He's Feeling 22: 22 Things I've Learned from My Brother

Today is my brother's 22nd birthday. He graduates college in one more semester and then will start working full-time at Foursquare in New York City.  In my personal opinion, this makes him officially old and means that in one more semester, he will be a real adult.  It's hard to believe.

My brother and I at my high school graduation.

My brother and I, like all siblings, have not always gotten along.  In fact, we got into fights frequently, possibly much more frequently than other siblings, as kids.  We argued over whose turn it was to play the Game Cube, who got to sit in the front seat, and who had to do what chores with the rabbits.  We called each other names and got into physical fights on occasion.  I remember the time when he accidentally nailed me in the head with a saucer sled because he thought it would be a great idea to use it as a frisbee (I have a scar on my eyelid from that). But I also remember the times when we got along great.  The days we would spend playing Mario Kart together, the times we went sledding together in our neighbor's backyard, evenings spent snuggling with the rabbits.  I remember that he was the first person I went to when I slipped on a rock in the ocean and cut my foot open on some broken glass.

Being two years apart, we only spent a year in middle school together--Jacob as an 8th grader and me as a 6th grader. When my mom got sick, I remember all of the disagreements with my brother fading away as he stepped up to take care of me.  He protected me when the ambulance came by making me go out into the backyard and playing with the rabbits with me.  He let me pick the video game we played that night, made sure I got dinner, and didn't let me stay up past 10.  We didn't fight that week and I really gained a lot of respect for my older brother and his strength.

Spring break/Easter my junior year of HS
and his freshman year of college.

When we both got into high school, we were always fighting about what time we were leaving for school and how soon after the final bell we would head for home. We had countless arguments over this, and I always felt anger towards him because I was living in his shadow of brilliance--he is so much smarter than me, and I always felt I was never measuring up to his intellect and the reputation he had made for himself in our high school.  But in the midst of this, my brother was who I went to for advice on what classes to take, thoughts on how to get on a specific teacher's good side, and help with math homework when I just didn't understand it.  I wouldn't say that we were ever really that close, but we definitely grew closer.  When he left for college at the beginning of my junior year of high school, I realized how much I missed him.  Sure, he wasn't around to fight with all the time, but he was gone and that left a hole in my life.

In the four years since then, we have grown a lot closer.  I am now starting be able to talk to him about real things, like my eating disorder, depression, and anxiety problems.  Not a whole lot, but more than I used to be able to do.  And I think we've both started to enjoy spending time with each other, whether it's kayaking and going shopping together at the beach, watching a movie, or talking on the phone when we're both at school.  My memory is the time when we saw The Bourne Legacy together and then went for a walk on the beach that night.

Most recently, when I made the decision to come home and he made the decision to accept his job, we had a very brief text message conversation, during which he reassured me that my anorexia would not make me feel better in the long run and that he had faith in my ability to overcome it.  That's something that I've always found in my brother--a kind of strength that I am unable to find in myself.  Whether it comes from a simple text message, a strong hug when we finally see each other after being apart, him letting me hold onto him when I feel scared and lonely and sad at my grandparents' funerals, his ability to turn something I'm freaking out about into something very manageable... I could go on and on.  The past couple of days we have spent together, although they have been stressful for me, have been made better by his presence in our house.  We spent Christmas Day watching movies together (I saw Batman Begins for the first time!) and yesterday watched The Dark Knight.  He, without knowing it, is slowly helping me get out of my isolation mode and back into the real world.

Today, I celebrate the nearly 20 years that I have gotten to spend with my brother and I look forward to the next 20.  But most importantly, I celebrate a man who has no doubt helped shape me and mold me into who I am today, who gives me strength and courage when I need it, and who is always there for me, even though I sometimes feel like he's not (mainly because he always forgets to actually call me).  We don't have a perfect relationship, but no one does, especially not when you've grown up together.  We're siblings and because of that, we have a bond with each other that we cannot possibly have with anyone else, and for that, I am grateful.

I have learned so much from our relationship over the years. So today, because Jacob is turning 22, I would like to share 22 things, in no particular order, that I've learned from my brother:

1. To relax and calm down. 

2. That no one is perfect.

3. That being late is not the end of the world.

4. That I hate aquariums but should still go to them. 

5. How to kayak.

6. That Google is the best IT person.

7. To explore the world.

8. To go after what you want.

9. How to build a fire. 

10. That the world does not, in fact, revolve around me.

11. How to argue. 

12. How to stand up for myself. 

13. Humility. 

14. That a relationship will come when the time is right.

15. How to be strong.

16. To play video games. 

17. That family is important. 

18. That asking for help is okay. 

19. There's always someone who knows more than you. 

20. What not to do to avoid being in trouble with our parents. 

21. How a woman should be treated by a man. 

22. That one person can make a huge difference in your life. 

Happy 22nd Birthday, Jacob! Thanks for being the best older brother that I could ever ask for! I love you very much.

The most recent picture of my brother and I.

Ready or not...

...here I come! 

I remember shouting this phrase a plethora of times when I was happier younger.  These were the days of playing house and freeze tag, of dolls and Pokemon, of softball and kickball.  But most importantly, those were the days of hide'n'seek with the cousins.  

The rules are pretty simple.  One person is chosen to be 'the seeker' and counts to whatever number seems appropriate at the time, while everyone runs for a hiding spot.  Once the special number is reached, the seeker screams out (or in my case whispers) "Ready or not, here I come!" to warn the others that they better have chosen a good hiding spot because he or she was going to come find them.  The goal was not to be found.  

I remember my favorite hiding spots were the mousehole in my uncle and aunt's house, their linen closet behind some pillows, or in rare cases, under the bed or behind the couch.  I had default hiding spots and would usually take a younger cousin along with me, placing my hand over her mouth to quiet her when the seeker came looking. But whenever "Ready or not, here I come!" was bellowed by one of my cousins, I usually erred on the side of not.  

I knew that I would be searched for, I had a default plan in mind, so I never had to search for a hiding spot, and I always had plenty of time to get to that spot before the seeker was done counting.  But I was never ready to be found.  

In high school, we began playing hide'n'seek with our church youth group, and eventually switched over to a variation of it, known as sardines.  In sardines, the roles are basically flipped.  One person hides and everyone seeks them. Once that one person is found, instead of the game being over, that person hides as well.  The game ends when everyone is hidden in the same space (hence the name, 'sardines') and only one person is left looking.  

When playing sardines in my church, I also had default hiding spots--in the closet with the choir robes, under the table in the library, and in the back of the church, under the pews where the choir sat.  I had a default hiding spot, always plenty of time to get there, but I was never ready to be found.  

I always erred on the side of not.

Today I met with one of the group leaders for the adult day treatment program I will be starting soon. She told me that I will either be starting this coming Wednesday or the following Tuesday.

Ready or not... 

Yesterday I touched on the idea that there is not "perfect time" to start treatment, that a person with an eating disorder will never "be ready" for recovery.  I know this.  I know that ready or not, my body needs this.  I know that ready or not, my mental state needs this.  I know that ready or not, my future and my life need this.

...here I come. 

It's the part that's coming that's going to be miserable. The eating part. The looking into myself and changing cognitions part. The being vulnerable and not hiding behind my anorexia part. The part that author Marya Hornbacher describes here: 

"This is the very boring part of eating disorders, the aftermath. When you eat and hate that you eat. And yet of course you must eat. You don’t really entertain the notion of going back. You, with some startling new level of clarity, realize that going back would be far worse than simply being as you are. This is obvious to anyone without an eating disorder. This is not always obvious to you."

Right now, I feel as if I'm hiding in that linen closet at my uncle and aunt's house or under the table in the library at church and someone is opening the door and saying, "Sarah, I found you! You can come out now." This prospect terrified me as a young child.  

I hated seeking.  I hated feeling confused and alone and trying to find what I who I was looking for because they were always so much better at coming up with hiding spots than me.  Everyone else was safely hidden away, and I was wandering around, confused.  I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing, but I wasn't sure how to do it or where to look or what course of action to take.

That's exactly what recovery is going to be like--a lot of knowing what I need to do, but searching blindly for it.  A lot of feeling lost in the process and confused and alone. But luckily for me, my treatment program is going to be more like a game of sardines that hide'n'seek.  A group of people, all searching and reaching for the same goal.

I have some many people on my side, supporting me, helping me find the right room where recovery is hiding.  I have a lot of people holding my hand and walking with me--my family, my friends, my treatment team at home, and some very wonderful adults who have done nothing but encourage me in this process.  

I don't know where recovery is hiding.
But ready or not, here I come.