Weddings and Memories

Meg, myself, and Steve after the reception.

I went to a beautiful wedding on Sunday.  My cousin, Meg, married the love of her life in New York. She made the most stunning bride.

I adore Meg.  She has helped me so much just by being a voice of reason and understanding while I've been struggling... mainly because she had been there herself.  And although neither of us are the most vocal people when in person and we don't talk all that much when we're together, she has been a great support from afar.

I cried my eyes out at her wedding when her sister gave the Maid of Honor toast.  Kate spoke about how after she left for college, Meg went through a hard time in her life.  I know, by talking with Meg, that this was when she developed anorexia.

And really this wedding was wonderful and I loved being able to attend and celebrate these two wonderful young adults.  However, it was a rough night for me.

Even if I had not been struggling with my anorexia for the past few weeks, I would have felt entirely way too insecure at that wedding.  I'm a young, single woman.  I go to see family and I get asked if I've met any boys at college.  I go to weddings and am the person who has to awkwardly wait for her dad to ask her to dance or for her brother to leave his girlfriend and dance with her.  I'm the third wheel all the time.

My fear is that I am never going to get married or even have a boyfriend, for that matter.  That I'll never find someone who will love me despite all of my insecurities and imperfections.  That no one will find me beautiful.

I guess that brings me to one of my most insecure points about that wedding.  I felt so self-conscious and judged and like everyone was judging me.  Cocktail hour was awful for the fact that it only revolves around food.  Dinner was hard.  Dessert was hardest.

It was so hard to enjoy that beautiful and amazing day when I was completely consumed with how I looked and what I was eating and how many calories were in every bite that I took.  I didn't enjoy the wedding because I was too busy feeling uncomfortable because I had food in my stomach, because I couldn't get rid of the food, and because I felt like the most hideous person there.

What I did to calm all of these feelings shocked even me.  I decided to drink.  Champagne, gin and tonic, wine, spiked cider--any of it that was available to me and that my brother would give me.  The alcohol definitely had depressant effects on my nervous system, as well as my emotions.

It was a bad night.  A bad night that should have been great.  A bad night that could have easily been avoided.

Eating disorders ruin nights.  They ruin moments.  They ruin memories.

I don't remember most of my high school years because of my eating disorder.
I don't remember that trip to Disney World with the band or the time we went to the OSU Skull Session or any of the vacations to the beach.
I don't remember laughing and having fun with my friends.

All I remember is trying to avoid the food.

I remember how one year, I wouldn't let anyone else make lunch when we were at the beach so that I could make my own food in the least caloric way possible.  I remember only eating sandwiches of lettuce and mustard.  Which are disgusting, by the way.
I remember getting into literal fights with my band directors and friends because I refused to eat lunch and they wanted to make me.
I remember one person opening a Snickers bar and handing it to me, saying "There.  I opened it for you.  Now you have to eat it."
I remember sitting on the floor on the band room after a late night football game and China hand-feeding me Cheese-Its, one-by-one.
I remember the taste of Wendy's chili the second time around.
I remember going to the park and throwing up in a soft drink cup because I didn't want anyone to know that I wasn't getting better.
I remember crying and not wanting to get out of my bed.

I remember so much more... but only about my eating disorder.

And what about memories from this wedding?  I'm only going to remember the bad.  I'll only remember how I was miserable because there was so much food.  Or how I couldn't smile and be happy because I was so depressed.  How I wouldn't go out and dance because I felt so self-conscious.  How triggered I was by the simple fact that my dress was too big.

The wedding only confirmed the idea that I'm not okay.  That I need help.  And thanks to my wonderful, gorgeous cousin, that healing and recovery are very real things.   

I wish that I could go back six years and make it all better.  That I could stop myself before any of this even started and say, "Sarah, you want to remember your band bonfires and your trips and lunch time with friends at school.  You want to remember weddings and conferences and movie nights.  You want to remember how Maddy's brownies taste or how it feels to drink hot chocolate after a long Friday night game.  Don't go down this path."

Why recovery is necessary: So that I can remember all of the good times and not just my eating disorder.

Resistance

"You're being really resistant to this." 

I'm a psychology major.  I know the dangers of anorexia.  I know what can happen if I don't seek help.  I know that if I keep going down this path, I am at risk for all of these things:

• Anemia
• Amenorrhea and the inability to have children
• Osteopenia/osteoporosis
• Heart rhythm abnormalities
• Heart attacks 
• Brain shrinkage
• Kidney complications including kidney stones and kidney failure
• Depressed immune system
• Fluid and mineral abnormalities
• Constipation due to low calories and fiber intake
• High cholesterol levels
• Death
• Abnormal blood counts
• Elevated liver enzymes
• Seizure
• Lanugo
• Low blood pressure
• Dehydration
• Shutdown of major body systems
• Increased risk for bone breakage

As well as worsening of what I am experiencing right now: 

• Slowness of thought and impaired concentration
• Feeling cold
• Dry skin
• Hair loss
• Mood swings 
• Sleep disturbance
• Depression
• Fatigue
• Dizziness and fainting
• Brittle nails

I know how bad all of these things are for me.  I know the importance of early intervention for eating disorders.  I know that it's only going to get worse from here on out.  And I'm still going to be resistant to any form of treatment.

If I was one of my friends, I would argue and fight for them to go get help.  I wouldn't give up on them until they were seeing a therapist and a nutritionist and a medical doctor.  But it's not a friend in this situation.  It's me.

I am against the idea of going to the counseling center here at school because they don't know what they're doing most of the time.  And I don't want to end up with another Alanna situation, where I'm only getting worse because the therapist isn't trained well enough to help me.  So I was told that I have to talk to someone from my old team at home to figure out what to do here.  And initially, I was on board with this.  I emailed Katie, tried to set up a time to talk with her, but she never called me.  My professor is pushing me to make a phone call to her myself, but I won't.

It's not that I can't.
I just won't.

And I think that this is the most frustrating thing of all for me... I know what I need to do.  I know the steps that I need to take.  I know how to find professionals in this area outside of the college counseling center.  And you know what?  I'm fighting it all the way.

I know what I'm doing isn't healthy.  I know the steps I have to take in order to get better.  But for whatever reason--whatever psychological/physiological reason--I won't do it because I am not willing to give up the control I have right now.  I'm not willing to admit to poor self-image and poor opinions of myself.  And I'm not willing to give up what has become so comforting to me.

That's why I'm resisting.  And honestly, I'm not quite sure how I'm going to get past it.  Last time I had parents forcing me, but this time... this time I have to want it.

And right now, I'm not sure that I do.

Shame and Secrets.

It's been a long time since I've sat down to chronicle my journey of healing from my life-threatening battle with anorexia.  It's been a long time since I've really checked in on myself and looked at how I was doing and what I should be doing better.   It's been a long time since I've taken time for myself.

Brief catch up:
I'm midway through my first semester of sophomore year and enjoying [almost] every single minute of it.  I attended the NEDA Conference 2013 [more about that to come!] and I made the decision pre-sophomore year that I wasn't going to seek out professional help this year because, well, things weren't going to get bad enough to need that.

Well.  It's almost the end of October and five days ago, I sat down with one of my favorite professors of all time and told her that I was relapsing.  Not something that I wanted to do.  I mean, she's an amazing woman and I am such a fan of her and how she lives her life.  I'm trying to get a job as her research assistant [which I've decided just probably isn't going to happen and I'm okay with that] and I'm trying to manage her impressions of me.

I confessed to my greatest flaw.  And immediately regretted it.

That's the thing that sucks about eating disorders: the shame, the secrecy, the judgement.  And even though she has assured me that she doesn't judge or see me any differently than she did when she didn't know this information.  We talked about eating with people and she told me that other people really aren't paying attention to what you are eating or how you are eating or when or anything like that... But it's still so uncomfortable for me.

Regardless of how much she tries to tell me that seeking out help is strong, that it's okay, that it doesn't have any impact on her perception of me, I am not believing it.  It's so hard for me to look at her or talk to her and not think that she's judging me or that all she can see when she looks at me is an eating disorder or a failure at food or someone who is weak.

And as hard as it is to look at her and talk, it's what I need.  I immediately hated that I had told her this secret.  But I also know the nature of eating disorders--they live on secrecy.  They feed on it.  It's how they win.

So if I have to live through the awkwardness of feeling shame and judged and all of the negative emotions associated with being real in order to be free of the clutches of this [something that I'm not even sure is possible at this point], I guess it's what I have to do.  And I have to trust my professor when she says that she does not judge me for having an eating disorder and that she believes that I can do this.

Because I need someone to believe that I'll be okay, especially when I can't.
And I need someone to push me toward healing when I don't have the strength to do it for myself.
And more than that, I need someone to remind me that I am not alone.

Storms of Life.

Today we got hit with a large and lengthy series of storms.  Kids were supposed to be launching water rockets and swimming, but because of the thunder and lightning, they could not. 

I hate storms. Hate storms. As in, I am afraid of storms. Not as afraid as I once was, but still afraid. If this storm would have hit a year ago, I would have gone into major panic attack mode and fallen apart... But I didn't. Yes, my level of anxiety was up quite a bit, but it wasn't to the point where I had to go into another room and pull myself together. I was fine just continuing on and helping my kids make their bead animals. 

The literal storms of life are hard, but I think that the metaphorical ones may perhaps be the most difficult. But they are not as challenging as they once were. 

My grandfather currently has bone cancer and was not given a good prognosis. My aunt is in the hospital right now for a study because her memory is not functioning as it should be. I am struggling to not idolize someone who has mentored me and loved me and cared for me through a lot, which is especially difficult this week because she is here with me, but as my director. This evening, I found out that a friend of mine's father passed away. 

Storms. 

Life has them. 

And they exhaust me. 

But here's the thing-- my God is greater than any storm that life can throw at me. In Matthew 8, Jesus is sleeping on a pillow in a boat when the storm comes. And when he wakes and sees the disciples frightened, he simply calms the storm. He tells it to be still and it is. 

God cannot always calm my storms for me. He cannot heal my grandfather and allow him to live. He cannot change my Aunt's memory problems overnight. He cannot simply make me stop idolizing my friend. And he cannot bring my friend's father back from the dead. 

But even though God cannot calm these storms, He can provide refuge for me during them. Isaiah 25:4 says that God is shelter from the storm. 

My grandfather is dying, but God is with me in the pain (Psalm 34:18). 

My aunt's memory is not working as it should and she might lose her job, but God promises to work all things for the good of those who love Him. 

I cannot, on my own, stop idolizing E, but God is my strength and my portion when my heart and my flesh fail to love Him. 

I cannot pick up and drive to my friend right now, but God sends a Comforter to her as the Holy Spirit. 

God calms my storms, and when He can't, He gives me refuge from them. 

I am no longer afraid of storms. 

My God is greater. 

My Imperfect Process

"Very slowly and carefully, you let go of the log and practice floating. When you start to sink, you grab back on. Then you let go of the log and practice treading water, and when you get tired, hold on once again. After awhile, you practice swimming around the log once, twice, ten times, twenty times, a hundred times, until you gain the strength and confidence you need to swim to shore. Only then do you completely let go of the log."

-From Eating in the Light of the Moon by Anita Johnson

Recovery is not a perfect process. It's nowhere near perfect. It's messy. It involves screw ups and steps backward and mistakes. With eating disorders, a person is never fully recovered, only more in control than out.

Today, I threw up for the first time in over a year. It had actually been a year and a half since the last time--when I was just entering treatment and refusing to give up my eating disorder, so I would go to Wendy's or McDonald's and buy ice cream and diet coke and then drive to the park and eat, only to throw it all back up again. I was at a place where holding on to my eating disorder was the only thing that mattered. 

After being in recovery for a year and a half, I was beginning to not understand how or why I had functioned with an eating disorder attached to me. And even when I was sitting with tears rolling down my cheeks in the bathroom, I had no idea why I had ever desired that path. 

Now that I've let a few hours pass between then and now, I realize that what I was longing for was a crutch. I wa longing for something to help me get through this--the judgement, the newness, the isolation, the emotions, everything.  And now that that moment has been put behind me, there's a lot of me that desires to keep ahold of this crutch. To get myself through by getting lost in my eating disorder again. 

But I am refusing to let it go any further. I am choosing to step out in faith, to let people know that I am struggling, and to come up with a plan to get myself back on the right path. 

This included learning to recognize what is leading up to trouble in this setting and how to turn it around. I know myself this well at school and in this place, when it felt safe for me. But it doesn't anymore. It has changed and so I must begin a new journey of discovering how to care for myself and how to recognize when I need to do a better job.

This begins by not ignoring the warning signs. And it includes speaking to someone about it and then making sure I do something that doesn't allow me to dwell on my eating disorder and putting myself with people I feel safe with--like kids. 

So I took a step backward--it happens on the way to recovery. There's no such thing as a perfect journey. Steps backwards happen. It's only when you forget to realize this and continue backwards that it becomes worrisome. 

This is progress. 

"Today I will do my best. If I have a good day, I will be proud of myself. If I have a bad day, I will not dwell on it, I will forgive myself, I will put it behind me and I will continue to move forward in my recovery."

Passing Judgement Instead of Extending Love

Rainy days and people always get me down... 

I don't know what's been happening since I left my Gettysburg family for my camp "family" this summer.  At this point, I honestly have no idea if what I'm feeling is just me or if there's a real thing happening here.  But I know what I feel. 

See, ever since staff training began, I've just felt completely excluded here. Like I am not cared about and not wanted in this place. It's not everyone on staff that's been making me feel this way, but a handful of people.  And it's this handful of people that I interact with on a day-to-day basis that are making it the worst. 

For the week of staff training, I pushed it off as being "I'm a introvert. I don't function well or feel fulfilled in situations that have large numbers of people all interacting at the same time."  But then week one happened.  And in the midst of my safe haven, the role that I felt the most comfortable in, the true cliquey nature of the camp staff appeared. 

It started out simply as three fellow staff members reprimanding me and getting upset with me for doing what my boss told me to do. Excuse me, but I don't see why they felt it necessary to accuse me and blame me for doing what I was told. 

And then on Tuesday morning, they felt it was necessary to scold me for doing what, according to our policies, was absolutely nothing wrong, but because they apparently have something against me, I was yelled at and criticized and judged. For absolutely no reason. 

And to that, I simply retorted in an unpleasant manner, "I've worked here before. I know the rules. I'm not breaking any of them."  Then I walked away. And cried. 

Middle school drama does not belong in this place. It does not belong in a place where we expect no judgement from the kids and judge each other. It does not belong in a place where we accept all people and yet exclude and isolate one of our staff. It does not belong here. 

But it is. 

And I was really trying hard to not be judgemental and unloving towards a single one of them because I know that we are all human and that we are not anywhere close to perfect, but I was hurt and that hurt turned to anger and that anger made me want to justify how I was feeling, which led me to judgement. 

She hates me because she isn't as good at this as I am. 

He doesn't like me because I'm not like her, so he's stuck up. 

She hates me for God knows what reason. 

And in that same breath, as I was judging their actions towards me, I was judging their performance of their job. 

That's not how you act as a counselor!  

What's wrong with you?!  Sitting with other counselors and staring at your phone is not what you do. You're lazy. 

It's your fault she got cut with the box cutter. If you had been over here supervising, then she wouldn't have had to go to the hospital. 

You're lazy. You're incompetent. You're a bitch. You're selfish. You're an asshole. You're prideful. You don't care about anyone but yourself. Why are you here?! 

Oh wait. 

I'm no better than they are.

I'm passing judgement on them. 

See, here's the thing:  I am not here for the approval of my fellow staff.  Honestly, I'm not going to talk to any of these people again unless I work here next summer or see them around. I another four weeks, this nightmare will all be over. 

And in my narrowmindedness and hatred of these people, I am not seeing them as people who are not perfect, just as I am. I do not truly, truly know any of these people deeply and they do not know me. So where do I find the power and acceptability to pass judgement on them? 

So for the rest of this summer, I'm going to try to love people instead of judging them. My Meyers-Briggs assessment says that I have a judging personality, and I'm human, so it's going to be challenging. But as a Christian, it's what I am called to do. No exceptions. 

And as for how I feel and the rejection and hate and everything else that I feel, I don't know. I have my God. And I have friends with encouragement and love. And no matter what I feel is true, I know the truth: 

I am loved. 

I am accepted. 

I belong. 

Your Approval Isn't Needed

I think that this may have possibly been one of the longest weeks of my life. Staff training. 

I hate staff training. It's so uncomfortable. I feel like I don't fit in anywhere and I don't belong in this big group. 

But then I remember that I am, in fact, an introvert. And therefore, being around this many people at one time is very overwhelming for me. 

Then I also remember that I am someone who tends to define herself by the approval of others. If people like me, I'm valuable and good enough. If they don't, then why do I exist?

But think about this. I am at a camp. A camp for a church that affirms everyone because they are created in the image of God and are God's beloved children. 

So who am I trying to impress? 

What is it about us as humans that we always feel that it is necessary to be accepted?  Yes, it is human nature to want to be with people and be loved and given attention, but I am loved unconditionally by my Heavenly Father and therefore, the approval of others is completely irrelevant. 

But I'm never going to stop feeling like I need to be accepted or included to be seen as good enough. It's in my nature. I just need to continually remind myself that I am a beloved daughter of the Most High and nothing can change that. 

Not my appearance. 

Not my grades. 

Not the approval of others. 

Resting in that is difficult, especially when I don't feel that it's true. But truth isn't always the same as what I feel is true. 

So yes, this week was rough, but it's over. I don't need approval to be good enough. And next week, I'll have campers and be surrounded by fewer adults and feel less pressure to fit in and be accepted because they already accept me and because it is there that I feel accepted and loved without trying to be either. 

And eventually, I will be surrounded with only people who build me up, accept me, and love me.

It will be okay.