Luke 8:13 " The seeds on the rocky soil represent those who hear the message and receive it with joy. But since they don't have deep roots, they will believe for a while, then they fall away when they face temptation.
John 15:5 "I am the vine you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing. This is to my father's glory, that you bear much fruit, showing yourselves to be my disciples"
My Lord continues to challenge me to consider my roots. I feel he has a purpose in bringing these verses to my attention. Although rooted in my faith are my roots really rooted in Jesus and his unconditional love for me. Do I trust him enough with my life to surrender the eating disorder fully into his hands? I want to to surrender it I really do, but with my roots in the lies still deeper than his truth, I find myself falling away and back into the siren's call of the eating disorder. This is really just my way of saying, "God I am scared of who I am without it. I don't trust you with my future in those moments I fall away. I don't trust you with my weight, my food, or trust you to comfort me." I am starting to see that what was originally my "Fuck you!" to my family, whoever, is probably how God see's it as well. He died for me on the cross for me and I am deliberately rebellious. I sin against God and sin against myself. The reality of this breaks my heart, even though I firmly believe this is an illness, I know the remedy and it includes trusting the Lord. I believe Jesus took my sins to the cross and that I am forgiven through confession, PERIOD! What I want is not just to be forgiven, but to show his glory and bear much fruit.
I have taken so many steps toward recovery and trusting the Lord and like a loving parent I believe he knows that we can tackle this together because he is beginning to stretch my faith and my comfort level with my weight, my food, and my hunger. I roll over in my cottage bed and look out at the
remaining few inches of snow coating the hillside. I am so grateful for my place of refuge after my last few days of entertaining and cleaning up the aftermath of our Thanksgiving feast. A feast that I did not purge! I want to just sit in my chair, write read God's word and sip on warm cups of coffee, and write. I am ok for an hour or so then my eating disorder starts in on me. "You need to get up and go to the gym. Your weight is already up. Here is your choice run or restrict!" I talk back to it. "Why do I have to chose? Why can't I just sit in my jammies all day drink coffee and write?" It answers sounding a bit like my mother "Get up and do something productive. You aren't going to just sit around the house in your jammies all day." I keep trying to write and read. The eating disorder gets louder and louder, and I realize (from past experience) it will start off as a whisper then grow into a deafening scream taunting me for not running calling me fat, lazy, and undisciplined. I know that in order for me to really enjoy being with my husband, decorating the cottage and even eating without purging I must get out of my cozy cocoon and head to the gym. I hate the eating disorder's voice, but I know that by working out I can quiet it, and manage it. I also hope that one day I won't have to workout, but just turn to it like my second grade teacher would do to me and say "Ssh! You are a nothing more than a nuisance. Now go sit down I have work to do." In this case the work I have to do is life and bearing God's fruit.
Yet, I am not quite ready to just tell it to shut up and sit down, besides I wake up today starving, and it scares me. I am not used to feeling the physical hunger from my belly. What is this strange sensation rising from my gut? I realize that I probably hadn't eaten much on the road yesterday. I had some apples, a banana, some nuts, and picked at a fast food salad. Ok, so maybe that is where this intrusive hunger is coming from? I don't like it all, and feel nervous as I realize my hunger and the eating disorder are now doing battle for the first time in years. The restricting was easy as I literally felt no hunger, but now..... I feel it. It is unpleasant, and annoying. I can no longer say I honestly forgot to eat, but that I chose not to eat. Small steps are still steps, I remind myself as I give into working out, but I grab a protein bar and sports drink as I head out the door. The nourishment is what my body craved, and what my soul needed. Despite the fuel, I am feeling spent and nauseated as I finish my run. The eating disorder begins to speak to me again "how can you still be hungry? How can you need more? Look at your tri-athlete friends on Facebook they make you look like a beast!" "Ok, I hear you. I have had enough food for this morning. I will go home, shower and head out to furnish the cottage." Really, I am so sick and tired of all the moments of my life that this internal dialogue intrudes upon.
I shower and dress, trying on my jeans of course, fighting the hunger I feel once again coming out of nowhere. Why can't it just leave me alone like it has done for the past few years? Doesn't it realize how I am terrified by its presence? I try to ignore it as we begin to power shop to furnish our home, but by the time we get through the first stop, my hunger moves through me in waves a nausea that feel as powerful as the ones crashing into the pier I can see from the car window. Admitting I am hungry feels like admitting defeat, so I wait for Kurt to mention lunch. He is engrossed in our mission, and I am irritated that my hunger continues to swell and crash, swell and crash, threatening to knock me over by its sudden furry. I feel now like I am going to pass out. What the fuck, why now? Where has it been hiding the past few years? I touch Kurt gently on his knee because that is about all the energy I have left to do, and say "Should we get lunch? Have you eaten?" I ask him. For some reason I want this to be about his hunger and not mine. "Cookies," He says. "In other words you haven't really eaten," I respond with a joke and a smile. "is it okay if we stop to eat? I am kind of, well a little, ok really really hungry." I say it in almost a stuttering whisper like a child confessing something covered in shame. Those of us with eating disorders understand this conundrum. Admitting to hunger is tantamount to admitting defeat, just as being told you look good means to us, you've gained weight.
I hear God saying "remain in me and you will be ok. Listen to your body pay attention to it nourish it." I decide I can, no need to nourish it at this point, but can I give myself what I want or just something safe that it needs. I ask myself what if what I want and need could be the same thing. Would that be ok? So, just like the pizza, I decide to trust God to hold my hand as I walk on the edge of my comfort zone. I order the luscious velvet textured tomato bisque, and the salty sweet ham and swiss cheese grilled sandwich slathered in honey mustard. I eat it consciously and slowly savoring each bite because I am not sure when and if I can do this again, but for this moment I listen to my want and need and tell the eating disorder to shush and take a seat.
Monday, December 29, 2014
Sunday, December 14, 2014
Roots
Colossians 2:7 (NLT) "Let your roots grow down into him, and let your lives be built on him. Then your faith will grow strong in the truth you were taught, and you will overflow with thankfulness."
God seems to be speaking to me about being rooted in him, his the love, and his truth about who I am in him. He wants me to put my faith in him and not the eating disorder which grew out the lies about who I was, or wasn't, and the chaos of my youth. Those roots are strong, deep and difficult unearth. It is like weeding my garden. I often think the weed is gone, but it eventually grows back because I didn't get it by the root. It doesn't help that the weeds of lies and God's truth are fighting for the same fertile soil. Even as I enter into this season of thanks for my abundant blessings and Jesus' birth, I realize how quickly God's truth can be choked out by the lies sprouting through the surface eager to stop me from growing in him.
As my mom calls me the day before Thanksgiving to try to manipulate me into not writing about my eating disorder because it will expose her, I find myself getting pulled back and believing that if I had been a better daughter, she wouldn't have had to smack me. If I had been brighter she wouldn't have had to go to conferences with teachers. If I had been less selfish, she wouldn't be living in a nursing home. A good daughter would invite her mother to live with her. If, if, if, the list could go on and on. Although she tells me that the problem was really with her and not me, my roots grew deep down into the soil of the lies that were taught to me as truth. I say to her, with tears spilling down my cheeks "tell that to the three year old toddler, six year old little girl, and twelve year old adolescent already buried in guilt and shame that it wasn't her fault!" "Tell that to the young woman trying to raise her boys while you told her she wasn't a good mom." "Tell that to me today as you still strike at me with your words instead of your hands." I can almost hear the roots of my soul and spirit reaching and stretching into the mucky soil of lies, instead of the nourishing fertile soil the truth of who I am in God.
I tell her I wished I had died in the eating disorder taking her shame and guilt to
my grave. "Please don't say that," she says. "Why not?" I reply, "then you would have nothing to worry about, not a book, not my illness, not my life." "Because I do love you and it would crush me to have something happen to you." All I can think of is the freedom that could come of not carrying the crushing burdens I was never meant to carry. It is this freedom that caused me contemplate life and death.
She is worried that she will be prosecuted for child abuse and thrown in jail. I have no desire to prosecute her or seek revenge through my writing. I really believe that as teen parents, they did the best they could raising twins. My goal is to tell the story of my eating disordered life, one that took me to the brink of death more than once. Unfortunately, it is rooted in my childhood and the lies I believed was my truth. I am finished lying and being lied to about who I am. It is so very strenuous to reach down deep beneath the surface of my soul and spirit to kill off the roots of the lies and allow new roots to form deep into God's soil of truth that can allow me to bloom and grow instead of fade away. How do I kill off something that is continually being planted and replanted?
I am beginning to trust that the only way to do this is to keep turning to God, knowing him and knowing who I am in him and him alone. I must turn away from the one the sows the seeds of lies. With out seeds there can be no more roots. I must turn back to the one who sows the seeds of truth, back to the Lord. He is the one that can take my faith, which at times is the size of a tiny mustard seed, and sow it in the fertile soil of truth and love and allow these roots to grow down deep into him the I can bloom into the daughter he created. A daughter with strong roots and many branches that reach to the sky in praise regardless of my circumstance, producing fruit. Jeremiah 17:8 "They are like trees planted along the riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they never stop producing fruit." A daughter that knows he will never leave me or forsake me
It was never my desire to have a broken relationship with my mother. I remind myself that I am not the one who broke it, but it was in her breaking of my spirit that the relationship began to fray like a rope being exposed to the push and pull of friction. As a child, their was an anchor at the end of that fraying rope never holding me safe, secure, and steady. It would hold, sometimes for a period of time, but I never knew when it would break free. I always felt like I was adrift all alone and somehow I was responsible for the anchor breaking free. If only I were stronger, better, not so sensitive.... Survival took precedent over producing fruit, or in my case eating fruit. My eating disorder became my life raft in which I could float away from the storms of my so called life. And just like one can get lost at sea even in a life raft, I became lost in the eating disorder not once, but twice.
As I enter this Christmas season, I remind myself daily that I do not need to remain lost and rooted in the lies of my youth, but found in his truth. My identity is not rooted in my eating disorder, but in His truth and His great love for me. Jesus was born to die....for me! Romans 5:8 "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners Christ died for us" (NIV)
God seems to be speaking to me about being rooted in him, his the love, and his truth about who I am in him. He wants me to put my faith in him and not the eating disorder which grew out the lies about who I was, or wasn't, and the chaos of my youth. Those roots are strong, deep and difficult unearth. It is like weeding my garden. I often think the weed is gone, but it eventually grows back because I didn't get it by the root. It doesn't help that the weeds of lies and God's truth are fighting for the same fertile soil. Even as I enter into this season of thanks for my abundant blessings and Jesus' birth, I realize how quickly God's truth can be choked out by the lies sprouting through the surface eager to stop me from growing in him.
As my mom calls me the day before Thanksgiving to try to manipulate me into not writing about my eating disorder because it will expose her, I find myself getting pulled back and believing that if I had been a better daughter, she wouldn't have had to smack me. If I had been brighter she wouldn't have had to go to conferences with teachers. If I had been less selfish, she wouldn't be living in a nursing home. A good daughter would invite her mother to live with her. If, if, if, the list could go on and on. Although she tells me that the problem was really with her and not me, my roots grew deep down into the soil of the lies that were taught to me as truth. I say to her, with tears spilling down my cheeks "tell that to the three year old toddler, six year old little girl, and twelve year old adolescent already buried in guilt and shame that it wasn't her fault!" "Tell that to the young woman trying to raise her boys while you told her she wasn't a good mom." "Tell that to me today as you still strike at me with your words instead of your hands." I can almost hear the roots of my soul and spirit reaching and stretching into the mucky soil of lies, instead of the nourishing fertile soil the truth of who I am in God.
I tell her I wished I had died in the eating disorder taking her shame and guilt to
my grave. "Please don't say that," she says. "Why not?" I reply, "then you would have nothing to worry about, not a book, not my illness, not my life." "Because I do love you and it would crush me to have something happen to you." All I can think of is the freedom that could come of not carrying the crushing burdens I was never meant to carry. It is this freedom that caused me contemplate life and death.
She is worried that she will be prosecuted for child abuse and thrown in jail. I have no desire to prosecute her or seek revenge through my writing. I really believe that as teen parents, they did the best they could raising twins. My goal is to tell the story of my eating disordered life, one that took me to the brink of death more than once. Unfortunately, it is rooted in my childhood and the lies I believed was my truth. I am finished lying and being lied to about who I am. It is so very strenuous to reach down deep beneath the surface of my soul and spirit to kill off the roots of the lies and allow new roots to form deep into God's soil of truth that can allow me to bloom and grow instead of fade away. How do I kill off something that is continually being planted and replanted?
I am beginning to trust that the only way to do this is to keep turning to God, knowing him and knowing who I am in him and him alone. I must turn away from the one the sows the seeds of lies. With out seeds there can be no more roots. I must turn back to the one who sows the seeds of truth, back to the Lord. He is the one that can take my faith, which at times is the size of a tiny mustard seed, and sow it in the fertile soil of truth and love and allow these roots to grow down deep into him the I can bloom into the daughter he created. A daughter with strong roots and many branches that reach to the sky in praise regardless of my circumstance, producing fruit. Jeremiah 17:8 "They are like trees planted along the riverbank, with roots that reach deep into the water. Such trees are not bothered by the heat or worried by long months of drought. Their leaves stay green, and they never stop producing fruit." A daughter that knows he will never leave me or forsake me
It was never my desire to have a broken relationship with my mother. I remind myself that I am not the one who broke it, but it was in her breaking of my spirit that the relationship began to fray like a rope being exposed to the push and pull of friction. As a child, their was an anchor at the end of that fraying rope never holding me safe, secure, and steady. It would hold, sometimes for a period of time, but I never knew when it would break free. I always felt like I was adrift all alone and somehow I was responsible for the anchor breaking free. If only I were stronger, better, not so sensitive.... Survival took precedent over producing fruit, or in my case eating fruit. My eating disorder became my life raft in which I could float away from the storms of my so called life. And just like one can get lost at sea even in a life raft, I became lost in the eating disorder not once, but twice.
As I enter this Christmas season, I remind myself daily that I do not need to remain lost and rooted in the lies of my youth, but found in his truth. My identity is not rooted in my eating disorder, but in His truth and His great love for me. Jesus was born to die....for me! Romans 5:8 "But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners Christ died for us" (NIV)
Monday, November 10, 2014
Pizza
Pizza
11/10/14
Psalms 71:7 "My life is an example to many, because you have been my strength and protection" (NLT)
Last weekend I entered into the hamster wheel of my internal dialogue of eat or don't eat. Well, as it often is, it isn't actually whether to eat or not, but what to eat, and where to eat. I just don't feel like cooking, but I don't feel like making a decision either.
I ran in the morning. I didn't run that far, maybe five or so miles, but ran hard and fast because I had so much to do, and my competitive streak wants me to stay in front of the women behind me. I knew I couldn't spend the whole day working out. I thought I had done enough to not think this meal through without such scrutiny, but I guess I wasn't convinced. I had eaten okay, but not actually fulfilling my new menu plans. I had yogurt, granola and endura before I ran. Lunch was a sandwich, a few chips, grapes, and a small cookie. I continue to run through what I had eaten in my mind like the hamster runs in the wheel. My mind is racing, but not really going any where.
We decide to go to Pizellis because Kelsey is working and I want to see her before I head out of town on her birthday. I know I can get a "safe" salad there, but here is the thing, I don't want just a salad! I want pizza! God how I love pizza, but it is so unsafe and risky. It is riskier than most foods because because if I should want (need) to purge, it can be pretty difficult to bring back up. I would then be stuck with it. Spin, spin, spin, spin, my brain, like a hamster wheel is starting to squeak as it runs in circles trying to decide whether to eat pizza or not. How many people think this long and hard about pizza? The 20 million of us that will struggle with an eating disorder at one time in our lives(NEDA), that is who, while the rest of you just order the fucking pizza. Oh, and freely enjoy eating it.
It is crowded in the restaurant so I have some more time to think....squeak, squeak, squeak. I begin to do the math in my head, "You will be okay and the pizza is what you really want. Your skinny jeans and 25's fit fine this morning" The thoughts seem so loud in my mind I wonder if those around me can hear the squeak of my thoughts running like the hamster in a wheel?" I am next in line......squeak, squeak, squeak, I take a deep breath and order my individual pizza just the way I like it in addition to the safe garden salad.
The salad arrives first. It is huge, and I wonder why the fuck they would make a side salad this big? There is no way to eat this and the pizza, but I am starving and take a couple bites hoping this will take up space leaving less room for the decadent pizza the arrives in front of me. I sit and stare at it, smell it, but feel frozen and unable to reach out and just grab a slice. I hear God's words again "Be courageous, do the work: Here, hold my hand. Remember that I am strong and soft at the same time." I picture His strength allowing me to eat it, and His softness allowing me to enjoy it. Can I be strong and soft at the same time? Can I eat it, and enjoy it? Squeak, squeak, squeak.....Can Kurt hear my wheels turning (probably not), but I am sure he is wondering if I will keep it in. It has been a long time since he has seen me eat (not pick) at pizza. He is through his first 2 slices and still hasn't seen me eat pizza.
I spin the wheel of pizza slowly around in front of me as I look for the perfect slice. It must be perfect since it is probably the only slice I will allow myself to have. They are small slices. I need that to be known in case I should have more than one. I don't want to appear gluttonous, or over indulgent. It is as if I feel a need to explain my hunger or apologize for it. Who has to justify or apologize for their hunger? Those of us that live in the grip of an eating disorder or even those of us in a new fragile state of recovery often feel this need; that's who!
After a couple of slow rotations of the pizza, I reach out and take one piece of artichoke and move it slowly to my mouth. There, now this piece of pizza is perfectly balanced and ready to be separated from the imperfect circle of the hand tossed pizza. I lift it to my plate like a pro, supporting the point so the melted cheese doesn't slide off. " I remember how to do this, " I think " it is just like riding a bike!"
Now do I cut it and eat it with a fork and knife? This seems more civilized, but also more eating disordered, so I decide to pick it up with my hands and eat it like the majority of the people sitting in the restaurant. This is how I remember eating pizza pre-eating disorder, or in recovery. The trick for me when using my hands will be to eat it, and not merely pick at the toppings appearing to eat. Kurt is on his third slice as I finally allow myself to to eat and taste my self-created pizza. I take that first gooey, crunchy bite aware that the soft and firm are existing exquisitely together. Oh my goodness! It is delicious. It has been so long since I have had a slice of pizza, that I am not sure if this pizza is superior to others, or that I was so hungry for pizza. I finish the (small) piece of pizza followed by a sip of wine and a nibble of salad. I begin to pick at the toppings of the almost whole pizza still in front of me and realize that I am still hungry. I stop and think for a moment; am I still hungry or do I just want more because it was so flipping delicious and satisfying? Is it okay to want it if I don't need it? How is this different than wanting and buying a new pair of jeans that God knows, I don't need?
If I eat it and don't need it and end up feeling the fullness, it may be more than I can tolerate. This would then ruin the pleasure of the experience, but if I don't try it then how will I know if I wanted it or needed it? How will I know what is too much or too little? It is a fine line I am walking. I take in too much and beat myself up for consuming it, or I end up getting rid of it and beating myself up for purging. Squeak, squeak, squeak....I have a choice to make. I decide, as I remember picking at jacks homemade pie, to take the second slice and enjoy it. In the moment I was okay and realized that I was still, indeed, hungry. I both wanted and needed this second piece. I start to reach for for the third piece, (almost) with out thinking, but I know that I have taken enough risk for today. As I pick at the toppings on that third piece I tell Kurt, who has finished his pizza, that I am sorry that I can't finish the pizza. I let him know that anymore and I would feel uncomfortable. He knows what this really means: anymore and I would purge. Before I can say another word, he calls for a box and I feel safe in the moment. You Lord strengthen me and Kurt steps in as the your servant to protect me from myself.
11/10/14
Psalms 71:7 "My life is an example to many, because you have been my strength and protection" (NLT)
Last weekend I entered into the hamster wheel of my internal dialogue of eat or don't eat. Well, as it often is, it isn't actually whether to eat or not, but what to eat, and where to eat. I just don't feel like cooking, but I don't feel like making a decision either.
I ran in the morning. I didn't run that far, maybe five or so miles, but ran hard and fast because I had so much to do, and my competitive streak wants me to stay in front of the women behind me. I knew I couldn't spend the whole day working out. I thought I had done enough to not think this meal through without such scrutiny, but I guess I wasn't convinced. I had eaten okay, but not actually fulfilling my new menu plans. I had yogurt, granola and endura before I ran. Lunch was a sandwich, a few chips, grapes, and a small cookie. I continue to run through what I had eaten in my mind like the hamster runs in the wheel. My mind is racing, but not really going any where.
We decide to go to Pizellis because Kelsey is working and I want to see her before I head out of town on her birthday. I know I can get a "safe" salad there, but here is the thing, I don't want just a salad! I want pizza! God how I love pizza, but it is so unsafe and risky. It is riskier than most foods because because if I should want (need) to purge, it can be pretty difficult to bring back up. I would then be stuck with it. Spin, spin, spin, spin, my brain, like a hamster wheel is starting to squeak as it runs in circles trying to decide whether to eat pizza or not. How many people think this long and hard about pizza? The 20 million of us that will struggle with an eating disorder at one time in our lives(NEDA), that is who, while the rest of you just order the fucking pizza. Oh, and freely enjoy eating it.
It is crowded in the restaurant so I have some more time to think....squeak, squeak, squeak. I begin to do the math in my head, "You will be okay and the pizza is what you really want. Your skinny jeans and 25's fit fine this morning" The thoughts seem so loud in my mind I wonder if those around me can hear the squeak of my thoughts running like the hamster in a wheel?" I am next in line......squeak, squeak, squeak, I take a deep breath and order my individual pizza just the way I like it in addition to the safe garden salad.
The salad arrives first. It is huge, and I wonder why the fuck they would make a side salad this big? There is no way to eat this and the pizza, but I am starving and take a couple bites hoping this will take up space leaving less room for the decadent pizza the arrives in front of me. I sit and stare at it, smell it, but feel frozen and unable to reach out and just grab a slice. I hear God's words again "Be courageous, do the work: Here, hold my hand. Remember that I am strong and soft at the same time." I picture His strength allowing me to eat it, and His softness allowing me to enjoy it. Can I be strong and soft at the same time? Can I eat it, and enjoy it? Squeak, squeak, squeak.....Can Kurt hear my wheels turning (probably not), but I am sure he is wondering if I will keep it in. It has been a long time since he has seen me eat (not pick) at pizza. He is through his first 2 slices and still hasn't seen me eat pizza.
I spin the wheel of pizza slowly around in front of me as I look for the perfect slice. It must be perfect since it is probably the only slice I will allow myself to have. They are small slices. I need that to be known in case I should have more than one. I don't want to appear gluttonous, or over indulgent. It is as if I feel a need to explain my hunger or apologize for it. Who has to justify or apologize for their hunger? Those of us that live in the grip of an eating disorder or even those of us in a new fragile state of recovery often feel this need; that's who!
After a couple of slow rotations of the pizza, I reach out and take one piece of artichoke and move it slowly to my mouth. There, now this piece of pizza is perfectly balanced and ready to be separated from the imperfect circle of the hand tossed pizza. I lift it to my plate like a pro, supporting the point so the melted cheese doesn't slide off. " I remember how to do this, " I think " it is just like riding a bike!"
Now do I cut it and eat it with a fork and knife? This seems more civilized, but also more eating disordered, so I decide to pick it up with my hands and eat it like the majority of the people sitting in the restaurant. This is how I remember eating pizza pre-eating disorder, or in recovery. The trick for me when using my hands will be to eat it, and not merely pick at the toppings appearing to eat. Kurt is on his third slice as I finally allow myself to to eat and taste my self-created pizza. I take that first gooey, crunchy bite aware that the soft and firm are existing exquisitely together. Oh my goodness! It is delicious. It has been so long since I have had a slice of pizza, that I am not sure if this pizza is superior to others, or that I was so hungry for pizza. I finish the (small) piece of pizza followed by a sip of wine and a nibble of salad. I begin to pick at the toppings of the almost whole pizza still in front of me and realize that I am still hungry. I stop and think for a moment; am I still hungry or do I just want more because it was so flipping delicious and satisfying? Is it okay to want it if I don't need it? How is this different than wanting and buying a new pair of jeans that God knows, I don't need?
If I eat it and don't need it and end up feeling the fullness, it may be more than I can tolerate. This would then ruin the pleasure of the experience, but if I don't try it then how will I know if I wanted it or needed it? How will I know what is too much or too little? It is a fine line I am walking. I take in too much and beat myself up for consuming it, or I end up getting rid of it and beating myself up for purging. Squeak, squeak, squeak....I have a choice to make. I decide, as I remember picking at jacks homemade pie, to take the second slice and enjoy it. In the moment I was okay and realized that I was still, indeed, hungry. I both wanted and needed this second piece. I start to reach for for the third piece, (almost) with out thinking, but I know that I have taken enough risk for today. As I pick at the toppings on that third piece I tell Kurt, who has finished his pizza, that I am sorry that I can't finish the pizza. I let him know that anymore and I would feel uncomfortable. He knows what this really means: anymore and I would purge. Before I can say another word, he calls for a box and I feel safe in the moment. You Lord strengthen me and Kurt steps in as the your servant to protect me from myself.
Sunday, October 26, 2014
Hope Continues
Hope Continues
10/26/14
Lamentations 3:21-26 (NLT)
21 " Yet I still dare to hope when I remember this:
22 The faithful love of the Lord never ends!
His mercies never cease.
23 Great is his faithfulness;
his mercies begin afresh each morning.
24 I say to myself, 'the lord is my inheritance
Therefore, I will hope in him!'
25 The lord is good to those who
depend on him
to those who search him.
26 So it is good to wait quietly
for salvation from the Lord."
I was up this week to pick the scripture and share it and my thoughts with the people. It is lovely how it spoke to me differently from the day I felt called to use it and then today. Today my eyes fell on the 23rd verse "Great is his faithfulness; his mercies begin afresh each morning." For this I am grateful because I wake this morning, after a night of purging, not feeling very hopeful for my recovery from the eating disorder, nerve, and even my recent resurgence of some gut issues. My guilt manifests into true physical pain in the form of a head ache and the discomfort of my belly and even my chest flutters with some PVC's. Today I don't have to beat myself up because I feel beaten up. I won't back down from this task, even though I feel less than worthy of reading the scripture, because in my heart I know this would serve Satan instead of God.
I read over my thoughts I have prepared for the service, and realize they speak to me even more today than when I wrote them. Did God know about my purge before I did it? OF course he did. My thoughts. I look out into the congregation and I see people that love the Lord, but I also see people like myself that are broken, sick, or facing a struggle or two or three......Maybe some of you aren't in those shoes right now and I praise Jesus for your healing and redemption in your lives. While at the same time feeling a little slighted that I am still waiting. So I, like most of you find myself still desiring healing, recovery, and complete restoration. The world tells me I will possibly manage my symptoms and or struggles, but never be really free of them. Maybe you have experienced the same thing from well meaning people, counselors, or physicians in your lives? I find myself thinking again, is there such a thing as a full recovery and totally arrested symptoms for what ails me or what ails you? Once again, I have no clue what God has in store for you, for me, but I try not to get too discouraged because I know my God loves me and you. He is with us! I NEED to believe in a full recovery for me and for you, or this battle we fight every day would be futile......without hope. This is just what Satan wants us to feel; hopeless! But I know this isn't God's will for you or for me.
When I am tired and weary I remind myself to turn to God the Father and still "dare to hope." I also try to remember that sometimes we don't need to take some giant leap of faith, but just walk in faith and hope one small step at a time.
"His mercies never cease" I cling to this today and wonder if I can except His mercy and grace for me: That same mercy and grace that I stand and encourage the congregation to accept. It is easier for me to extend this invitation to the congregation, than accept it for myself. Yes, I blew it again, but "his mercies begin afresh each morning." I hear God speak to me "Hope Liz, you must continue to hope. Meditate on this scripture. I will be good to you as you continue to search for me. I will be merciful with you each new day. Show others mercy, but accept mine and show yourself mercy and wait on me."
And if a personal word isn't enough God seems to send me a confirmation of his words in a song, Crave by King and Country.
I won't turn to dust now
Let these tears rust now
On my face
Give me the spark now
To believe, to see
Hope is what we crave
And that will never change
So I stand and wait
I need a drop of grace
To carry me today
A simple song to say
It's written on my soul:
Hope's what we crave
So today I will wait and I will dare to hope for my spark of healing even through my tears.
Monday, October 13, 2014
Work!
"1 Chronicles 28:20 (NIV) " Be strong, be courageous, and do the work. Do not be afraid or discouraged for the Lord you God my God is with you.
I find myself in a situation that has caused me stress and heartache as I worry about one of my precious children. The details aren't important right now, but how I deal with it is. I have always been a stress non-eater, but because I am so fresh into some semblance of recovery I am aware that I could easily use this as an excuse to dive right back into restricting. I know the eating disorder can sneak up and grab me from behind like a bandit and quickly pull me back into its snare. I hesitate, but finally admit this to my therapist. Part of me may still want it, but most of me wants it to get the fuck out of my life.
Although she has actually used the term recovery (Oh how I need to hear this) with me lately, and that I am not "knee deep" in the Eating Disorder, I feel it calling for me every day. It feels like I am still caught in its web of symptoms. At times I am free from some of the symptoms, but never all of them at one time. I feel like a fly stuck in a spiders web. Its whole body can be free of the web, but as long as just the tip of its wing is stuck it isn't able to fly. I want to fly! No, I want to soar. I am so sick and tired of this illness. I am tired of caring about my food, my exercise, my weight, my body!
I believe that it is good that I am getting pissed off at it, but I am also frustrated as I don't know how to make all this stuff not matter. I have been strong, courageous, and worked my fucking ass off, and it is still there whether I like it or not. It lingers in my head calling for me like a relentless telemarketer, no matter how many times I hang up on it. I find myself irritated every time my therapist says "that is how powerful the eating disorder is still." Fuck the eating disorder! Doesn't she see, or anyone see, that I don't want to give it power, it takes it. I don't want this anymore than someone wants cancer, Parkinson's, or any other life-threatening illness. Why is mental illness a choice, but cancer and other illness aren't? Actually eating disorders are seen as a choice more than other mental illness, like Bi-Polar, Major Depressive Disorder, or schizophrenia. No one chooses any mental illness. I didn't choose this, it chose me. Sometimes I wonder if allow myself to still purge occasionally, because I don't feel like anyone believes I can truly be symptom free, except maybe Rich. I stare at the toilet, sink, wherever I am and think "what the hell! may as well purge." I need to start thinking fuck you the eating disorder and those who don't believe I can ever be totally free. I believe in my God. And I know he can transform my mind because he promises me this. Can I believe in me? Is there such a thing as full recovery and arrested symptoms? I have no clue, but I try not to get discouraged because God is with me. I need to believe in the possibility of full recovery, or this fight would be futile; Without hope!
I go back and find hope again in Romans 12:2 (NIV) "Do not be transformed my the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve of what God's will is - his good, pleasing and perfect will." I don't know what this will look like or when my healing will be complete, but this I know for sure; This is not God's will for me the rest of my life. I love how the (NLT) reads, "let God transform" My only job is to step out in faith and trust him. The transformation is his job. I am so exhausted from the fight, but I believe I can find the faith and energy to take one small step at a time. I may not know how to make a giant leap, but I do know how to press through fatigue one step at a time. I do this when I run, even if I have to stop and walk, I always mange to finish the race.
I remind myself of this today as I leave my therapist's office feeling more than overwhelmed as she lists all the different pieces of my eating disorder. I restrict, exercise, purge, and yes I know I have an inaccurate body image. I think "please don't say it, please don't say it!" She says it "It's complicated!" I hear "you are complicated." I try to process what is said. Is it (eating disorders) complicated, am I complicating my recovery, or am I complicated? For a second I am back in second grade asking the teacher for help and she points her finger at me "you need to stop asking questions. You are a nuisance." I know that isn't what my therapist is saying, but it is what I am feeling in the moment. I feel like she thinks there is something more I could or should be doing, but I have no clue what. And just like second grade I am trying to find the answer to questions I am not sure I even understand. I try not to feel hopeless since I am not helpless with God on my side.
There are somethings I can choose to do around the eating disorder. I can choose to eat even when I am not hungry because I do need nourishment. I can choose to keep my food in, and to take a day off from working out. I can even choose to stay off the scale. What I can't seem to choose are my thoughts about food, weight and my body. I can't choose to enjoy food and find pleasure in the taste or texture without first thinking about what my body will do with it. I can't choose to take a day off from working out with out feeling guilty or that my body will turn to mush over night. It is this internal struggle that wears me out, and leaves me wondering if I will ever be free. Is that why my therapist finds this so "heat breaking?" Is it because she believes I will never truly be free and will simply have to learn live in the gray? I try not to let myself go there, because it too breaks my heart.
While others can look at me and see a "perfect" body, I rarely can see it. Even on those days that I see my body through others' eyes, it is hard for me to appreciate it because I know the price I have paid to achieve it. It is just reminder of my eating disordered life. It is like looking at the scars left behind after open heart surgery, or cancer, it is always a reminder of discomfort, pain and suffering.
I go back and find hope again in Romans 12:2 (NIV) "Do not be transformed my the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve of what God's will is - his good, pleasing and perfect will." I don't know what this will look like or when my healing will be complete, but this I know for sure; This is not God's will for me the rest of my life. I love how the (NLT) reads, "let God transform" My only job is to step out in faith and trust him. The transformation is his job. I am so exhausted from the fight, but I believe I can find the faith and energy to take one small step at a time. I may not know how to make a giant leap, but I do know how to press through fatigue one step at a time. I do this when I run, even if I have to stop and walk, I always mange to finish the race.
I remind myself of this today as I leave my therapist's office feeling more than overwhelmed as she lists all the different pieces of my eating disorder. I restrict, exercise, purge, and yes I know I have an inaccurate body image. I think "please don't say it, please don't say it!" She says it "It's complicated!" I hear "you are complicated." I try to process what is said. Is it (eating disorders) complicated, am I complicating my recovery, or am I complicated? For a second I am back in second grade asking the teacher for help and she points her finger at me "you need to stop asking questions. You are a nuisance." I know that isn't what my therapist is saying, but it is what I am feeling in the moment. I feel like she thinks there is something more I could or should be doing, but I have no clue what. And just like second grade I am trying to find the answer to questions I am not sure I even understand. I try not to feel hopeless since I am not helpless with God on my side.
There are somethings I can choose to do around the eating disorder. I can choose to eat even when I am not hungry because I do need nourishment. I can choose to keep my food in, and to take a day off from working out. I can even choose to stay off the scale. What I can't seem to choose are my thoughts about food, weight and my body. I can't choose to enjoy food and find pleasure in the taste or texture without first thinking about what my body will do with it. I can't choose to take a day off from working out with out feeling guilty or that my body will turn to mush over night. It is this internal struggle that wears me out, and leaves me wondering if I will ever be free. Is that why my therapist finds this so "heat breaking?" Is it because she believes I will never truly be free and will simply have to learn live in the gray? I try not to let myself go there, because it too breaks my heart.
While others can look at me and see a "perfect" body, I rarely can see it. Even on those days that I see my body through others' eyes, it is hard for me to appreciate it because I know the price I have paid to achieve it. It is just reminder of my eating disordered life. It is like looking at the scars left behind after open heart surgery, or cancer, it is always a reminder of discomfort, pain and suffering.
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Body
Body
Psalm 139:13-16 ”You formed the way I think and feel.
You
put me together in my mother’s womb.
14
I praise you because you made me in such a wonderful way
I
know how amazing that was!
15
You could see my bones grow as my body took shape,
Hidden
in my mother’s womb.
16
You could see my body grow each passing day.
You
listed all my parts, and not one of them was missing.
My deepest wish today is to walk past my sacred mirror and
not be enslaved to scanning my body from head to toe to critique it and point
out the real or perceived flaws that can make or break my day. Actually my deepest wish would be to
walk past the sacred mirror and see the image of the amazing wonderful person
God formed in my mother’s womb. To
stop and gaze at this wonderful body as God did watching my bones grow as my body
took shape. How lovely to imagine God
watching his creation (me) grow with each passing day. I remember how I watched in awe from
the outside as my belly expanded with each passing day, not realizing fully the
miracle unfolding in my womb, I can only imagine God’s awe and pride in seeing
his design (me) taking shape in the womb.
I cannot begin know how sad and confused he must be by my
dissatisfaction with my body that he made in such a wonderful way. I have spent most my life thinking,
writing and talking about hating my body when I should be praising him for how
wonderfully he made me inside and out. I should know how amazing he made me and
praise him for that, yet I continue to find fault.
I know that some of this is the eating disorder talking, but
I also believe that women, in our culture are expected to have some degree of
dissatisfaction with our bodies, so it feels prideful or arrogant to just say
thank you when someone compliments our bodies. We aren’t supposed to love our
bodies, but starve them, work them out, and then we are still supposed to
criticize them for not being enough. We somehow have bought into the lies that we are
simply never enough inside or out. I also feel fraudulent, as I know the price I have paid to
attain this "Perfect" body that I rarely see. Social
norms coupled with the eating disorder feeds the poor body image, which in
reality is poor self-image. I
would, because of the eating disorder prefer that people not comment on my body
at all. For those of us that
struggle with, or against our bodies, these comments just create confusion. If I look “good” is this good, or is it
“bad?” When I hear people comment
that I look good, all I hear is “you have gained weight.” When they say I look
“bad,” I hear you are too thin. If
I am not careful both breath life into the eating disorder that hasn’t fully
arrested.
I am frustrated that I continue to find my identity in the
eating disorder instead of who I am in Christ. “Imagine a woman who refuses to use her life energy
disguising the change in her body and life” (Patricia Lynn Reilly). I have wasted so much of my life energy
on my body. I am so much more than my body. My deepest wish would be that I could see my body as Christ
sees it and allow my life energy of the Holy Spirit to burn brightly for all to
see. I regularly dim this light of
the Father as I spend my life energy focused on disliking my body. How can I possibly shine His love for
all of us, when I don’t love this body that he made in a wonderful way? I wonder which comes first loving this
body or the amazing woman that lives within?
I decide that today I am going to go through my usual ritual
of approaching the sacred mirror and stand naked before it, but I am not
allowed say anything negative about it.
I am just going to stand and praise God for how wonderfully made I
am. This is going to be rough and
far out of my comfort zone. Am I
allowed to like my body or at least parts of it? I feel God strongly calling be to go with it, so I do.
I start at the top of my head, and it feels awkward and
un-natural since I always start with my belly. I look at my hair the way it falls straight softly framing
my face. I have come to like my
brown poker straight hair. It has
been short, long, and everywhere in between. I really do have great hair and I like the way it is thick
and full. I love to change it up
with my mood knowing it will quickly grow from short to long so I can change it
up time and time again. I rarely
have a bad hair day. I would love
to let it go gray just to see what it would look like, but it seems like more
work than coloring it.
I grew up believing I was less than beautiful because my
eyes weren’t blue like my mother’s.
My eyes are dark brown like my father’s eyes and grandmother’s. I felt like it was my fault and I had
somehow let her down by having brown eyes. I was too young to understand
genetics at the time. I hated my
brown eyes until the days of Van Morrison and Jimmy Buffett’s Brown-Eyed Girl.
When my husband began calling me his brown-eyed girl I decided my eyes were the
perfect color. Is there even a
song about blue eyed girls? I tell
everyone that this is one song that will be played in celebration of my brown
eyes at my funeral. And yes, I had
some work done to take away the bags the rested under them since my childhood. I like them even better now, but I no
longer wish for blue eyes.
I take a moment and look into my eyes and think about being
the apple of God’s eye. It is hard to look myself in the eyes searching for
beauty when I am used to seeing ashes. I believe I am beginning to see that he
never meant for me to be ashes.
Then I allow my eyes scan my face noticing my freckles. I love my freckles and how they change
like objects of nature with the seasons.
They bud in the warmth of the spring sun, bloom like wild flowers in the
long days of summer’s light: becoming abundant and rich in color. My freckles begin to fade away with the
sinking sun of fall and then almost disappear; hibernating like bears in winter
until spring’s sun once again calls them forth.
There is a slight cleft in my chin that makes me feel unique
and special. No clue as to why,
but I have always felt it distinctive, my own unique beauty mark. I have always wanted to be pretty and
today as I look at my face I am pleased with what I see.
So my brown eyes wander to my body, as I stand naked….Now
What? I like that I am tallish for a woman, and am evenly proportioned. Weight gets evenly distributed when and
if I decide to gain it. I love my
broad shoulders that either came from years of swimming butterfly, or made
butterfly my best stoke. Either
way I like them and the way clothes hang from them down the length of my long
arms. My long arms glide
gracefully through the water or make it difficult to go over or around with a
tennis ball. According to my
coach, I have the wingspan of a 747.
This is good for tennis, but also reaching the top shelves in the
grocery, reaching to the sky in praise and worship, and group hugs. I like that
they are well muscled and look good in tank tops.
I stare at my breasts, which are unremarkable, but then I
remember seeing them in the reflection of the TV attached to the
treadmill. They have filled out
slightly and they have a nice feminine rise and fall to them as I run. Right now it is the best of both worlds. I can see the subtle fullness as they
rise and I can see my ribs across my chest as they fall. With the right bra on I no longer look
shapeless. I stop for a moment to
mourn the bones I once treasured concealed beneath my flesh. I am okay, and as friend after friend
loses some or all of a breast to Breast cancer I am grateful mine are both
intact covering the bones I once treasured. I find myself gently touching my small biopsy scar.
I turn around to look at my back. How am I going to do this? I grab a small hand mirror turning in all sorts of
directions until I can see most of it.
Wow, I am surprised to realize that it has just the right amount of
muscle that strikes a balance between strong and sexy. I think I like it and imagine slipping into
a dress that would accentuate this strength and beauty. It also still has the slight V shape
that either allowed me to be a great swimmer, or came from countless hours in
the pool.
I notice the small of my back how it is gently sloped and
meets the top of my pelvis The first thing that comes to mind isn’t what I see,
but what I feel. I feel a warmth
of affection move through me as I think of how many times my husband has rested
his hand in this very spot as he walks beside me or holds me in his arms. The
small of my back, I decide is just perfect. My eyes start to glance at my flesh just above my pelvis on
my flank. Since I can’t say anything nice, I stop myself and move on.
My ass? I still
really don’t have an ass right now.
I miss my once high shapely rock hard ass, but until I can lift again, I
am happy that it is small and tight.
I notice the area on the side of my hips where the glutes melt into my
legs. I love my legs and the
dancers hollow that is the space between the two. It is an indication of my athleticism. It is something that I have never set
out to create, but just happens from running, swimming, and skiing. I love that I don’t have to work for it
and that it is sexy.
I have always liked my legs they are long, well proportioned,
and muscled. I like the definition
in my quads, that I can pick see each of the four muscles that comprise my
thigh. I turn sideways and admire
the line along the side of my legs the separate the anterior muscles from the
posterior muscles of my hamstrings.
I grab the hand mirror once again to see that my hamstrings are defined
as well. I like the fact that they
are strong and have carried me through all of my days, sometimes walking and
often running. I love the way my
legs look when I wear heels, but quite frankly prefer running shoes and my
cowboy boots.
I stand and stare at myself wondering if I could love
this body as it is let alone with more weight on it.
Did I love it when I was I carried more weight? I find myself baffled by my own
question, because I can only assess what I see right now reflecting back at
me. Although I am not at my
thinnest, I am still not at my goal weight (what is it anyways). Would I still love these same parts of
me that I am able to love today? Is it a risk I am willing to take?
One thing I am sure of is that I am grateful that despite
all I have put it through, it still carries me through this journey! My deepest wish is that one day I can see my body and love it not just for its appearance, but the amazing woman living beneath the surface.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Mirror, Mirror.....We Are All The Fairest of Them All
Romans 6:13 "Do not let any part of your body become an instrument for evil to serve sin. Instead give yourself completely to God, for you were dead, but now you have a new life. So now use your whole body as an instrument to do what is right for the glory of God" (NLT)
The sun began to peak through my shades as my puppy nipped at my nose, both indicating that it was time to get out of my cozy bed and face the day. It has been difficult to rise each morning since have relapsed and developed a tormenting nerve dysfunction. I have come to dread those moments when I first open my eyes and begin to take inventory of my pain level. I am grateful that I seem to be having a few good days here and there. It gives me hope that there will come a day when the symptoms will subside. Regardless of the nerve pain I am still bound by the habits of the eating disorder rituals I put my self through before I even begin my day. I stroll pass the mirrors over the sinks on my way to use the bathroom and lift my pajama top to check my torso from hip bones to ribs. It is just quick check to see if I have morphed into something resembling my mother. My belly looks okay straight on, but how will it look in the full length mirror naked from all angles. My flank as always disgusts me from every angle. I survey my face, and cup my breast in the palms of my hands to check for fullness of both. Do they both seem fuller? Are they fuller? I am not sure how much longer I can stay off the scale despite the fact that my "skinny" jeans still fit? I know the reflection I see, is not always accurate and I am in desperate need for some empirical data that I am okay.
How can I possibly use my body as an instrument to do what is right for the glory of God while depriving it nourishment, hating it scrutinizing it, and not appreciating it for the gift that it is? As I now stare in the full length mirror surveying my body from every angle and judging it, I realize how sad it must make God, my father, that I dislike even one inch of this body that he carefully knit together stitch by stitch in my mother's womb, but I do. I find some irony that this same mother who was entrusted with such a gift within her womb, was the one who taught me to hate it. I seem to forget that I am first and foremost his precious daughter.
Despite the recommendation of my husband, therapist, and pastor, I step up to the sacred alter of the scale. I check the locker room making sure that it is empty. This is one of those rituals, like my body scan, I prefer to do away from prying eyes. I imagine God holding my hand as I step on the scale and I try not to panic. I get everything set just right and step up one foot, then the next. I move the weight across the lever of the scale. It rests slightly above the 116 lbs that I have hovered around for over a year. I quickly step down. I am still alone and I take a deep cleansing breath. It isn't as low as I would like, but not as high as I feared. I feel like I do when I have an epic "yard sale" wipe-out on my skis. You know, the type when you fall head over heals down the mountain leaving your gear scattered all over the trail and take a quick inventory of your limbs and head to make sure you are in tact? Once you realize there is nothing broken, except your pride, you gather your shit stand up and continue down the mountain hoping no one saw you.
I step off the scale and take an emotional inventory. How am I? How do I feel? Does this change who I am? Am I different than the moment before I stepped on the scale. I take another long cleansing breath as I realize I am okay and there doesn't appear to be anything broken. I am not broken, in this snap shot of time, I am okay.
I find that I am more conscious about my food today and my body, but try to eat and not restrict even though I am a little nervous. It is like getting back on my skis with my heart pounding and legs quivering, as I ski the rest of the way down the trail after the fall. Two days later after weighing myself, I find myself trying to moving forward, although a little more tentative and cautious with my food and body. This is ok and just like skiing, as long as I am pointed in the right direction, I will eventually finish the run with my heart pounding and my legs quivering.
I walk into my therapist's office and confess right away that I had made my way to the sacred scale. I assure her that, while I am okay, I am still trying to process how I feel about my body. I am not sure if I am seeing my reflection accurately and don't like it, or if the fat I see doesn't really exist at all but is a figment of my imagination. I am not sure what about my body is real and what isn't. I am so frustrated and confused. I am pretty sure that I am seeing myself accurately, but just don't like it. I guess she isn't so sure that I see my body and its "fat' with any clarity. She asks me to walk with her to the bathroom and show her the "fat" on my torso and she will show me her torso for comparison. My anxiety and also a sense of shame escalates in the 30 seconds it takes to walk to the bathroom. I wonder if she is going to say something like others have said to me when I complain of feeling thick and fat. I usually get "now how do you think that makes me feel?" Others just don't understand that those of us with eating disorders aren't just unsure of our bodies, but the soul residing within it. I am becoming more sure of the soul that resides in the body, but there is still some sort of limbic lag that won't allow my body image to catch up with my soul.
I have never thought about my therapist's weight or taken notice of her body before, so this feels awkward to me. I see her kindness, intelligence, compassion, and skill, but not her weight. I try to remember my first impression of her appearance. I was drawn to her gorgeous eyes, wide easy smile, and great hair. I guess because of where I sit across from her I was also aware of her feet. Ugh! I have always been self conscious of my worn battered feet and toes, and she has fucking perfect feet! She had an air of class and confidence that initially intimidated me, but once she swore...I knew I was comfortable, in good hands and could relate to her, and her perfect feet! I could even take my shoes off to tuck my gnarly feet up under me. This exercise, however pushed me way out of my comfort zone with her. I am used to scanning and judging my body, but I don't scan or judge others' bodies.
We stand side by side (I feel like I am going to throw up). She has me lift up my shirt as she lifts hers. She points to the spots that are scars from her gall bladder surgery. Fuck, what if she sees the scars from my own hands on my body? I am relived they appear to have faded or hidden in my skin darkened from the sun. She has me look at her white belly and then look at mine. The first thing I notice is the difference in color not size. To me, she just looks a little round, solid, but I don't see fat. Her skin is smooth and free of "rolls". This is feeling very awkward and intimate, but I trust her, so I continue on. I turn sideways (always to the left), I point out the roundness of my belly and the flesh I hate that sits on the back of my waist. She points at my hip bones that jut out (not like they used to) and reveals that she can't even see her hip bones. I point out that I can't stand anything sticking out past the points of my hip bones. Then she turns side ways and runs her hand along her torso pointing out how it is rounded and soft how women were designed. She asks me to touch her. I am tentative, as she encourages me to see that she is soft and fleshy. She is softer than she looks. And she reminds me that the flesh on my flank is from babies. I remind myself that this is true. Not only is it from them, it was for them to have room to grow. I am sad that I feel that way about the part of my body that allowed for my greatest treasures in my life....my boys. I feel myself blink back tears.
It is days later and I am still trying process my bathroom session. I am a slow processor and was so overwhelmed that it isn't until I journal for hours in the car and re-live the experience that I can express how I truly experienced the session. Not only was I exposing my body to my therapist, but part of my rituals that no one has ever seen. I know that people see my body in the gym, locker rooms, in bathing suits, but I have never had anyone watch me look at my body in the sacred mirror, or touch me while in the process. She turns me around and touches the hollows (dimples) of my pelvic girdle where I have little flesh. I didn't realize she would touch me, I was startled, as I always am when I don't see touch coming, but really I am ok with it. I still, after 28 years can be jumpy if I don't realize Kurt is going to touch me. I am shocked as I realize that I still carry this response to sudden touching of my body. Oh how the body remembers trauma.
The power of this exercise isn't just standing side by side and seeing our bodies, but the intimacy of letting her into my ritual world. The only thing worse would be purging with her watching me! She knows so much about me and now I think to my self she has, with my permission, breeched the "final frontier"of my sacred world. It was so different as she stood inches from me looking me in the eyes, not across the room with her in her chair and me on the couch (looking at her feet). There isn't much space in the small confines of the restroom for me to move away or even look away. My body wasn't the only thing exposed that day and I feel very vulnerable and transparent in the small space.
We talk for a few moments about her body not changing what I think about her, and mine doesn't change who I am. I feel exposed and necessarily violated as I do when treated for my nerve. I am uncomfortable, but hoping the discomfort and humiliation will be worth it. She hugged me while telling me I was okay. I frankly didn't realize the intensity of my emotions until I felt the symptoms of my nerve flaring as a result of my whole limbic system processing and recalling the event.
I am a slow processor especially when it comes to understanding me. What I think was supposed to be an exercise to allow me to see my body with some clarity morphed into an exercise on trust!
The sun began to peak through my shades as my puppy nipped at my nose, both indicating that it was time to get out of my cozy bed and face the day. It has been difficult to rise each morning since have relapsed and developed a tormenting nerve dysfunction. I have come to dread those moments when I first open my eyes and begin to take inventory of my pain level. I am grateful that I seem to be having a few good days here and there. It gives me hope that there will come a day when the symptoms will subside. Regardless of the nerve pain I am still bound by the habits of the eating disorder rituals I put my self through before I even begin my day. I stroll pass the mirrors over the sinks on my way to use the bathroom and lift my pajama top to check my torso from hip bones to ribs. It is just quick check to see if I have morphed into something resembling my mother. My belly looks okay straight on, but how will it look in the full length mirror naked from all angles. My flank as always disgusts me from every angle. I survey my face, and cup my breast in the palms of my hands to check for fullness of both. Do they both seem fuller? Are they fuller? I am not sure how much longer I can stay off the scale despite the fact that my "skinny" jeans still fit? I know the reflection I see, is not always accurate and I am in desperate need for some empirical data that I am okay.
How can I possibly use my body as an instrument to do what is right for the glory of God while depriving it nourishment, hating it scrutinizing it, and not appreciating it for the gift that it is? As I now stare in the full length mirror surveying my body from every angle and judging it, I realize how sad it must make God, my father, that I dislike even one inch of this body that he carefully knit together stitch by stitch in my mother's womb, but I do. I find some irony that this same mother who was entrusted with such a gift within her womb, was the one who taught me to hate it. I seem to forget that I am first and foremost his precious daughter.
Despite the recommendation of my husband, therapist, and pastor, I step up to the sacred alter of the scale. I check the locker room making sure that it is empty. This is one of those rituals, like my body scan, I prefer to do away from prying eyes. I imagine God holding my hand as I step on the scale and I try not to panic. I get everything set just right and step up one foot, then the next. I move the weight across the lever of the scale. It rests slightly above the 116 lbs that I have hovered around for over a year. I quickly step down. I am still alone and I take a deep cleansing breath. It isn't as low as I would like, but not as high as I feared. I feel like I do when I have an epic "yard sale" wipe-out on my skis. You know, the type when you fall head over heals down the mountain leaving your gear scattered all over the trail and take a quick inventory of your limbs and head to make sure you are in tact? Once you realize there is nothing broken, except your pride, you gather your shit stand up and continue down the mountain hoping no one saw you.
I step off the scale and take an emotional inventory. How am I? How do I feel? Does this change who I am? Am I different than the moment before I stepped on the scale. I take another long cleansing breath as I realize I am okay and there doesn't appear to be anything broken. I am not broken, in this snap shot of time, I am okay.
I find that I am more conscious about my food today and my body, but try to eat and not restrict even though I am a little nervous. It is like getting back on my skis with my heart pounding and legs quivering, as I ski the rest of the way down the trail after the fall. Two days later after weighing myself, I find myself trying to moving forward, although a little more tentative and cautious with my food and body. This is ok and just like skiing, as long as I am pointed in the right direction, I will eventually finish the run with my heart pounding and my legs quivering.
I walk into my therapist's office and confess right away that I had made my way to the sacred scale. I assure her that, while I am okay, I am still trying to process how I feel about my body. I am not sure if I am seeing my reflection accurately and don't like it, or if the fat I see doesn't really exist at all but is a figment of my imagination. I am not sure what about my body is real and what isn't. I am so frustrated and confused. I am pretty sure that I am seeing myself accurately, but just don't like it. I guess she isn't so sure that I see my body and its "fat' with any clarity. She asks me to walk with her to the bathroom and show her the "fat" on my torso and she will show me her torso for comparison. My anxiety and also a sense of shame escalates in the 30 seconds it takes to walk to the bathroom. I wonder if she is going to say something like others have said to me when I complain of feeling thick and fat. I usually get "now how do you think that makes me feel?" Others just don't understand that those of us with eating disorders aren't just unsure of our bodies, but the soul residing within it. I am becoming more sure of the soul that resides in the body, but there is still some sort of limbic lag that won't allow my body image to catch up with my soul.
I have never thought about my therapist's weight or taken notice of her body before, so this feels awkward to me. I see her kindness, intelligence, compassion, and skill, but not her weight. I try to remember my first impression of her appearance. I was drawn to her gorgeous eyes, wide easy smile, and great hair. I guess because of where I sit across from her I was also aware of her feet. Ugh! I have always been self conscious of my worn battered feet and toes, and she has fucking perfect feet! She had an air of class and confidence that initially intimidated me, but once she swore...I knew I was comfortable, in good hands and could relate to her, and her perfect feet! I could even take my shoes off to tuck my gnarly feet up under me. This exercise, however pushed me way out of my comfort zone with her. I am used to scanning and judging my body, but I don't scan or judge others' bodies.
We stand side by side (I feel like I am going to throw up). She has me lift up my shirt as she lifts hers. She points to the spots that are scars from her gall bladder surgery. Fuck, what if she sees the scars from my own hands on my body? I am relived they appear to have faded or hidden in my skin darkened from the sun. She has me look at her white belly and then look at mine. The first thing I notice is the difference in color not size. To me, she just looks a little round, solid, but I don't see fat. Her skin is smooth and free of "rolls". This is feeling very awkward and intimate, but I trust her, so I continue on. I turn sideways (always to the left), I point out the roundness of my belly and the flesh I hate that sits on the back of my waist. She points at my hip bones that jut out (not like they used to) and reveals that she can't even see her hip bones. I point out that I can't stand anything sticking out past the points of my hip bones. Then she turns side ways and runs her hand along her torso pointing out how it is rounded and soft how women were designed. She asks me to touch her. I am tentative, as she encourages me to see that she is soft and fleshy. She is softer than she looks. And she reminds me that the flesh on my flank is from babies. I remind myself that this is true. Not only is it from them, it was for them to have room to grow. I am sad that I feel that way about the part of my body that allowed for my greatest treasures in my life....my boys. I feel myself blink back tears.
It is days later and I am still trying process my bathroom session. I am a slow processor and was so overwhelmed that it isn't until I journal for hours in the car and re-live the experience that I can express how I truly experienced the session. Not only was I exposing my body to my therapist, but part of my rituals that no one has ever seen. I know that people see my body in the gym, locker rooms, in bathing suits, but I have never had anyone watch me look at my body in the sacred mirror, or touch me while in the process. She turns me around and touches the hollows (dimples) of my pelvic girdle where I have little flesh. I didn't realize she would touch me, I was startled, as I always am when I don't see touch coming, but really I am ok with it. I still, after 28 years can be jumpy if I don't realize Kurt is going to touch me. I am shocked as I realize that I still carry this response to sudden touching of my body. Oh how the body remembers trauma.
The power of this exercise isn't just standing side by side and seeing our bodies, but the intimacy of letting her into my ritual world. The only thing worse would be purging with her watching me! She knows so much about me and now I think to my self she has, with my permission, breeched the "final frontier"of my sacred world. It was so different as she stood inches from me looking me in the eyes, not across the room with her in her chair and me on the couch (looking at her feet). There isn't much space in the small confines of the restroom for me to move away or even look away. My body wasn't the only thing exposed that day and I feel very vulnerable and transparent in the small space.
We talk for a few moments about her body not changing what I think about her, and mine doesn't change who I am. I feel exposed and necessarily violated as I do when treated for my nerve. I am uncomfortable, but hoping the discomfort and humiliation will be worth it. She hugged me while telling me I was okay. I frankly didn't realize the intensity of my emotions until I felt the symptoms of my nerve flaring as a result of my whole limbic system processing and recalling the event.
I am a slow processor especially when it comes to understanding me. What I think was supposed to be an exercise to allow me to see my body with some clarity morphed into an exercise on trust!
Friday, September 5, 2014
Quiet Is Not Silence
Quiet Is Not Silence!
Isaiah 18:44 "For the Lord has told me this 'I will watch quietly from my dwelling place - as quietly as heat rises on a summer day, or as the morning dew forms during the harvest" (NLT)
Zechariah 2:6 "for whoever touches you touches the apple of his eye - "
I am home from San Francisco and from my final weekend in Walloon, aka My Happy Place! And I find my self trusting that even though God appears to be silent when it comes to my afflictions, that he is indeed watching quietly from his dwelling place. I sometimes confuse his quiet presence with silence. I am discouraged many days as I still struggle with the nerve damage and the eating disorder, but God has not been silent, he has just been quiet. I find that I need to quiet my self and stay in the moment to hear his voice whispering quietly that I will be okay. I seem to be hearing this when I am still and keeping my focus on him and who he says I am in him. I hear his whisper today as I take the paddle board out on the water. It is quiet, it is peaceful as the sun's reflections mirrors God's radiance back at me, and in the whisper of the wind I hear him speak to me "Liz you are going to be okay, you have always been okay, you are the apple of my eye"
My nerve pain isn't necessarily better than before I traveled to San Francisco this time. I am actually worse for a few days and my symptoms flare like a raging fire. I find myself doubled up on the bathroom floor with pain gripping my body from my waist to my knees. There isn't much I can do, but wait it out and hope it last 5-10 minutes, not 30 minutes. It feels like the contractions that come during the transition stage of labor and all you want is to grab the nurse by the neck demanding an epidural. In my episode of pain, I remember that I AM better than I was 4 months ago and try not to panic. I believe God is watching, growing and strengthening me to be the person in Christ he intends for me to be, but it is painful.
So, what does a person with an eating disorder do when they feel pain, apparently physically as well as emotionally? Well this person turns back to it. I face the fact that my physical pain is emotional because it is in these times that I feel God has gone silent on me and I feel alone. It is the emotional pain of feeling abandoned by my heavenly father that tears at me. So I purge, hurting my body on my own terms once again. When the pain both physical and emotional subside, I turn back to God. I am so grateful that my God is always loving and always forgiving. Is my purge my "fuck you" to God for allowing the pain? Maybe, I have never really though about it that way before. I know that people reading my story are sometimes shocked by my words, after all how can a woman of God use such language. Here is the thing, and I don't pretend to be a great theologian, but whether I write the words or say them out loud, God already knows just what I am thinking and feeling, but He still loves me and I am still the "apple of his eye." He loves me through the pain, and I like to think He appreciates my honesty (maybe not my choice of words.) He can handle my anger. He can handle all of our anger as he watches from his dwelling place waiting for us to calm down and return quietly to him. He rocks!
I wake with a well deserved headache and my heart throwing numerous PVC's from the purging. I admit to myself that it does concern me, just a little, and I wonder how much damage I have really done to my body over the years. The wondering moves like a freight train coming at me, from concern to fear as I attend the funeral of a friend who suffered for years from eating disorders and addictions. Her body, in her mid forties, just more or less gave out. I can't go back and repair what I have already done, but can I stop the train from plunging off the cliff?
The Priest's message, for this almost Pentecostal woman, was simple and beautiful. Here is all I need to say "Help me Jesus and I am sorry" I know that there are earthly consequences for the choices I have made, but he wants to help me and he will forgive me. I broke down sobbing like a child, not just in grief for my old friend and her family that loved her desperately, but tears for myself. Tears for the time I did cry out "Jesus Help Me, I Am Sorry!" I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving as I realize that the times I didn't "feel" his presence, He was still there watching quietly from his dwelling place waiting for the right moment to reach down and "Help Me." How do I know he was watching? The answer is simple; I know this because I am here. Had he abandoned me and gone silent, I would have surely perished either in the eating disorder or my own hands.
Close, I was so close to hurting myself and allowing myself to succumb to the eating disorder as a less "messy" suicide. I now understand how, for some, that life just seems like too much. It can be excruciating, and we don't want to leave our children, families, and friends to grieve, and pick up the pieces, but we don't want to live in the pain the leaves us feeling lifeless either. Such is the dilemma for those who contemplate life and death? I am glad I chose to live because I am not as sick or as in much pain physically or emotionally as I was. What if I hadn't waited it out? What if I hadn't trusted God to watch over me from his dwelling place and strengthen my faith to trust that he himself would lift my beleaguered body to its feet. Daniel 8:18 (NLT) " While he was speaking to me, I was in a deep sleep with my face to the ground. Then He touched me and raised me to my feet."
Had I not chosen life, my glorious summer full of laughter and joy wouldn't have happened. My family's and friends' memorable summer wouldn't have happened. Well, summer would have happened, as time stands still for none of us, but the memorable summer would have been replaced with a memorial, my memorial. So I stand on my feet watching the grieving family members of my friend file slowly down the aisle with tears stained faces, and I hope it is not too late for this body to press on. I also hope that this is something I can look back on when life sucks the life out of me, and remember what if I hadn't pushed through one more day......
Isaiah 18:44 "For the Lord has told me this 'I will watch quietly from my dwelling place - as quietly as heat rises on a summer day, or as the morning dew forms during the harvest" (NLT)
Zechariah 2:6 "for whoever touches you touches the apple of his eye - "
I am home from San Francisco and from my final weekend in Walloon, aka My Happy Place! And I find my self trusting that even though God appears to be silent when it comes to my afflictions, that he is indeed watching quietly from his dwelling place. I sometimes confuse his quiet presence with silence. I am discouraged many days as I still struggle with the nerve damage and the eating disorder, but God has not been silent, he has just been quiet. I find that I need to quiet my self and stay in the moment to hear his voice whispering quietly that I will be okay. I seem to be hearing this when I am still and keeping my focus on him and who he says I am in him. I hear his whisper today as I take the paddle board out on the water. It is quiet, it is peaceful as the sun's reflections mirrors God's radiance back at me, and in the whisper of the wind I hear him speak to me "Liz you are going to be okay, you have always been okay, you are the apple of my eye"
My nerve pain isn't necessarily better than before I traveled to San Francisco this time. I am actually worse for a few days and my symptoms flare like a raging fire. I find myself doubled up on the bathroom floor with pain gripping my body from my waist to my knees. There isn't much I can do, but wait it out and hope it last 5-10 minutes, not 30 minutes. It feels like the contractions that come during the transition stage of labor and all you want is to grab the nurse by the neck demanding an epidural. In my episode of pain, I remember that I AM better than I was 4 months ago and try not to panic. I believe God is watching, growing and strengthening me to be the person in Christ he intends for me to be, but it is painful.
So, what does a person with an eating disorder do when they feel pain, apparently physically as well as emotionally? Well this person turns back to it. I face the fact that my physical pain is emotional because it is in these times that I feel God has gone silent on me and I feel alone. It is the emotional pain of feeling abandoned by my heavenly father that tears at me. So I purge, hurting my body on my own terms once again. When the pain both physical and emotional subside, I turn back to God. I am so grateful that my God is always loving and always forgiving. Is my purge my "fuck you" to God for allowing the pain? Maybe, I have never really though about it that way before. I know that people reading my story are sometimes shocked by my words, after all how can a woman of God use such language. Here is the thing, and I don't pretend to be a great theologian, but whether I write the words or say them out loud, God already knows just what I am thinking and feeling, but He still loves me and I am still the "apple of his eye." He loves me through the pain, and I like to think He appreciates my honesty (maybe not my choice of words.) He can handle my anger. He can handle all of our anger as he watches from his dwelling place waiting for us to calm down and return quietly to him. He rocks!
I wake with a well deserved headache and my heart throwing numerous PVC's from the purging. I admit to myself that it does concern me, just a little, and I wonder how much damage I have really done to my body over the years. The wondering moves like a freight train coming at me, from concern to fear as I attend the funeral of a friend who suffered for years from eating disorders and addictions. Her body, in her mid forties, just more or less gave out. I can't go back and repair what I have already done, but can I stop the train from plunging off the cliff?
The Priest's message, for this almost Pentecostal woman, was simple and beautiful. Here is all I need to say "Help me Jesus and I am sorry" I know that there are earthly consequences for the choices I have made, but he wants to help me and he will forgive me. I broke down sobbing like a child, not just in grief for my old friend and her family that loved her desperately, but tears for myself. Tears for the time I did cry out "Jesus Help Me, I Am Sorry!" I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving as I realize that the times I didn't "feel" his presence, He was still there watching quietly from his dwelling place waiting for the right moment to reach down and "Help Me." How do I know he was watching? The answer is simple; I know this because I am here. Had he abandoned me and gone silent, I would have surely perished either in the eating disorder or my own hands.
Close, I was so close to hurting myself and allowing myself to succumb to the eating disorder as a less "messy" suicide. I now understand how, for some, that life just seems like too much. It can be excruciating, and we don't want to leave our children, families, and friends to grieve, and pick up the pieces, but we don't want to live in the pain the leaves us feeling lifeless either. Such is the dilemma for those who contemplate life and death? I am glad I chose to live because I am not as sick or as in much pain physically or emotionally as I was. What if I hadn't waited it out? What if I hadn't trusted God to watch over me from his dwelling place and strengthen my faith to trust that he himself would lift my beleaguered body to its feet. Daniel 8:18 (NLT) " While he was speaking to me, I was in a deep sleep with my face to the ground. Then He touched me and raised me to my feet."
Had I not chosen life, my glorious summer full of laughter and joy wouldn't have happened. My family's and friends' memorable summer wouldn't have happened. Well, summer would have happened, as time stands still for none of us, but the memorable summer would have been replaced with a memorial, my memorial. So I stand on my feet watching the grieving family members of my friend file slowly down the aisle with tears stained faces, and I hope it is not too late for this body to press on. I also hope that this is something I can look back on when life sucks the life out of me, and remember what if I hadn't pushed through one more day......
Sunday, August 31, 2014
Rain
James 5:15 & 18 15"Such a prayer offered in faith will heal the sick, and the Lord will make you well. And if you have committed sins, you will be forgiven. 18"Then he ( Elijah) prayed again, the sky sent down rain and the earth began to yield its crops" Parentheses added (NLT)
I still believe that God is my healer even though I have no clue why the illnesses I have endured persist. So, like the persistent widow, I will keep praying until the day of healing and victory. It is hard to stay persistent when I quite frankly, I don't feel like it. I have spent the last week alone in San Francisco receiving two hours of treatment daily and finally the ever pleasant nerve block. I worry that the treatment has caused me to flare up the symptoms a little. I try to not freak out about it and trust that God has it all figured out. I believe that he is sovereign and there is a lesson to be learned in all of this and I hope to find out sooner than later.
I am feeling so very low as I wait for the jet that will take me home. I hope that this will bringing out of the depression sneaking up on me. The symptoms of the eating disorder also flare despite my effort to eat as a normal person with out an eating disorder would eat. Again, not actually knowing what this looks like, I end up failing and purge. The first night, I do not beat myself up, but try to use it as an opportunity to figure out what triggered the event. I met a good friend that I hadn't seen in over a year for dinner. What are the chances of us being in San Francisco at the same time. It felt so good to see a familiar face in a strange city and to feel her embrace. Was it an issue of sabotaging the good times of my life once again? I think I often lose track of my food when I am present and engaged with people, then once alone, I panic. I have been feeling so thick and uncomfortable in my body lately that the panic, that I have been able to keep to an annoying drip like that of a leaky faucet, began to flow from a stream, to a river, to a cascading waterfall. Once It began there was no holding the food in. Where as sometimes I start the process and can hold it in check like turning on the faucet allowing a little to escape then I quickly turn it off. This time, maybe it was the isolation I felt in the lonely hotel room, as well as the opportunity of being alone, I didn't even attempt to shut it down. I opened up my gut and watched my food pour out of me. Empty! My body felt felt not only empty, but depleted and it seemed to void the beauty of the reunion. How Could I forget that the shame of the purge is so much worse than the discomfort of being full?
Maybe it was needing something to control as I have no control over my nerve disorder. Or maybe it was a release of grief over all that I have lost to the nerve malfunction. It was wonderful to her about my friends triathlons and her success. She is really an elite athlete so I don't compete with her, but I was painfully aware of how much I missed training and competing. As I sat and listened to her, I found myself repeating with my internal voice "you can still run, you can still swim, you can still run, you can still swim!" This is true, but will I ever really compete again? I may, I may not, but I trust for Him to strengthen me to live, for now, in the "GRAY"
I still believe that God is my healer even though I have no clue why the illnesses I have endured persist. So, like the persistent widow, I will keep praying until the day of healing and victory. It is hard to stay persistent when I quite frankly, I don't feel like it. I have spent the last week alone in San Francisco receiving two hours of treatment daily and finally the ever pleasant nerve block. I worry that the treatment has caused me to flare up the symptoms a little. I try to not freak out about it and trust that God has it all figured out. I believe that he is sovereign and there is a lesson to be learned in all of this and I hope to find out sooner than later.
I am feeling so very low as I wait for the jet that will take me home. I hope that this will bringing out of the depression sneaking up on me. The symptoms of the eating disorder also flare despite my effort to eat as a normal person with out an eating disorder would eat. Again, not actually knowing what this looks like, I end up failing and purge. The first night, I do not beat myself up, but try to use it as an opportunity to figure out what triggered the event. I met a good friend that I hadn't seen in over a year for dinner. What are the chances of us being in San Francisco at the same time. It felt so good to see a familiar face in a strange city and to feel her embrace. Was it an issue of sabotaging the good times of my life once again? I think I often lose track of my food when I am present and engaged with people, then once alone, I panic. I have been feeling so thick and uncomfortable in my body lately that the panic, that I have been able to keep to an annoying drip like that of a leaky faucet, began to flow from a stream, to a river, to a cascading waterfall. Once It began there was no holding the food in. Where as sometimes I start the process and can hold it in check like turning on the faucet allowing a little to escape then I quickly turn it off. This time, maybe it was the isolation I felt in the lonely hotel room, as well as the opportunity of being alone, I didn't even attempt to shut it down. I opened up my gut and watched my food pour out of me. Empty! My body felt felt not only empty, but depleted and it seemed to void the beauty of the reunion. How Could I forget that the shame of the purge is so much worse than the discomfort of being full?
Maybe it was needing something to control as I have no control over my nerve disorder. Or maybe it was a release of grief over all that I have lost to the nerve malfunction. It was wonderful to her about my friends triathlons and her success. She is really an elite athlete so I don't compete with her, but I was painfully aware of how much I missed training and competing. As I sat and listened to her, I found myself repeating with my internal voice "you can still run, you can still swim, you can still run, you can still swim!" This is true, but will I ever really compete again? I may, I may not, but I trust for Him to strengthen me to live, for now, in the "GRAY"
Thursday, August 14, 2014
Wondering
Proverbs 29:25 (MSG) "The fear of human opinion disables; Trusting in God protects you from that."
Hebrews 10:32,35-36 Remember those earlier days after you received the light, when you stood your ground in a great contest in the face of suffering...So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.
I have spent the last week or so wondering what would my life be like if I were entirely healed? What if the fear of my mother hadn't disabled me? I find it difficult to imagine leading my life without the eating disorder floating above me or vestiges of it hiding in the corners of my mind. I still wake each day and do a quick scan of my body and heed the call of my full length mirror. It is work to chose relationships with real people instead of my workouts, but I find myself picking relationships over the workouts more and more. Sometimes the mental workout I put myself through to make this decision feels like a workout itself, but once made, it is always worth it. However, I still think about the calories burned or not burned through the day, then wake the next morning and scan my body and realize I am still okay. It is also work to resist the urge to purge, but little by little, I am finding easier to tolerate the "extra" food, more than the guilt and shame of purging.
I am moving forward, but it isn't easy. I am very uncomfortable in my body right now. I lived, as best as I could, for the past month as what I imagine someone that has never had an eating disorder lives like. Of course this isn't fully possible because I do have an eating disorder. None the less, I shook my fist at the eating disorder "not this summer eating disorder! You can't have it, this is mine to claim, enjoy, and savor:" I was as strong in my resolve to re-claim my summer as I was three years ago to restrict, purge, and fade away. And when I felt weak, I called on God's promises and remained confident as I stood my ground and he held my other hand tightly in his fist.
I reached out for my summer, and snatched it out of the hands of the eating disorder, as well as the hands of my ever present neuralgia. I still worked out, but allowed myself to really soak in the majesty of my surroundings, runs by the bay, walks in the woods, open water swims, skiing, and paddle-boarding. Something felt different as I did all these same things that I do every summer. That is it! I felt! I didn't go numb in the working out, but became connected to the creator and all his creation, including people. I laughed, slept, read, wrote, relaxed, and played. I sat and stared at my hydrangeas for no other reason than I was awed by there fullness and beauty. They seemed to bloom before my eyes growing heavier, and more luscious with each passing day.
I allow that disabled child hidden within me rise to the surface, like the nymph of the dragon flies crawling out of the water and then breaking free of the cocoon to fly, explore and play. Forgetting the freezing cold water, I jumped right in to swing my nephews around, or dump them off the raft knowing darn well that I would be dumped in return. I "bathed" in the lake using the suds in my hair to make it stick up in all kinds of funny ways just to see the boys crack up, then dove into the clear cool water to rinse it all away. I float back to the surface feeling free to be me, and I little more aware of who I really am. I think to myself I need to start playing more. I have A LOT of catching up to do.
I am uncomfortable in my body, and terrified to step on a scale because at the same time I kind of like how I look right now....I think? My therapist shakes her head and tells me to stay off the scale. Part of me wants to say "Really? You are not the boss of me!!" Then I remember that not only is she the professional, but I pray daily for her wisdom in treating me. I may or may not step on the sacred scale, but I take back the sarcasm and put on my grown up hat and say "thank you for your wisdom." And, I am still terrified to step on the scale, and immeasurably uncomfortable with my body. I feel like over night the area just above my hip bones on my back has swollen with undesired flesh and I feel like my belly flops onto the crisp cotton sheets of my bed as I lie on my side. I can almost swear I hear it scrape across the surface of the sheets as I move. I am consumed with with checking out my body.
I find myself dressing and undressing in front of the mirror or at least lifting up my shirt to survey the flesh rising above my hips and circling my waist. My skinny jeans? Where are they? Ah, relief as I dig them out of my suit case, pull them on and they still fit. This is still not reassuring as I try to remember how they used to fit, or if they had just been washed and dried. Are they stretched out from wearing them or are they snug from the drier? Does it matter? Does it change who I am? Yes it matters even though I know it doesn't change who I am, and I have a better sense of who I am these days. Seriously, I stand in front of the mirror and hear the the theme song from Frozen play in my head "let it go, let it go...."
Reading an article on body image, I am challenged to think about what image I want to project with my body. Do I want to appear to be fit, toned and muscled, or frail, sick, and weak? My initial response is strong, despite being frail. I look back on pictures of me when I was very "scary" thin. I actually miss that body. The one with the hollow belly, hollow cheeks and veins protruding where they shouldn't. I know I was sick, but there was something about pressing on through physical tasks despite my frailty that made me feel strong. Maybe it was my way of "proving" to others that I wasn't as sick as they deemed me, or maybe convincing myself that I wasn't sick.
Then I look further back and miss my perfect B cup breasts and more muscled yet softly feminine body.
Ugh!! I am so confused. My body, right now, I am guessing is somewhere in between. One minute I am liking the fullness of my breasts thinking that they are full and luscious like the pink blooms of my hydrangeas. The next minute I think they are just heavy, and ready to go like the flowers I dead head and discard as they have lost their beauty as they fall, touch the ground and begin to die. My flank, I will probably always feel thick and unattractive as I remember my mother fingers poking me. "You better watch it, you are getting a little thick in the waist." I sing to myself again "let it go, let it go", but it still haunts me. I try to turn back to what God says about me. "I am fearfully and wonderfully made" Psalm 139:14(NIV) My shape is unique, and it is the sum of all of me that God has made, not just my body!
Hebrews 10:32,35-36 Remember those earlier days after you received the light, when you stood your ground in a great contest in the face of suffering...So do not throw away your confidence; it will be richly rewarded. You need to persevere so that when you have done the will of God, you will receive what he has promised.
I have spent the last week or so wondering what would my life be like if I were entirely healed? What if the fear of my mother hadn't disabled me? I find it difficult to imagine leading my life without the eating disorder floating above me or vestiges of it hiding in the corners of my mind. I still wake each day and do a quick scan of my body and heed the call of my full length mirror. It is work to chose relationships with real people instead of my workouts, but I find myself picking relationships over the workouts more and more. Sometimes the mental workout I put myself through to make this decision feels like a workout itself, but once made, it is always worth it. However, I still think about the calories burned or not burned through the day, then wake the next morning and scan my body and realize I am still okay. It is also work to resist the urge to purge, but little by little, I am finding easier to tolerate the "extra" food, more than the guilt and shame of purging.
I am moving forward, but it isn't easy. I am very uncomfortable in my body right now. I lived, as best as I could, for the past month as what I imagine someone that has never had an eating disorder lives like. Of course this isn't fully possible because I do have an eating disorder. None the less, I shook my fist at the eating disorder "not this summer eating disorder! You can't have it, this is mine to claim, enjoy, and savor:" I was as strong in my resolve to re-claim my summer as I was three years ago to restrict, purge, and fade away. And when I felt weak, I called on God's promises and remained confident as I stood my ground and he held my other hand tightly in his fist.
I reached out for my summer, and snatched it out of the hands of the eating disorder, as well as the hands of my ever present neuralgia. I still worked out, but allowed myself to really soak in the majesty of my surroundings, runs by the bay, walks in the woods, open water swims, skiing, and paddle-boarding. Something felt different as I did all these same things that I do every summer. That is it! I felt! I didn't go numb in the working out, but became connected to the creator and all his creation, including people. I laughed, slept, read, wrote, relaxed, and played. I sat and stared at my hydrangeas for no other reason than I was awed by there fullness and beauty. They seemed to bloom before my eyes growing heavier, and more luscious with each passing day.
I allow that disabled child hidden within me rise to the surface, like the nymph of the dragon flies crawling out of the water and then breaking free of the cocoon to fly, explore and play. Forgetting the freezing cold water, I jumped right in to swing my nephews around, or dump them off the raft knowing darn well that I would be dumped in return. I "bathed" in the lake using the suds in my hair to make it stick up in all kinds of funny ways just to see the boys crack up, then dove into the clear cool water to rinse it all away. I float back to the surface feeling free to be me, and I little more aware of who I really am. I think to myself I need to start playing more. I have A LOT of catching up to do.
I am uncomfortable in my body, and terrified to step on a scale because at the same time I kind of like how I look right now....I think? My therapist shakes her head and tells me to stay off the scale. Part of me wants to say "Really? You are not the boss of me!!" Then I remember that not only is she the professional, but I pray daily for her wisdom in treating me. I may or may not step on the sacred scale, but I take back the sarcasm and put on my grown up hat and say "thank you for your wisdom." And, I am still terrified to step on the scale, and immeasurably uncomfortable with my body. I feel like over night the area just above my hip bones on my back has swollen with undesired flesh and I feel like my belly flops onto the crisp cotton sheets of my bed as I lie on my side. I can almost swear I hear it scrape across the surface of the sheets as I move. I am consumed with with checking out my body.
I find myself dressing and undressing in front of the mirror or at least lifting up my shirt to survey the flesh rising above my hips and circling my waist. My skinny jeans? Where are they? Ah, relief as I dig them out of my suit case, pull them on and they still fit. This is still not reassuring as I try to remember how they used to fit, or if they had just been washed and dried. Are they stretched out from wearing them or are they snug from the drier? Does it matter? Does it change who I am? Yes it matters even though I know it doesn't change who I am, and I have a better sense of who I am these days. Seriously, I stand in front of the mirror and hear the the theme song from Frozen play in my head "let it go, let it go...."
Reading an article on body image, I am challenged to think about what image I want to project with my body. Do I want to appear to be fit, toned and muscled, or frail, sick, and weak? My initial response is strong, despite being frail. I look back on pictures of me when I was very "scary" thin. I actually miss that body. The one with the hollow belly, hollow cheeks and veins protruding where they shouldn't. I know I was sick, but there was something about pressing on through physical tasks despite my frailty that made me feel strong. Maybe it was my way of "proving" to others that I wasn't as sick as they deemed me, or maybe convincing myself that I wasn't sick.
Then I look further back and miss my perfect B cup breasts and more muscled yet softly feminine body.
Ugh!! I am so confused. My body, right now, I am guessing is somewhere in between. One minute I am liking the fullness of my breasts thinking that they are full and luscious like the pink blooms of my hydrangeas. The next minute I think they are just heavy, and ready to go like the flowers I dead head and discard as they have lost their beauty as they fall, touch the ground and begin to die. My flank, I will probably always feel thick and unattractive as I remember my mother fingers poking me. "You better watch it, you are getting a little thick in the waist." I sing to myself again "let it go, let it go", but it still haunts me. I try to turn back to what God says about me. "I am fearfully and wonderfully made" Psalm 139:14(NIV) My shape is unique, and it is the sum of all of me that God has made, not just my body!
Thursday, July 31, 2014
Ready
Philippians 1:25 "Knowing this, I am convinced that I will remain alive so I can continue to help all of you grow and experience the joy of your faith"(NLT)
I sometimes, like Moses, wonder how God can possibly use me to help others grow and develop their faith. I am so far from holy and righteous, and just weeks ago death, once again, seemed like a better option than facing the eating disorder, and the other ways my body was letting me down. I have decided that I will NOT let this eating disorder win. God is with me and I am beginning to put my faith in the fact that he has a purpose for me that is far beyond my comprehension. I will continue to run to him for strength when I feel like I can't face one more day. This in turn strengthens my faith. He knows just where I am broken, why he has allowed it, and how to put me back together again so that he can use me. I don't need to be perfect, just willing to follow his lead.
It is not easy to remain hopeful and faithful. Today I woke up with my nerve throbbing, but it has finally settled down to tolerable. I have stopped asking why, and am now asking why not? I have stopped asking the same about the middle aged relapse into the eating disorder as well. It is futile. It just makes me feel crazy, and I am slowly coming to realize that I am not crazy, but human. Everyone has their own "crazy" they deal with so that, if willing, God can use for others going through the same "crazy". Don't be deceived, it isn't easy, and at times the realization that I may always carry parts of my "crazy" with me seems daunting. I just want to be well so badly, but the habits of the eating disorder linger like the Axe, my pre-pubescent nephews have discovered. It isn't necessarily a bad fragrance, but one that can be overpowering and sometimes lingers longer than it should.
I have tried, as best as I know how, to eat normally and act like someone who doesn't have an eating disorder. I realize that I am not even sure what "normal" means. There are times that my therapist say "I am pleased that you are normalizing your food." I really don't even understand what she means by this, and I am not sure that even the best therapist (mine is pretty darn good) understands that food will never be normal for someone that has or has had an eating disorder unless they have been there. I don't know that food and eating will ever be "normal" for me, and that may have to be okay. I will probably always have this internal barometer telling me what food is okay and what isn't; what is too much; what is tolerable, and what is not. My brain has been trained for so long to question food decisions, rely on exercising, scrutinize my body, I do it without much conscious thought. My brain just accepts it as normal behavior.
I have tried in the midst of my other physical afflictions to eat as I assume "normal" people eat. Sometimes that means eating even when I don't "feel" hungry because it is rare that I truly feel my physical hunger from my belly. I have learned to pay attention to other cues my body is sending me. I get light headed, cranky, unfocused, shaky, and anxious long before my belly calls for nourishment. I have to me hyper vigilant to my physical sensations just like I once was hyper vigilant to my mother's wants and needs. Here is the cool part, I can take care of my wants and needs, where as I could never meet her needs as much as I tried. With her, I have just stopped trying, but I am worth the effort, so I press on.
Nourish verses eating makes more sense to me. I am worth nourishing. Maybe because I was never emotionally nourished, it was easy for me to forgo go physical nourishment as well? I was, after all used to feeling so very empty.
I sometimes, like Moses, wonder how God can possibly use me to help others grow and develop their faith. I am so far from holy and righteous, and just weeks ago death, once again, seemed like a better option than facing the eating disorder, and the other ways my body was letting me down. I have decided that I will NOT let this eating disorder win. God is with me and I am beginning to put my faith in the fact that he has a purpose for me that is far beyond my comprehension. I will continue to run to him for strength when I feel like I can't face one more day. This in turn strengthens my faith. He knows just where I am broken, why he has allowed it, and how to put me back together again so that he can use me. I don't need to be perfect, just willing to follow his lead.
It is not easy to remain hopeful and faithful. Today I woke up with my nerve throbbing, but it has finally settled down to tolerable. I have stopped asking why, and am now asking why not? I have stopped asking the same about the middle aged relapse into the eating disorder as well. It is futile. It just makes me feel crazy, and I am slowly coming to realize that I am not crazy, but human. Everyone has their own "crazy" they deal with so that, if willing, God can use for others going through the same "crazy". Don't be deceived, it isn't easy, and at times the realization that I may always carry parts of my "crazy" with me seems daunting. I just want to be well so badly, but the habits of the eating disorder linger like the Axe, my pre-pubescent nephews have discovered. It isn't necessarily a bad fragrance, but one that can be overpowering and sometimes lingers longer than it should.
I have tried, as best as I know how, to eat normally and act like someone who doesn't have an eating disorder. I realize that I am not even sure what "normal" means. There are times that my therapist say "I am pleased that you are normalizing your food." I really don't even understand what she means by this, and I am not sure that even the best therapist (mine is pretty darn good) understands that food will never be normal for someone that has or has had an eating disorder unless they have been there. I don't know that food and eating will ever be "normal" for me, and that may have to be okay. I will probably always have this internal barometer telling me what food is okay and what isn't; what is too much; what is tolerable, and what is not. My brain has been trained for so long to question food decisions, rely on exercising, scrutinize my body, I do it without much conscious thought. My brain just accepts it as normal behavior.
I have tried in the midst of my other physical afflictions to eat as I assume "normal" people eat. Sometimes that means eating even when I don't "feel" hungry because it is rare that I truly feel my physical hunger from my belly. I have learned to pay attention to other cues my body is sending me. I get light headed, cranky, unfocused, shaky, and anxious long before my belly calls for nourishment. I have to me hyper vigilant to my physical sensations just like I once was hyper vigilant to my mother's wants and needs. Here is the cool part, I can take care of my wants and needs, where as I could never meet her needs as much as I tried. With her, I have just stopped trying, but I am worth the effort, so I press on.
Nourish verses eating makes more sense to me. I am worth nourishing. Maybe because I was never emotionally nourished, it was easy for me to forgo go physical nourishment as well? I was, after all used to feeling so very empty.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Confident
Psalm 27:3-6 "Though a mighty army surrounds me, my heart will not be afraid. Even if I am attacked I will remain confident"
I meditate on this scripture today as I am still fighting so many battles, the eating disorder, the nerve damage, and now I have a large sty on my eyelid that may need surgery. See, I am telling you, I never seem to get a break and it leaves me tired and exhausted body, mind and spirit. Add twelve people and five dogs to the mix in my small summer cottage and my anxiety level sores like the seagulls outside my window. So, I do what I know best to cope and purge the last three days. I justify that it isn't everything I take in, but just enough to feel some control, a release. I have at least decreased the volume of each purge each night, and last night though I try to purge, I physically can't bring it up. I also try to not beat myself up for slipping and try to remain confident not just in who God says I am, but in who He says he is. I believe He Is my healer. This is merely a small uprising of the eating disorder and I am confident that he will guide me through to eventual victory, and heal all my afflictions. I just need to remember to take my anxiety to the throne of my Jesus and not to the porcelain throne.
I also try to remember that recovery is a process that I not only can't do perfectly, I don't have to do it perfectly. I just need to start each day with a breath of knowledge that I am ok here in this moment and not alone. I hear His voice like a gentle whisper "you have me Liz, you don't need the eating disorder. Put your confidence in me. Trust me with all your fears. The eating disorder isn't your friend." Of course he is right. For weeks I was doing well and even in the midst of the nerve pain because I turned to him and not the eating disorder, and felt a sense of peace about everything. I purge and the guilt and shame begin to consume me like the food I have taken in, except I purge the little I have consumed while the guilt and shame binge on me. "Breath, surrender this moment of guilt and shame to me. I forgive you, now forgive yourself" He whispers again and I inhale the fragrance of hope in his word.
I change my focus away from my recent failures and focus on my recent success realizing that really, looking at the big picture, I have more good days accrued than bad. Philippians 3:12,16 (NLT) speaks to not just those of us in recovery, but all of us because we are all works in progress. Philippians 3:12" I don't mean to say that I have achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus possessed for me. Philippians 3:16"But we must hold onto the progress we have already made." I think this is universal to all of who struggle with eating disorders, addictions, trauma, or abuse. Actually, it is universal to all people because we are all human. We slip, we trip, and sometimes we may even fall all the way down on our asses, and it gets easy to beat ourselves up and believe we are failing. The problem is that we forget to remember that we have progressed because we focus on the fall. What if we focused on how high we have already climbed, then we would see that even though we have fallen we are still closer to the summit than the base. Oh, and one more thought, since we are all capable of falling, shouldn't we all stretch out our hands to lift each other up? Thessalonians 5:14 (NLT) "Encourage those who are timid. Take tender care of those who are weak. Be patient with everyone."
I meditate on this scripture today as I am still fighting so many battles, the eating disorder, the nerve damage, and now I have a large sty on my eyelid that may need surgery. See, I am telling you, I never seem to get a break and it leaves me tired and exhausted body, mind and spirit. Add twelve people and five dogs to the mix in my small summer cottage and my anxiety level sores like the seagulls outside my window. So, I do what I know best to cope and purge the last three days. I justify that it isn't everything I take in, but just enough to feel some control, a release. I have at least decreased the volume of each purge each night, and last night though I try to purge, I physically can't bring it up. I also try to not beat myself up for slipping and try to remain confident not just in who God says I am, but in who He says he is. I believe He Is my healer. This is merely a small uprising of the eating disorder and I am confident that he will guide me through to eventual victory, and heal all my afflictions. I just need to remember to take my anxiety to the throne of my Jesus and not to the porcelain throne.
I also try to remember that recovery is a process that I not only can't do perfectly, I don't have to do it perfectly. I just need to start each day with a breath of knowledge that I am ok here in this moment and not alone. I hear His voice like a gentle whisper "you have me Liz, you don't need the eating disorder. Put your confidence in me. Trust me with all your fears. The eating disorder isn't your friend." Of course he is right. For weeks I was doing well and even in the midst of the nerve pain because I turned to him and not the eating disorder, and felt a sense of peace about everything. I purge and the guilt and shame begin to consume me like the food I have taken in, except I purge the little I have consumed while the guilt and shame binge on me. "Breath, surrender this moment of guilt and shame to me. I forgive you, now forgive yourself" He whispers again and I inhale the fragrance of hope in his word.
I change my focus away from my recent failures and focus on my recent success realizing that really, looking at the big picture, I have more good days accrued than bad. Philippians 3:12,16 (NLT) speaks to not just those of us in recovery, but all of us because we are all works in progress. Philippians 3:12" I don't mean to say that I have achieved these things or that I have already reached perfection. But I press on to possess that perfection for which Christ Jesus possessed for me. Philippians 3:16"But we must hold onto the progress we have already made." I think this is universal to all of who struggle with eating disorders, addictions, trauma, or abuse. Actually, it is universal to all people because we are all human. We slip, we trip, and sometimes we may even fall all the way down on our asses, and it gets easy to beat ourselves up and believe we are failing. The problem is that we forget to remember that we have progressed because we focus on the fall. What if we focused on how high we have already climbed, then we would see that even though we have fallen we are still closer to the summit than the base. Oh, and one more thought, since we are all capable of falling, shouldn't we all stretch out our hands to lift each other up? Thessalonians 5:14 (NLT) "Encourage those who are timid. Take tender care of those who are weak. Be patient with everyone."
Monday, July 14, 2014
Gentle
Gentle
Ephesians 4:2 "Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other's faults because of your love" (NLT)
I checked out my face book this morning and my sister had posted a picture of a delightful young woman with a before and after picture of her posted. To my surprise it was not of weight lost, but weight gained. The first was of her starving anorexic self, the second of her curvy recovered self. I found myself scrolling obsessively through numerous other pictures of young women and a few older women like myself, posts of their eating disordered bodies and their recovered bodies. At first I found myself wondering how I measured up compared to these other eating disordered women. Was I thin enough to have been considered sick? Am I heavy enough to be considered well? Then I was struck by the varying degree of thinness the equated sick versus well for each woman. Frankly some that seemed to be fairly normal sized in their illness, were the sickest, starving their naturally curvy bodies just to try to achieve even something close to our warped cultural ideal body. Then their were the others that, like myself, who wore the scars of the eating disorder for all to see. Finally there are those that don't even have the pictures to post because they are suffering behind the bathroom door, puking up all they have taken in, or those hiding behind the protective layers of fat that cause others to be repulsed.
While our cultural obsession may feed the eating disorders or fan their flames, it is really something deeper within us that really feeds the eating disorder. It is the way we cope with hurts, loss, trauma, and our desire to be seen as we fade away, or hide our shame behind closed bathroom doors, or those layers of fat. It is our "no", and distorted means of controlling what we can't control, but just like the swirling of the vomit in the toilet bowl, or the swirling of our undernourished bodies as we try to stand, the shame we try to flush away or starve continues to swirl and swirl and unlike the waters that go still in the toilet bowl or the bodies that eventually steady themselves, there is no stillness in the soul for those of us stuck in the vortex.
Dare I say that I am one of the lucky ones? Although I am now at a much healthier weight, I wore my eating disorder for all to see actually revealing my truth. Maybe that isn't so bad after all. I am exposed as someone who has been hurt and wounded along this journey we call life. The only difference between me and the rest of the world is that you can see from my outside how much I am hurting on the inside. Maybe this reminds you to be gentle with me, but how wonderful would it be if we were all gentle with each other, recognizing that we all carry wounds that are hidden? Some of these wounds lie just beneath the surface of our facades, easily splayed open, while others are buried deep in the soil of our souls where enough digging can cause them to erupt like undiscovered wells. Sadly, some the most painful wounds come from those who are closest to us, and they are the ones that can rip them open repeatedly, yet the one who loves me, and you, above all yearns to heal all my wounds and even FEED me. Isaiah 40:11 "He will feed his flock like a shepherd, He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young" (NLT). He loves each of us enough to nourish us, and hold us close to his heart. So, even if for a moment I rest in His arms.
Ephesians 4:2 "Always be humble and gentle. Be patient with each other's faults because of your love" (NLT)
I checked out my face book this morning and my sister had posted a picture of a delightful young woman with a before and after picture of her posted. To my surprise it was not of weight lost, but weight gained. The first was of her starving anorexic self, the second of her curvy recovered self. I found myself scrolling obsessively through numerous other pictures of young women and a few older women like myself, posts of their eating disordered bodies and their recovered bodies. At first I found myself wondering how I measured up compared to these other eating disordered women. Was I thin enough to have been considered sick? Am I heavy enough to be considered well? Then I was struck by the varying degree of thinness the equated sick versus well for each woman. Frankly some that seemed to be fairly normal sized in their illness, were the sickest, starving their naturally curvy bodies just to try to achieve even something close to our warped cultural ideal body. Then their were the others that, like myself, who wore the scars of the eating disorder for all to see. Finally there are those that don't even have the pictures to post because they are suffering behind the bathroom door, puking up all they have taken in, or those hiding behind the protective layers of fat that cause others to be repulsed.
While our cultural obsession may feed the eating disorders or fan their flames, it is really something deeper within us that really feeds the eating disorder. It is the way we cope with hurts, loss, trauma, and our desire to be seen as we fade away, or hide our shame behind closed bathroom doors, or those layers of fat. It is our "no", and distorted means of controlling what we can't control, but just like the swirling of the vomit in the toilet bowl, or the swirling of our undernourished bodies as we try to stand, the shame we try to flush away or starve continues to swirl and swirl and unlike the waters that go still in the toilet bowl or the bodies that eventually steady themselves, there is no stillness in the soul for those of us stuck in the vortex.
Dare I say that I am one of the lucky ones? Although I am now at a much healthier weight, I wore my eating disorder for all to see actually revealing my truth. Maybe that isn't so bad after all. I am exposed as someone who has been hurt and wounded along this journey we call life. The only difference between me and the rest of the world is that you can see from my outside how much I am hurting on the inside. Maybe this reminds you to be gentle with me, but how wonderful would it be if we were all gentle with each other, recognizing that we all carry wounds that are hidden? Some of these wounds lie just beneath the surface of our facades, easily splayed open, while others are buried deep in the soil of our souls where enough digging can cause them to erupt like undiscovered wells. Sadly, some the most painful wounds come from those who are closest to us, and they are the ones that can rip them open repeatedly, yet the one who loves me, and you, above all yearns to heal all my wounds and even FEED me. Isaiah 40:11 "He will feed his flock like a shepherd, He will carry the lambs in his arms, holding them close to his heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young" (NLT). He loves each of us enough to nourish us, and hold us close to his heart. So, even if for a moment I rest in His arms.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
Double Portion
Isaiah 61:7 ( NIV ) "Instead of shame you will receive a double portion,
And instead of disgrace
You will rejoice in your inheritance
And so you will inherit a double portion
in your land,
and everlasting joy will be yours
Hebrews 10:35-38 "So do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you. 36 Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God's will. Then you will receive all that he has promised.
37 For in just a little while the coming one will come and not delay
38 and my righteous ones will live by faith
But I will take no pleasure in anyone who turns away"
A double portion? I would settle for a single portion, but as I sit and pray I really do feel like God speaks to me and says "but I want to give you a double portion and it will happen in this lifetime and not in heaven when we are all made complete." I have decided that this will be my focus. I will focus on this promise that God has given me, but I still find myself begging for him to reveal to me when it will happen. As I ask for this revelation I realize he has actually answered me already. Hebrews 37 " for in just a little while the coming one will come and not delay" I am struck by how closely this verse reflects the personal word God gave me just prior to experiencing the neuralgia. At the time, I was sure he was speaking of the eating disorder, but now I wonder if it truly my broken heart he was referring to and the neuralgia is just a test to see if I will turn to him or the eating disorder for comfort and control. So, make the conscious decision to hand over the eating disorder. This time instead of releasing it one finger at a time, I visualize myself walking to the feet of my savior and holding open my hands and placing the eating disorder in his. I let out an audible sigh of relief as he takes it from my hands. I have enough to carry without carrying the eating disorder as well. "will you trust me with this?" He says. And each day I look to him to strengthen me to resist the urge to take it back.
I continue to wait expectantly for God to have mercy on me and either through the doctor in San Francisco or God to supernaturally heal me and spare me from the continued physical pain and discomfort. This child is so tired and ready for her double portion. I sound like a broken record going to God every day begging for healing and telling him that "I can't do this much longer!" I am like the persistent widow in Luke 18:1-8. I will pray and not give up. I take an inventory of my last few weeks and realize that at times I am feeling better, at other times I am not so sure. I take hope in the fact that I am not feeling worse. My Pastor continues to reassure me that the holy spirit continues to give him the sense that I will be healed. I finally am getting the sense that I will, but don't know when. I am not sure if I have the patience to persevere and endure until that day comes. I am emotionally exhausted in addition to physically. I just want to sleep.........forever, but I have a life I would like to live. I press on in hopes of receiving my everlasting joy.
It is difficult for people to understand just how much pain and discomfort I am in when I look fine on the outside and even function normally outside the safety of my four walls. It is behind my closed doors that I crumble. I find that this causes me to pause and consider that I may not be the only person that is crumbling from the inside out where no one can see it. I have learned to be more compassionate, empathetic and less quick to judge. I have learned to discern the difference between compassion and pity. I need what all people need at times in their lives, compassion, not pity. I am hurt, and wounded, but I am not pitiful. I have learned to listen when I REALLY want to give my opinion on what is wrong and how to fix it. Romans 12:15 reminds me "Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep"(NLT). That is all I am called to do, nothing more, nothing less.
Everybody wants to "fix" me or give me there opinion on why I am in such a deeply carved valley in my life. Because I am not comfortable talking about the discomfort I feel people try to fill in the blanks and make a guess at the affliction. I guess I understand this behavior. No one like discomfort be it their own or a loved one's. Here is where I get so pissed off! First of all this is not a result of the eating disorder any more than the arthritis in my hand is from the eating disorder, nor is it a result of me being emotionally weak and unstable. I do believe in a mind body connection for illness, but this is like saying depression caused a broken arm not a trip down the stairs. The suicidal thoughts are a demonstration of just how desperate I am to end the physical pain and discomfort. I also realize that because of the stress even though I have handed the eating disorder back to God, my weight is down and I appear frail. Here is the truth of the matter. I am choosing today at this moment to live.
This means that "I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:13 ( NIV ). I am actually pretty fucking strong and amazing to get through each moment, let alone each day of the past four months. I am strong even on the days that I fall apart crying and lashing out at those closest to me as if it were their fault. Lest everyone forget, that for each day I fall apart I manage to put myself back together again and again and again.......That my friends is strength. The weak and frail can't do this time and time again. So, please don't assume that I am weak because I am small. Remember the mustard seed!
I admit that I have no idea how much longer I can remain strong, but I know God does. I also know that right now I am uncomfortable and in pain, but I am ok!
And instead of disgrace
You will rejoice in your inheritance
And so you will inherit a double portion
in your land,
and everlasting joy will be yours
Hebrews 10:35-38 "So do not throw away this confident trust in the Lord. Remember the great reward it brings you. 36 Patient endurance is what you need now, so that you will continue to do God's will. Then you will receive all that he has promised.
37 For in just a little while the coming one will come and not delay
38 and my righteous ones will live by faith
But I will take no pleasure in anyone who turns away"
A double portion? I would settle for a single portion, but as I sit and pray I really do feel like God speaks to me and says "but I want to give you a double portion and it will happen in this lifetime and not in heaven when we are all made complete." I have decided that this will be my focus. I will focus on this promise that God has given me, but I still find myself begging for him to reveal to me when it will happen. As I ask for this revelation I realize he has actually answered me already. Hebrews 37 " for in just a little while the coming one will come and not delay" I am struck by how closely this verse reflects the personal word God gave me just prior to experiencing the neuralgia. At the time, I was sure he was speaking of the eating disorder, but now I wonder if it truly my broken heart he was referring to and the neuralgia is just a test to see if I will turn to him or the eating disorder for comfort and control. So, make the conscious decision to hand over the eating disorder. This time instead of releasing it one finger at a time, I visualize myself walking to the feet of my savior and holding open my hands and placing the eating disorder in his. I let out an audible sigh of relief as he takes it from my hands. I have enough to carry without carrying the eating disorder as well. "will you trust me with this?" He says. And each day I look to him to strengthen me to resist the urge to take it back.
I continue to wait expectantly for God to have mercy on me and either through the doctor in San Francisco or God to supernaturally heal me and spare me from the continued physical pain and discomfort. This child is so tired and ready for her double portion. I sound like a broken record going to God every day begging for healing and telling him that "I can't do this much longer!" I am like the persistent widow in Luke 18:1-8. I will pray and not give up. I take an inventory of my last few weeks and realize that at times I am feeling better, at other times I am not so sure. I take hope in the fact that I am not feeling worse. My Pastor continues to reassure me that the holy spirit continues to give him the sense that I will be healed. I finally am getting the sense that I will, but don't know when. I am not sure if I have the patience to persevere and endure until that day comes. I am emotionally exhausted in addition to physically. I just want to sleep.........forever, but I have a life I would like to live. I press on in hopes of receiving my everlasting joy.
It is difficult for people to understand just how much pain and discomfort I am in when I look fine on the outside and even function normally outside the safety of my four walls. It is behind my closed doors that I crumble. I find that this causes me to pause and consider that I may not be the only person that is crumbling from the inside out where no one can see it. I have learned to be more compassionate, empathetic and less quick to judge. I have learned to discern the difference between compassion and pity. I need what all people need at times in their lives, compassion, not pity. I am hurt, and wounded, but I am not pitiful. I have learned to listen when I REALLY want to give my opinion on what is wrong and how to fix it. Romans 12:15 reminds me "Be happy with those who are happy, and weep with those who weep"(NLT). That is all I am called to do, nothing more, nothing less.
Everybody wants to "fix" me or give me there opinion on why I am in such a deeply carved valley in my life. Because I am not comfortable talking about the discomfort I feel people try to fill in the blanks and make a guess at the affliction. I guess I understand this behavior. No one like discomfort be it their own or a loved one's. Here is where I get so pissed off! First of all this is not a result of the eating disorder any more than the arthritis in my hand is from the eating disorder, nor is it a result of me being emotionally weak and unstable. I do believe in a mind body connection for illness, but this is like saying depression caused a broken arm not a trip down the stairs. The suicidal thoughts are a demonstration of just how desperate I am to end the physical pain and discomfort. I also realize that because of the stress even though I have handed the eating disorder back to God, my weight is down and I appear frail. Here is the truth of the matter. I am choosing today at this moment to live.
This means that "I can do all this through him who gives me strength." Philippians 4:13 ( NIV ). I am actually pretty fucking strong and amazing to get through each moment, let alone each day of the past four months. I am strong even on the days that I fall apart crying and lashing out at those closest to me as if it were their fault. Lest everyone forget, that for each day I fall apart I manage to put myself back together again and again and again.......That my friends is strength. The weak and frail can't do this time and time again. So, please don't assume that I am weak because I am small. Remember the mustard seed!
I admit that I have no idea how much longer I can remain strong, but I know God does. I also know that right now I am uncomfortable and in pain, but I am ok!
Friday, June 27, 2014
Relief and fear!
Philippians 4:13&19 "I can do all this through Him who gives me strength" "And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus"
I am running out of strength to survive each day, and hope for his strength to carry me through. I am am exhausted from fending off the physical sensations tearing through my body as a result of the damage to my pudendal nerve. I am tired of waking each day hoping to feel relief only to realize it is still there tormenting my body, mind and spirit. This is not living it is barley survival. I feel like I am beginning to sound like a broken record as I cry out that "I can't do this anymore!!!"
I am asked to change my meds to Cymbalta because it has had some success with both depression and nerve pain. I thought it was possibly helping, but today not so much. Then there is the trade off of possible relief for nausea, shaking, blurry vision, headaches, lack of focus, and insomnia. What else am I supposed to endure. If by meeting my needs God means mere survival, then I guess he is doing what he promised, but I need more. I am feeling pretty crappy on the new med, but agree to stick it out as I pack my bags to go back to San Francisco for a full week hoping that the side effects will calm down sooner than later. I think the most bothersome effect is knowing my emotions without really feeling them. At least this buys me time and keeps me out of the hospital for my own safety. Well, that and the fact that my therapist and psychiatrist know that I am as responsible as I am desperate, and I have 2 days of work left then I am off to treatment in San Francisco. I could never let my director or students down.
As I pack to go I feel a sense of both relief and fear. I am relieved that I am finally getting the long awaited treatment, but fearful that it won't be the cure I am hoping for. I am grateful to know that I am not crazy, and I don't believe for one minute that God didn't place me in the right place with the right person that has the same condition so that I didn't kill myself, but had hope for a cure. Although, I am still pissed off that this has even happened and derailed my recovery from the eating disorder. I am blessed as well with the financial ability to fly back and forth and pay out of pocket for the treatment. I am blessed with an amazing husband that truly understands what it means to love "in sickness and health" My sister has agreed to go with me this time since my husband seems to think being by myself isn't such a great idea, after all there is a big bridge out there.
I get on the plane, of course, feeling no symptoms, but a great deal of anxiety. I close my eyes and curl onto the side that hurts least silently praying that God will use the Doctors, nurses and physical therapists to be his healing hands.
As I pack to go I feel a sense of both relief and fear. I am relieved that I am finally getting the long awaited treatment, but fearful that it won't be the cure I am hoping for. I am grateful to know that I am not crazy, and I don't believe for one minute that God didn't place me in the right place with the right person that has the same condition so that I didn't kill myself, but had hope for a cure. Although, I am still pissed off that this has even happened and derailed my recovery from the eating disorder. I am blessed as well with the financial ability to fly back and forth and pay out of pocket for the treatment. I am blessed with an amazing husband that truly understands what it means to love "in sickness and health" My sister has agreed to go with me this time since my husband seems to think being by myself isn't such a great idea, after all there is a big bridge out there.
I get on the plane, of course, feeling no symptoms, but a great deal of anxiety. I close my eyes and curl onto the side that hurts least silently praying that God will use the Doctors, nurses and physical therapists to be his healing hands.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)