Tag Archives: Body positive

Love Will Win

Earlier this week, as I was planning my posts for the week, I was excited to write one in particular about the power of a “me too”. How that’s what we’re all looking for in this life. How we’re all just searching for people who feel the same things, fear the same things, believe in the same things.

But like many of us, I find myself unable to think about anything but this election.

I am heartbroken in a way that I have never been heartbroken before. Tuesday night, I collapsed into tears multiple times but the one at 3am, when I awoke after drifting off to sleep for a mere 16 minutes to Trump making his acceptance speech, was by far the worst.

I sobbed uncontrollably in bed. I worried about waking the neighbors. I heard myself make noises that I haven’t made since childhood, when my mom or my dad would rub my back and tell me everything would be okay. I turned on Friends for a brief minute before realizing that nothing could make me feel better. I shut my TV off, laid in my dark apartment and cried. I woke up this for work two hours later and both my pillow and my t-shirt were soaked. I’ve hardly stopped crying since.

Throughout the election, I kept repeating to myself and others that love will prevail. Love will win, I said.

Love trumps hate. With everything in me, I believed that.

Today, I feel like hate won. It’s hard not to. Trump spewed blatant hate for the LGTBQ+ community, the Muslim community, females, Mexicans, blacks. I don’t have the capacity to understand it. I cannot understand it.

I made hundreds, if not thousands, of calls this election season. I have been at my local campaign office every week since August. I spent at least one night a week surrounded by like-minded people who cared about women and Muslims and every other oppressed group. People who felt, like me, that the world would end of Trump won. It made me feel better to be in that space every week. Plugging away at our phone calls, getting voters excited about Hillary, making sure they knew where and when they were voting. I ache to be in that space now. I think of my fellow volunteers and my heart breaks a little more.

We cared so much. We put so much into this election. We believed, with our whole hearts, that Hillary would win, that love would prevail.

When I joined the body positive community almost a year ago, I entered a world that honored and respected and encouraged inclusivity of all kinds. Not just body size and shape- gender, race, religion, sexual orientation, ethnicities. I surrounded myself with people like myself, who truly believe that diversity makes this country a better place. People who do not fear what’s unknown to them. People who unconditionally love and respect. People who embrace diversity and individuality.

I’m in a snow globe. The world has been shaken up and I don’t know which way is up or down, my feet can’t seem to find the ground. None of the pieces have fallen into place yet. It’s taken the most painful event to realize that the inclusive world I’ve nested myself in is the minority. Accepting, loving, compassionate people- they might win the popular vote but they will never get backed in our warped system, where compassion is seen as weak and the electoral college an do whatever the fuck it wants .

You see, it doesn’t matter if Donald Trump continues his hateful rhetoric. The damage is already done (although I fear it could be much, much worse). He has just confirmed that white, cisgender, straight men can say basically whatever they want and not see consequences. His win was all the white supremacists in this country needed to feel like they are getting their country back. This is a man backed by the KKK. A man who is on trial for raping a 15-year- old next month. And he is our President-elect.

If you are reading this and you’re thinking “well, not all people who voted for Trump are white supremacists”, then you are right. But a vote for Trump was a blatant disregard for every single marginalized person in our nation.

I am shattered thinking about my LGBTQ+ friends, my minority friends, my friends who are not natural-born citizens. I have heard from a few of them today and I can’t say anything to make it better, I can’t say anything to explain it. I can only promise them that I will not leave their side and that I will not stop fighting for them.

In the end, I do hope, as we all do, that love will prevail. The love I see emerging from broken communities everywhere is overwhelming. People sharing their stories, people comforting others, people sparing whatever love they can to give it to someone who needs it more. It’s amazing to me that a community that was so shattered 12 hours ago is already trying to rebuild, to pick up and keep moving forward.

My original post was going to be about the “me too”s . All the ways in which the power of that simple connection can ease worries and comfort the suffering. Slowly, all over the country today, people are sharing their stories of grief, of sadness, of anger, of anguish and sorrow. And people are standing up to say

me too. me too. me too.

Yesterday, prejudice and discrimination and hate won. People are hurting. But love will win. It has to win. And in the days to come, when the pieces begin to fall and confusion turns into clarity, we will wipe ourselves off and keep going. We will stand up.

When you’re a little off center…

It took me awhile but after twenty-three years, I’ve finally found my center. You know, the place everyone is referring to when they describe themselves “centered”. The place where peace emanates from, the place where I feel grounded and whole. I am centered when I have a low (but not too low) stress level. I am centered when I am doing work and activities that fulfill me. I am centered when I am making time for myself. I am centered when I am eating regularly and enough. It’s in this place that I can think clearly, laugh loudly and feel good, despite what thoughts pop up.

I am very off-center.

Before anyone gets worried (ahem, mom), I am fine. I am just a normal person who sometimes has bad days and who sometimes doesn’t sleep well at night. Most importantly for myself, I am eating enough (although I do believe I could stand to eat more because I’m a bit more draggy than usual, even for this kind of mood. Oh, the wonders of recovery. Never know when your body suddenly wants to make more repairs).

I started moving away from my center this weekend. I spent my weekend in Rhode Island, which is where I went to college and where a lot of my friends still live. Let’s get two things out of the way first: I’ve had my panties in a bunch because my October weekends are getting eaten alive by life. I just want to slow down, enjoy my favorite time of year, go for a hike in these beautiful NH mountains by myself. I want to go to the farmer’s market on Saturday morning and get a cookie butter coffee while I’m over there. I want to write and read and bask in the beauty of the Earth. I regret to inform you all that I am selfish when it comes to my weekends. I love seeing people and spending time with my friends but I also love two whole days where I have no plans, no obligations, just me doing my own thang. And I have not a single weekend in October to myself which makes me (again, selfishly) grumpasaurus rex. Second, the full moon was this weekend so this moon child was feeling all sorts of nutty.

Also before everyone I’ve spent an October weekend with feels bad/mad/sad: HI GUYS I love you all so much it’s stupid, I am just being a greedy wench who wants it both ways. 

That being said…I went to Rhode Island this weekend. Which is a place where I spent four long, unhappy years trapped by my eating disorder and unbearable anxiety. It’s a place where I spent many nights crying, feeling unwanted, feeling bad about myself, feeling different, feeling every emotion under the sun. I had some very dark days there. And it’s a place I have not been back to since recovery.So basically, my weekend brought up some unexpected things. And for the most part, thatI spent most of my weekend with four of my friends, all of whom except one had not seen me since recovery (it is worth noting here that I was not worried at all about them seeing me and thinking of me differently. That’s just a thought I had now like hey, they might have noticed you gained 50 pounds but it’s totally not anything I thought of beforehand because they are all good and loving and funny people who don’t judge people based on the way they look. These are the kind of people everyone should hang out with). Anywho. I just wasn’t used to being my recovered self with them. Even when we went out to meals, I started having thoughts about who I used to be when I was with them and how I used to eat and who I am now and what I eat. It’s like looking at a picture from your childhood; suddenly, you are sucked back into the past and you forget where you are or what you’re doing or how you’ve grown.

didn’t stop me from enjoying the weekend. I had a swell time. I laughed harder than I have in awhile and loved up on people who I haven’t seen in awhile and ate delicious breakfast foods. But those thoughts sat in the back of mind, lingering there like smoke after you blow out the flame. And then I continued to let it smolder for a few more hours while I drove home. And then I decided that I didn’t feel like journaling (which I do every night, especially after a weekend of not writing) and I didn’t feel like reading and all I wanted to do was watch mindless TV and get mad over silly things and then walk by the river with a podcast in to distract myself from it all. Note: this is not helpful.

Yesterday, I was trying to be kind to myself but my tummy hurt and work was dragging by and I didn’t like my swollen belly and my hair was driving me crazy and my knee was bothering me more than usual and I went to bed later than I wanted to and I didn’t sleep hardly at all and this morning when I woke up, it was cloudy and colder than it was supposed to be and I didn’t feel like going to work and I had a headache and an ingrown hair and it was raining on me during my outreach stops and they gave me the wrong thing for lunch and I forgot my seltzer water home and how could anyone possibly happy when so many catastrophic things are happening to her?!?!?!

Yes, I am being a baby. But even still, this whole combination of things plus exhaustion brought up some very real depression/anxiety/body image thoughts for me. As I drove home from work today, I just thought to myself: what are you doing? Why are you making yourself miserable? Why aren’t you writing when you know it will help? Why aren’t you reading when you know you would rather do that than watch that episode of Friends for the 27th time (not that there’s anything wrong with that)? Why are you letting those body image thoughts take hold in your brain?

I’m not saying that depression or anxiety or eating disorders are decisions; they aren’t. They are very real, very scary, very distressing and unpleasant. But after seven years of dealing with these things, there are things I know I can do to make myself feel better. It’s easier, yes, to be enveloped by the bad thoughts and curl up in them like a blanket. That is a place I once took great comfort. But that’s not where I want to live anymore. That blanket that once felt warm and cozy now feels scratchy and harsh, like it’s been used too many times. That warm feeling comes when I’m at my center, when I’m honoring my truth in my little bubble of authentic life.

So I need to move back towards that space, back to to the place where I feel like I am serving a greater purpose and am fulfilled, happy, whole.It’s not easy. But it’s easier than getting sucked into that dark place, where the light gets so dim it eventually goes out. Fighting back against that by doing things I love to a place where I feel like I am beaming light? Yes please. That is where I want to be. That is where I’m going. We all have that center, the place where we emulate light and love, to the place where we’re all just feelin’ really good, man. It’s our job to find that place, figure out how to get there and then do everything in our power to stay in that sliver of life where joy and fulfillment and contentment and passion live. We all have that place. And we can all get there. Tomorrow is a new day.

Now I want you to tell me…
If you’ve had an ED, has going back to places/people you associate with that thing brought difficult thoughts up?
Does this post resonate with people who have dealt with mental illness in general? Do you feel like there are times when you are off-balance and can feel yourself being pulled in the opposite direction?
How do you find your center?
What’s the best thing that happened to you today? (In case anyone is wondering, mine would be writing this blog post in my sweatpants under this cozy blanket.)

Let’s connect!
Facebook: www.facebook.com/sundaesforthesoul/
Instagram: www.instagram.com/sundaesforthesoul
Twitter:www.twitter.com/SundaesForSoul
Pinterest:www.pinterest.com/sundaesforsoul/

Looking for ourselves in old photos

This past week, I’ve found myself looking at old pictures of me. Pictures of me in college, pictures of me at the beach, pictures of me at my sister’s wedding, pictures of me at my graduation. In all this pictures, I am smiling, looking happy, taking photos with all my family, laughing with my friends and I looked back at these photos and I felt…

Awful. Terrible. Ashamed. Self-conscious. Sad.

In all this pictures, I weigh less than I do right now. Most of these pictures were taken in the span of time I was at my lowest weight and the ones that weren’t were when I was at a weight that was still too low for my body. And right now, I weigh more than I ever have in my life (I can’t say that definitively because I don’t own a scale or weigh myself but I can tell you with pretty much absolute certainty that it’s true). I don’t look like I do in those pictures, at least not to me. I look nearly unrecognizable to my disordered eyes. My belly has some squish, my bum is ever-expanding and my first reaction when I saw these pictures was I want to look like that again. 

But here is the thing: that’s not true. I don’t want to look like that again. Because when I looked like that, I was waging a war inside my head. I was exhausted, mentally and physically. I was too busy counting calories and planning workouts to enjoy the beach or the time with my friends or the party. Wherever I was, I wasn’t really there. I was off in my own little world, a world filled with self-hate and calories and meal planning and workouts- a world that no one should ever have to live in.

As I looked at these pictures, I thought to myself: if I looked like this right now, how would my life be different? The answer: it wouldn’t. My life wouldn’t suddenly become better. I would still be a student, finishing up her dietetic internship and getting ready to launch into the real world in a few months. I would still be living in this same apartment, driving the same car, have the same friends. All my relationships- with my family, with my friends, with my partner- would be exactly the same, arguably better because I more willingly engage in conversation when my head isn’t swirling with ED thoughts. I would still be a book enthusiast, a feminist and advocate for equality, a coffee shop explorer, a Bernie Sanders and lefty politics supporter, a lover of all things Earth and an admirer of funny women; I would still drink tea in bed every night and listen to podcasts and watch Jeopardy and like nothing more than a night alone with a glass of wine and a good movie in bed. (And in case anybody was wondering, yes I am living the life of a 65-year-old woman in a 22-year-old body). All of these things would be same if I was that smaller size again. My position in life wouldn’t change.

If I were that size again, I would be in exactly the same place but. I would still feel trapped, imprisoned in my own head. I wouldn’t feel this free. I wouldn’t be able to eat ice cream every day. I wouldn’t be able to reconnect with all the foods that remind me of childhood, that I deprived myself of for years. I wouldn’t be able to read and write and daydream in the afternoon because I would be forcing myself to complete an excessive workout. I wouldn’t have time to spend with the things that I’m passionate about, the things that make my soul sing. My body would be smaller, but my life would be smaller too.

Here is one of the latest photos of me, taken last weekend right before a date night. Enjoying the space I’m taking up, embracing my recovery body and excited about life. If you’re in recovery, I urge you to think of not just how you looked in old photos but how trapped you felt felt. Think of not just the weight you’ve gained, but the life and the freedom and the ability to enjoy life. So do I want to look like I used to? You know, I think I’m actually okay here.

Mirror, mirror.

Mirrors are great for checking your teeth after lunch to make sure there’s no spinach stuck in between them. They’re great for making sure your skirt isn’t tucked into your underwear as you leave the bathroom or to check to make sure there’s no toilet paper hanging off your dress . They’re handy for putting on make-up, if that’s something you choose to do. They are nice to have around to ensure your shirt matches your pants or to check if your skirt is appropriate length for work.

You know what mirrors are not great for checking?

Your self worth.

Now before I go any further, I need to preface this by saying this post is not intended for those who have love their bodies and are happy with what they see in the mirror and who are so beautifully entrenched in the idea of body love. To you, I think you are awesome and inspiring and I encourage you to keep on doing you. For everyone else- keep reading 🙂

As I mentioned in my last post, I went home last weekend for Easter. This was my first visit home since I started the recovery process. After about 10 minutes of being home, something because remarkably clear. Mirrors, mirrors, everywhere. Now before I continue, my house does not have an exceptional number of mirrors. There are mirrors in the bathroom, the bedroom and a few decorative mirrors around the house. It’s not like I live in some crazy fun house of mirrors or anything like that. But my apartment, for the most part, is quite devoid of mirrors. There’s a small mirror that reveals only my head and shoulders in the bathroom and a very small mirror I use to put on makeup (which I do begrudgingly) and that’s about it. My full-length mirror hides tucked away in my closet, pulled out only when necessary (mostly on date nights or mornings where I’m too tired to decide if the things I’m wearing match). So to go to somewhere with more than two tiny mirrors, well, it was a bit of an eye opener.

I decided months ago, before I began this process, to hide my full length mirror in the closet because I realized I had become quite a mirror addict. And my guess is that I’m not alone in this, especially for any women reading this. How many times do you check the mirror before you decide on an outfit in the morning or before you leave the house? How many times do your find yourself seeking one out during the day to make sure your hair isn’t sticking up funny or your butt doesn’t look too big? And of course, how many people use any semi-reflective surface they walk by to check out their reflection? Windows, glass walls, reflections on car doors, reflections on regular doors…sound familiar? I am definitely guilty of this. In high school, I remember using the trophy case in the social studies wing to check my reflection every day. I was obsessive about checking my reflection and the way my body looked in mirrors during college. I find myself using the glass sliding doors in the morning when I’m walking into the hospital some days.

And the thing is, this isn’t even an eating disorder behavior at all. I’m willing to bet that some, if not most, people reading this can relate to the phenomenon of needing to check your reflectionMaybe you check out your stomach, your face, your thighs, your boobs, your shoulders….whatever it is! Everyone can find things on their bodies that they fixate on and don’t like. And so what do we do when that happens? We feel the need to check on it all the time with the help of our trusty mirrors.

Personally, I have always been fixated on my stomach. Every mirror I walked by. I would check it out by the side, from the front- and if there was a way to check it from the back, I’m sure I would have done that, too. I tormented myself over those 6 square inches of my body. How did they look today? Was it bigger? Smaller? Puffier? Flatter? Should I stop wearing this shirt? Ahhhhh! I’m driving myself crazy just thinking about this old habit of mine.

But guess what? NO ONE CARES. No one cares how my stomach looks. No one cares if I have a funny hair sticking up. No one cares about my little bit of eyeliner that went slightly off course this morning. No one cares because chances are, they’re too busy thinking about their own flaws anyway. It needs to stop! We give these mirrors so much power over us. I used to let me reflection in the mirror ruin my day. As soon as I woke up, it was the first thing I checked and if I didn’t like it that particular day, well then, the day was ruined. Here’s the thing: nothing good came from this. Giving our mirrors more power than they deserve is a losing battle. I rarely thought I looked good, no matter what I saw. And on the off chance that I didn’t hate it, I felt pressured to keep it that way and to do more, control more, which just feeds right back into the eating disorder. It’s a vicious cycle that anyone can get sucked into, regardless of whether you have disordered eating or not.

Your reflection in the mirror does define your worth. It cannot show the happiness and joy you bring to other people’s lives. It will not show you your compassion or the way your genuinely care about the world. It cannot measure the love in your life or the kindness of your being. It cannot show you how much your friends and family care about you. It cannot show you all the good things you think or the bad jokes you tell that make you laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

This week’s blog comes with a challenge, my friends:

DO NOT let your mirror control your life or your mood or your day or anything else.
DO NOT give your mirror more power than what it is- a silly little piece of glass.

Pay attention to how many times you look in the mirror and what you’re hoping to seek from it. Are you going to check that you don’t have something in your teeth? Cool! Are you going to make sure that your body looks “acceptable”? Not cool. You might actually be surprised once you start recognizing how often you look in the mirror (again, this does not apply if you are one of the fabulous people who embraces body love in all their glory. In THAT case, keep looking in the mirror cause damn, you look good girl). I encourage you to try to practice a little mindfulness when it comes to your mirror-checking habits. OR if you want to challenge yourself even more, point out all your positives when you look in a mirror. Give yourself compliments. Shower yourself with self-love. In my hopes of embracing body love, those are things that I’ve been trying to do lately and I gotta tell you, I think it’s helping. Cause I gotta tell ya, those mirrors at home? After awhile, they didn’t bother me one bit.

Just for you guys…some silly mirror pictures to prove how little my reflection really means. If this post resonated with you or if you do challenge your mirror habits, I would love to hear about it in the comments below! Sending love and wishes for a happy week to you all!

Reasons to Recover

There are a thousand and one reasons to recover from an eating disorder. More than that, probably. One of the first things I did when I committed to recovery was make a list of reasons why I should recover. I sat in my bed with candles lit and mellow music in the background and scribbled out a list of everything I could think of in my journal. There’s a lot of reasons and I hope to talk about a lot of them as I continue to share on this blog- my hope is to share a new one every few weeks. They won’t be in any particular order- none are more or less important than the others. But right now, I want to share one in particular with you all.

So here is my first reason to recover that I want to share: being able ot eat out at restaurants without guilt. I love restaurants. I think eating out is such a small and delicious pleasure in life. I love going to restaurants with their perfectly set tables and their beautiful flatware and their tasty cocktail menus. I love a perfectly dressed salad, a wonderfully seasoned piece of meat, creamy polentas and risottos. I love the option of appetizers and desserts. I love breakfasts away from home. Omelettes, perfectly buttered toast and homemade french toast. I’m getting carried away but the bottom line is: I love food.

Buuuut…I hate food at the same time. Food has provided me with the biggest love/hate relationship of my whole life. I love food- how it tastes, how it looks, how it’s art within itself. But I hate food- for causing me anxiety, for never feeling like I deserve it, for the never ending guilt that I associate it with. And throw in the fact that I am a nutrition major and know much more about the scientific properties of food than any person should…well. It’s just complicated.

But recovery has flipped this whole thing upside down. I’m trying to go from a love/hate relationship to a love/love relationship. Which is hard. But kind of awesome.

I’ve been to a lot of restaurants throughout my recovery and while I love love love dining out, there’s been very few occasions where these outings didn’t totally consume me with guilt. Before recovery, eating out at restaurants meant being in very tight control of my intake and exercise for days before and after. It meant ordering whatever was “safest”. It meant saying no to dessert even if I wanted it.

But NOW. Now, my friends, things are different. Now eating out has no rules- it doesn’t take preparation. No extra workouts. No calorie counting. No restricting in preparation. Now, eating out is just that. It’s just a meal out. No strings attached. And how wonderfully freeing that feeling is.

Now I’m going to be totally honest: the first time I went out to dinner in recovery, it practically sent me back into a relapse. I was filled with anxiety before we even got to the restaurant. Despite how “free” I was, I felt ED screaming back at me to order the “safest” entree so that’s what I did. And I felt so guilty afterward, I felt sick to my stomach. This experience left my mind whirling- I felt like I had messed up my recovery. It turns out I didn’t mess it up- I just had a very normal, somewhat expected and entirely temporary fallback into my ED brain. I felt like I could do nothing but go home, curl up and go to sleep.

This weekend, exactly two weeks after that first experience, my partner and I went out to dinner once again. My ED brain was screaming at the top of her lungs last week so I was a bit nervous. When we first got to the restaurant, I went to the bathroom and made myself breathe and then said out loud to my reflection in the mirror “it’s not what you eat, it’s who you eat it with” (I’m a bit crazy I know). I went back to the table and quickly identified the safest entree on the menu- but that’s not what I ordered. I challenged myself to order something that I would have never even considered ordering before. Something that came cooked in loads of butter. Something that was delicious. We shared two appetizers before- and I can honestly say that I don’t think I have ever allowed myself to enjoy a cheese plate so thoroughly. At the end of the meal, we ordered Irish coffees, something which I’ve said I wanted to try for years but never had the courage to actually order.

 

Here’s the thing: this experience didn’t fill me with dread or shame or guilt. It didn’t make me want to cry and it didn’t make me embarrassed. It was so freeing to sit across from my partner and enjoy a meal with him. It was so nice to be able to carry on a conversation without adding calories in my head or sneaking my phone beneath the table to try to add them up. It was so nice to be present and not be caught up in the food or everything I have attached to it.

Dining out continues to confuse me- just yesterday morning, I went out to breakfast and I couldn’t decided if I wanted the safe food because I wanted it or because it was safe. I spent minutes antagonizing over the decision of what to order. I expect that this will continue to happen for awhile until I can repair my mind-body connection and be able to truly rely on my hunger cues.

The confusion is worth the freedom. I might not have had to deal with the confusion and the indecisiveness of ordering when I was stuck in my ED, but I was just that: stuck. I was trapped. I was trapped in a little prison I had made for myself and while it was cozy, it deprived me of so many of the beautiful things in this world. Like coffee with cream and  broiled fish in butter and white wine and pancakes and scallops wrapped in bacon. Things that may seem mundane and insignificant to other people that represent a HUGE win in my recovery.

Being able to eat out and enjoy not only the food, but being able to enjoy fully in the conversation and presence of the ones you’re with when you’re out to dinner is a beautiful, beautiful thing and in my opinion, one of many reasons to recover.

If you haven’t already done it, follow me on Instagram @sundaesforthesoul, Facebook at Sundaes for the Soul or Twitter at @sundaesforsoul (links above). I have heard from quite a few of you and I LOVE reading your comments and feedback so please keep it up! I love to talk about my journey and hear about yours. Sending you all strength and love this week!

A letter to all the young girls

To all the young girls and boys (and all the older ones too),

Lately, I’ve been reminded of a lot of memories of myself when I was younger that I haven’t thought about in quite some time. I had a wonderful childhood, really and truly. I grew up with four supportive and loving parents (and step-parents). I had a cool big sister and two neighbors that were practically family- all three of whom shaped my whole childhood and filled it with more happiness and goofiness than I can describe. I had friends who stayed by my side through middle school and high school and are still my friends today. I am lucky to say that I was surrounded by good people growing up.

But there’s other parts of my childhood that aren’t filled with this same kind of love. Don’t get me wrong- I knew nothing other than love from the people who I was closest to. To this day, I know more love than some people know in a life time. But there was always someone who was criticizing me, pointing out my flaws and showing me quite the opposite of love. And that someone was the little voice I had inside myself who was always telling me in no uncertain terms that I was not good enough.

I remember being no more than 12 years old and laying on the couch watching TV, pinching the skin on my legs thinking I was “fat”. I remember coming home from school in middle school and eating a large snack then immediately feeling guilty thinking that I had done something “wrong”. I remember going for runs to make up for all the “bad” foods I had eaten, even when I didn’t want to run. I remember feeling bad about my body because it didn’t match the girls I saw in the magazines or on TV. I remember feeling like I wasn’t fashionable enough because I didn’t have the “coolest” clothes. All of this before I even got out of middle school.

Once I got to high school, it continued and unfortunately, got even worse. Because once you get into high school, everyone’s bodies are changing/changed and you see older girls who look so much cooler and you feel like you’re the only one who feels trapped in her own awkward body. I remember how it feels. I remember thinking I was not “hot” enough. I remember feeling that unless I looked a certain way, no boys would ever like me. I remember the first time I panicked about eating mac n cheese and soda for lunch at a friend’s house because I felt like that wasn’t “healthy” enough. I remember comparing myself to every celebrity I saw in magazines. I remember feeling like everyone else was somehow doing it better than me. Here’s a secret: they’re not. 

Because here’s the thing: none of what I’ve mentioned so far- your body, your clothes, your stomach- those things are not what makes you beautiful. What makes you beautiful is the thoughts in your head, your hopes and your dreams for the future. What makes you beautiful is the way you laugh so hard your stomach hurts and how passionate you are about dancing or playing the violin or softball or whatever it is that you are passionate about. What makes you beautiful is how much you care about your friends and family and all the time you spend with them. What makes you beautiful is how you love to ride your bike and how you spend your nights watching Disney movies and how you do silly things with your best friends at sleepovers. What makes you beautiful is the way you care about your schoolwork and how you want to make the world a better place. What makes you beautiful is even the funny way your hair sticks up in the morning or how your fingernails are really wide or how you share the same big nose as your grandmother. What makes you beautiful is all these little things that make you you- the you that is more than just a body, the you that is your mind and your thoughts and your hopes and your desires.

All my life, I’ve been comparing myself to other people. All my life, I’ve been thinking that I wasn’t good enough. All my life, I didn’t think I was beautiful. I’m writing this so you know, far earlier than I did, that you are beautiful and you are good enough and you are the very best version of yourself. You don’t need to try to be anything different. You don’t need to pick yourself apart when you look in the mirror. And comparing yourself to others, well, it won’t get you anywhere. It was Theodore Roosevelt who said, “comparison is the thief of joy” and my goodness, isn’t that the truth. Comparing yourself to other people or celebrities in magazines will not bring you joy, I can assure you. It will rob you of your joy and you, my dear, do not deserve that. Your beautiful mind was made for things much, much more than trying to lose weight or trying to look a certain way. Your mind was made for more than comparing. Your mind was made for dreaming, for wanting to enlist change in the world, for thinking all the wonderful thoughts you think as you lay in bed at night.

So my advice to you is this: eat whatever you want. Wear whatever you want. Move your bodies in a way that feels good and healthy to you. Throw out any magazines with toxic images of “perfect” girls. And please don’t let yourself waste your young life or your early adulthood or even your full adulthood spending anymore time thinking that you are any less than beautiful. Please don’t let yourself waste anymore time thinking that you are not good enough. Because you are. There will never be anyone else who is as good as being you as you are. And don’t you ever forget it.

xoxo

Climbing.

I hiked a mountain yesterday.

I love hiking and no matter how many times I do it, I will never stop loving the quietness of nature, the sound of leaves crunching under my hiking boots, the scrambling to get to the top of the mountain, the way the whole world kind of melts away. And this hike was especially wonderful because it was with two of my best college friends and conveniently, two of the best roommates I’ve ever had.

Now, I know, really and truly, that hiking a 4000 foot mountain isn’t exactly within my recovery “rules”. My recovery body has not experienced exercise in over 7 weeks. Not even a short run around the block. Not even a brief stint on the elliptical. I do some yoga stretches sometimes, particularly when the sunshine (or moonshine) is coming in my window in the morning or night but that’s about it. But this was one of my best friend’s first time ever in New Hampshire and what is New Hampshire without mountains? So I admit, I broke a recovery “rule”. But I actively made the decision when they told me they were coming up that this hike would not be about calories or about how I was “burning off” my meals or how I was “earning” food. This hike would be about friends and trees and nature and Earth. And also, I’ve lived with many-a-rule for much too long and even though my no-exercise rule is in place for a good reason, it was worth breaking to appreciate this time with my friends.

The world slips away when you’re hiking. You aren’t surrounded by people and noise and useless chatter. You’re not comparing yourself to other people you say either in real life or on social media. You’re not scrolling through your Instagram feed looking at people who have “perfect bodies” and you’re not watching Snapchat stories of people having “more fun” than you. Your idea isn’t filled with other people’s ideas and images; it’s filled with your own thoughts, your own imagination with nothing but the dirt and the sky and the trees around you. When I’m hiking, I’m not comparing myself to the perfect-looking girl in the advertisement, I’m not pinching the parts of me that are not “perfect”, I’m not counting calories in my head. I’m just appreciating the fact that I’m made up of the same stuff as the dirt and the sky and the trees and that I deserve to be here too.

Hiking a mountain parallels recovery in a lot of ways and there’s a lot of metaphors (or similes if we want to get really technical about things)  that I could come up with. Like how it’s easier in the beginning and then after awhile, it starts to get really hard and suddenly you’re finding it much more of a challenge than you did in the beginning. Or how there’s always going to be parts where you trip or possibly fall. Or how there’s unexpected parts where it’s slippery (because it’s March and there’s still ice- and because there’s always going to be places in recovery where it’s easier to slip up). Or how good it feels to get to the top after so much hard work.

I haven’t gotten to the “summit” of recovery yet, I’m not even close. Full recovery doesn’t happen in 7 weeks. It happens in a year or two years or eight years or twenty years. But I can say with certainty that I’m getting closer everyday, even when I don’t feel like it. Even when I feel like I want to sit on the ground halfway up the mountain and just enjoy where I am without pushing on farther. But I don’t. I don’t give up because I know there is so much more at the top. I know that I’m cutting myself short if I stop. That even though I might be comfortable where I am right now, it’s not where I’m supposed to end up. That if I keep going, there will be so much more and I will be able to breathe so much deeper and see farther and have an even better perspective. Because that’s how it feels to be at the top of a mountain- you can take a deep breath and enjoy. Look around, spread out your arms and embrace all of the beautiful Earth around you.

 

I haven’t gotten to that point in my recovery yet, but it’s coming slowly but surely. And until then, I’ll refuse to give up, I’ll refuse to stop climbing, I’ll refuse to sit down and I’ll keep looking ahead to the day where I can spread my arms out and breath a little deeper.

 

The Terrifying and Amazing

Dear friends,

Have you ever been so inspired, so energized, so determined that you find it hard to put it into words? That is how I have felt the last couple weeks. I cannot quite describe it. I have so much I want to say, so many thoughts bouncing around in my head that I simply cannot organize them into coherent sentences. It’s a funny juxtaposition between immense creativity and tremendous writer’s block.

What I will say is this: I thought I was recovered from an eating disorder. I really, truly did. I thought I was there! I thought it had happened for real! And during a few heart-wrenching days of extreme clarity, I realized that I was fooling myself (and most everyone around me). The signs were all around me (and if you have a history of an eating disorder, please don’t read this as it is likely triggering). Signs like how I couldn’t take a day off from exercise without having a panic attack or crying. How I obsessed over calories and if a food is “healthy” or not. How I still had insane food rules like needing a certain plate to eat on or a certain utensil to eat with. When it took me a solid 2 minutes to decide which mug I wanted to drink my coffee out of in the morning (that’s in combination with my obsessive tendencies). When I found myself pinching my stomach 18 times a day to see how it feels. How I couldn’t walk past a mirror without looking at how my stomach looks. How I couldn’t eat certain foods unless it was at a specific time during the day. How my whole diet consisted of a very limited number of foods that I felt were “safe”.

It only took me 6 years to realize that these things are not normal. 

It only took me 6 years to realize that I was missing out on life. 

It only took me 6 years to realize that I am worthy of much more than I had ever given myself.

It only took me a year of “quasi-recovery” to realize that I was faking it. 

These are hard things for me to admit. They are things that I haven’t admitted to nearly anyone. These things are raw, they’re a wound that’s far from healing.

BUT.

Two weeks and three days ago, after discovering a method of recovery that actually made sense to me (more on this later), I committed to a full recovery. I have made a LOT of changes. Changes that terrify me. Changes that excite me (oh how I missed you, ice cream!) Changes I have to recommit myself to every day.

Piece by piece, I’m gaining back little parts of my life that I’ve lost. Day by day, I’m learning who I am without my eating disorder. Moment by moment, I’m reminding myself that I am worth real recovery. 

That being said, there are some changes in the works for both my blog and my Instagram page so there may be a bit of a pause in the next couple weeks as I work out the kinks. I can’t wait to hopefully share this journey with you all.

For now, I will share with you this little bit of wisdom that speaks to me so. Sending you all positive vibes and happy Tuesdays!