's been hard to have life plans changed, and not be able to go on our riding, camping and fishing trips. (And to know that we are going to have to cancel all of our plans for the rest of the summer too.) It sucks a bit, but also... not a big deal. I'd like to write about how this has triggered old thoughts and patterns in me.

BJ's mom is diabetic and very obese. Her dietary needs are very restrictive: Low calorie, low carb, and we have to count and keep track of everything she eats.
My dietary needs are very different. Higher calorie, high protein, and a really bad idea for me to keep track of everything I eat.
How do you match both of those at the same time? I can't keep track of what she eats without also keeping track of what I eat. If I eat when she is not eating, it's hard on her. (Probably in the same way it is hard for me to eat when she isn't eating. We are opposite ends of the same disorder. I feel bad for needing food. She feels unloved when she doesn't get food.)

I knew that would be hard for me. I compared it to an alcoholic having to poor drinks for everyone else in the room: totally doable, but difficult.

I also knew that without a compelling reason to do old behaviors, the triggers wouldn't be enough... I needed an eating disorder in the past, because my thoughts, my life, my existence were all incredibly painful. I needed an escape, and took the only way I knew "out" - at least until I didn't need it anymore and I found other ways to get my needs met.

I have to be here. I can't leave. My body is needed to lift and move and help. They also need me to appear emotionally and mentally strong. No matter what I am feeling - I need to get the work done. AND this is hard. I haven't wanted to be here. I've wanted an out - or some sort of emotional release.

Eating disorders are a way to get an emotional release. An out.

As I've talked to friends who have struggled with their own eating disorder, they have been compassionate and also said, "Remember you have to take care of yourself or you will be of no use to them."

That is when I realized, part of the trigger is that if I don't take care of myself, I don't have to take care of anyone else. I feel sad and selfish knowing that THAT is one of the reasons I feel triggered. I also understand it makes sense... I'm not so good at establishing boundaries for myself. I struggle to say what is too much, and I feel like I should give until I am dead. With that underlying belief, it makes sense to hurt myself so that I won't have to give as much.

One of the big pieces of eating disorder (and probably most addiction) recovery is recognizing the needs it fulfills, and then find a new way to have those needs met. I'm tired and I can't give as much as I have been asked to give (and be healthy).

BJ and I sat down and talked to his sister a few days ago. (Incidentally, she is the same place. She can't keep going like this without damaging her health.) BJ's dad has been doing this for years... no wonder his heart has finally said, "NO MORE!"

Sadly, there are not many resources for people who don't have money. I know what it's like to need more help, but have no resources to get that help. BJ's mom needs a lot of care.

Will she have to go to a rest home?

How will we pay for a rest home?

What happens now?

Do all of us sacrifice our health to help her? How long?

I remember, and I never want to be there again

Recently,  I was talking to a friend about her business. I thought her products were all "weight loss" products. She corrected me, and wanted to tell me the story of a girl that she'd helped gain weight.

This girl had been very sick. She couldn't keep any food down whatsoever. It wasn't a choice she made - there was something wrong with her body. She'd eat, and then seconds later it would all come back up. If she kept the amounts small enough, she MIGHT be able to digest the food. Doctors didn't know why. (They told her to just stop throwing up.)

K pulled out the pictures of this girl.
She looked so thin, so sick, near death. After taking K's supplements, this girl put on weight. She's been able to keep food down ever since.

The part of the story I want to share is what I felt as I looked at her pictures.
There was once a day when my body looked like that. I know what it feels like to be nearly starving to death. Many people with an eating disorder (myself included) WANT to look that frighteningly, sickeningly thin. It doesn't make a lot of sense, even to me.

BJ, knowing my history, asked me if I was okay.

So, I shared with them both.
There was a time that I looked like that. The reason I looked like that was different, but I remember how it felt for me. I remember feeling so hopeless that I just wanted to die. I remember knowing that if I didn't do something different, I was going to die, but I couldn't understand why I would want to live. I remember how it felt to feel unworthy to even exist, so I tried to make myself stop existing - or at least take up the smallest amount of space possible. I remember how much it hurt emotionally and physically.

I remember what it was like to be there.
I remember how it felt.
I remember, and I never want to be there again.

The realization itself was huge. Do you know how far I've come? That I don't feel a desire to go back, only a sadness that I was ever there? I don't feel guilty for living and existing. I don't feel like I am less strong because there is meat on my bones. There was a time when I would feel those things and so much more.


I don't like remembering what it was like, but sometimes it's nice to be reminded how far I have come.

In what world is this woman NOT thin? But other than that, this is great.

I just saw this on Upworthy.
I hesitate to share this, because if you've never heard of "thigh gap", I don't want you to even know what that is. (I learned of it while in eating disorder treatment in 1997. My fellow patients talked about it a lot.)



I really like what she says about loving our bodies, and I agree. Why is she a "plus size" model? Why are all the models 16? (I know the answers to this... it turns out clothing designers don't want WOMEN, they just want hangers to show off the clothing. If you saw the women instead of their clothes, they wouldn't sell nearly as much. But that's a different story.)

eating disorders are one of the ways that our brains have to actually keep a person alive.

BJ made this comment on my blog about eating disorders... and I wanted to share this with everyone.

"My experience with eating disorders is primarily with Jen. This battle is complicated to the extreme and would take hours to explain and takes years to recover from. From what I have gleaned, eating disorders are one of the ways that our brains have to actually keep a person alive. An odd twist. A survival technique. One where the body demands the diversion of the brain to allow for pain to be relieved. It's not the source of the pain but a way to mask and hide the underlying torment.

Those battling with eating disorders are battling for their lives. Many don't make it. They die. Those that survive are Heroes in my eyes: Capable of dealing with life's most horrific pains. AMAZING people."

He explained it so perfectly - I wish everyone could understand it like he does. I wish everyone had a friend and a support like I have in him. 

Eating Disorders: Numbers, behavior, and body size aren't the point.

I have never done a post about eating disorder with numbers, but today, I want to. This could backfire. I could be super triggering and make a mess of things. To anyone with an eating disorder, you know that ALL numbers can screw with your head, so maybe stop reading here.

At the same time, to anyone with an eating disorder, I want you to know that just because you don't think you are sick enough, you still are. (And a good sign that you need help, is if you think you are not sick enough to get help. Think about that for a second: If you have to make yourself more sick in order to get help, there's probably definitely a big problem in your head. Or if you are competing with someone to be the closest to death (aka the skinniest), that's a good sign things aren't right. Anyway...)


Every time the news runs a story on eating disorders, they talk about the extremes. They love to tell how little a person eats in a day, and it's usually such small amounts that no one can fathom how that girl (because it's almost always a girl) can still walk around. They love to tell how many hours are spent exercising, and it's usually as much as an Olympic athlete, sometimes more. They like to talk about all of the other extreme behaviors a person can do, and there's a lot. (I'm not listing them here, but if you've ever seen a news piece, you know there's a whole lot more.) They LOVE to show scales and low weights and skeletal bodies.


Those stories are real, but they aren't the only stories out there. In fact, they are probably more rare... That's definitely not what all eating disorders look like. I have been inpatient twice. The first time, I firmly believed I didn't have an eating disorder and I didn't deserve to get treatment for one. Just because it didn't look like the stories on the news... or the women that came to speak at my high school... or the made for TV movies. I wasn't sick enough to deserve help.

The second time was different. I didn't wait until it got so bad that I didn't have any other options. I was sick, and scared, and confused... and somehow still somewhat grounded.

I don't want to dismiss how bad off I was. (That was BJ's fear as I was writing this.) I don't want to glorify or glamorize an eating disorder. (That's a fear in writing this.) I don't want to give people ideas, or give anyone a reason to justify or excuse behavior. (That's my biggest fear in writing this.) I don't want to trigger anyone, or make anyone else's battle with food and weight and eating disorder and shit worse. I just want people to know what the eating disorder looked like for me.



Here goes.

The week before I went inpatient (in 2008), I averaged about 1400 calories/day. There were days I ate less, and days I ate more, but that was my average.

The week before I went inpatient, I was walking about 6 miles/day. Walking. Not running. I also played DDR most days. I don't think I lifted weights the week before I went in, but that was a regular part of my routine up until I knew I was for sure going.

I didn't lose my period. I didn't lose my hair nor did I ever have detectable problems with my heart or other internal organs.

(Although while inpatient my blood pressure started doing funky things and I was dizzy ALL the time. I'm still not sure if the dizziness was because of the eating disorder, or if it was a problem that was already there, or if  it was anxiety related. My guess is it was a combination of all three.)

I kept working both of my jobs, and I was still a good employee. I fulfilled all of my responsibilities. My employers didn't know there was a problem until I told them I needed to take time off to go inpatient.

I was considered underweight. (Fifteen pounds. That's how much I gained while I was inpatient.) I didn't think I was fat. I knew I was thin. I didn't own a scale, and I didn't care to. I wasn't against gaining weight, but... more on that later.

There are diet sites out there that tell people to do exactly what I was doing. These aren't "pro-ana" sites. These are sites that are supposed to be all about healthy living. (Weight watchers, the government website (mypyramidtracker.gov and choosemyplate.gov), and others) Most people saw nothing wrong with my behavior. They were still congratulating me on my "will power" and my healthy habits.

None of the above is me trying to say I wasn't sick. I was! That's the point.
If I had kept doing what I was doing, I don't know what would have happened to my body. How long until there were health problems? Or until I couldn't go to work? Weeks? Months? Years? How long could I keep up that behavior without it getting worse? The worst part wasn't what I was doing, it was the fight going on in my mind that was going to kill me. I was in mental and emotional hell.

Food was a constant battle. I felt guilty for every bite I ate. I felt like I was bad. I felt like a good person would eat less. I felt disgusted with myself for eating as much as I did. If I was a good person, I wouldn't need food. I hated myself for spending money on food. I kept track of every penny I spent on myself, and felt guilty for it. I thought I was selfish and needy and out of control, because I spent money on food AND I ate it. I kept track of every bite I ate, and added up every calorie over and over and over again in my mind. It didn't matter how I added it up, it was always too much AND too little. If I was good, I would eat nothing, and if I was good, I wouldn't make people worry about me by not eating. The thinking and the behaviors were just symptoms of a much bigger problem.

I felt panicked if I couldn't exercise. I told myself I was lazy if I sat down, or slept, or stopped walking. I told myself I was lazy for not running... I was angry at myself for only walking and not running. I was constantly worried that I should be exercising more. I hated myself for not going farther or doing more.  That doesn't mean I was always exercising - I just felt like I should be even when I wasn't. My mind never rested. Every time I felt sad or scared or depressed or angry or anxious or happy, I wanted to walk. (In case you missed that, that means, I felt like I should be walking, wanted to be walking, had to be moving 24 hours a day/seven days a week.) Walking was the only way I knew how to feel okay. I'd walk at night. I'd walk in the cold. I felt safer on the streets alone at 2 am than I felt at home... as long as I was moving.

I hated my body. I wasn't trying to lose weight, but I wanted to punish myself and my body.  I thought that the less I ate and the more I exercised, the stronger I was. I wanted to prove to myself and to everyone else that my spirit was stronger than my body. In my mind, the more I punished myself, the better person I was.

I felt suicidal, depressed, miserable, anxious, MISERABLE, sad, self-destructive, and I wasn't getting any better. I couldn't stop what I was doing, because when I stopped walking, I felt the full rush of emotions, flashbacks, and memories, and I didn't know how to handle those. (And I didn't even know what they were. All I knew was that I felt awful whenever I wasn't moving.)

I knew that I should eat more. Exercise less. I didn't care.
I knew what I was doing was harming my body, or it would be soon. I didn't care.
I wanted to die, but didn't feel like I deserved the relief of death.
I wanted to live, but didn't want the life I had led up to that point.
I felt helpless and stuck and alone.

I felt guilty that therapy cost so much. I wondered if it was a waste on me. I thought maybe I was just crazy, and I needed to accept that. I KNEW I was bad, and I didn't deserve to be happy. I felt guilty for using up my therapist's time.

I said brilliant things like, "I just need someone to help teach me how to 'take it' (meaning abuse)," and, "If I were stronger, than I wouldn't need therapy for this. Other people can eat this same amount and they are just fine," and, "What is wrong with me?" (Meaning: I should be able to handle never eating, exercising all the time, never spending money, allowing people to use and abuse me, and be happy.)

I desperately needed help...

I was lucky. There were people around me that were fighting for me to have a better life. There were people who wouldn't let me fall into the oblivion I knew I deserved... And... I am aware that my small body made people pay attention in a way that they wouldn't have if I had been bigger. That made me feel shitty... as if something I can't control (like the genes I was born with) made me more deserving of help than someone else. NO!

There was something inside me that wouldn't let me give up. I knew there was something more and better just out of my reach, and I wanted it. I felt guilty for wanting it, but I WANTED it.

I understood that I could not do the work I needed to do on my own, or even with an outpatient therapist. I asked to go inpatient. My therapist worked with me. The church paid for my time there. My family was supportive. It was the best thing for me. I know I am so lucky that I even had the opportunity to go. Most people don't have that. Most people have to deal with the trauma of abuse and an eating disorder and depression and all of that shit all alone. Still...I don't know how I could have stopped or changed my behaviors AND dealt with the anxiety and trauma without the help of inpatient, therapy, friends, etc.

The staff at CFC pushed me to eat more. They pushed me to gain weight. They watched me closely and helped me to hold myself accountable, so I never exercised. I learned how to deal with emotions without exercise. They challenged me to spend money on myself. They challenged me to rest. (The dizziness I talked about earlier made it so I was a "fall risk". They stuck me in a wheelchair. Even when I was no longer a "fall risk", my therapist wouldn't take me out of the wheelchair until I was comfortable there. He thought it was good for me to just. SIT. All. The fucking. Time.) They challenged me to change my beliefs about food, but even more importantly than the beliefs I had about food... They challenged me to change the beliefs I had about myself, my relationships, and the world around me. They wouldn't let me punish myself, and in time I began accepting myself.

I was hit with memories, flashbacks, depression, anxiety, and all of the other shit that I had been trying to avoid by my constant motion and obsessing about food and exercise. There were people there that supported me: sat with me while I cried, helped me sort through all of the thoughts in my head, gave me a safe place to feel anger, stayed up all night with me when sleep wouldn't come, made me laugh, gave me a place to talk about myself and the struggles. They didn't care how sick I had been or hadn't been. They saw that I was hurting and needed help. It didn't fucking matter if I was skinny or fat or somewhere in between. All that mattered was that I was hurting and I needed help.

They took care of almost everything else, so that I could focus my energy on healing all of the shit inside. That healing and that work didn't end when I left CFC. Really... it was just beginning, but they gave me a great start. They saved my life, and then gave me tools to create a better life.

Recovery doesn't look like I thought it would either. I eat a lot more than what the government recommends. WAY more protein than the little pyramid shows. Exercise is just doing the things I love: riding, fishing, hiking, and occasionally a walk. (I would like to add some weight lifting in there, but I haven't done it yet.)

Nobody congratulates me on my will-power anymore. Strangers don't give me accolades for my healthy habits. In fact, I have had people tell me I should eat healthier, eat less fat, exercise more. AND, I have energy and a will to live. The mental battle is (mostly) over. I don't battle with food at all. I still have to battle the beliefs about myself and what I deserve, and I'm fighting every single day to change those.

My "before" picture (2008). Me at my sickest. I felt so much shame. I wore big jackets. I hid. I kept myself covered. I didn't allow people to take pictures of me, and the only pictures that exist are ones like this one: taken when I wasn't looking. I smiled, but I didn't FEEL a smile. The smile was nothing but a mask.

My "after". There is a small difference in my weight, but... that's not really the point. I look at this picture, and I see ME.
I'm NOT ashamed of my body. I like getting my picture taken. My smile is real and comes from deep inside. I love life (most of the time, and I have no problem saying I hate it when I hate it.) I am real and honest and ME.
I also recognize I'm still small. It makes me angry that we live in a world that values and/or hates small women. WTF? Being small doesn't mean I did recovery right... or better... or worse...

Eating disorders ARE physical. They do manifest themselves with food and the body, but they are far more mental and emotional. I wish the news (and professionals, and recovered people, and anyone willing to talk about it) could help people see and understand that part... but I guess showing a skeletal body does the trick. People immediately understand that THAT person is hurting. It's one of the reasons eating disorders exist.

Blast from the past: Leaving the "perfect patient" behind

(I have a lot of drafts written, but never posted. I was going through my drafts today, and happened upon this post. Not sure why I didn't post it months ago when I wrote it. Here it is today.)

I don't write much about eating disorders anymore: They're not really a part of my present life.
I recently found a blog written by a therapist who treats eating disorders. She happened to be a pretty important part of my recovery.

Reading her blog took me back, so I decided to share this story:

The first time I ever said "No" to anyone, was about five minutes after a group session. The focus was on me. We were talking about all the things I do to make people like me. I was inpatient, so my list was specific to that setting:

1. Follow all the rules.
2. Smile.
3. Talk to other people about what they are struggling with, and never mentioning my struggles.

She told me to stop it. Stop doing those things.
It made my head hurt.

Stop doing those things? Like... just stop smiling? For how long? Stop following rules? I'm locked up here! If I don't follow rules... won't they kick me out? The staff will hate me if I don't do what they say. The other girls will hate me if I talk about my struggles. People don't want to hear about me... What if I agree with the rules? Do I still have to stop following them? Aren't rules there to protect me? How can I trust ME to know what rules to break? What if I FEEL like smiling? Do I still have to stop? I don't even know when I smile because I feel it... or if I just always smile because I know other people like my smile. I don't like talking about me... I like hearing about others. I WANT to be a good friend to them. Not talking to them about their struggles - that would feel really lonely. And rules. What rules can I break? What if I'm following rules because I don't like the consequences imposed upon me? I don't want to waste the church's money or my time by not taking full advantage of every second of treatment. But, if breaking the rules is her assignment, then I have to break rules to take full advantage of every second of treatment. What does she mean?? What the hell am I supposed to do with all of this conflict in my head?

Group ended before I had a chance to vocalize the spiral of confusion. After group, we ate. There was a rule that we weren't allowed to have our watches on during meals and snacks. (I don't know why, so don't ask. It didn't make sense to me then, and it definitely doesn't make sense to me now that I have this much distance from it all.) I forgot and still had it on. One of the staff put her hand out and told me to give her my watch. I sat there for a moment. My face got flushed. My head was spinning. My heart was racing... and then I realized I didn't HAVE to break the rule OR follow the rule.

This was a rule I didn't understand, and I didn't agree with. (I didn't disagree with it - I just didn't agree.) Also, I didn't think anyone could get hurt by breaking THIS rule. If I had to break a rule, it might as well be a small one. I looked at her and said, "No. I don't think so."

I was sweating. According to my peers, I also made myself very small, but I didn't hand her the watch. There were two people at the table who had also been in the group. They smiled and egged me on. Poor staff didn't know what to do... In a group of perfectionists, I doubt she gets told "No" outright very often. I didn't know what to do next... She didn't know what to do... We both just sat there for a minute. Someone tried to explain to her that I was supposed to break rules. I think I eventually handed the watch to her.

In that moment, there was the tiniest spark of something new. I had choices. The best way to take advantage of treatment wasn't to just follow all the rules - it was to find out what I wanted and what was best for ME. The best way to live life might just be the same.

I stopped trying to be perfect. There was a shift in me. I stopped accepting what I was told and started thinking about it. Weighing things out in my own mind. It was the beginning of a whole new Jen.

Five years later, look what that first little spark started... LOOK who I have become since then.

I don't know why THIS picture. It was just a recent picture of me. And I figured I couldn't end a post with "Look who I have become since then," and then NOT post a picture... anyway. Hi!

I am wearing purple today.

It's National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Combine that with the awareness that it has been five years and a few days since I walked back into CFC, I'm feeling very nostalgic.

Nostalgic makes me not think so clearly... just broken/half thoughts, pictures, and emotions running through my brain.

Through my stay at CFC, I met some of the most AMAZING, brilliant, compassionate, clever, funny, beautiful, fierce, strong, AMAZING women on this planet. Collectively they have been through more shit than any one can imagine. And while they were going through their own shit, they worked hard to help me. Those women saved my life... and then were with me while I created an even better life.

It is wonderful and shocking to me that I don't know a single person who has died from an eating disorder. (At least that I'm aware of.) I know of people... friends of friends that I never had any contact with... but everyone from both of my stays are still alive and kicking and fighting to make this world a better place.

In honor of all of them. Their fight. Their struggle. Their false beliefs. The things that make them all so much alike, and the things that make them all so very unique.

To my beautiful sisters, I love you. I'm proud of you. I feel so lucky to know you, and to have you in my life.

Eating Disorder questions

A friend of mine recently taught a class on eating disorders. He asked me a bunch of questions, so he could share some of my story. I figured I'd share my answers here...

How did I view my body?
I hated it. Everything about it. The way it looked. The way it felt pain, hunger, thirst, or tired. I hated myself... hating my body was just an extension of that.

What were the reasons for restricting?

I didn't really "restrict" like most people. As a very little girl, I was a super picky eater. If told I had to eat the hot dog, or go hungry, I chose to go hungry.
When I was 10ish, I heard my parents stressing about money. In my mind, if I went without food, that would help them.

At 14, my dad punched my brother. He spent two weeks in the hospital with a ruptured spleen. I blamed myself, because I didn't do anything to protect Jeff. I got really depressed and lost my appetite. I found that not eating numbed my anger and my sadness. It made life more bearable.
At 17, when I went into treatment, my therapist would ask me why I didn't want to eat, and all I could come up with then was that I was crazy. I really didn't know.

I got a lot better from 18-29. I felt like I owed it to everyone else to be recovered. So I ate like I was supposed to. At 29, I just decided I was done... done living, done trying, done pleasing everyone else. Which took me right back to starving myself.

I went back to therapy, and this time talked about sexual abuse that I wasn't willing to talk about the first time. Talking about the abuse caused horrible flashbacks, nightmares, and intense painful "body memories". I felt like the only way to find relief from the flashbacks and body memories was to walk. I walked and walked and walked.

I went back into treatment mostly because I knew I could make myself eat, but I didn't know if I could make myself eat AND deal with all of the abuse and trauma that I needed to deal with.

How did religion play into your thought processes?
Religion was HUGE.
First, not eating was a very acceptable way to deal with problems. Alcohol and drugs were not an option, but not eating was not only NOT looked down upon, but thought to be a good thing. People (in general and in the church) still see my ability to fast for a long time and to exercise as a show of self-discipline. (I have heard several people say they wish they could be anorexic for a while, just so they could lose weight.)

There are many lessons about the spirit having power over the body. I can push my body to extremes that most people won't ever even try. (That's a good thing, by the way.) Being able to push my body meant I was more spiritual.

I was rewarded for not being selfish... for being aware of what everyone else needed and letting them have it. This played out in food. I (still) won't take the last piece of cake, because that feels selfish.

Fasting is a sacrifice that we make to God, so that he will answer our prayers. I fully believed that my not eating could help the people I love...

The LDS religion preaches perfection as the goal. It created very black and white thinking. The goal might be to BE perfect, but if you can't be perfect, at least LOOK perfect. Hide all imperfections, weaknesses, flaws, and make them go away. (Not eating was a way to make all the human flaws seem less... I had super human strength... It also made all human emotions go away. I didn't' feel angry, jealous, sad, or wanting. I didn't have strong opinions about anything (It's hard to feel passionate about anything when you're starving.)

Forgiveness in church means forgetting. Killing brain cells by starving MAKES you forget.

What was effective and what was not. Was there anything that wasn't effective the first time through but was the second? What had changed in you between the first and second time?

The first time I went, I was seventeen.
I was in the ER, and the Dr. gave me the choice of going into the hospital or going to Center for Change. I chose Center for Change (CFC). I thought I would be there for two weeks... just long enough to get some food in me.
I ended up staying almost three months. It was very helpful, but...
I wasn't ready to talk about a lot of things, so I shut down. I started doing a lot of eating disorder behaviors and hiding it even before I left.

There's also a sort of competition with eating disorders. It's like you have to be really REALLY sick to deserve any kind of help. Every time a new admit would come in, everyone would obsess about her body, and relapse in a way. They also made fun of the people that were working. (If someone took an extra helping of food, the other girls were AWFUL with their comments.) The staff was awesome, but the other patients made it really hard to do the work.

Being in the environment with the other patients is a big reason I didn't want to go back eleven years later.
My experience was SO different the second time.

CFC made a lot more rules to protect against people doing exactly what I had done. When I went the first time, they were only six months old. They learned a lot in that time.
I also REALLY wanted to be better. I was willing to do anything to feel good, so I was a SUPER stickler for all the rules. (I had a therapist tell me to stop following all the rules... Learn to trust myself and stop trying to be perfect. BEST advice ever.)

The other patients were amazing. I had told Paul (my therapist) that if the other patients were anything like they were my first time, I wouldn't stay. I was watching for the competition and the sabotaging each other.
I had been there about two weeks when a new girl came in. She was very sick - heart problems and seizures from detoxing off the diet pills she had been taking. Several of the girls sat in a circle, prayed for her, and then pinky promised to be done with the eating disorder. There have been many days when I felt too tired to keep going, and I remember that pinky promise. It's hard to describe how amazing that experience was if you have never seen what some treatment centers can be like.

Since I already knew how to make myself eat, my big focus was on dealing with the abuse. I worked HARD. I talked about things that I didn't want to talk about. I shared. I was open and honest. I gave therapy my ALL.

I knew what it was like to "just eat" and I wanted more than that. I was not (am still not) willing to live the way I had been: trying to please others, letting other people use and abuse me, and feeling helpless in my own life.

I stayed inpatient for three months, and then did day patient (going from 8 am - 8 pm) for another few months. The transition time of day patient was really helpful. I went back to work a few days a week, but still had a place to go to process everything.

I was really lucky. The church paid for my entire inpatient stay, and then family and friends helped pay for day patient. CFC also gave me a price break and two free weeks. Most people don't get to stay as long as I did or get the kind of transition time that I did. It's really REALLY sad to me that most people just have to figure out how to survive on their own, because there isn't insurance or other funding to help.

As far as food and weight gain, the second time, the focus was on intuitive eating. Learning to trust your body. Eat what you want, and know you'll be okay. That was really helpful too... Especially since I had been so focused on making everyone else happy and "proving" I was recovered for so long. With intuitive eating, you eat what YOU want... no more, no less.

I miss knowing that I could heal the world.

A friend of mine recently discovered a tumor. Cancer. Stage III. Very close to her heart and pressing on her lungs. She's scared. Her family is scared.

I'm scared... What if she isn't okay?
And a bit angry... It doesn't seem fair. This is supposed to be a very happy time for her. She's fought hard to be healthy in mind and body. She's worked on creating beautiful friendships and relationships. She is one of the nicest, sweetest, most giving people I know. She deserves to spend the next few years just laughing, and going on fun cruises, and LIVING.

Mostly, I feel sad. And helpless...
(A warning to those who find peace in fasting: If you don't want to hear my sad and cynical point of view, stop reading now.)

I grew up believing in fasting and prayer. Someone got sick, you could pray for them, and if that didn't make them better, you could just go without food, and THAT would make them better. I could do something. I could help. If I just didn't eat AND prayed hard enough, God wouldn't hurt the people I loved. If I could just go without food, everyone would be safe.

That kind of teaching... taken to an extreme... sounds like a perfect recipe for a pretty serious case of anorexia.

Five years ago, I was really struggling with an eating disorder. I met with my Stake President, because I believed he would know how to help me. He told me that I didn't need to go to therapy - I just needed to fast and pray. If I fasted enough, God would cure me. I am glad I hadn't starved ALL of my brain cells yet. I gave him a shocked look and said, "Do you know what an eating disorder IS? I have fasted a lot, and I'm still struggling. If all I had to do was fast, it wouldn't be a struggle.... because fasting is what I WANT to do. I could be wrong, but I don't think fasting is the answer."

He shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well... then I don't know what to tell you. I guess you can TRY therapy, but without the power of fasting... How can God cure you?"


His words played around in my head for a while. They really messed with my brain until I realized I just don't believe that God cares if I go without food or not. It doesn't make him do things for me that he wouldn't have done otherwise. (Like, ya know, God was totally going to let her die, but now, because you haven't eaten for the last twenty-four hours, He's changed His mind. WTF?)

I can go without food for a long time. I get headaches. I get dizzy. I feel sick, but I can ignore all that. I have the ability. It doesn't make me a stronger person. It doesn't make me a better person. It doesn't make me more spiritual.  It doesn't make God do what I want. It doesn't make the world a safer place or a better place. It does make me hungry (and dizzy and sick and eventually numb to the world).

Today... I want that belief back. I want to FEEL like I am doing something to help my friend. I want to believe that I can make a difference...

Reality is, all I can do is love her. Be there to support her in whatever ways SHE needs support. Listen if she wants to talk. Go away if she wants to be alone. Send money. Or food. Or even... if her knowing I was fasting for her made HER feel better, I'd do that too. I trust her, and I trust the doctors that she trusts.

I felt a lot of anxiety when I started writing this post. Somehow, writing the last paragraph, I feel peaceful. Accepting things as they are IS very peaceful.

Saddled: Defining Recovery

I just finished the book Saddled by Susan Richards.
I LOVED the first book she wrote (Chosen by a Horse), and the second (Chosen Forever). This one was touching and beautiful, and harder to read.

She talks about her abusive relationship with her (now ex) husband. She talks about her alcoholism and trying to free herself from her addictions. She talks about wanting to die and feeling helpless and hopeless and not knowing why. I think my favorite part was her description of AA.

"I didn't know that becoming sober meant really changing. Not drinking was the least of it. It was the rest of me that was the problem, the part that wanted to stay numb. The men and women in that room (AA) didn't sound numb anymore. They were angry and scared and depressed. They were also hopeful and funny and grateful. They were all over the place. The word that came to mind was whole. After years of shutting down all or parts of themselves with alcohol, they were finally whole human beings.

I sat in a corner with my arms crossed and my mouth shut and listened to what whole human beings sounded like. Evidently being human was a messy business. Not a single person said Everything's fine - my stock response since I was a child to any question about my state of mind. It had never been true, but that didn't keep from repeating it for the next twenty years. I thought that's what you were supposed to say. I thought that's what you were supposed to feel. Anything else meant you were a complainer or worse - a bad person, a wrong person, and wrong was just a code word for crazy. I didn't want to be crazy, because I was already on shaky ground in the wantable department. So the sweet smiley girl became the sweet smiley woman who drank liquor to help keep the lid on anything that didn't reflect how fine she felt one hundred percent of the time. Never mind the on-and-off suicide fantasies going back to fourth grade. Doesn't everybody have those? I was fine."

I think I could have written those two paragraphs myself, just substitute alcohol and liquor with eating disorder and eating disorder behaviors.

When I went to treatment the first time, I defined recovery as "eating my dinner".
I also think I defined it as being happy all the time: No matter what was happening around me, I was supposed to be happy... Do what I was supposed to do, no matter how I felt. It is no wonder I got depressed and tired and gave up trying to recover. I was doing the opposite of recovering... I was still trying to find a way to make the "bad" parts of myself go away. To-do lists, service, church callings, work, were all ways to 'shut down all or parts of myself', and it was exhausting and miserable.

When I went the second time eleven years later, I defined recovery as "loving myself more than I hate myself". It SOUNDED better but, I think there was still some belief  that I would change myself so much that I would love myself.

In May 2010. BJ and I were walking and talking about the afterlife and being gay. (I don't remember why we were talking about it... We just were.) I realized that if I were gay, I wouldn't want that very important part of myself different in the eternities. How insulting! There's nothing wrong with them: They are perfect just the way they are. And then... I started to cry, and I said, "There's nothing wrong with ME. I am perfect just the way I am." And then he started to cry, and gave me a big hug, and my life stopped being so painful after that. I stopped trying to change me, and started to accept me.

My new definition of recovery (with the help of Susan Richards' book) is:
It's becoming whole. Accepting all the parts of myself. Loving myself just as I am.

"Unconditional love is not to love you despite the way you are. 

Unconditional love is to love every aspect of you and to send love into every aspect of who you are."

Four years ago today

In November 2007, I pretty much came to the conclusion that I was done. Done living. Done trying. Done pretending. Done. Done. Done. That translated to an eating disorder: Starving myself and over-exercising was a way to end my life in the most painful and slow way possible. I didn't even deserve a quick and painless death...

I had gone to treatment in 1997, and I saw how the women treated each other: Competing for who could be the "sickest", berating those that ate, being fed via  tube up the nose was a "badge of honor". I didn't want to be in that environment again, but in January 2008, I started to wonder if that was my best choice.

On the one hand, I knew how to eat. I knew what to eat. I just didn't want to. I had done it before: Forced myself to eat because it was what I had to do, because it made other people happy, because there was no other choice... but I didn't want that life anymore. I felt like my choices were either to die, or to somehow find a way to want to live. I wasn't sure if anyone could really help ME... but... I chose to give it a shot.

On February 18, 2008, I checked myself into Center for Change.

Going inpatient to CFC meant turning my WHOLE LIFE over to other people. They tell you when to eat (and what to eat, and what happens if you don't eat everything they tell you to eat), sleep, go to the bathroom, everything. Your whole day is scheduled out to the minute. They tell you what you can talk about, what you can't talk about, what you HAVE to talk about. They ask you to share your deepest, darkest, hardest parts to share, about yourself. There is no such thing as a private life in treatment. (You even get people standing outside the bathroom door with it cracked open.) It sucks. Even if it is totally necessary, it SUCKS!

I knew it was going to be hard work. I knew there was a lot of things I had to face and changes I'd need to make, but at the same time I had no fucking clue. I feel pretty lucky that I had the opportunity to go to a safe place to do the work that had to be done. They took care of the business of keeping me alive, so that I could put everything I had into healing myself. I know how RARE that opportunity is. (Only 1 in 10 people who have eating disorders get to go to treatment. Most are sent home LONG before they have had the chance to face the problems that caused the eating disorder in the first place.)


There are so many powerful experiences I could share. Here are just a few:

The women I met there
I was afraid I'd have another experience like the one in 1997, but I had nothing to be worried about. I went at the exact right moment: With the most intensely beautiful, strong, amazing women on the planet. Fighters with huge loving hearts. The fact that most of them had survived their lives was a miracle to me. Every single one of those women have been through hell, and not just a little bit of hell: HELL!!! Every single person I met there had faced life experiences that "normal" people can't even begin to fathom. Before CFC, I had sat in church, and listening to the women there, I felt jealous at what they called "trials". Sitting with the women at CFC, I felt understood. Finally, not alone.

Petey, the wheelchair
Chronic low blood pressure, combined with random drops in blood pressure, combined with anxiety and dissociation, combined with trying to gain a lot of weight in a short amount of time, combined with blood sugar issues, combined with emotional exhaustion, combined with who knows what else - all those things made me so dizzy, I had a hard time walking. I was a "fall risk", so I had to sit in a wheelchair.
I spent months sitting in that wheelchair. I learned to rest. I learned that I didn't always have to push through and push my body past it's breaking point. I learned to take safe risks, and to avoid unsafe risks. I learned to let others help me..
One of the reasons I hated the chair was how much space it took up, but in that chair, I had my own space. For so long, I'd convinced myself that my mere existence was somehow infringing upon other people's space. I'd tried to make myself as small as possible... Since it was my chair, and no one was going to sit in the thing with me, it was okay to take up the whole wheelchair. I relaxed and began to let myself take space.

The assignment to "Stop doing all the things you do to prove to others that you are loveable"
For me, at that moment those things were: Smiling, talking to other people about their problems (not talking about myself), and following all of the rules.

At first, I wanted to please everyone by doing that assignment perfectly... and then I decided that was silliness, because I would still be doing the same damn thing I'd always done: Trying to get other people to love me by doing what they wanted. For the first time, I started thinking about what I wanted. I WANTED to smile, so I did. I WANTED to break the rule of getting out of that stupid wheelchair and walk to the dining room, so I did. Before that day, it had never even occurred to me that I had choices, that I could want something. It was also the first time I ever said "no" to someone in authority. (I was such a rebel. I wouldn't give her my watch when she asked. She didn't know what to do. I felt bad for saying no, and I felt SO GOOD that I could.) It was an eye-opening day for me.

Beating the hell out of a couch cushion in "Care Bear's" group
In group therapy, a friend was sharing an experience she had had with her husband. He had said things to her that were just... awful... and I remembered Larry saying the same kinds of things to me. I told the group that I was angry, but I didn't know what to do with that feeling... Care Bear (therapist) got a tennis racket and a pile of couch cushions and had me hit them. With every hit, I was supposed to say, "I am angry!" like I meant it. That was not an easy thing for me to do. It took me a long time, and a lot of trying before I could say "I am ANGRY!" (It's funny, looking back now, I can see that I was still very restrained, even when I thought I was "out of control" angry. It was just the start of learning to be present with my own emotions.) It was incredibly intense for me, and for others in the group. They still talk about that day in group when Jen finally let go of the some of the anger.

Ceremonial Group: Standing before a jury of my peers, I had to convince them that I was bad
I had believed my whole life that I was worthless and unlovable and "no-good", but I couldn't tell you WHY I thought that. In a court, there has to be evidence, so the assignment was to lay out my evidence to the women there. I shared the most painful things that had happened to me. I shared the worst things I had ever thought. I KNEW that they would hate me, but they didn't. To this day, only BJ and that group have heard some of those thoughts... Because of the way those select few responded, I'm not afraid of myself anymore. Those women gave me the courage to face the "worst" parts about myself, and let me know it was okay to love me. Pretty much changed my life.

RAD (Rape Aggression Defense) training
I wasn't allowed to do the training, which was okay by me, because just watching OTHER people do it caused panic attacks, dissociation, flashbacks, and generally awful days. As awful as it was, watching my friends go through the training, helped me face my own past. Going through flashbacks and panic is AWFUL, but it was necessary for me to heal. By facing my past, it stopped having the control over me.

I still have the plan to take a RAD class sometime. The final day includes a simulation: Men "attack" you. You use your voice, your body, everything you've learned to get them off and to get away. I'd like to be able to do that. (Still don't think I'm ready for it. I'm shaking just thinking about it.)

DBT (Dialectical Behavior Therapy) "Non-judgmental stance"
I learned that things aren't "good" and "bad". Things just are. There aren't good people and bad people. There aren't good emotions and bad emotions. There isn't a right or a wrong. There isn't a should or a should not. Everything just is. Very powerful lesson that helped me to stop being crazy. (I've sat here trying to think of how to say it, but honestly... I was crazy. Trying to put everything into it's little box of "good" or "bad" or some derivative of that, made me insane.) Life is a lot more gentle, peaceful, and happy. There are still times when I get caught up in judging things (mostly myself or my emotions) as "good" or "bad". Then I remember Espra and getting pillows thrown at me. (I know that last sentence won't make sense to most people. But in group, if you said anything that was a judgment: good, bad, right, wrong, should, shouldn't, etc., you got a pillow thrown at you. It was a good way to make me aware of what I was doing. Now I use phrases like, "I prefer" or "I don't like", because that is more effective.)

The "pinky promise prayer"
This one still brings tears of love and joy to my eyes. I'm not sure how long I'd been at CFC at this point. A couple of weeks, maybe? "Bubbles" was a teenager who was a new patient. Her body was failing her, and the group of us sat and watched helpless as the nurses worked to take care of her. Together, we prayed for her and then made a pinky promise that none of us were going to give up the fight with the eating disorder. Eating disorders claim so many lives, but not ours. That night I wrote in my journal: "CFC. At this moment. With these women. Is EXACTLY where I need to be". We've all kept that promise thus far. 1 in 5 people diagnosed with an eating disorder will die. The fact that I don't know anyone who has died from an eating disorder is astounding to me. I know of people who have died: Friends of friends, but no one I know personally. And no one from that group. They're all still fighting like hell, and I love them for it.

There were many times after I left CFC that I just wanted to throw in the towel, and be done. I didn't want to fight for my life anymore. I was so tired. In those moments, I thought of the women in the group, and there was no way I was breaking that promise. There was no way I was going to give them any excuse to give up their fight. That promise I made to them, and that we made to each other has saved my life more than once.

Sacrament meeting
Since we couldn't leave to go to church, they arranged to have the young men bring the sacrament to us. A small group of women gathered in one of the group rooms. We sang a hymn a'capella. A prayer (and the prayers offered by the women there were the most sincere and beautiful prayers I've ever heard). No talks, but sometimes we'd share thoughts with each other. So much love in that room. If church had felt like that, I probably would have never left.

Your definition of recovery
We were all asked to define what recovery looked like to each of us individually. Mine was, "When I  love myself more than I hate myself."
According to that definition, I am recovered, but I think recovery is just life. I keep learning and growing and changing and living. According to that definition, I'm still working for recovery and always will be.


I know that most people won't understand the rest of this list, but to myself and the few that will:
"Love you to pieces"
J and C dancing to "Beat it"
temper tantrums
ripping up phonebooks, throwing ice, throwing pillows
challenge day
NIA
"Let it be okay"
Fedder and Le Freak
music listening
drum circles
arguments about the fireplace or walks
Boost
that nasty bean salad
singing and peeing
"hit snap clap hit hit snap clap"
table manners? what table manners
"Goals change lives"
FNS
Curses
"How is that like your life?"
illegal exercise
the big white van
the race to get out and the race to check back in
scream therapy
"auto" group
the vitals machine
games at the dining room tables
the "f word" wasn't fuck - it was fat
"The voice is no longer hidden in me. I've let go, Now I am free!"
and this:



I'll never hear this song and not think of the dining room, saying goodbye to beautiful women, not knowing where life would take me...it turns out... I like where life has taken me.

And the best part: I REALLY like the girl that I've become.

I've been made aware I have a kidney/I think funny

I got to visit with a very nice doctor today.
It turns out I have a kidney infection. I pretty much knew that before I met with the nice man. Two weeks ago, I couldn't have told you where exactly the kidney is located. I sure could now.

Sitting in the doctor's office, I felt anxious.
I was aware of one source: They expect me to lay down on my back and let Dr. Dude touch me. That causes some panic.

I was not aware of the rest of it until he started asking me questions.



Pain here? Yes.
Pain there? Yes.
Nausea? Yes.
Fever? Yes.
Energy level? I just want to sit on the couch and not move.
Have you done that? No.
You've had these symptoms for a week? Yes. Yes I have. 

What was going through my head as he was asking?
"I've already peed in the cup. He KNOWS there's nothing wrong with me. He thinks I'm being dramatic, I'm weak, I can't handle a little bit of normal pain. He's wondering why I even came here..."

And then he told me I have a kidney infection. The urine sample let him know I had an infection. It turns out he asked the other questions NOT because he thought I was weak, but because he wanted to know how bad the infection was. He wanted to know how much antibiotics I would need to get rid of it.

Oh. I think funny.

I was afraid of being a hypochondriac. I was afraid I was being weak - that I could have just taken care of this myself. This isn't the first time I've had to say to myself (or others have had to say to me):

"You're so afraid of being THAT extreme that you are the other extreme." 

You'd think I'd be used to this kind of realization, but I'm not. It still catches me off guard and strikes me as funny... One day. One day, I'll find the middle and I'll be comfortable there.

***Unrelated except for that it happened at the doctor's office:
They put me on the scale today. First time I've been on a scale in several years. Interesting to note, my weight hasn't changed. It is still right where it was when the dietitian gave me the thumbs up. There is a remnant of the voice that says, "That's not the right number!" (There was a time when it wouldn't have mattered WHAT the number was, it would have been too big and too small all at the same time.) That voice is quieter today. Much quieter, and far less persistent than it used to be. Mostly, I don't even care. It really has become just another number that doesn't mean anything to me. Which is awesome.

I read a book, and I loved it: Dancing with Crazy

I just finished the book Dancing with Crazy.

Emily opens the book standing in front of a mirror in the temple. She looks at her own reflections and asks the questions, "How and when had I so willingly and completely abdicated the throne of my own life? And much more importantly why? When had I vanished into thin air?"

The rest of the book explains the life events, teachings, ideas, thoughts, etc, that got her to that decision... and then continues her story from there.

She reminded me of my friend Teffy. You could put the two of them in a room together, and they'd tell tragic, traumatic and horribly sad stories, and they'd have you rolling on the floor laughing until you pee. I don't know how they do it.

Big moments in the book for me:
Her panic and fear of all the people who were going to be burned in the last day. She was TERRIFIED that her friends would suffer.
I had panic attacks and fear of the second coming from the earliest I can remember. I was afraid to watch people suffer - I hoped I would be dead before Christ came, because maybe I wouldn't see all the suffering. The idea of being lifted up on a cloud while the "wicked" burned made me sick. I thought it would be far better to be burned than to sit and watch.

Her fear of evil spirits.
I was convinced my evil spirits had been my best friends. I knew them. I loved them, and now I couldn't decide if I was supposed to save them or run from them... I was so afraid of doing or thinking anything even slightly "wrong", because I was terrified of the devil and his minions. I felt them all around me. All the time. There was actually a ward fast once to help cast out the evil spirits within me. The fast didn't work, but finally just letting go of the fear and the guilt that had driven me my whole life - that got rid of all of them. None of them have bothered me for a couple of years.

The way she thought about herself, her body, and sex... And how she came to know WHY she felt that way... and the healing that she had to go through.
At this point in the book, I turned to BJ. I thanked him for just being with me while I curled up on the floor. In INTENSE pain. For hours and hours a day for months and months. NO sleep. No relief. I could have done it alone, and I think I would have...AND It was sure nice having someone there.

Her eating disorder.
She never uses the words, "eating disorder", but I have spent many months in treatment for starving myself for the very same reasons she starved herself. She wanted to die, but she wasn't allowed to kill herself, but maybe... If she just stopped eating, "God would be so kind as to take me home."

Her depression. And the way she pushed through it, so that most of the time, nobody really even know how desperately she longed for death.

Her feelings about the priesthood and blessings...
WHAT A RELIEF that I wasn't the only one that was a blessing junky, and for the same reasons. I can't know if my thoughts are from God or Satan, but if I get a blessing, they are speaking for God... I can trust these mens' voices over my own. Except when I know what they are saying just isn't right... How do I reconcile that? And then one day realizing that I don't NEED a man to put his hands on my head to tell me what to do. I KNOW what I need, who I am, and what step to take next. I don't believe in priesthood blessings anymore, and that is a HUGE relief. (Except that I do believe there is power in belief and power in touch, and combine the two there IS a power.)

Her reasons for getting married. Her reasons for dating. Her reasons for every decision:
I spent my whole life trying to get people to love me, because I didn't love me, and I needed to feel loved. Neither one of us was strong enough to protect ourselves from some pretty awful predators, so we were hurt over and over and over... until... one day... we each just figured it out.

I loved so much about this book. My favorite line was at the end of the book.

"You are a part of me and I am a part of you. There is no distinction between us. You already live in my heart and there is nothing you can ever do to change that. You can never be separate from me. Ever. It's impossible, And by the way, if you still insist on knowing who your eternal companion is, well guess what? 
It's you."

Dieting is out: Intuitive eating is way cooler!

I've had a few people ask me to explain Intuitive Eating... I sort of suck at it... (Though, I think my friend "Forealya" said it best, "Intuitive eating is kinda like normal eating.")

Here is a link from the Center for Change that explains it in more detail.

Dieting Failure:

"Most people blame themselves and their “lack of willpower” for their diet failures. In reality, diet failure can be attributed to the body responding to hunger and the body's state of semistarvation or starvation. The body and mind react to a diet in the same way they would to starvation. In starvation, the body's metabolism decreases, and cravings increase. This is the set up for diet failure. Metabolism naturally slowing down during starvation is the body's attempt to conserve energy. A decrease in metabolism means the body is burning calories at a slower rate. Also while on a diet, the mind becomes preoccupied with thoughts of food and cravings intensify, especially for foods that will provide quick energy, like sweets. Eventually, it is too difficult to fight nature. People can't remain on diets forever and when dieters terminate their diet efforts, it is common for overeating to ensue. Overeating and even “normal eating” with a suppressed metabolism will cause the weight that was lost to come back. The failure rate of dieting (95%) is so high, not because people aren't good enough or strong enough but because our bodies were designed to fight weight loss."

I hesitated to put the above quote, because... well... as a person with an eating disorder, I read things like "people can't remain on diets forever", and TRIED. Even though my eating disorder was never about losing weight... It was about willpower, punishing myself, not deserving to live... but I took the fact that I COULD starve myself forever as a sign that I had more power over my body than the average person. (SO messed up, but I thought that way.)

Intuitive Eating:

"Intuitive eating (also known as “Normal Eating” or “Mindful Eating”) teaches individuals how to look inside themselves and listen to internal cues. It also provides guidance on how to form a healthy relationship with food. It is an anti-diet approach to eating. There are no rules to break and no temptations to resist. Intuitive eating, unlike dieting and meal planning, is not a set up for failure."

Intuitive eating was HARD. I thought I needed rules... without rules and without EXTERNAL control, I would fail. Only... it was the external control that made life miserable. I wanted to live my life. Intuitive eating was a step in finding the way to trust myself, follow my own internal guide. I no longer need anyone to tell me what to eat... or how to live.

Mindful Eating:

"Checking in during various times throughout the meal can also help us to be mindful while eating. We can ask questions like:

• Where is my hunger/fullness level?
• Am I enjoying this food?
• What would make my eating experience more pleasurable in this moment?
• Would I rather be eating something else?
• Am I staying present while I am eating, or is my mind wandering around?
• What external things influenced my food choices today?
• How can I reconnect to the internal signals my body is giving me?"

I'd say these questions have completely changed the way I look at food. It's AWESOME!
A few weeks ago, I had the stomach flu. I don't own a scale, but I could tell I had lost weight after not keeping food down for several days. When I finally started feeling better, I noticed I was very hungry... For several days, there were so many foods that tasted really good. There were several foods that I don't normally like that I craved, so I ate them. There is no doubt in my mind that my body sent me the signals I needed to get it back to a healthy place.

There was a time, that that natural compensation would have scared me. I would have felt out of control, it was cool to be aware of what was happening and to appreciate it. (I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a few moments where I felt anxiety.)

Explain a little bit about who YOU are

I recently agreed to be a part of a panel on sexual abuse/self harm. They asked for two different "bios".

One that quickly glossed over the abuse and my self-harm/eating disorder history. That was hard to write. Seeing it all together in one story made it more... real... "Wow. All those things really happened to ONE person... and that one person was ME." I cried a lot after writing that.

The other was supposed to be, "something simple that explains a little bit about who YOU are"
I wrote one that read like a resume: I have a Bachelor's degree in Sociology, this is where I work, and where I have worked and volunteered in the past, and listed a few things I love like horses, fishing, and reading.

I felt frustrated.
Frustration #1: It was many years ago that I did speaking for eating disorder awareness... (I even got to be interviewed by 20/20 once.) My "recovery" story was all about college, married, active in church, future children, blah, blah, blah... I don't feel "successful" enough as I try to explain "who I am".

And now, I am remembering what life was actually like when I was a speaker.  I was the kind of recovery speaker that I hate! I stood up there and talked about how happy and successful I was, but my life was hell. That probably explains why I hate recovery speakers... I don't trust them to say how it actually is, because I didn't.

If I had been honest it would have gone something like, "I'm in college, taking 22 credits a semester, because I need to stay busy or I'll go crazy.  I'm also trying to get done as quickly as possible, so then maybe I only have to work one job to support my husband, so I can have kids one day. I haven't even thought about if I WANT kids, but I'm going to have them, so I can prove that I am a good person... I hate sex, but he forces himself on me every single night. It really hurts, and I cry, but he gets it done quickly, so it could be worse... He tells me I'm fat and disgusting on a regular basis, but I still eat my dinner, because I know that if I don't, that will make people really upset with me. I will never go back to the eating disorder, but I really hate my body. Sometimes I get "too busy to eat". He likes me better when I do that: Tells me I look really great, and I feel confused. How do I please him by looking like I have an eating disorder without actually having one? I wish I could just give up, but I won't, because I know God needs me to do something big... And although I think about dying every single day, I'm happy. I must be happy, because I'm doing everything I'm supposed to be doing...  And well.. If you just go to therapy, and eat your dinner, you too can have this life." 

I'm shaking my head at myself.

There's still a part of me that wants to be able to say I am a picture of perfection: Master's degree, married, ten kids, house, hubs with a good job, active in the church, active volunteer in lots of different organizations, and there's probably more I'd love to add to the list... except that is not the life *I* want. If I were to tell my "recovery story" today, it would be so much MORE powerful, because it's real, and I am living MY life... just the way I want it... and isn't that more like "recovery" than anything I have EVER had?!?!? Yes. Yes it is. I tried to live the "picture of perfection" life, and I was miserable.

Frustration #2: I, Jen, am NOT my degree or my job, or even the places I've volunteered. That's not ME... but I live in a world that values degrees and jobs and achievements... (I live in Utah, so having kids is sometimes seen as an achievement; a sign that you are successful at something. Often, it's the only achievement that matters for a woman, but until you have kids, a successful career is an acceptable substitution.) Other people use their accomplishments to describe who they are. Does that mean I have to do that? If I'm not my degree or my job, then how do I write a bio that explains who I am?

Who am I? What is important to me? What do I want you to know about me?
I'm the oldest of five kids, although none of us are "kids" now. I love being a big sister: spending time with my siblings is some of the best spent time in the whole world. I could spend hours telling stories about them: the things they've accomplished, thought, felt, done and shared with me. They are a big part of who I am.

I love learning. I have a degree in Sociology, but my most valuable education has come from the people I have met and the books I have read. I love a good discussion. It's hard for me to do small talk - I'd rather dive in and talk about YOU. I really enjoy writing and I love reading. I spend a lot of time in the blogging world. And books. If you came to my house, the first thing you'd see in the living room is the bookshelf. It's full, and I have three more boxes of books under my bed. I have been shaped by the books I read. Right now I'd say the book that has made the biggest difference in my life is Tao of Equus, partially because it lead me to so many other amazing books. I also love anything by Miguel Ruiz. It's hard for me to pick just one or two books though, so tomorrow I might tell you something completely different.

I am passionate about GLBT and women's rights. It is also important to me to talk about all kinds of abuse. I believe the only way to change is to educate, so I speak up as much as I can.

I love music. I play the piano and the violin. There is something magical about playing in an orchestra. I love how all of the different parts come together to make music.

I love outdoors, nature and animals, especially horses. I've been all over the mountains on horseback. I think the best feeling in the world is to be in the mountains, on the back of a horse, running as fast as he can run. I also enjoy just sitting in the pasture being near horses. Sometimes I feel like I fit better with horses than with people. I also enjoy hiking and fly-fishing (catch and release only). I recently moved to (little town in the mountains). I have horses in the backyard, a wrap-around porch, I work from home, and I'm five minutes to the river.

That's me. What else do you want to know?

The poker game

A good friend of mine wrote this blog post, and I think she hit it spot on.

I especially love her analogy of the poker game.
"I would compare it to a round of poker.  “Genetics deals the cards, environment determines the number/skill of your opponents, and you play the hand.”

I also love this:
"In other words, don’t obsess about your body in front of children. Don’t encourage them to try fad diets.  And, of course, eat cake at their birthday parties.  Your children will thank you."

Only, I doubt your children will thank you, because they won't know any other reality. They will just know what it was like to have parents that eat birthday cake. They won't know that some people don't get to enjoy such wonderful things.

Love your body.
You're beautiful!

Eating Disorder Update

BJ recently pointed out that I haven't written or even talked about eating disorder stuff much lately. If at all. He asked how I thought I was doing. His direct question was, "Do you think you are completely recovered?"

The answer to that is... maybe.

Its been almost three years since I went for inpatient treatment at CFC. When I went, I believed I could conquer the eating stuff on my own... I had done that before. (For eleven years, I white-knuckled recovery. Forcing myself to eat, because that's what I was supposed to do. There is a part of eating disorder recovery that has to be just white knuckle. You DO what you have to do, because if you don't, you die.)

I didn't believe I could really recover without help: SERIOUS help. I had NO IDEA!! When I went, I wasn't sure exactly what I wanted or what was ahead. That came to me later.

I remember one group in particular. The question was something like, "How will you know when you are recovered?" or, "What does recovery look like to you?"

Several people answered that they'd be able to eat a certain food without worrying. Someone talked about the scale. When it was my turn to talk, I heard myself say, "I'll know I'm recovered when I like myself more than I hate myself."

Eating disorders aren't about the food.

That said, I still have thoughts like, "Oh geez, I can't believe I ate pizza and brownies and ice cream and chips and guacamole and enchiladas and movie popcorn and... that's not even half of what I've eaten today. What would people think if they knew what a pig I am?" Those thoughts are fleeting, because immediately I hear, "What would they think? If they know ME, they'd be happy for me. I'm happy for me." (Just in case anyone was wondering, that was yesterday... And that IS a portion of what I ate yesterday.)

My eating disorder was all about hating myself.

Today, I can honestly say that I love myself more than I hate myself. A lot more. I rarely feel hatred towards me anymore. I like me. For reals. I'm not just saying that because I know that's how I'm supposed to feel.

I figure eating disorder thoughts and urges will come back. I figure, they will always act as an early warning system that there's something not quite right. I figure, I'm lucky to have a way to know when I need to change something in my life.

So, am I completely recovered? I'm not sure it even matters anymore.

Surviving Turkey Day

Lets talk about Thanksgiving. Its a really goofy holiday. Its the day where the whole nation adopts some seriously disordered eating. And they all do it together!

My morning started with serious over-exercising urges. (I figure if everyone else gets to adopt an eating disorder of their choosing, then why can't I have the one of my choosing?) I didn't follow through with the urges. I sat on the floor and cried instead.

Seriously, everyone restricts food intake all morning to prepare for a massive binge in the afternoon/evening. Everyone makes themselves uncomfortable, and then eats some more. And if the strange eating isn't stressful enough, lets do it with a lot of people that call themselves family, but I only see once or twice a year. Some of them are very mean. Some of them are just ignorant asses.

And I'm supposed to WANT to participate in all of this madness??

Whilst crying on the floor, I got a call from a dear friend. "Are you taking care of yourself? I know this day is hard on you, and you still need to take care of you."

I became a yelling, crying mess. What came out of my mouth was something like, "What the fuck is wrong with me that I don't want to spend time with my family? Why can't I just be normal and love them and love this day?"

The reply came, "What's wrong with YOU? There's nothing wrong with you. Of all the people you have talked about in your family, YOU are the one I want to be friends with. It is normal to not like being with people who aren't nice to you."

And then I realized something profound. It IS normal to not like being with people who are mean. But I don't allow (or haven't allowed) myself that freedom. I have a cousin who is really mean. She's on medication to try to curb her moodiness, but she is just... MEAN, and bossy, and controlling, and nosy, and... Last year, she pinched me hard enough to leave a bruise and asked why I was so skinny. (I didn't pinch her back and ask her why she was so fat. I didn't think that would be appropriate, but I thought it.)

I walk into these family events (and probably everywhere else too) and look for the people that no one else wants to talk to, and I talk to them. The cousin I mentioned above, I have spent a lot of time talking to. I make the rounds and MAKE SURE to talk to the people that I have a hard time with. What the...?

This year, I just talked to the people I wanted to talk to. I spent time with my own siblings. Justin and I made a gingerbread house together, and I had a blast! I talked to my cousin Stefani, and her daughters. I talked to my Grandma. I talked to my cousin Kenadee. I picked who I spent my time with. And guess what? I had a great time!

It turns out that although there are some people in my family that are really obnoxious, they are actually the minority. They are a loud minority, but still a minority. I used to think it was my job to make the lonely people not feel lonely. But that was seriously flawed thinking.

1. Just because I don't like a person doesn't mean that everyone else feels the same.
2. And if everyone DOES feel the same, there's a reason. Its not doing me (or anyone else) a service to spend time with abusive people. That's not love, and I don't wanna do it anymore.
3. There's a good chance that those people that I don't like, probably don't like me. (At least if I am honest about who I am. I used to lie and pretend to be someone I wasn't, so that the mean people would like me.)

At the end of the day, it turns out that by ME changing, everything around me has changed. That's something to be grateful for!

(oh, and side note, I also made the decision that if I wasn't enjoying myself and I wanted to leave, I would. I don't have to stay anywhere that I don't wanna be!)

Its just not happening

I had planned to spend the day blogging... or reading... or doing something helpful...

I just don't feel like it. There is a lot I wish I had already written about:
objectification of women/pornography
people in the church have perpetuated the belief that I am worthless because I am a woman, but its not really their fault... its the world we live in...
getting angry
the ride yesterday

But again, I just don't feel like it... I am having a hard time gathering my thoughts well enough to write anything down. Every time I sit down... all that is there is eating disorder...I know there is so much more than that. I KNOW it! So, why is this SHIT (literally) consuming my brain?

I want to make a difference in the world. I want to inspire others. I want to make people laugh and smile. I want people to know that just because they have been through hell, they don't have to stay there. I want to share the miraculous.

Instead, I am thinking about the evils of cookies and DDR and silly stuff like that...

You're right! I'm not a size ANYTHING. I am Jen.

I went swimsuit shopping with a friend yesterday. She was stressing that now I know what size she wears. In an effort to get her to stop stressing about the DAMN NUMBER, I said, "Presently, in my closet I have size 1 to size 10, and I wear that whole range. It just depends on the cut... SIZE is NOT important!!"

Her reply, "There is no way you are a size 10!"

You're right! I am not a size 10! I am Jen, and I just happen to wear the clothes that fit. I don't care what number that is... 10, 1, 7, 42... It doesn't matter!!!

She didn't understand. She still thinks she's right. She entirely missed the point...