I feel inclined to write
another blog post, if for no other reason than to process a decision I made
this morning. I chose to take a step toward recovery from my eating disorder
that I have been procrastinating for a very long time.
Today I decided to drive
up into the Provo Canyon, and I determined I would not leave until my
previously beloved scale was utterly shattered. While I planned for this to be
a symbolic representation of my giving up another piece of my eating disorder
that I’ve held fast to for so long, it became much more representative of my
recovery journey than I originally intended. My first attempt to demolish my
scale, and old best friend, failed miserably. I parked and exited my car, and
attempted to smash the glass with a hammer. All that came as a result was a
very loud sound.
After several attempts
to hammer the thing to destruction, I decided that I needed a new technique. I
placed the scale under my front tire (just like Kip and the Tupperware in
Napoleon Dynamite, hoping for the same result), only to run over it 4 times, to
no avail. The beastly piece of technology would not die.
At this point, I began
pondering on this experience. I thought about my recovery journey. I thought
about how many times I have resolved to give up my eating disorder, only to be
thwarted by what seemed to be an overpowering trigger. When I thought of my first
attempt at destroying my scale, when I emotionlessly pounded against it without
success, I thought of all of the times I went through the motions of treatment
(following my prescribed meal plan, avoiding exercise, attending therapy and
dietary sessions, completing written therapy assignments, etc.), without having
a real desire to leave my eating disorder behind. For a long time, my efforts
to recover were really just efforts to please others; just as my effort to rid
myself of my scale the first time was a thoughtless action to please someone
else: perhaps my husband, my family, my treatment team, etc.
I entered another level
of symbolism to my recovery journey as I placed my scale under my front tire,
in hopes that my car would take care of it once and for all. I likened this to
the times during my journey to recovery, when I relied on other people to
achieve my recovery. At different times, I relied on my best friend, on my
family members, on my therapist, on my dietician, on my significant other- but
never on me. I was hopeful that I could obtain recovery based on
the belief my loved ones had that I was enough; that I didn’t need to cultivate
that belief in my heart and mind. After several years, I realized other people
could only do so much for me, and that I needed to make the choice to accept
myself- my body, my personality, my strengths, my weaknesses, my emotions, my
opinions- all of which combine to make me who I am. I’m grateful that I had
more sense today than to sit in my car and repeatedly run over the scale for
several years’ time, as I emblematically did in the past, by idly sitting in
misery while hoping for others to rid me of the bondage created by my eating
disorder. Just as my loved ones could not recover from my disorder for me, so my
car did not remove from my life the destructive tool that had once meant so
much to me.
After two failed
attempts to destroy what seemed to be the undestroyable, I began feeling
discouraged. I wondered if perhaps I should’ve just thrown my scale in a dumpster
somewhere. Then, I remembered how much mental anguish it had caused me over the
years; I thought of the many life experiences it inclined me to miss out on by
overwhelming me with feelings of self-loathing and shame. Reflecting on those
lost experiences provided me the necessary encouragement I needed to press
forward in my journey to utter-scale-destruction.
With these newfound
memories and emotions came increased motivation to act. I realized that I
needed to give this effort my all. I needed to make this experience meaningful;
to make it more than an outward appearance of increased mental health. I needed
to shatter its importance in my soul as much as I needed to see it in physical
pieces on the road. So I picked it up, and hurled it down on the ground, and
nothing happened. I did it again, still nothing. I realized I needed to hit the
ground with it at a different angle, so I did. Still nothing.
I picked it up again,
hurled it at the ground, and to my great delight, heard a shattering sound
awaited more anxiously than any sound I’d ever heard! I looked down, and saw
shards of glass and was overwhelmed with a feeling of triumph, for a short
moment, followed by a momentary feeling of empowerment, followed by an
unpleasant feeling of uncertainty and regret. What a complicated array of
emotions I was experiencing, considering that I had simply succeeded in a goal
I had been working toward for most of the morning.
How similar the end of
today’s journey is to my life in recovery. Sometime during the past few months,
I made a solid resolution to leave my eating disorder behind once and for all.
Despite this resolution and the supporting decisions I have made to attain that
goal, there are still many days that I wake feeling gut-sick about the body I
find myself in, or about the lifestyle I am living. Many days I feel regretful
about the body I “gave up,” or I miss the admiration that so consistently came
from others at my level of “discipline” and “self-control.” Some days it seems
there is much more to miss about my eating disorder than there would be to miss
about recovery, should I choose to abandon my resolution and go back to my old
life. When these feelings overwhelm me, I think of all that I have in recovery
that I lacked when I was sick. I don't have the body I once did, but I
do have a body that functions properly. I don’t have consistent expressions
of adoration regarding my excessive exercise habits and strict dietary
guidelines (as they no longer exist), but I do have deep and meaningful
relationships. I don’t have a low BMI and an “athlete’s heart rate,” but I
do have a heart beat that I don’t need to fear will stop at any given moment.
I don’t have the ability to numb out undesirable emotions and anxiety, but I
do have the ability to experience a range of desirable feelings and sensations
unknown to my disordered body. I don’t have the pseudo-confidence that came
with having what others defined as a “perfect body,” but I am
developing real confidence, the kind that is not dependent upon whatever
comments people choose to make about me, for better or for worse. And when I
think about the kind of life I want to live, the kind of legacy I want to leave
behind on this earth, it seems to me that recovery is the only way to go.
