fall down seven times, stand up eight.
I wish I could say that I was in an amazing place right now, but…
110% transparency… I have been struggling with my eating disorder lately. it happens. and that’s life.
I am currently a little bit beat up, and I am putting forth a dedicated effort to give myself grace in navigating this chapter.
this is incredibly hard to admit (even to myself) because it kills me when I am unable to show up seamlessly in every endeavor. I absolutely hate to speak from open wounds. speaking from scars hurts much less. I was honestly considering staying quiet this NEDA week, absorbing the powerful messages others shared and offering my unconditional support (hopefully inspiring me to stay the course and climb out of this small hole I seem to have dug myself into). my anxiety has been through the roof, bad body image thoughts have been pretty pervasive and I have found myself giving in to disordered thoughts more than I would like to admit. I am navigating this fall and getting the support I need to ride this wave, but my goodness have the past couple off months been exhausting.
I listened to a podcast earlier in the week while cross training at the crack of dawn, an open conversation about a pretty prominent author’s recent relapse with her eating disorder and realized that sharing in the midst of a struggle may be more impactful than gushing about how wonderful my life is since my initial voyage into the stormy seas of recovery. continuing to spiral downward is seductive because it’s easier to hide in the darkness of this disorder, but standing back up, stepping into my power and starting to step into the light again will allow me to live so much more life in the long run. and putting this out into the world is the only way I can truly climb out
I have faced this disorder head-on multiple times throughout my life and I hate that I have allowed myself be controlled by anorexia’s grip so many times. every part of me thought I was not going to make it in the thick of my struggle, and every time I have proved myself wrong. my eating disorder is stubborn and strong, but I have been able to turn many of its trials into triumphs. hence, victory.
even so, I recognize this determined part of me that makes life hard is also part of what makes the magic happen.
my sheer will and utter determination despite the odds has gotten me to some of the highest points in my life, but the magnitude to which I heed to that perfectionistic voice in the corners of my mind has to be kept in check. this pure grit, this unhinged drive is an incredible thing: until it becomes debilitating.
recovery is hard. struggling to to feed the body that endures all of the stress I put myself through is hard(wanting more than anything to be able to eat what I want when I want). exhaustion. burnout. stagnancy and relapses and regression. these are all par for the course when up against such a strong disorder. injuries acting up. old wounds (physical & emotional) tearing open. thought spirals. numbness. brain fog. comorbidities. overthinking. self-sabotage. these are the not so glamorous parts of recovery, and this does not even cover every challenge fighting for recovery entails. it is painful in every way.
however, looking back on a life lived consumed by an eating disorder sounds 1,000 times worse than struggling for a while. words cannot describe how difficult and all consuming an eating disorder easily become.
we find safety in recognizing the distance between who we once were and who we are now. the terror of realizing more help is needed to climb out of a dark place is the terror of seeing that there was never any distance. sometimes all we need is a reminder of lessons learned and easily forgotten, sometimes we need direct intervention to stop us before we stop ourselves. I think I fall somewhere in the middle of the circumstances of my regression. it is often said the last mile is the longest trek, but determination is what allows us to stay the course. I will never let my disorder have the last word.
however, every ounce of me is terrified that I will end up a statistic
it is absolutely nuts that a large proportion of chronic anorexia sufferers pass away in their early 30s, never having the chance to experience a lot of things life brings at that time (career advancement, professional athletics, creating a family, creating a LIFE). the survival rates of eating disorders that become chronic absolutely rattle me to my core. it is a scary thought, but it sharpens the realization that I can’t let anorexia control my life for another second. many sufferers can present as positive and warm and bubbly, but eating disorders clothe their sufferers in numbness and cloud them in misery that can ultimately lead to death. it is an illness, not a choice.
why does my brain feel guilt when I’m hungry? why does my brain fixate on anything controllable in times of change and vulnerability? why am I scared of being comfortable? why do I shut down when given the chance to relax? why do I seem to be unable to let myself live a little every once in a while? I ponder these a lot and the truth is, there really is not a rational answer. logic and intelligence do not permeate mental illness. someone can be an absolute unit: 4.2 gpa. superstar athlete. clutch in the classroom leader in all that they do. and still, they can be blindsided by an eating disorder. it happened to me. these illnesses invite individuals to ignore bright red flags, denying they have a problem at all. and then you find yourself numb on the floor or over the toilet.
it is an awful realization that you’re in deeper than you thought when every part of you felt better, but recognizing that old patterns are creeping their way back is the first step in reclaiming those pieces of your life. the terror of needing help is the terror of realizing your disorder is closer to the forefront of your mind than originally thought.
trials aside:
i am beyond thankful for where i am and the people in my corner who help me up with every fall. if I can leave you with anything this week, it’s that…
it’s okay to struggle. it’s okay to feel not 100%. it’s okay to REST. and there is still light to be found in the midst of it all.
this is real recovery. the really beautiful moments and the moments that leave you thinking,
“god, I have no clue why I am going through some of these things right now, why my strength is being tested and flexibility stretched in a million different directions, but I trust you fully.”
and one day in the future, I hope to look back with clear eyes, a heart filled with joy and a genuine love for the life I lead, realizing why I had to go through what I did to get to the place I am today.
this alone is the reason I wake up each day and continue, despite my mind and wanting nothing more than to go numb. this is all in god’s plan and serves a greater purpose.
sending love.
