Wings of A Dove

Psalm 55:6 "I said, 'Oh, that I had the wings of a dove!
I would fly away and be at rest. (NLT)



I have been home from my summer home for exactly one week, and I yearn to return to its distractions and serenity.  It is there where  I wish to fly away and be at rest even though my eating disorder and the nerve pain does not completely slumber when I am Up North.  They both taunt me and torment me, but somehow their voices are slightly muted in the presence of God's beauty, and often drowned out by the laughter of family and friends.

Both the eating disorder and nerve are by no means silenced as they flare at different times through out the summer.  Some days I give into the fear of my weight and purge, over exercise, restrict, or any combination of three.  I fear losing control as I am up there living for 6 weeks, where as my rotating house guests are up there for a week of vacation.  They eat and drink like they are on vacation.  I know that I simply can't do that and maintain my weight without defaulting to the eating disorder and/or ending up with a stint at "Betty Ford" to dry out.  I do however envy their ability to let their guard down enjoying any bounty set before them.  I want to try to live this way if only for a week of the summer, but I fail at it and find myself falling into my purging more than a few times of the first week.  My body isn't too pleased and my energy dips and I feel like I have more PVC's than a regular hear rhythm.

It is the cocktail hour spread food and drink that seems to entice me and repulse me it the same time. I want to partake, but know I can't.  I have a difficult time with indulgence, yet alone over indulgence. It isn't just the over indulgence of food, but also the over indulgence in love and laughter that somehow feels uncomfortable to me.  How much of either am I allowed to have, to consume.  As my body still struggles to digest food and nourish my body, my mind struggles to digest love and laughter to nourish my spirit and soul.  Maybe the day is coming that I will be okay with both; not having to think so hard, but not yet!
 I need a proactive plan for the food  so I don't default to my reactive defense of purging and restricting.  I try to take myself away from the temptation, which also takes me away momentarily from relationship with people.  I guess this is how the illness can continue to isolate its victims even as they recover. I take a late yoga class, pick up the dock, write, read, or sit in the sun until I am the last one in for the day.  Since, I am the last one in, I shower and take my time dressing while the others indulge in friends, food and frivolity.  I don't begrudge them this luxury, but am saddened that I can't join them.  It is a hard choice that those of us in recovery sometimes have to make.  I ask myself if this is feeding the eating disorder, or protecting myself from the eating disorder?  It is a question I would rather have swirling in my head than my food in toilet basin. So, I decide I am protecting myself from the eating disorder and if sometimes recovery mean taking myself out of a triggering situation, I try to be ok with that.  I try to find the luxury in the voice  of God rolling in on the gentle waves of the water as I sit alone, or in the comfort of the long shower.  I try not to rush after a long shower. I pick out my favorite lotion(I love the way it soothes and caresses my skin and lifts my spirit) taking time to enjoy the fragrance as I slowly rub it in to nourish my sun kissed skin.  I remind myself that recovery is, and may always be a process that involves choices that most people don't have to make.

I remain more than just a little active why I am on vacation. When I am not running along the bay or the trails, I am paddle boarding, kayaking, and running up and down the hillside to grab the dogs, a snack, sunscreen, and anything else I decide we may need on the dock.  Still I feel and fear the weight creeping up on me.  Even though I maybe eatimg and drinking a little more, I am dumbfounded.  How can I possibly gain weight when I am in perpetual motion?  Okay, I seem to have 2 speeds on and off.  See, even before I came up to the cottage for the summer, I knew my weight was up even though I am barely eatimg more than when I was restricting.  What has changed?  My age, or that I am purging less.  I can barely stand to look at myself in the mirror, but of course I do every flipping day, and my jeans of judgement are never out of reach. It isn't so much the weight that scares me as much as figuring out where it has come from. Ok it is the weight.

I speak with my dietician by phone and I truly believe believe despite the one little cut on my arm, and 2 purges after the first week, I am doing well. Almost like "Rocky"  approaching the top of the stairs. I can smell my victory that God has promised and see us standing at the top as He lifts our hands in triumph. She begins to once again challenge me in a way that feels more like therapy than keeping me feeling safe around my food, weight and body image.  Clearly, I need help in this area, but I could also use some acknowledgement  that I have won more battles in the last few weeks than I have lost.  I remind both of us that she is new to my recovery story, and may not  know how God has transformed me.

As we speak begin to doubt myself and wonder if I am not close to the top of those infamous steps, like Rocky, but an opponent down on the mat for the count. I try to stand up for myself and my progress, but end up feeling defensive or defenseless. She "jabs" and the punch lands hard.  I quit defending myself as my "jabs" seem to slice nothing but the air. SHe doesn't seem to feel me or hear me, but I hear God speak as tears begin to roll slowly down my sun kissed cheeks, "Liz, you may not have met her expectations, but you have met yours and I love you.  Get off the mat and stay in this fight."  He knows how easily I can allow some one's criticism to shroud my triumphs.  I begin to doubt myself, and and somehow the torch of faith I carry is also dimmed.



  This year I don't mind that at times I do feel like I am running a bed and breakfast.  We have the second cottage now allowing for me to keep some sense of order in the cottage.  My room I always keep tidy.  When there is chaos either good or bad, I always have my place of refuge.  It is my nest and if I had wings.....

 

Trials or On Trial

Trials or On Trial


James 1:12 "Blessed is the one (me) who perseveres under trial because having stood the test, that person (me) will receive the crown of life that the Lord has promised to those who love him."  (Me)!


I think of the word trial and sometimes I wonder if I am going through trials or on trial.  I feel as though I am constantly confessing my guilt, proclaiming my innocence, or at the very least defending my actions, thoughts and emotions.

I hesitated as I stepped backward on the scale to be weighed by my dietician, after my week of treatment  in San Francisco. The straw that could break me would be my weight creeping up.  I am tired of facing trial after trial.  So, I step off waiting for the verdict.  She asked me to step back on.  "You have lost a significant amount of weight," she states, but doesn't tell me how much.   I know I "should" be disappointed by this declaration, but I am not.  Although I have not been restricting, my last few weeks have been very stressful.  She wants to know what I feel about this. Of course she already knows the answer to her question like an attorney knows the answer to her question as she  cross examines  her witness.  She all but says "Isn't it true, Lisabeth, that this pleases you?"  And of course she is correct.  I However purger myself, (no pun intended) as I tell her I was sure I had gained weight and felt thick and fat.  Actually I did feel like I was down a little by the way my clothes felt, but didn't say anything out of fear of, A-being wrong, or B-being judged, and C-yes it pleased me.  I sit there and say as little as possible.  Do people with eating disorders truly ever get disappointed when they drop weight?  Maybe some of you do, but I am not quite there...yet.

"Would you ever feel thin enough?"  She asks.  "Do I feel the same regardless of my weight?"  I ponder my answer carefully and admit that when I weigh under 110 pounds I don't feel well, and I look frail and sickly.  I leave out the part about actually liking the way I look despite how terrible I feel.  She looks satisfied with my answer.  I know 110 pounds isn't good, but I am not sure 125 pounds is good for me either.  So I prefer to hover between 114 pound and no more than 117 pounds.  In other words, somewhere between sick and well.

It is an odd pace to hang "in limbo"  I don't think of myself as anorexic anymore, but she thinks I am way off base to say this.  So, I listen to her throw down her judgement, and I feel like a child: Remembering my mother telling me how I "should" think or feel.  How can I possibly know how I feel???

I try to re-direct the conversation by saying, "I only purged once, okay twice while out of town!"  I say it with a lilt of confidence and pride.  She isn't buying it the way my therapist did. She wants to know why, and what I could have done differently.  "Ok, so here is the truth, and nothing but the truth! Sometimes when I hear God calling me to cast my anxiety on him and not the toilet, I stick my fingers in my ears and shout "La, la, la, drowning out his voice and just have at it!"  Knowing what to do and doing it are polar opposites!  And when the purge doesn't ease the pain; it is then that I make another judgement call of turning back to Him, or cutting my flesh in hopes that the physical pain outweighs the emotional. I am already deep into my self loathing for the purge, so I wound my arm watching my own blood flow forgetting that Jesus shed his so I shouldn't have to shed my own.

It is in recounting my story that I feel the tears well up, threatening to spill over.  I am sorry God and I feel shame rise as I mistake what feels like condemnation from my dietician, for God's condemnation. Could it be that the only one condemning me was myself? I stop her in midst of her litany of  suggestions.  I can't take on too much change, my mind is spinning.  I need to approach this one step at a time, and I am okay with that.  There is a wisdom that comes from having ben in recovery before, and age, I suppose. It is by knowing my tolerance for change , that I have come this far into recovery.  I think that is true for all of us in recovery, therapy, or just seeking to grow as a human being.  It is important for us to know how much change will move us forward and how much will make us throw down the white flag surrendering to our pasts and not propelling us toward our futures.

I listen to my voice.  I can't add "X" amount of calories, decrease my workouts by 2 days, not purge, and not cut all with one bang of the gavel declaring this case of the Eating disorder closed.  For those of you that can...."Go for it" and I am thrilled for you.  It is your journey, your way.  I am a slow processor.  I like to move ahead one step at a time.  The huge leap is scary for me.  Hell I even take one step forward then back sometimes until I feel stable in this odd dance of recovery before I can take a new step.

I share this all with her and remind myself that God allows us to face trials, but doesn't put us on trial.  Romans 8:1  "There is no condemnation for those who belong to Christ Jesus."   And I am grateful that even as I stick my fingers in my ears shouting "La, la, la!"  Romans 8:38 "And I am convinced that nothing can separate us from God's love....."

Am I Wonderfully Made?

Psalm 139:14 "I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well." (NIV)

I tell myself over and over again " You are fearfully and wonderfully made."  But as I slip into my swimsuit this past weekend and again today, I am not convinced.  My body, in this moment in time disgusts me.  Those of you with out eating disorders or body image issues, look at me as if I am "fishing" for compliments, or trying to make you feel bad (or worse) about your own body.  This is so far from the truth as I see past your bodies and see your brilliant minds and beautiful hearts.  I am sorry that the disdain I feel for my body causes you to scrutinize your own.  I try to be selective to share my discomfort only with  the people that understand my struggle.  Although I am selective, I know that this still may hurt you and I am sorry.  Just as my suicidal ideation reaches out like the far reaching tentacles of an octopus and touches those I love, so does the eating disorder.  I will try to be as careful with you as you have tried to be with me even as my illness reaches out and touches you.  This is tricky to try to accomplish.  I try to remember that any illness that friend or family member may may struggle with, be it mental or otherwise, can spill over like boiling water splashing and burning those those around them .

Admittedly, as I have tip toed into recovery, I receive compliments on my figure all the time.  Now this creates a mental challenge for me.  The first issue is that when those of you who have walked through my struggle with me comment on how "good" I look, all I hear is, "Wow! You have gained weight," "and yes I have and it scares the shit out of me! thank you very much!" is what I want to say.  Wouldn't it be nice if people understood that this weight was much more difficult to add to my frame than just eating donuts and milk shakes.  Anyone can gain weight, but it takes an enormous amount of time, effort, and heartache to let go of an eating disorder.  I would rather hear,  "You look well.  You must be proud of all the hard work you have done. It must be difficult.  How are you feeling?" I could answer with a simple, "Yes, recovery is a tough journey, and somedays I still feel the pain of the illness.  Thank you for your concern." You see,  the weight may say my body is out of danger, but there are remnants of the illness still coursing through my brain. I may look well, but often don't feel well.  The anxiety and depression still sneak up and consume me.  Sometimes I feel like the cancer patient waiting for the final scan the says "Yep, you are cancer free."  Alas, I don't have such a scan, but acknowledging that eating disorders are about more than just the food and weight, but about the person behind the illness, can help recovery feels less unnerving.

 The second issue is that not all of you out there even know about my struggle and when you say "You have a rocking body (for a 51 year old),"  I feel like a fraud by simply saying "Thank you!" because I know what I have put my body through to look this way.  I know how ferociously I worked to become skeletal, and how I  battled with myself to allow the weight back on.  I know the price I have paid to look this way and still I am still at odds with this "rocking body" most of the time.  I also don't want to unwittingly perpetuate the myth of the thin cultural ideal.  Eating Disorders suck, and suck the life out of you.  I want people to find their identity Christ not the size of their jeans.  Yet, here I am knowing who I am in Christ, but receiving and believing is a tedious process.

I begin today asking God to forgive me for disliking his fearfully and wonderfully made creation.  I don't know if it is what I feel about my body that depresses me or that "It" still still hides in the folds of my brain taunting me.  I  wonder if changing my mind and transforming my thinking needs to happen before I can be okay with food and this "wonderfully made" body?  Or do I push past the food and body image issues in order to transform my mind? I would prefer to have God just perform a miraculous transformation of my mind.  I am tired!  I have worked so hard and wonder, "Where is the pay off?"

Today I swim outside in the cool, almost cold water of the virtually empty pool.  I swim my 3,200 meters and plan to relax for a little while in the first warm day of summer.  When I go to change out of the practice suit, I can't help but to see my refection in the surrounding mirrors.  I am less than
thrilled by what I see.  I see my body as thick and encircled in excess layers of fat.  For some reason the image of a slice of  layer cake pops in my mind.  I cringe as I survey my waist and flank.  I think I even see back fat seeping out the straps of the suit.  Is this image accurate?  Do I really look like this, or is my image distorted by the remnants of the eating disorder.  I really am getting sick of "It."  I slip into my two piece breath and tell myself that I am okay, but I am not. The ambivalence I feel eats away at me and I find myself afraid to eat and afraid to not eat.

Once again I wonder how I got to this place again, and how can I escape to where "It" is not?  "It" has a way of always following like a bandit in the shadows waiting to take me out.  I see myself in the mirrors surrounding me as I unfurl my yoga mat in the steaming hot room.  I wish the mirrors would fog over so I could avoid my reflection.  I close my eyes and try to reflect on all those things that I am besides the eating disorder and this body, yet it is still the body that takes precedent as it is reflected back at me from every angel. I see my breasts, and they are fuller and actually quite lovely, but a reminder of the weight I have gained, and the slow surrender of my friend the eating disorder.  There is also flesh in other places that, in my opinion, is not so lovely.  I am sure people can see my flab and rolls.  I then look around the heated room and wonder how my body measures up to the other women.  I decide I am not too bad considering my age. Then envy those that seem so comfortable in their own skin.  Are they really comfortable?  My guess is most are not.

My body's reflection sends me such mixed messages.  I don't look sick, but my therapist, and new nutritionist believe, that like a child dipping her toe into the pool before jumping in, I am just testing the water's of recovery and not quite ready to take the plunge.  My nutritionist points out how forward the eating disorder is.  I remind her and myself that she has no clue how far I have come as she has just began her work with me.  She is looking for the signs of its life, and I am pointing out the parts that have died off.  She asks me to consider how much time it still robs me of daily.  "A Lot"  I confess, and in this moment I feel like I am climbing a mountain and what I thought was the summit was just another blind pass.  She talks to me as though I am a child.  God I hate this!  I know she is still getting to  know me, but being sick doesn't make me ignorant or child like.  As I leave she tells me she is a breast cancer survivor and knows her body isn't perfect, but she is grateful to just feel good, healthy and alive.  Shame rises from my core and radiates through me like a menopausal hot flash.  She has survived cancer so her body image is no big deal.  I, in theory have my health, and should be grateful, but am worried about my body image.  I certainly have no clue if I have my health after years of this illness, but I say nothing. She works with eating disorders all the time, but seems to minimize the illness.  "Live as if you didn't have it," she says!  Friends if I could, I would, and by the grace of God one day I will.  Today I will live with it, but press on because I believe He will restore.  Am I fearfully and wonderfully made?  Yes and so are you.

As If......

Luke 5:5 (NLT)"Master" Simon replied, "we worked hard all last night and didn't catch a thing.  But if you say so, I'll let the nets down again."

I often feel as I imagine Simon must have felt as I fight the eating disorder day after day, sometimes I have great success, other times not so much.  Like my friend Simon, I cry out to Jesus "But I am tired, I have all ready worked so hard and feel the failures more than the victories.  I purged again God!  I restricted again God!  See, I just can't do this!"  “Ah, but you can Liz.  I am telling you that you have worked hard and some days it feels like you aren't "catching" a thing, but you if you keep following my still small voice you will be filled with The Fruit I have promised. Just as I filled Simon's net with fish. Today is a new day and I am telling you to reach for my hand to pull you up, and keep at it again and again.  Just reach for my hand and listen really, listen to my voice."

So, it with God's words to me I keep "casting out my net" even when I am tired of working so hard and some times blow it, and literally come up empty as I purge, or restrict.  I try to walk through my days I recently spent in Michigan "As if," I am not still battling the remaining vestiges of the eating disorder and I can (minus a small purge) almost do this.  By "doing this" I mean doing what I should even though I don't really feel safe from its sneak attacks. These attacks are the terrifying ones that can take me down like a sharp shooter with precision aim. I don't really feel free from the eating disorder.  I know the sharp shooter awaits an errant move on my part that will expose my cover while I meander through my day trying to live as is I am free because I am not truly free.  When does the freedom come?  When will I be free from wondering about my weight or checking my body?  When does my defense become my offense?  I wonder if my summer friends will look at me and think, "She has gained weight!"  Yet, I couldn't begin to tell you if any of them has gained or lost weight.  I can tell you about their smiles and welcoming hugs that warms my heart, and that the little children sprouted up like weeds since I saw them last, but their, weight I notice nothing!  Could it be that they too noticed my smiles, hugs, and warmth and not my weight?  

I continue to remind myself that I am not my eating disorder, but that I have one.  My weight is not a measure of my value and worth.  God calls me worthy and that is enough.  Even with all of this swirling through my brain, I feel myself drawn towards restricting.  As that oddly vacant feeling rises up it feels more scary than comforting. I hope this is a good thing? I take a moment and thank God that he promises me true and lasting comfort and that the eating disorder eventually becomes uncomfortable.

Isaiah 49:13 “13Shout for joy, you heavens;

Rejoice you, earth;

Burst into song you mountains!

For the Lord comforts his people

And will have compassion on his afflicted ones” (NIV)

 The restricting is deceptive.  Like a shot a Novocain it simply numbs the pain that is there, eventually wears off, and the pain becomes a throbbing ache.  I also know that while it numbs the pain, it also numbs the surrounding area that isn’t in pain at all. If I disguise the pain I miss the joy.  So I pay attention to my hunger (sort of).  I allow myself my usual breakfast of yogurt and granola.  I am still hungry!  How can that be possible, I don't want more, and convince myself I don't NEED more.  I sit silently reading the Bible and praying as I give myself permission to slow down and not rush to workout.  I feel like I am always rushing even when I have no place to be.  Can I give myself this time to just be?  Just "being" feels like work as I sit gazing at the water. The eating disorder and I begin to fight to be in charge, but for a moment I am able to take over and just breathe.

I find myself walking outside to soak in the warm Michigan sun and feel the cool breezes.  I inhale the fresh clean air and try to exhale the filthy stench of the eating disorder.  It is 9 am and the eating disorder has already exhausted me.  I lie down on the warm stones of the patio while still in my jammies (it is what we do Up North) and stare at the vibrant deep blue sky. I contemplate the stark contrast of the emerald green leaves that have just opened upon the branches preparing to nourish the tree.  I feel a sense of irony that in order to survive the tree must bloom and receive the nourishment of the sun, but that also means it will grow.  If I continue to fear physical growth, I will not bloom, and I will fail to survive.  As I retard my physical growth, I am also stunting my emotional growth.  I need to allow myself to bloom to receive physical, emotional and spiritual nourishment.  I survey the hillside aware of the beauty of the cherry blossoms, and the lilacs.  I particularly love the lilacs, but appreciate the cherry blossoms as well.  Could it be that if I allowed my self to bloom, I could take in the love that some have for me and rest in the fact that others appreciate me even if I am not their favorite.  My intellect recognizes the truth, but in my heart it still feels like rejection, so maybe that is why it often feels safer not to bloom.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sounds of summer rising from its winter slumber as all kinds of activity commence around me.  The sounds of summer also drown out the annoying whine of the eating disorder. Our dock is pounded in to its rightful place just in time for my friend and I to take our place on the dock to soak in the sun, rest and read. I have yet to work out, but finally change into shorts and a tee.  The silence is broken by the birds chirping, the hum of humming birds, and the hum of boats taking their test runs on the clear cold water.

The best sounds are those of my summer friends, children and dogs as we greet each other after months of separation.  Time moves on, but at the same time seems to stand still.  Time up here moves slowly, but has away of sneaking up on all of us.  I lose track of time until the hunger begins to speak to me.  I am once again irritated by it, but heed its call and grab a sandwich of almond butter and homemade cherry jam.  I inhale it with some almond milk before I can answer to the eating disorder instead of myself.

"Live as if..." I say to myself.  "You can do this.  You are God's not the eating disorders."

I have plenty of work to do around the cottage, and I hate to admit it, but I am aware that work equals calories burned.  Once again it takes me out of the moment of just planting my gardens and savoring the silence of the lake as I paddle board.  I am not sure if my eyes mist from the cold breeze, or if I am crying because the eating disorder keeps taunting me. I want to scream, “Leave me alone!” At the top of my lungs and hear it echo of the hillside, but I settle for a quiet angry rebuke.

 Why is it so fucking hard for me to just stay in the moment?  Laura talks to me about this all the time.  Some times I just want to scream, "Do you not think I want to stay in the fucking moment!!!!"  I know she doesn't mean it as a criticism, but it feels like it.  Some times I want to just ask her "Are you always in the fucking moment? (I know she is not)  I am sorry I am doing the best I can and what if this is as good as it gets?  Does that mean I fail?"  

I fail at dinner as I purge the Mexican feast and the margarita.  I succeed at letting it go and giving it to God.  As I go to him he reminds me that I get to “cast out my net again” and I will eventually have more victories than failures.  “Are you sure Lord?  I have been at this for such a long time.”  That night when we got home we decided to fish off the end of the dock while the sunset on another beautiful spring day.  Kurt baited my hook, and told me to just let it sit until I felt a tug on my line.  Now sitting still is not in my nature, so I cast and reel it in, cast and reel it in, again and again, until finally the sun has just dipped behind the hills.  Just one more time, I cast and reel it in.  This time I feel the tug, pull back to hook it and reel in the largest bass I have ever caught.  I was beaming as I was in the moment and knew God was speaking to me about more than fishing for bass.

Forgiveness of self

"As forgiving ourselves is concerned, he wrote, If god forgives us we must forgive ourselves.  otherwise it is like setting ourselves as a higher tribunal than him"  (CS Lewis)

Psalm 32:5 "Finally, I confessed my sins to you and stopped trying to hide my guilt. I said to myself, I will confess my rebellion to the Lord.  And you forgave me!  All my guilt is gone."


I go to the Lord today and ask him once again for forgiveness for all my sin and rebellion some are new transgressions, some are the same old ones that I must confess again and again.  Maybe I purged, restricted, or looked upon the body he fearfully and wonderfully made with disgust.  I still reach for all those parts of the eating disorder he calls me to turn over when I should be reaching out to him.  He is happy with me on the days I reach out to him for strength and allow his perfect love to cast out all fear. He also forgives me on the days I falter, but I find it difficult to forgive myself.  Who am I to think I am in a position higher than my God and with hold this forgiveness?  Is it because I literally keep bringing up the same sins as I purge; bringing up my food?  Is it that because I with hold nourishment from my body that I then feel I can't receive grace and take in forgiveness?  Is it that I sometimes still lose the will to fight and speak of wanting to live, but not like this?

Today I sit in my therapist office feeling the sting of her words almost like those of my mother when she would constantly remind me of the hurt I inflicted upon my sister when I wasn't there for my niece's  birth even as we were both  long over it.  My sister had forgiven me and in this case, I had forgiven me.

 Today, however, I am feeling nothing but guilt, shame and frankly a little bit of irritation as Laura brings up, once again......how my suicidal ideation has greatly wounded my sons especially Mitch, more than I could possibly fathom since he witnessed me falling into a screaming, crying, angry heap. The guilt and shame begin to churn inside the caldron of my soul bubbling to the surface.  Then she moves onto the damage and pain I have inflicted and continue to inflict on Kurt each time I fall into talking of not wanting to live like this. Bubble, bubble!! She reminds me of the deep scars left on my family.  Bubble, bubble, bubble!!! And then how the rings of damage move outward touching my sister, my niece, Kelsey, and friends. Bubble, bubble, bubble, bubble!!!!  My caldron is now a red hot rolling boil of guilt, shame and pain.  I think to myself  "Why is she bringing this up again?  And what the fuck am I supposed to do now!" I think I have addressed this issue with my family, but I guess she feels like I need to do more, but what?  I know it isn't in her character to say this to wound me, but I feel cut to the bone.

I remind myself and Laura that I didn't WANT to die, I just didn't want to live in physical pain and mental torment.  Why?  Why is this mental illness my fault?  I didn't ask for the Eating Disorder to be hardwired into my brain.  I didn't ask to sink into the depressive thoughts.  I need to fix all of this and wondering how to do this eats away at me for days.

I ponder calling Laura, Rich or Jill, but decide I am a big girl with a good head, that isn't always crazy, on my shoulders.  I go to God and pray about it instead.  He will lead me if I am still and listen.  I am tired of running to others to stop me from failing or telling me what to do.  I don't want or need anyone's approval to day except God's.  How will I ever learn to trust God and myself if I don't step out on my own?

I spend the day in the solitude of my garden and my thoughts.  I plant the flowers in the best positions for them to get the right amount of sun and water them in so they will grow and fill in just the way I envision.  All the while I am thinking about the thought and care I put into these flowers to see
the beauty of their blooms; my heart is breaking as I think about the seeds of fear and despair I have planted in my family's mind as well as the ones that I  have scattered among the other's that love me. I wonder how much I have continued to water and feeds these seeds allowing them to flourish. (Why does she have to keep bringing this up?)  In the moment I am sure it is to torture me!

I understand that I have rung a bell and can't un-ring it, but what if I can place my hand on it to lessen the vibration?  I picture someone playing the hand bells and the way they place them back down onto the soft surface to stop or dampen the vibration.

I am riddled with guilt and fear for my family, particularly Mitch.  He saw the ugliest parts of me, and I saw him drive back to college sobbing and shaking in fear.  I did this to him!  What kind of mother am I? I feel an intense need to check in with him again, but is this the right thing to do?  How many times do I have to go to him and the rest for forgiveness? Is it for my peace of mind or his?  I decide it is both of us.  My Phone rings just as I was thinking of calling him.  "Hi Mom, it's Mitch!"  "Really Honey, not only do I have caller ID, but I know the sound of your voice."  We both chuckle.  I ask him about his job interview, take a deep breath, and say a silent prayer.  I check in with him about the tirade  he witnessed over a year ago.  I ask him what his feelings were about my suicidal talk and what they are today.  " Mom, I was terrified, sad and very worried.  I feel like you are in a better place so I don't worry as much, but I still worry.  You know...I guess I love you"  I can tell from the lilt in his voice that he is now messing with me.  "I am sorry for burdening you this way.  I didn't mean to hurt you.  I want you to know that I am in a better place. I also want you to know that if you ever need to talk to me about this, it is fair game.  It is fair for you to be angry, sad, and resentful because of my words and actions.  If you ever want to talk to a therapist just send me the bill."  "Really mom, I am okay," He says, "But a trip to The Atlantis would help!"  Ah, I love his humor and I take that as a cue that he is finished talking about this.  I hope I have dampened the ringing of this bell for him.

I tell Kurt about my conversation with Mitch.  He doesn't understand why I want to go back and revisit such a terrible time in our lives, and  he quotes Joel Olsteen about focusing on the positive.  This shuts me down.  Then he tells me how he used to walk in the door phone in hand ready to dial 911.  " I am so sorry!  That is really all I wanted to say to say to you and make sure that you are ok and that we are ok. I know it was months ago, but my recent cut on my arm has caused you concern.  It was to relieve emotional pain, not to take my life."  I try to reassure him that I praise God daily for the blessing he is in my life.  "I love you so deeply and try to fathom that you love me as deeply.  I am more in love with you today than the day we married.  Can you hear that and believe that?  You are more than good enough for me.  My thoughts of dying had everything to do with me and not wanting to put you and our family through my pain and suffering."  I believe that is how anyone who is suicidal must feel, or they wouldn't take there own life.  In some twisted way we think we are sparing ourselves and loved ones pain, when really we create  pain that one never overcomes.

I ask Kurt to forgive me and if he is okay one last time.  He nods and I begin to weep.  "I am so very sorry.  Every day I work so fucking hard to do all the right things in recovery, taking care of the nerve by doing my PT, and sometimes I just mess up.  I can't do it all perfectly!  As much as I want to; I can't."  "Like the miscarriage?"  He says. "Yep," I say "It still hurts, but I have forgiven you.  And I understand that you can forgive me, but it still hurts."

It is with these words that I ask if we can forgive ourselves.  Maybe it is time for me to take a step down and let God be God and since he has forgiven me and my family has forgiven me, perhaps it is time to forgive myself.

Voices

Voices


Galatians 2:20 "My old self has been crucified with Christ.  It is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me. So I live in this earthly body by trusting in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me" (NLT)


I was glad that I made the decision to go to the cottage instead of San Francisco for the invasive treatment of my nerve.  I just needed a break from doctors, physical therapists, nutritionists, even my therapist here at home.  Has it really been four years that I have been seeing her twice a week?  Yes, I am glad I even had a break from her and trying to figure out how to fix myself or be still and let God do it.  I need to just be, even if it means ignoring the Eating Disorder and the neuralgia.  I can't quite turn off the voice in my head that continues to taunt me, "If the eating disorder isn't a choice, then how does one chose to recover?  Is it something like the flu that I can catch again and again?  Or is it an illness more like Chicken pox that once you have it you shouldn't get it again? But I got it again!  How do I do this?  Can I do this? Is It a waste of my time and energy if I will catch it again?" I am  able to at least quiet the voice for a few days by just asking God to worry about all of this for me.

As I travel I-75 south back to my home, the critical voice seems to rise above the hum of the wheels on the pavement.  I curl up with my dog on my lap and sleep just to halt it's assault on my body image.  We turn into the drive way and the wheels of discontent begin to turn in my head.  I try to focus on the great weekend(that turned into a week), and that I get to settle into some sort of routine for the next few months.  I can't remember the last time I was home for almost three months straight, and I am looking forward to it.

I wake to feeling thick and fear I look as thick as I feel.  Maybe I will feel better after I work out?  But, after five or more miles on the treadmill watching my breasts bounce up and down in the  reflection off the attached TV and catching my side view in the mirrors I feel worse.  I can't not step on the scale.  I hear its voice calling me into the locker room to face my number one nemesis, the number on the scale.  I say it is the number, but it is really me.  Just like most of us with eating disorders,  I am my own nemesis; my own worst critic.  I ignore the compassionate voice that is shyly speaking up inside of me, "don't do this to yourself you are not a number you aren't your disease!"  It is drowned out by the call of the scale as its voice escalates like the crescendo of a symphony.  I step up to the scale,  (Note to self; don't weigh yourself  after a vacation) knowing that I am setting myself up for, in my eyes failure!  I slide the weight ever so slowly up the lever further and further way from the fulcrum.  118 lbs.  Panic sets in and tears form, but do not fall.  I inhale deeply and scan the locker room for any voyeurs that at times comment on my weight. (why is it ever okay for anyone except my clinicians to ask about my weight?) I exhale and am alone and lonely in this excruciating moment.  I draw another breath feeling an essence of relief that I am not over the pivotal 120lbs, the  arbitrary line my clinicians have drawn between sick and well.  What if it was 120 lbs?  Would that mean I wasn't "sick anymore?"  Here is the great myth about eating disorders; that it is about the weight.  It isn't about the weight, but what the weight means to those of us enslaved to the scale. It is about our self worth being measured by what we appear to be and not who we really are.  Do I have to look sick, to be sick?  If I don't look sick does that mean I don't have the eating disorder. Well, here is a common myth, that you can tell by looking at someone if they have an eating disorder.  In a February meeting at the NIMH Alliance for Research Progress Cynthia Bulik. Ph.D. states that, "eating disorders come in all shapes and sizes.  You could be normal weight yet still have a-typical anorexia nervosa if you have lost a lot of weight."  I also know from personal testimonies that some of the sickest people I know are of normal weight, but are binging and purging, or simply purging on a regular basis.  So, I guess this answers the question, could I still be sick.  As my weight stabilizes, am I allowed to continue treatment for the the parts of me that still feel wounded despite the weight?  I wrestle with this concept daily even as I feel stronger physically and emotionally, but not quite there.

I had been speaking to myself all week long about weight and my body. "You will be fine and you will get used to this body just as you grew (far to easily) accustomed to the bony body, the pregnant body, and the one you settled into after Mitch was delivered."  Yes, I grew accustomed to all those bodies that was really just one body....mine.  Did I like them all?

I loved my pregnant body!  This body meant freedom to nurture, but not necessarily myself.  I knew I had another life within me, counting on me to nourish it so it could grow.  So, if ever there was a time to let  go and "step up to the plate" it was now.  And when the line appeared on that stick, I was sure this pea sized creature needed a cheeseburger.  Why wasn't okay for me to need a cheeseburger?  I guess the same reason that I can show compassion, but not receive it, or give it to myself.  Although this too is beginning to shift.  The thing about eating disorders, addictions, and life is that the shifting is so very tricky.  It is like scaling those walls again and again.  We go higher, then we slip, then a little higher, then slip, and I am starting to see that this is ok.  It keeps us on our toes and reaching for God's hand.

I believed I loved my bony body with the muscles and the veins exposed.  I compared, at one point, watching my body move to that of watching a thoroughbred race.  The muscles straining just beneath the surface as it thundered toward the finish fascinanting me.  I, however, was no thoroughbred.  I now see that I was muscled with veins protruding, but more on the verge of collapsing than thundering towards any home except The Lords.

I don't want to grow accustomed to this slightly fuller body; I want to love it.  It saddens me that this is so difficult and pulls my mind away from my real value and truth of my eternal identity in Christ.  Would I talk to another of His children the way I speak to myself?  I found myself in a debate about wearing a fitted running shirt, or wearing one that was more comfortable; that didn't cling to my perceived rolls.
I hate the feeling of this shirt hugging my curves.  It screams at me, "Oh my gosh you have gained sooo much weight!"  And according to the scale I have gained 3 and 1/2 pounds.  Do I force my self to wear it as punishment, or in celebrations for all the hard work I have done?  Both seem like viable options, but I am scared that I am losing control and convinced that this sudden weight gain has come out of the blue.  I am also scared that it will continue to encroach on my body leaving me fat and somehow hiding my identity beneath it.

I decide I will wear it as punishment for allowing this weight to creep on as I hear a voice from within my head.  "You have a let this happen.  You have these fleshy rolls, now feel it and deal with it!"  I wear the shirt and don't like it!  I throw on a light weight vest as if to say "fuck you to the voice."  I may have to feel the roles of flesh, but I can't let anyone see them.  I am afraid that they will see this new body as a sign of weakness and not of strength.  This all plays with my mind.  I question what to eat, if I should eat? I sense the freedom I was beginning to feel slip away.  Instead of pressing on, I feel the eating disorder pressing in on  me like a vice shutting of my air and my voice.

I am hungry but I deny it.  Do I hide this body, embrace it, or allow it to fade away again.  I feel like a dog toy being tugged at by all three of my dogs at the same time.

Scaling Walls

Scaling Walls



Psalm 18:29 "In your strength I can crush an army, with my God I can scale any wall." (NLT)

1 Peter 5:10 "In his kindness God called you to share in his eternal glory by means of Christ Jesus.  So after a little while he will restore, support, and strengthen you, and he will place you on a firm foundation"

 I have often described my eating disorder as a very large hole that I have dug for myself, and now I am left to scale the very deep sides to live in the  light and fresh air instead of the cold stale air, and darkness of the hole. I sit on the ski lift escorting me from the bottom of the steep slope to the top and wish that I had a chairlift to carry me up the steep walls of the eating disorder.  As I read the above scripture, I realize that, in a sense I do have a chairlift to carry me, his name is Jesus.  All I have to do is sit in his lap and let me ride my way to the top, but for some reason I keep jumping off just before I reach the top.  Other times I arrive at the top, but fear keeps me from getting off so I ride it back down to the bottom of the steep icy slope.  Either way, I miss the spectacular view from the top, or the chance to stand on my own two feet and pick the marked paths that lead to exhilarating rides instead of the ones that lead to hidden holes.

I am beginning to think I fear being well, as much as being sick.  All those feelings, good and bad that the eating disorder numbed me to, seem a bit daunting and scary.  What does being well feel like?  Does it feel good, happy, sad, painful,  or all of these wrapped up in one oddly shaped package ?  I am not sure I am ready for this?  I keep saying that all I want is to be normal and free from Eating disorders, Neuralgia, and feeling like I need to measure up to some arbitrary physical, intellectual, and emotional bar I have set for myself.  The irony is that I have not set this bar, but it is my mother's and society's bar that I try to reach.  Yet, I still shoot for it.  Today I find myself feeling as close to normal as I guess I can as set out to ski wit my husband and son.

My nerve is tweaky as it flares from eight hours of sitting in the car, I vow that I will rely on God's grace and strength so this doesn't ruin my day on the slopes.  The sky is blue and the air carries the fragrance of the impending spring on its breath. I slip into my ski pants.  They feel, to my relief, loose and comfy.  Then before I can go, I NEED to try on my skinny jeans.  They are fine, at least I think they are okay?  I take them off quickly so that the eating disorder can't rest on me like the dark clouds that have just lifted of the lake.  I decide I will go back to the jeans later.

Today as we were all having a great time skiing, I found myself once again hoping for Kurt or Mitch to cry out "I am hungry! Let's eat!"  Before I had to admit I was starving.  Yes, I was starving and aware of it.  Neither seemed like they were ready to stop, and I had used up my morning fuel of granola and yogurt.  So, instead of admitting hunger, I played the PEE card!  I know that  they will wander inside with me instead of waiting outside.  Once inside they will smell the burgers on the grill, see the fresh baked cookies, and decide we may as well eat while we are there. This is exactly what happens.   "Ahh!  Well played,"  I think in total relief as I get to use the restroom and eat without confessing my hunger.  Why is it okay to admit my bladder is full, but not that my belly is empty?  Isn't that how God created our bodies to work?  There is no out put without input!  I initially feel very clever and smug using my guile to trick them into thinking eating was their idea. Then I become angry (or is it sad), that something holds me back from acknowledging the primal need for food.  "Damn it!!"  I say under my breath, "would you just leave me alone for the day?"  I wish I could send the eating disorder off an unmarked trail where it would get lost in a hole....forever!

Okay,  now the second challenge of the day (I am really tired of this), what do I eat?  Seriously, if you are not a skier, you need to know that there is an abundance of food to choose from, and I am as overwhelmed as I am hungry.  And, even though I don't dare to speak it, I am STARVING!  As soon as I enter the cafeteria, my senses are assaulted with wonderful aromas of burgers, fries, fresh baked breads, cookie, brownies, pizza, wings and rings.  The steam from the four different soups wafts towards me delighting my nose.  The salad bar is calling me with brilliant colors of greens, golds, and reds.  The fruit is ripe and luscious.  I touch a pear that feels perfect.  There are cases filled with yogurt next to shelves of homemade granola.  So many choices; the good, the acceptable, the bad, and the down right ugly (decadent). These are all hard choices for anyone to make, but add a crappy body image day to an eating disorder that is just beginning to ebb, and I am screwed.  What do I want?  No, wait what do I need.  Umm, what is okay?  What isn't?  I tell Kurt and Mitch to go ahead and pay.  "I'll catch up."  I say as light heartedly as I can.   I circle the cafeteria for what feels like the hundredth time.  I go back to my new "mantra"  "What if what I want is just what I need?"

I want a sandwich, but they are huge, and not just to those of us that have food issues.  They really are HUGE, but I want the southwestern Panini; turkey, chipoltle mayo, avocado, lettuce and tomato.  I turn my back on the yogurt and fruit.  Mitch decides he will share it with me.  I am getting the mayo, so I say no to the cheese.  I want both, but decide I don't need both.   "No, wait," I say to the  cook as I watch the other sandwiches' velvety cheese ooze out their sides "I will have the cheese."
I try to justify this decision in my mind by reminding myself that I have skied all morning.  I am pissed that I have to justify it.  I have a difficult time discerning between, normal, indulgent and gluttony.  I pray that good will stop my brain from spinning and give me the firm foundation of normalcy for the moment.  I steady my self and take the first bite of the sandwich.  It is even better than I thought it would be.  I eat my half of the sandwich, my diet coke, and my share of the communal cookie.  I find as I connect with my food,  I am free to connect with Kurt and Mitch.  I am briefly able to savor both at the same time.

After skiing I was pretty useless. I showered, said goodbye to my son and took a nice long nap.  I get up and go back to the jeans and decide they are more snug than I would like them to be.   I do a body scan in the mirror and am anxious that it doesn't sooth me as much as my full length mirror at home.  How can my body image change so quickly from thin in  my ski clothes, to fat in my jeans?  I remind myself that they are fresh out of the drier, and that regardless of my jeans I am Okay.  Nothing about who I am in Christ has changed.  I am so tired of thinking about this.  "here God why don't you worry about it for now"  I am tired of my inner critical voice telling me what I should look like, eat or not eat.  Now all I hear is the eating disorder say " See, are you sure you NEEDED the sandwich?"  "No, I am not sure I needed it, but I don't need you right now either!  Just leave me alone."