An Itch Begging To Be Scratched
2009 was a year to remember, though not fondly. At the time, I was married and my former husband faced a major health crisis. At a dinner party, he suddenly fell unconscious. His heart had stopped. He had no respiration. I had to resuscitate him with CPR. It was a very traumatic experience for me. What followed were months of doctor visits as we tried to ascertain what led to this crisis. We never did reach a definitive diagnosis. It was a time of uncertainty and my sense of safety was rocked. This came on the tail of my father's medical emergency. He went in for a routine cardiac stress test only to be admitted to the hospital on critical status. The main artery that feeds his heart was 80% blocked. It was not a matter of if he would have a heart attack, but when. The cardiac specialist who counseled my family expressed how lucky we were to catch this. It was unlikely my father would have survived the degree of heart attack that was brewing and if he did, he would have wished he hadn't. Within 24 hours he was transported to San Francisco for an emergency bypass operation. The fragility of our mortality seemed to be a running theme. There was death in the family and many losses to grieve. One of my dearest friends was mourning the sudden death of her only son. He passed unexpectedly due to a genetic heart condition that was never caught at birth. Understandably, she needed to rely heavily on me for emotional support. Upheaval was the order of the day.
They say when it rains it pours and in my neck of the woods, it was dropping by the bucketful. I began to feel overwhelmed. Every safe space was crowded out by an ever-expansive sense of impending doom. My heart sank when the phone rang because it usually brought more bad news. My sense of anxiety grew as I realized that life promises no guarantees... that safety and security are mere illusions we pin our hopes upon. This is something I had always grasped intellectually, but mental knowledge is quite different from direct experience. This pushed play on some old tapes that habitually run through my mind during times of great stress. A sense of wondering when the other shoe was going to drop colored every waking moment. I saw the reemergence of ED.
At first, it was an isolated incident. A binge here, some ‘careful’ eating there, then progressing to periods of ignored hunger and over-exercise. At first, I chalked it up to all the crisis I had been wading through. I knew these coping mechanisms were comfort zones for me. Naturally, with my sense of overwhelm increasing my survival instincts would guide me to rely on old ways of dealing with difficult emotions and situations. This is the only way I have known to keep myself afloat since I was a little girl. I decided that if I could be more aware I would be able to reel myself back in and reconnect with intuitive eating. It wasn’t that easy.
As my eating disorder behavior increased my body was thrown into crisis. My health started to nosedive. This only fueled the fire of urgency to ‘get back on track’. Medical doctors were admonishing me left and right to lose weight or else. Though they were pleased with the progress I had made up to that point with intuitive eating, it wasn’t good enough. When they saw my weight release stall due to enforced starvation, it upped the ante. Each medical appointment became a flogging session that led to mounting frustration.
My doctors are aware of my eating disorder history. What I would like to let medical professionals know is heaping this kind of pressure on patients with eating disorder issues is irresponsible. It is like flipping the switch on those latent tendencies. We need more compassion from the medical community. Slimness does not equal sound health. I am living proof of that fact in light of my personal history.
By October 2009 my balance reached the tipping point and I saw a full-blown relapse of eating disorder. I exhibited non-purging bulimic behavior in full bloom. Days would go by where I would starve, existing off nothing more than a single fruit smoothie. Eventually, my biological drives would kick in and I would experience subsequent binging. The binges could last days on end. I stayed in this pattern for close to a month distracting myself by disassociating through the channels of over-work and over-obligation. “No” ceased to be part of my vocabulary. I was stretched paper thin. Somehow, the intuitive knowing I had nurtured the decade since initiating my healing process kicked in. I woke from my haze and realized I was in trouble. I needed help.
Breaking Up Is Hard To Do
ED has always been a shitty partner. ‘He’ expects so much and gives nothing in return. ‘He’ is a sadist… hell-bent submission. It’s ‘his’ way or the highway. Every time I've tried to use my voice in the past and stand up for myself, ED told me to ‘shut up’. ‘He’ is a gatekeeper. ED wanted to keep me under lock and key. ‘He’ would never willingly grant me freedom. ED isolated me from my friends, family, and the things that make my heart full. ‘He’ crowded out all space for my soul to breathe. ‘He’ sought to make me smaller… to strip me of my power. I was so over ED. Breaking up is hard to do, but it was time for me to move on and ditch this toxic love affair. One thing was certain. ED had to go. I'd glimpsed the other side. Although the grass may not always be greener, in this case it is. I packed ED's bags and gave 'him' a swift kick to the curb.
It may seem funny to describe eating disorder as a relationship, but that is exactly what it becomes. Anyone who has experienced the death grip of ED knows it’s like being in an abusive relationship with your self. You feel divided, as if there is a civil war going on within you complete with two dueling sides. One side wants recovery so badly it can nearly taste it and the other side doesn’t want to relinquish the control required to get free. At some point you have to dig deep and find that small still place inside… the place where the authentic you lives… and using all the strength you can muster, walk out that door toward a life that holds no space for ED in it. This is exactly what I have done.
I began my journey into recovery by attending a day long workshop at Beyond Hunger that was led by one of the therapists who co-wrote the book, “It’s Not About Food.” This is the first time I ever sought any kind of eating disorder support for myself. It was an essential first step. The workshop was a condensed version of the book so I didn’t receive any monumental benefit from the experience. I didn’t let that discourage me. Sometimes, you have to be open to exploring your options when you first reach out for help. Serendipitously, there was a therapist attending the workshop who specialized in eating disorder. When I asked if there were any other ED support resources in the area she guided me to a free ANAD (Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders), support group that has weekly meetings in a neighboring city. When you reach out for help you may not get the answer you expect, but often are led to exactly what you need.
I have been faithfully attending weekly ANAD meetings and going through therapy with an eating disorder specialist since December 2009. I've also worked consistently with a registered dietitian through Kaiser's eating disorder treatment program. The experience has changed my life. There are so many things I have discovered about the way I move through this world that I was completely unaware of before. Some days are better than others. Opening up and peeling back the layers can feel scary at times, especially when you are so used to living closed off and shut down. There are moments when the intensity of my emotion takes my breath away. I am sorting through a lifetime of repressed gunk. I’m learning to hold space for the suffering. I don't wallow in it. I gently welcome it in to sit for a spell so it can speak its language to me. Through this process of self-inquiry, I have gained a better understanding of myself. Little by little the part of me that longed for full recovery grew stronger until my emancipation became reality.
Here I am, a year later after beginning this journey and I know with absolute certainty that eating disorder is part of my history, not my future. I have zero investment in self-abuse. I have come to gain too much genuine love and respect for myself. I was very fortunate that I had the awareness to get myself the eating disorder support that had always eluded me. My relapse was in the birthing stages at the time I reached out. All the healing work I had done on my own had made a difference. It nurtured an awareness that allowed me to easily spot old patterns resurfacing. A mere month of emerging behavior was all it took to wake me into action. I knew if left unattended, the eating disorder would take over and I would slide into the danger zone. I couldn't fail myself like that again.
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