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!
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