An update on how I'm doing...

The last few weeks have been understandably difficult.

 

I guess difficult is an understatement. My life has been completely turned upside down. I'm no longer trying to eat normally, because there's really no chance of that happening. I have been very gentle with myself around eating though, acknowledging that my emotions are ...complicated. What I have done with the whole eating thing is that I've decided I will only eat things I want to eat, when I want to eat them. That's sort of what I was doing before, except I was trying to have regular meals of things I wanted to eat.

 

I've gone back into the habit of only eating a few different kinds of food. Cheese and gluten-free bread in various incarnations. I've taken to counting the different kinds of food I've eaten in a day. Since I began grieving, the highest number has been 7. I've been eating out a lot too. I know more than a few people who would criticize me for that, but at least some of them are happier that I'm eating at all.

 

Sadness comes and goes. Different emotions crop up along with memories. Riding my scooter for the first time. Learning how to ride a bike. The day my mom and I came home to find a present from my dad on the doorstep (this was right after they had broken up); it was Play Doh. And then I become overwhelmed with emotion because I try to imagine just how much he loved me, and how much it hurt him for us to not be together all those years.

 

When it finally hit me, that this time saying goodbye was for real and I would never see him in this world again; I felt like I would never stop crying. There was an amount of shame associated with losing my shit like that, and I tried to hide in the living room, rather than crying in bed with Ten next to me. I know he wanted to comfort me, but I have been conditioned over the years that there is a time and a place to have an emotional breakdown: alone, in the car, listening to Yes. I'm sure it's not healthy to stuff my emotions like that (or at least that's what I tell other people when they stuff their emotions), but the role I have taken on in my family has me convinced that being stoic will help my siblings to be strong.

 

I'm sure that's bullshit. Vulnerability is what strengthens families, not shielding your emotions in order to avoid the appearance of weakness. But it's hard to allow myself to be vulnerable. Even with my partners and friends (unless I've been drinking), whom I'm normally able to share those feelings with. I will sidle up to Ten and use meek body language to ask for a hug; or curl up in Capt Jack's lap; I've asked both of them for comfort too, which is kind of a big deal for me.

 

My dad, wherever he is, wants me to stand tall in my grief, not be too proud to cry. Grace doesn't look like what you think it does, and stoicism is manufactured and disingenuous. Despite knowing this, and that my body is manifesting my grief through physical pain, I can't handle being seen in my grief.

 

All of this is part of the process though. My feelings are normal and okay, and I will improve. I still have happiness and joy, and I'll keep putting one foot in front of the other one, leading my family to a safe place. My chosen family have been invaluable in this process, and I love them all. What I have learned in the last 8 months has helped me too, and I'm no longer interested in any kind of destination with the internal work I've been doing. Just the journey. Just the moment. Even the moments that hurt.

Hiding in my blanketfort

this is how I'm doing...

 

I've been working on something for a few days, but it's been really hard to put it all into words. I wonder if I'm still just numb from it, not allowing myself to properly grieve, while I'm seeing other people who knew it lose their shit over this.

My siblings seem to be in a similar space, though, so I guess that's okay. We haven't really talked about it, just the three of us, but they seem to be in the same headspace that I am over dad's death. Maybe it's because we watched it happen. Maybe it's because between the three of us, someone was there everyday he was in the hospital, and one of us was there the entire three days he was in hospice.

Maybe it's because all of the hurt was taken up by watching him die. God that was terrible. He was in bad shape when I left on Wednesday night, but he got much worse, and didn't even live a full 24 hours after I last saw him. I want to say that his being dead is traumatic for me, but the reality is the dying process was the traumatic part.

Months of chemo.
Continuing to lose weight when all he did was eat.
The cancer spreading in spite of all efforts.

It ate him. Cancer swallowed him up and took him away, and I know I'm not totally numb to it because I'm angry. Why didn't his GP go "hey this is weird" when he lost 70 lbs seemingly over night? Why didn't the stupid surgeon just operate when he said "I can take it out right now if you want", instead of going with the plan which only ended up slowly poisoning him to death? Why didn't any of his doctors listen when he started complaining about abdominal swelling? Why couldn't they do more to help him?

Why wasn't I there more? Why didn't I try harder to make sure all the paperwork was taken care of ahead of time? Why didn't we go camping as a family last summer? 

None of these questions can be answered now. There is nothing I can do or say to bring him back, and even if we could, he would still be sick. Maybe I'm not grieving as hard as other people because I came to terms with it while it was happening. Yes it was fast, but I did everything I could and everything he could have asked me to do. I was there. And so were my sibs. We watched it happen, and now that he's not dying anymore, maybe there's comfort in that. I don't know.

Dear Daddy,
I know you loved me and were proud of me, and I feel very at peace with your death because I know that you are at peace. I know that you get to spend time with your mom and dad and sister; all the people whom you loved who have died, not to mention hanging out with your favorite Beatles. And of course, your faith had you welcomed into the light and love of your savior, a Being who changed your life (and ours), for the better.

 

I'm relieved that your physical form let you go, and that g-d pulled you into the next realm. Your suffering was too much for any of us to bear and watching it separate you from your physical form was harder than anything I've ever been through. The end of your suffering gave me peace.

But I am sad. Sad that we don't get to make more memories. Sad that you won't make it to Erin's graduation. Sad you won't see any of us get married, or see my siblings become parents if and when they choose to.

 

Most of all though, I am sad for all of the people whose lives you don't get to touch. In the last decade, you made so many people's lives better. You set an example for people in your community by living the teachings of Jesus. You set an example for your children by working hard, but always making time for family and not taking anything too seriously.

 

Everyone who knew you was proud to have been in your life. I'm sad now because no more people get to see that firsthand. But I will honor your memory by working hard, keeping my family close, apologizing and making things right when I am wrong, and being graceful with people who disagree with me. And I will always live my faith, not get lost in trying to be right all of the time.

 

I know that you loved me and were proud of me. In the end, that's all I ever needed from you, and I'm really glad we both grew up and figured that out.

 

I promise we'll take care of each other. And I won't let Ian sell Erin to a rich businessman in SE Asia.

Love,
Rachel

Don't talk to me
Don't tell me it's the same god
Acting like you know what's up
Calling me an artist
An intellectual
Like it's a bad thing
Trying to dismiss my experience of the universe because it isn't "congruent"
With your Borg philosophy
Where everyone has to be the same
Act the same
Believe the same
When you and I both know better

Don't tell me it's the same god
Your god created hell
My god said do unto others
My god said be good to each other
Take care of the sick
Study the book and learn from it

Calling me an artist
An intellectual
Like it's a bad thing

Who do you think you are?
Go on, pray for me
Do it
But you'll never pray me out of hell
I've already been there

Have you?

Goodbye Daddy...

Kachees Campout 2011

Today at 4:18, my dad's labored breathing ended. His heart stopped, and he got to go Home.

 

I know many people were praying for him, for our family, and I am very grateful to all of you, even those I have never met who said prayers, sent thoughts, or lit candles. I am even more grateful to my closest friends non-involved family who did everything they could to make sure that I was taking care of myself while doing everything I could to make sure he was taken care of the last couple of days.

 

This post is not a eulogy, it is a note of gratitude. It doesn't matter who in my family you know, I am grateful to you for sending positive energy. Most of all I am grateful we, as a family, were able to honor his wishes so he could die the way that was most holy for him.

Dispatches from the hospital

keeping up the family sense of humor

 Dad is not doing well.

 

I went by to see him yesterday before my Spa Day appointment (which, while I desperately needed it, was not as relaxing as it wanted to be), and he looked much worse. He was having a hard time breathing, and was feeling dizzy. They had him on oxygen (still do), and his blood pressure was up from earlier that day, but still pretty low.

 

After Spa Day, I went to dinner with my friends. I was about half-way done when my phone rang. It was Dad saying that things had taken a turn, and since I was still in Seattle, it would be great if I could come back to the hospital. I packed up, paid and hugged a few people before all-but running to my car and heading back down; calling the Emperor on the way.

 

As you can see above, my sibs were already here. We tried to lighten the mood, but it was pretty heavy. Turns out he had a blood clot in his lung. The doctors and nurses got him on a few meds to get it broken up, knocked him out and we three went into the fishbowl on the end of the floor and talked a little... making plans for the end.

 

Because, it looks like we're coming to that. My dad is dying. My sibs stayed as late as they could before heading home to try to sleep before sitting in uncomfortable anguish in their classes today. I don't envy them the inability to focus on school, but at the same time having a distraction is a pleasant luxury at this time in a person's life.

 

By the time the Emperor arrived, I was thoroughly exhausted, and had made plans to stay at Captain Jack's since he lives less than 10 minutes from the hospital and had decided it was better if I stayed close. The Emperor had to go home to take care of our royal dog and try to get some sleep so he could work today. Jack and I talked a while, had snacks (I had tea, he had wine). When I was asked by my metamoure how I'm doing, I said "I'm a case of baskets."

 

My phone rang at 1:40 in the morning. The call nurse needed consent to give Dad some blood, but he was so out of it they had to get it from me. Of course I said yes. They apologized for waking me, but I hadn't been asleep. Both Jack and I were poised to throw on pants and come back down, but we ended up not needing to, which was good.

After that everything was quiet, and I slept. My dreams were weird, but I did dream which is what's most important; although I did get up 4-5 times during the night. I'm back at the hospital for the day. The Emperor brought me clean clothes, makeup, shoes, chargers for my devices... apparently the only thing I'm missing is headphones, which isn't entirely bad.

 

Dad ate breakfast this morning. His blood count is back up, so is his BP, but it's become clear that we're coming to the end. My dad is dying. The doctors and nurses are going to get him to a point where he's comfortable, then transfer him home for hospice care. The family will come together, take turns being there with him, and I guess when it's time we'll still be able to let him go together.

 

To an extent I have already let go. The experience of the last couple of weeks has been too taxing for him. All he wants is to go home... and then go Home. His faith is strong, and apart from being trapped in body that is coming to the end of its usefulness, I think he's really only worried about us. I know this is not what he had planned... none of us planned it this way, but I guess his work is done, and what's compelling him forward is stronger than what would hold him here.

 

He's sleeping now. Having weird dreams. I hope he's also getting some rest... or maybe there isn't rest to be had at this stage. Maybe he's on a Vision Quest to help as many other people as he can for a few minutes at a time; trading emotions with them so that they feel all the love that he is getting from us.

 

Or just weird dreams.

Losing very slowly...

It's hard to really understand how important someone is to you until their position in your life becomes threatened. This is that concept of "you know who your friends are" when things start to get tough in life, but I think it's rather fucked up.

 

Fucked up because it's even harder to tell someone "hey, I'm really glad you're in my life right now, and while I'm not looking to jump to a greater significance before it's time, but I wanted you to know that I don't think I'd be able to function as well if you weren't around." Even when there isn't a dire circumstance forever looming itself over your life. Maybe that's why we have each other though, so we can have those feelings and that security and not really need to say it outloud...

 

But when you're losing someone slowly, there's this odd perspective that you start to gain. I don't quite know how to describe it, because I'm only starting to gain as I'm beginning to lose my father but the veneer is stripped away sort of and all you see is what's underneath. The human-ness of my father becomes not only more evident and obvious day by day, but more important.

 

Our relationship has been tumultuous, as anyone who knows me well knows. For a while our only contact was written. He would write me letters, I would write back. Sometimes he would send a money order, just cuz he could and wanted to, but it was like we were on opposite sides of the street and I was refusing to look at him and definitely didn't want to walk on the same side, so he would just pace me from where he was, letting me know that he was there when I wanted to see him.

 

I think he did it that way because he had just lost his sister, and realized that his children were more important than his ego. During that time, he also built up really solid relationships with my siblings, to the point where they don't remember the bad stuff that I do, and I'm really glad of that. When I realized how much he had changed, and how the father they knew was not like the one I remembered, I began to soften toward him. He had worked hard to build that relationship with my brother and sister, and I also realized he was working hard to rebuild a relationship with me.

 

A few years ago, when time had had its chance to soften me, give me more wisdom, and teach me that being right wasn't always the most important thing; I started really having a relationship with him. We would talk sometimes, be open and vulnerable, and I eventually got to the point where I would say "I love you too", instead of "thank you" (which was a big deal). And it almost feels like just when that was really starting to become strong and influential for both of us, it's very slowly being pulled away.

 

I don't know. Maybe his mission in life was to become daddy again. His efforts don't erase what happened before, it's not alright, but the efforts he did make with me as an adult made it possible to make new memories. At least whatever we have built is not being lost all at once, but it still feels unjust that it be taken away mere moments after being forged.

 

Or perhaps more just because now time and human-ness won't be able to tarnish what we have built.

My dad is in the hospital. He came to the hospital to get some blood cuz his doctors told him he was really anemic but it turns out he's been having some abdominal swelling. Turns out he's got a peritoneal bleed and they're keeping him over night to make sure it goes away and doesn't become more serious. I came down to spend some time with him and to comfort myself...

That was a couple of days ago. I've been trying to go about my life (found my dress for the Dame-Toolmaker wedding; date with Capt Jack), but I've been to the hospital every day since Tuesday. If he isn't discharged tomorrow, I'll probably be back then too.

My routine is the same: come by, stick around for a couple hours (it's hard to stay for more than 2), ask the nurse's station if they will validate me- I mean my parking (the nurses always laugh and tell me I look nice); then I head out to the parking garage and stop to cry on the corner where I know so many have done. I guess I feel some comfort in knowing I am one of a multitude who stop at that corner to breakdown.

The hardest part about all this is not being able to do anything to help except show up. So, having an option, I'm going to exercise it with gusto and commitment, even though it's kinda scary being here and seeing my dad in this condition.

The next worst part: he looks like a skeleton. His once-robust head of hair has been winnowed down to gossamer strands and his beard is shockingly white. I can see his ribs through the skin on his back.

He's not dying right now. It's just an annoying complication of the process of trying to defeat death. When this all started I asked what the survival rate was for this kind of cancer and g-d met me with the answer of "100%". Whatever happens will be what happens, but I'm trusting g-d on this one, even if it takes a while and looks bleak at times.

Ow, fuck

 

Dramatization

So here's the complete picture of how hard it sucks to be me some times:

 

I have a genetic autoimmune disorder that causes my body to literally murder my small intestine even if I have a tiny teeny teeny tiny little bit of a substance that is in ALL FOOD EVERYWHERE (even the food that says it's gluten free) except produce, much of which I'm sensitive to because of the damage done to my intestines by years of eating gluten and not knowing it was causing serious problems.

 

This in turn causes widespread, unpredictable, gnawing, aching pain that most of the time is merely annoying, but, like daily exposure to Zooey Deschanel, a person tends to go mad after a while. Sometimes, though, I just have pain for no reason. Sometimes I have little itchy bits of skin on my ankles or knees. Sometimes, it feels like the skin on my back is on fire, or (like right now) like my knee is coming apart or my hip is out of socket, when neither of these things are happening. My current state is significantly more annoying that the girl who broke Joseph Gordon-Levitt's heart in that movie I never saw, but the worst part is that all I can fucking do is wait for it to stop hurting.

 

Now, since eating = pain, you can probably guess where the obsession with not eating came from. While it was bolstered by cultural obsession with thinness, and my mother's own suffering at the hands of a similar demon, the struggle that I have had with my eating disorder in the last few years has been related to the whole eating = pain dilemma. This also means that there is a simple, straight forward answer that helps me (most of the time) to feel better: a mindful, careful diet, that involves avoiding foods that make me feel like shit while also avoiding the incorporation of emotional stigma associated with foods that don't make me feel like shit.

 

But, I sometimes get stuck in a pain cycle that is hard to break because of how it interrupts my sleep, thereby disrupting my brain's ability to break the pain cycle. An uninterrupted pain cycle will see an escalation in pain and sensitivity to any sensation, sometimes rendering all sensation as painful. It makes me irritable, ruins my appetite, dulls my senses, and makes my brain go

DEEEEEERP

And that's not an easy thing to deal with as someone who is exceedingly intellectual. Funnily enough, my friends will sometimes ask how I deal with it without becoming a complete emotional wreck... I couldn't explain it if I tried. All I know is that smiling makes me happy, and happiness makes it easier to ignore my pain... although, I have days when it's just too much and all I can do is cuddle up with Derp, Markfrog, Stewart, and anyone else who'll join me and watch internet until I fall asleep from exhaustion.

 

Tonight will be the 5th night in a row that I do that.

Things I'm doing differently

I refuse to wear Spanx ever again. Never mind that they're hideously uncomfortable, and make me sweat like a guilty person in a courtroom (and do that window-shade thing where they roll down my back unless tucked under the band of my bra because my ribcage is so tiny). They don't make you look thinner. They just move the fat around so it's more evenly spread out which eliminates your curves. All so-called "shape wear" does that and it's a travesty. Also, wearing Spanx or any of their related garments negates the ability to wear sexy panties, which is also completely unacceptable.

 

I don't weigh myself anymore. I don't want to know. Partly this is because I'm scared that I've gained so much weight that I would freak the fuck out and hide in a closet for a week without eating. Aside from that, I've realized it's unimportant.

 

I have unfriended people on Facebook who regularly fat-shame others. It's unacceptable. Often these people will use "science" to justify their bigotry, but it's still straight-up bullshit. My health is between me and my doctor, and you get to know jack shit about it by looking at me. Funny thing is, I "don't look sick" when my fibro is acting up, but when I'm just being fat I do. Weird. Also, fuck you.

 

I like being touched by my partners. I pay more attention to the enjoyment of my form and it is wonderful. I still have a moderate fear of being touched by people I'm not intimate with, but that's partly because my nerves are frequently raw and it hurts to be touched. However, hugs from close friends and family are more welcome than they used to be.

 

When I don't eat, I feel really sick. Yesterday's flare was made infinitely worse by the fact that not only did I not have an appetite, but the thought of eating made me feel like I was going to throw up. The flare comes with pain, fatigue, and this weird brain fog, but I felt a million times worse because I had no fuel in my body. I've been feeding myself regularly for several months now, and the effects of not being able to eat are a lot different than they were when I was intentionally starving myself or restricting calories.

 

I experience fullness and listen to those messages. On Wednesday night Captain Jack and I went to my favorite restaurant for pizza! Yay pizza! It used to be I would eat the entire thing (or more than half, even after the gluten free cheese sticks I ordered), and feel horrible afterward. This time, I had my cheese sticks, and felt full after 1.5 pieces of pizza. I saved the rest for lunch the next day. It was nice to be able to get along with my body like that.

 

I avoid the words "should", primarily as related to food but also in general conversation. "Should" and "need" are subtle shaming words, and when I tell myself I "should" eat some vegetables, I am shaming myself for not. I still have a lot of toxicity to filter out of my brain and body because of my disordered eating, and that will repair on its own as long as I keep listening to my body and treating it well.

 

When I feel hungry I say "I'm hungry" and find food, instead of ignoring the signals because "I have better things to do" than eat; and I definitely don't consider it a trophy any more. It used to be that hunger pangs made me feel skinny. I have recognized that I am not skinny or going to be, and that those signals are my body asking for something. I want to keep trusting myself so I heed those warnings.

 

Relatedly, when I have a desire for a certain flavor or food, I find a way to have that food. The other night I wanted orange soda. So I had one. It was yummy, and I only wanted one soda (instead of several like I would have in the past). Sometimes I want a specific kind of cheese, or some sweets, or even a specific meat or veggie. I have them, enjoy meeting that desire and don't feel the need to over indulge because the only foods that are forbidden now are the ones that make me feel bad (like anything with gluten).

 

I'm sure there are some other things that have changed, but this is a good start. There are times when I wish that I could tell other people to stop saying things about their weight or shape. It bothers me, it triggers me when people throw this kind of stuff around because they don't even know how horrible it is, or what it means when they say these things. But some people will never understand, and some people will never give up their hate and fear of fat.

 

For now, I'm able to close my eyes and go somewhere else, and that's what I do. I don't like it, but I have some serious NRE to fall back on when I need a boost to my smile...

"Vulnerability is our most accurate measure of courage"

 

 

I love Brene Brown. I was listening to a Ted Radio Hour (NPR) about "Making Mistakes" and Brene came on. It reminded me of something that started me down the road where I'm talking to the internet about my crazy relationship with my body. This reminder is important because I've been noticing myself restricting again: having liquid meals, not eating enough, and having to watch myself really closely so I don't dive back into other symptoms.

 

It's when I start thinking of myself as being invulnerable that these things come back up. But when I do allow myself to be vulnerable with people who can support me in that, that I feel like it's okay to be me; to be the flawed, overly-attached, extremely emotional*, slightly mad human being without being ashamed of my body, my actions, my soul, or any of it.

 

I feel the safest when I'm with people who can be vulnerable with me. These people are my peers. I respect and love them, and if I pull myself away from them I lose everything. So when I take a brave step and ask a question that's been on my mind, one that risks a lot, and my query is met by a comforting hand I feel safe. And it's a kind of safety that hasn't really existed very much in my life because I was taught never to let them see you sweat; just go along and get along, if things are meant to be they will be; don't make waves; don't let anyone know that you are emotionally attached to them because they'll use it against you.

 

Society is really fucked up like that. We, as a culture, do use it against others when they become attached. Attachment is weakness. I don't know how long this idea has been popular, but the people who practice this are not strong. They're not put together. If you think you can do it all by yourself you're doomed, and I know this because I've been reliving that doom cycle and I've climbed up out of it to the realization that you have to be vulnerable if you want anything out of life.

 

I keep thinking back to my director talking to me about Jesus. She seemed so invulnerable there. So tough. So certain. And I know this had the opposite effect on me of what was intended. I already know that invulnerability, or thinking that you can do anything because of some magic thing you've got doesn't work. It's never worked. All that is is pride, and pride is just a slip-cover for shame. I think back on this experience and realize I don't want to be like that. I never want to be so sure of myself that I can tell someone else what to believe. I never want to be so certain that everything is exactly one way because that takes the mystery out of life**.

 

I want to be vulnerable with the people who can handle it, and graceful with those who can't. I have always been raw and emotional. I have always needed other people in my life who can be where I am. And this is a deep, primal need on the level with food; when I deny myself that vulnerability and openness, I start to deny myself other necessities as well. And then my hair starts coming out in clumps, and I spiral into a place where there is no safety and no joy.

 

There is a difference between preaching to someone, and sharing an honest, vulnerable moment with them. I always get more inspiration, comfort, and motivation from those who share their scars with me. I'm not interested in your certainty now, I'm interested in your uncertainty then. You can connect with someone emotionally this way, rather than bludgeoning them with what you know to be true now. This is a lot of why I share all this stuff with you, because I know that there are people out there who feel this way too, but don't think it's okay to share it or think they can do it on their own.

 

You can't. I don't mean that as in it's not possible, or you don't have the strength or whatever. You do have the strength to deal with shit on your own, everyone does. But when you discover this amazing thing called vulnerability, and ask for help and forge a connection to other people who believe in your shared goal as much as you do, well... you stop wanting to do it on your own. It stops being possible because so many people have surrounded you to make it happen. You have partners in whatever goal you're trying to reach, and that's much more fulfilling and world-changing than doing it by yourself. Even if it feels unsafe to ask for help. 

 

All that comes from vulnerability. From bearing your heart one question at a time, and seeing the vision come to life through other people reaching back. Sometimes those people do say "stop, you can't go this way, it's not right for you", but you keep that growth even if you lose the connection to that person. Most of the time though, it's people reaching back with love and support.

 

I want to live that way. I would rather have that life than be skinny.

__________________________________________

*And my emotions have fucking weird side-effects.

**And with it, g-d.

Damn...

 

"Don't make me live for my Friday nights" has been replaced with "afterall, there's only one more sleep til Friday!" Damn. I am not amused. This wasn't supposed to happen this way!

 

Eventually the Prime Directive of the Twentysomething will wear off, and I'll turn 30 and go "oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!" as is apparently the custom, since almost all of my closest friends who have achieved that age have had something of a crisis over it.

 

Something about the idea of success has changed in me lately too. It used to be success was making enough money to pay all of my bills and make some headway in my credit card debt. Then success came from doing things I hadn't ever done before. Recently, success was something as simple as keeping a meal down, or eating it in the first place. Now... success is bullshit.

 

I don't mean to say that it's not important to have goals and to work to achieve them, that's fine. It's this idea that "once I have/do/am X, I'll be successful, which means" whatever you want it to mean. I've begun to realize that that isn't even important. Having, doing, or being something doesn't mean shit if you're unhappy. Actually, even if you're happy those things don't mean anything, because being happy is what's important and a happy person is happy whether they languish in poverty or dive into vaults of gold coins a la Uncle Scrooge McDuck*.

 

So, I don't know. Maybe the idea of success is just a piece of cheese designed to keep us in the rat race. Obsessing over our life situation makes us unhappy, when if we could just let that all go and sit down and breath for a moment, everything feels much better.

 

Earlier tonight, after a long day exhausted by Monday's glutenizing**, I went to an event where I had arranged a little booth and smiled at people for two hours. I was doing other things, of course, but most of what I was doing was smiling at people and being friendly. During this time, I forgot about being exhausted, and my relative level of pain diminished. I was there, in the moment, feeling and acting happy, and it actually felt good. I didn't feel especially successful in that moment (and I don't now either), but I was doing something that gave me life and energy, so maybe it was a form of achieving success.

 

I keep thinking what 10-year-old me would think of my life, and I realized MAN! 10-year-old me would LOVE my life! I have men paying attention to me. I have a real bed. I have tons of books - oh, and computers, man 10-year-old me would be so jazzed that I can talk to any one of my friends in seconds from a square little thing in my pocket and I don't even have to make a phone call! Plus, unlimited Star Trek. 10-year-old me would dig that so hard and fast. But then I get bogged down by all that grown-up bullshit...

 

Not even the working and paying bills part. I understood that when I was a kid***. The grown up bullshit like being worried if someone's going to say something about my weight/size/shape; or being overly concerned about that giant zit in the middle of my chin*'... or being in pain virtually all of the time, taking handfulls of pills on a regular basis just to make sure I'm pissing out enough nutrients. Having to talk myself into or out of eating something so I can keep functioning on a near-human level.

 

And taxes. Taxes are bullshit too.

 

_______________________________________________

*Please note, such activities would actually kill you, but gold is more valuable when there's blood all over it.

**Mentos are bad m'kay?

***It's why quality time with my mom was spent in the car going to school.

*'Fuck you hormones.

The Screen Behind the Mirror - whatever that means

I dove into an audiobook this week Anti Fragile by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, and really enjoyed over half of it until my phone started going all wonky and I had to reset it to factory before discovering that the problem was unfixable and it was time to order a new phone. Things that need insurance, like handset devices, are not anti-fragile. 

The premise of this book is that there isn't a word for things which benefit from chaos. Something destroyed or harmed by chaos is fragile. Something which neither is harmed nor benefited by chaos is robust, stable. And so it becomes necessary to invent a word for things which benefit and become stronger through chaos. There are certain things which cause an object, person, or concept to be vulnerable to circumstances, (there's a lot in there about economic and governmental concepts); and that acting and performing tasks helps to make one anti-fragile, whereas simply talking about things leaves you open to chaos. There's some amount of anti-intellectualism in there, but it appears to come from a place of earnestly disagreeing with certain systems which are endemic in academia and our current scholastic system. 

This book seemed to have been my lesson for the week. Chaos is going to occur; the wind will blow, the earth will shake, the fire will burn. Today I went to a class at my synagogue and we talked about that passage in the story of Elijah where he goes up to the mountain top and all this crazy shit happens, but g-d isn't in the wind, the quake, or the fire; g-d is the "still small voice" inside that insists you are anti-fragile. Rather, it's not the shiny, pretty, noisy things that give us strength, but the person who insists that you're much more durable than you've allowed yourself to believe. 

The journey through the last six months has me believing that I am anti-fragile. Recovery from any destructive habit is scary, chaotic, and breaks all of your available tools, but those broken tool make you look for new ones, which makes you less vulnerable to chaos next time around because not only do you have new tools, you now have the ability to look for and create new ways to make the world work for you.

In a way, being anti-fragile is what lead me to bulimia in the first place. Of course, my anti-fragility lead me out of it too. I've learned a lot, grown a lot, and become so much stronger through this, so I'm convinced that I'm being primed for greatness. Leaders are born out of adversity; they don't just appear. And yeah, we tell people things like "do hard things", but choosing to play the game on expert is a lot different from having that choice made by your life circumstances. Maybe people who intentionally do things that are more difficult than they can handle are anti-fragile too, all I know is that having that pressure, pain, and adversity just happen as a form of chaos made me better at whatever it is I do these days.

If none of that made sense to you, that's okay. Here's a picture of a derpy dinosaur that I got for my birthday.

ERMAGERD! DERPASERUS RERX!

Invisibility versus Leadership

I had a realization today: almost all of my setbacks, roadblocks, and self-sabotage throughout my entire life* have stemmed from my desire to remain invisible. I have been fighting again myself this entire time because one part of me wanted and craved (at times to the point of desperation) recognition and attention, but a separate, deeper part wanted to be invisible, ignored, passed over, and forgotten**. That's where my eating disorder came from. I thought I would fit in if I was skinny, and fitting in meant invisibility. 

Invisibility isn't easy, but there are a whole host of benefits to it: 

• freedom from criticism
• freedom to remain mediocre
• an easier time dodging the slings and arrows of Outrageous Fortune (which incidentally takes a to-hit impediment of -4 against invisibility)***
• observation without the risk of affecting the subject
• performing nefarious deeds without risking getting caught

I could go on, but you are probably well acquainted with the benefits of invisibility. There are of course some drawbacks, like not being heard when you cry for help; or if you get knocked unconscious because the Outrageous Fortune rolled a 20, your cleric can't find and Heal you***. But the greatest drawback of invisibility is that it is diametrically opposed to leadership. You can't take on any form of leadership roll without being visible. It's impossible. For others to follow you, they first have to see you and then have to know why they should follow you. But it all begins with visibility.

Now, there are drawbacks to visibility, but we all have the ability to create our own little magic items to counter-balance those drawbacks. For example, me allowing myself to become visible leads directly to the possibility that someone is going to criticize my weight, shape, or size (unfortunately, it also opens the door for innocuous comments that I take as criticism because I'm sensitive). But, I have the ability to craft a +7 Ring of Body Acceptance and have a greater chance of making my Save versus Assholes roll***. I can use my charisma to attract followers who will buffer me against the criticism of others (less effective), or I can dual class as a cleric and cast a spell that makes me impervious to superficial criticism. 

None of that makes me a leader, though. Visibility is just the first step... well, in my case, stopping the quest to find invisibility is the first step. All of my body image and other self-esteem issues go back to that desire to become invisible, because when I was very young invisibility meant safety both while playing D&D and while trying to navigate my life. However, as an adult, I can't get safety from being invisible anymore. If I continue my analogy (which, yes, I'm going to do), as I've leveled up the things I'm fighting have better abilities, including ones that render invisibility useless: Poverty and Heartbreak aren't affected by invisibility, because they don't use their eyes to find their victims. What's worse, the things that I want in my life still can't find me! 

In order to lead myself, I've had to shine a bright light on the deepest, darkest corners of my psyche and make my whole self visible. There are things in me that I wanted to ignore, but instead I must accept them as part of me and move on. Like my favorite D&D character, I have the capacity to turn all those scary and dangerous traits about myself into something amazing that I can use to control the outcome of the game. Remaining invisible, however, means that the GM is going to say "you just hid the whole time, why should I give you any experience points?"*' And worldly ambition, my friends, requires mega XP.

Maybe this post is less accessible to you because you don't play RPGs*'', but the message is the same: you'll never become a leader if you keep finding ways to make yourself invisible again. Visibility brings vulnerability, sure, but vulnerability is the antidote to shame which is what makes us want to be invisible in the first place. Vulnerability also leads to love, learning, acceptance, and vision. Being vulnerable gives you experience and wisdom, and when you couple your vulnerability with visibility you become a leader. Maybe on a small scale like within your family; maybe in your faith community or your professional field; maybe even on a much broader scale. Other people will be drawn to what you have to say when you speak from a place of having walked through the fire and finding peace and actual safety on the other side. 

Stop being afraid of other people seeing you as you are and just lead them. Anyone who's going to follow you wants to see what's really there anyway.

_______________________________________

*From the Age of Ambition, anyway

**To the point where I once had my best friend go off on me because I said I didn't want to be remembered when I died. She was right to chastise me.

***That was a D&D joke

*'And then the Paladin gets all of your XP because she's a freakin tank.

*''Or think they're evil, in which case, why are you reading my blog? 

You're right, it's not fair.

The worst part about this whole journey is that the issues I dealt with via my eating disorder don't go away when you start trying to avoid symptoms, or change thought patterns. I didn't start mattering the day I decided I wasn't going to throw up anymore. I didn't undo years of trauma when I stopped stepping onto the scale everyday. I didn't stop having anxiety attacks. I didn't stop feeling unloved and worthless in the moment when I realized that beauty begins with acceptance. 

I think this is true for most people, but comprehending one's self-worth is a cycle. There's a feel good part, and a feel shitty part. For people who have self-destructive habits or compulsions, the feel shitty part is briefly alleviated when you act on the impulse. The burning of a knife across exposed flesh takes away some of the worthlessness for a minute because it shocks your system into a completely different kind of survival mode. There is relief after emptying your stomach because you feel like you got rid of the bad stuff; emotional emptiness is exhausting, but the work to make the physical match the emotional seems comforting. 

But I've decided that shocking myself into a fight or flight response, or forcing my stomach to be empty so I can fake some kind of peace are not options for me anymore. I have to find new ways of dealing with the feelings of worthlessness, the trauma and abandonment, anxiety, depression, and isolation. Of course, by now it seems like the only part of this whole thing that anyone really cared about was the part where I said "I have this thing, and I want to heal it". Everyone congratulates you when you stop hitting yourself, but what really matters is the aftercare. 

In the eyes of everyone I know, life is back to normal. I'm the confident, beautiful, center of attention my loved ones are used to seeing. The hard part is over, Rachel has accepted that she's fat and no longer needs to do anything about it. "You're beautiful," I hear, but it doesn't really mean anything because my physical form is not what this is really about. I just channeled it into something physically self-destructive because that's how I was taught. 

I'm drifting between being outspoken and being silent. It's a cycle, you understand. Except, there are some feel okay parts (happy), some feel shitty-but-okay-with-that parts (outspoken), and some feel shitty-and-think-no-one-cares parts (silence). Sometimes, all three happen at once. Sometimes I just feel unloved and want to hide and never talk to anyone ever again. Sometimes I open up and bare my soul or let my guard down and somebody does something shitty that ruins my entire weekend. 

Sometimes, someone throws a temper tantrum and yells that something isn't fair, and I completely shut down.

What's not fair is not being able to turn to the things that give you comfort. But I'm not interested in fairness. I discovered that the world is a cold, cruel place a long time ago and came to terms with it. When I had the flu as a child and my step mom said that if I threw up I was going to have to clean it up, I realized the kind of world I was up against (I might have been 7). 

Life isn't fair. And the kicker is, no one actually gives a shit when something bad does happen because they're too busy thinking about their own things. I'm guilty of that too. And while I at least try to spend time with the people I love when they're having a tough time, the fact that I'm alone right now is a sign that life is not fair. 

Boo. Fucking. Hoo.

What can I do to help someone who has an eating disorder?

At the end of the workbook I've been using there's a list of "dos and don'ts" for family and friends to help support someone with an eating disorder (in this case specifically bulimia, but I'm sure similar guidelines apply to other eating disorders as well).

 

1. Educate yourself about eating disorders. It's not your loved one's job to teach you about eating disorders. She can share her experiences, if she wants to, but if you want to learn data and facts, you're better off finding them out on your own. When other people expect us to teach them about our illnesses, it feels less like you're asking out of love and more like we're a curiosity. Additionally, once you've learned that eating disorders are caused by a number of factors (and that "symptoms can serve as a very effective coping mechanism"), you'll be able to act with more compassion rather than asking your loved one to "snap out of it".

 

2. Discuss aspects of your loved one that you enjoy that aren't related to weight or shape. At first, you want to reinforce characteristics about your loved one that are not physical at all. Don't say "you're so pretty" when someone first tells you they have an eating disorder, it might backfire and reinforce their behavior if they're still acting on urges for symptoms. However, as your loved one progresses through their recovery, it is nice to hear that we are pretty but that it doesn't envelop the whole of who we are.

 

3. Share activities that don't raise concerns about weight or shape. For a while the idea of exercising seemed kind of terrifying. One of my symptoms was to over-exercise, so it took a while for me to be comfortable with trying to find forms of exercise that I enjoy. This is also good for helping your loved one avoid thinking about or acting on urges for symptoms.

 

4. Express your concerns and communicate directly and openly. Words are very important things, and how you use them can be helpful or harmful, and when you're talking to your loved one about their eating disorder don't make it about you. If you have concerns, express them honestly, without threats, ultimatums, insults, or incriminations.

 

5. Offer your support by being available and listening. This journey feels like you're gradually going insane, and you feel completely alone. Part of why eating disorders are so difficult to recover from is because of that alienation. Knowing that the Emperor, and a number of other people, were on my team during this helped me get through it, because just about everywhere I went, if I suddenly needed to vent or talk about it I could and I felt less alone because of that.

 

6. Allow your loved one to be independent and in charge of his or her own recovery. Confidence is part of self-esteem, just like being comfortable in your body. I know the desire to rush in and save your loved one is strong, and that sometimes you want to monitor how much, how often, and/or whether your loved one is or isn't engaging in symptoms. You love them, and want to make sure they're getting enough nutrition, and aren't continuing to engage in behaviors that you both know are harmful. But, if you're too aggressive about your loved one's recovery they might be less likely to recover. It's not your fault, you just want to help, but sometimes the best help you can give is to just say "I love you" give them a hug or a kiss and shut up about everything else.

 

7. Allow your loved one to make their own choices and go at their own pace for recovery.  Don't rush them. Don't offer unsolicited advice. If you want to say something, but aren't sure if it will help, just say tell your loved one that you love them and are proud of them.

 

8. Examine your own beliefs about food, weight, and shape. This means don't talk shit about your own body. That's going to make your loved one feel badly about their body. Don't talk about dieting or weight loss. Don't talk about other people's bodies either. No gossiping. It's harmful in general, but in this specific case, you could alienate your loved one, which means the recovery process is less likely to hold. Be aware, again, that words are powerful, and that what you say really matters because your loved one is extremely vulnerable right now.

9. Treat your loved one normally. Aside from watching what you say, please avoid giving your loved one special status because of their eating disorder. This is a form of objectification, and it's hurtful.

10. Be aware of your own needs. This whole process is emotionally costly. If you are taking care of yourself, you'll be able to help your loved one. If you're not taking care of yourself, you run the risk of dumping your emotional garbage on your loved one who is already wading through a swamp of it.

11. Be patient. This journey takes time. Like any kind of success, successfully recovering from an eating disorder looks a lot more like your headphones do when you pull them out of your pocket than a straight line from A to B. "Having symptom slips after a symptom-free period is not unusual and does not mean your loved one is giving up or is back to square one."


And, if you've learned nothing else from me here, when you are helping a loved one recover from an eating disorder:
 

 

•  Don't make comments on weight, shape or appearance. "Any comments you make about weight, shape, or appearance will probably be interpreted negatively." Even when you're talking about someone else. When in doubt, shut up.
• Don't ignore the problem. Eating disorders won't go away on their own, and most people who have eating disorders aren't going to just change everything about themselves over night with no support.
• Don't blame yourself or your loved one for the eating disorder. Not helpful.
• Don't make demands. Confrontation is likely to cause symptoms to become worse. Also, making demands on someone who is sick is totally a dick move.
• Don't get involved in a power struggle. "If you find yourself in a situation where your loved one is arguing in favor of the eating disorder and you are arguing the other side, disengage and reevaluate."
• Don't take control or police eating or symptoms. Again, dick move.
• Don't rescue your loved one. (See above)
• Don't take on the role of therapist. If your loved one needs therapy, you are not qualified or objective enough to provide it. Help them get professional help, go along with them if they ask (but keep your mouth shut), and make sure they are seeing someone who has a background helping people with eating disorders. That last bit is really important.

 

The workbook I used is the 2003 edition of The Overcoming Bulimia Workbook by Randi E McCabe, PhD, Traci L McFarlane PhD, and Marion P Olmsted PhD; published by New Harbinger Publications, Inc

Being whole with broken tools

A friend of mine recently wrote a status on Facebook bemoaning feelings of brokenness, to which I replied

"One thing I've learned about breaking is that what is really broken is the old way of doing things. I can't speak for anyone else, but I know that I wasn't happy with the old ways, so their breaking makes room for new ways. You're not broken, the stuff that isn't working for you is what's broken. It's time to find new tools."

Sometime after this exchange, my friend's cousin yoinked this quote and attributed it to me in his own status. A friend of his was touched and decided to share it with her teenaged son. My friend's cousin remarked on how far my wisdom traveled, and I mentioned that, considering what I had gone through to achieve this understanding, I was very glad it was resonating with someone else. At that moment, I realized that my reach is much broader than I had previously though and by that my leadership is much greater than I had previously thought.

 

Later that day, I felt completely whole. Nothing was remotely different about me or my "life situation" as Master Eckhart would say; I just felt whole. All at once, for no reason, all of my illusions, delusions, vulnerabilities, and issues of pride dropped off and I was whole again, like I haven't been since I was a child. The feeling didn't last very long, but its existence made me feel like I am starting to emerge from the cocoon wherein I've been gestating since September.

 

Feelings like that are more common now than they have been before, and I realize that it's because I before I was treating myself as broken because my tools didn't work. However, I am not my tools. I am not my body, my mind, my feelings, my desires; any of it. I am the observer of my mind, feelings, desires, and disappointments; the observer living in my body has the ability to change out the broken tools for new ones that do work.

 

I don't really know what to make of all of this. I mean, I've been sick for the last several days, and I don't really feel like I'm making any progress in my life. Then again, I've accepted the leadership role I have earned in my networking circle and begun using my brilliance for helping my colleagues grow their businesses. This kind of attitude could really benefit me as I keep working my own business, but in the very least I've realized that people are willing to follow me.

 

That's the thing. Others are not only interested in following me, they are willing. I just have to lead. Pick up my shiny new tools and lead them somewhere.

 

Let's go gang...

 

Nope, still a Jew

My beloved and dear friend and mentor shared Jesus with me tonight. I am truly blessed to have such a loving woman in my life, and if what she showed was even a 10th of the love that g-d has for me, then... I almost have no words. 

The Emperor was baffled by my peaceful response to her evangelism. But I know why she shared this with me, I know why she is praying for me to be Saved. She loves me. She believes in me. She wants to share with me that which she loves more than anything else in the entire universe. And I am grateful to her, and to that whom she calls g-d for having that depth of love and sharing it with me. I may not have been able to hear it before, but this time g-d has stilled my mind and allowed me to see love for love. 

But, I am still a Jew. I will always be a Jew, and I will continue to live the life that my ancestors lived, l'dor vador (from one generation to the next), standing beside people who want me to pray to their g-d and saying "I love you too, thank you for praying for me, but I will stick with my g-d, thanks very much." That's how my people have always lived, and we continue to exist, continue to have a relationship with g-d, (contrary to popular belief by certain sects of people, the Jews are not cut off from g-d, in fact, I think Adonai still speaks to Jews on a fairly regular basis), and we succeed in life and live the way g-d wants. 

Now, there may only be one way, I won't dispute that. I won't even dispute the divinity of Jesus; I see great value in his teachings and am grateful for his having lived. If there is only one way, then so be it. People are going to continue to argue about it, continue to tell each other that this or that other person is wrong, or that this or that other person is going to hell. Except, my people don't believe in hell. That's a Christian concept too. For that matter, our concept of Heaven is different too. But it's all the same g-d. Adonai is One.

When you genuinely have faith in something, that faith will be challenged. It was challenged for Moses; it was challenged for the Jews in ancient Greece who refused to change gods and started a damn war over it (that's the story of Hanukkah, if you don't know); it was challenged for our dear friend Esther whose holiday is coming up this weekend. Each time there was a challenge, the Jew stood up and said "no, I am a Jew". 

And I am. I always have been. G-d placed me here as a Jew. There's no question. Just as my beloved friend has no question about her faith, I have no question about mine. And since the conversation began as a means of encouraging me to grow my relationship with g-d, I will say it was a successful venture, because I feel closer to g-d than ever. I could be snarky and sarcastic about it, (in the past I would have been), but there's no reason for that. And just as I feel absolutely no need to justify myself to atheists who think I'm stupid to believe that there is a g-d, I don't feel the need to justify myself to my friend who just wants me to have a good life (and that's really all that is when you break it down it its roots). 

I am not hiding, and neither is g-d. We have met, we are close. And I won't even say that I don't need Jesus, it's just that I am a Jew. I mean, I also believe that there are other gods aside from the One whom I honor and pray to, but I don't pray to those gods. I don't ask those gods to help me out, but I wouldn't say that I don't need them, and I would never condemn or ridicule those who do need those gods. But, telling me that I won't go to Heaven if I don't accept Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior is kind of like telling me I will never ascend to Valhalla if I don't honor Odin and fight and die in his name. Maybe that sounds blasphemous to the Christians out there, but my place is not in Valhalla any more than it is in the Christian Heaven. I know that, and I'm not making it up.

I love my Christian friends dearly. I also love my Pagan, Buddhist, Hindu, Muslim, atheist, and agnostic friends. There may only be one way to get to where you are going, Traveler, but perhaps I am not going to the same place. However, I love your map, it is beautiful; and I love you for sharing it with me.

Kittens McTavish, I'm invincible! (Or, I will be) - Week 15

My last symptom was a bingey feeling eating a chocolate pudding at lunch last week. I kept eating it, even though my stomach was telling me I had had enough. At the time, the Emperor and I were talking about my parents and me growing up, and that subject makes me very emotional. I felt sick for a few hours afterward, but I didn't purge. 

Before that, I think my last symptom was intentionally missing breakfast, and I haven't done that in at least 5 weeks. I finished my workbook this week, and the last chapter talked about the "slippery slope of relapse", and how you can feel "in for an ounce in for a pound"* once you have one symptom and just revert back to the eating disorder. I think I managed a remarkable amount of self-control after that binge, even though I was exhausted (physically and emotionally), and even though the last several weeks haven't gone the way I wish that they would. 

During that time, I've wanted to purge several times a week. Usually in emotionally overwhelming and tense situations, but I don't because I tell myself I won't. I tell myself I don't want to. Part of me reminds another part of me that it wouldn't help, and that if I stick it out in that emotionally overwhelming situation, the next one like it will be a little easier and I will be able to handle it without the desire to run screaming from the room and turn myself inside out. Eventually. 

Today though, I did have to run screaming from the room, wanting to turn myself inside out. I had a brave and stark realization, and I wanted to distract myself from reality by changing the subject in my mind to one that I'm much more used to. I'll lay out what happened:

We had a great MK event, and at lunch all the women who were at the spot on the career** path that I am, and above, were learning from the visiting NSD and my sales director (who is the top director in the state, and the driving force behind this particular event). During the training, the visiting National had us cross our arms the way we normally do, then try to cross our arms the other way. 

"The first time you crossed your arms, you were sitting in a play pen," she said, "and you've been doing it the same way your whole life." She went on to illuminate the fact that you can't change overnight a habit that you've had your entire life, that you have to keep an eye out and not just go back to being unconscious about your decisions. This was a metaphor for moving up the career path and into leadership.

This is when I lost it. Suddenly I realized that I had not changed overnight a habit that I had kept for 15 years. What I did was decide to improve, work daily at improvement, and struggle toward tiny successes day by day; sometimes minute by minute. I didn't give up and throw away all the work I had done when I had an urge for a symptom or even if I acted on that urge. The reasons behind wanting to get better were strong enough to drive me forward, despite the fact that it has been very challenging, very scary, and that I feel no small amount of shame over it.

I ran out of the room and to the bathroom. I didn't purge though, I just cried. I couldn't get away from this thought:

If I can overcome an eating disorder, and start loving myself as I am (instead of hating myself for what I look like): I can become a sales director.

That is, if I can re-learn how to eat, how to love myself, and become whole through that process, I can do anything. I have been struggling with my career lately, and wondering if I have what it takes to move up, become a sales director, become a leader of women and change lives by sharing the Mary Kay opportunity. I wondered if I have the power to make the decision. I wondered if I have the strength and courage to do the work. But the fact of the matter is, the work involved in becoming a successful businesswoman (especially with this opportunity) is cake compared to what I've accomplished in the last 15 weeks.

Regardless of whether I'm proud of myself or not, I have already achieved something that is ten times more difficult than becoming a sales director. I'm not done yet. I still have to deal with the whole not hating myself part, but what I have already accomplished*' is actually harder than the decision and process of moving forward with my career. Eating disorders kill people because of how hard it is to undo. No career move is that powerful, no matter how difficult it may seem at the time. 

The realization that I do have the strength and courage to step it up in my business is what made me lose my shit. Of course, now comes the part where I actually do that, and I guess I just have to approach it how I approached beginning recovery: do I want this or not? what are the short and long term costs? what are the short and long term benefits? why do I want this? how dedicated am I? can I just try an experiment where I work my business like a business for a month? 3 months? a year?

And after everything I've already been through, it doesn't seem that hard anymore. I just have to work up my why, make the decision and move forward. The same way I did when I decided to tell you all that I was battling an eating disorder. That scared me, but I did it. I wanted to give up, but I didn't. I'm still struggling, but it hasn't made me give up. 

One last thing: none of this would have happened without Mary Kay. I started down the road to recovering from my eating disorder because I wanted to be able to move forward in my career. I realized that this was a problem because of the richness of character in the women I am surrounded by every week. I am grateful for that, and even if I fall on my face and never ever ever ever ever accomplish another thing in my business, at least I have that. Which means that this whole makeup thing isn't about makeup at all.

________________________________________

*An unfortunate bit of colloquy 

**Star Team Builder, if you're curious

***National Sales Director

*'It's a challenge even to admit that my recovery is an accomplishment, and I tearfully admitted to the Emperor on the drive home from our event today, that I am filled with shame over having to take this journey, but that's another post entirely.

The Moral of the Story (Recovery Week 14)

All this work that I have been doing has been aiming for something. Yes, I did do the work for its own sake, because I did want to stop torturing myself for an ideal that would never become reality for me, and I did want to stop scaring the Emperor and my doctors with my refusal to eat; and I did want to start developing a greater, fuller, and healthier love for myself (body included). But there's been a revelation coming too. A message that I could go on to share with the world, teach to other women and girls, and build something for all of us with that message which is:

"[compass 33]" lipstick & eyeliner on mirror

This revelation started coming about when I started listening to The Power of Now audiobook, and realized that what I had in mind for the concept of beauty existed within the idea of presence. I began practicing that thing called presence, and eventually realized that my important work was going to lie in this thing up here: acceptance. That is, "a person's to the reality of a situation, recognizing a process or condition ... without attempting to change it, protest, or exit"*.

So what am I accepting? In the beginning of my recovery process, I started by accepting my symptoms. I accepted that I had these urges to deny myself food (and often times comfort), and I stopped putting a value judgment on it. Then I accepted that this wasn't a healthy way to be, and it was making me miserable, so I started down a path toward more normal eating. Since then I've faced the ups and downs of the process without** protest, and done the work on the inside to rewrite the inner dialogue that was driving me to thoughts like "I feel fat" or "I'm just gonna check the scale to see cuz I'm curious" (which would then lead to starting my cycle of denial, over-exercising, and bingeing all over again!); or the thought that I wasn't worthy of the attention and affection of my loved ones, and that my needs aren't important because someone else needs something or I have better things to do.

What I want to begin accepting now is my body. It's mine, after all, and I don't get another one***. I get to live in this body for the rest of my life, and I'm the only person qualified to take care of me! My body, that is I, me is fat. Has fat. It's not as much fat as some people have, and there is more than other people have. But it's mine. My fat is a part of me. My fat makes me soft, cushions my internal organs, fills out my shape (even though some people don't like that shape), makes my clothes look nice; it also means that if we have any really nasty winters, I'll be able to whine as much as I want without losing precious energy for things like breathing, foraging, and survival. 

None of that matters, however, because I can't really change my fatness, and my trying to be less fat is the only real thing that's ever been unhealthy in me. Which means that not only is there no reason for me to change my fatness and force my body to be something it is not, it also means that for health reasons, I can't. There is still a fear in me that I will one day be muuuuuch fatter, and that fear is just a shamey ball of shame trying to convince me that what I'm doing is wrong and I should keep with the whole eating disorder thing, cuz at least with that I was never over 200lbs!

But that is a very ugly attitude to have. If beauty begins with acceptance, then ugliness begins with shame. We've had it backward the whole time! You're not ugly because someone shamed your appearance, they're ugly for shaming you! Yeah, you or I may have physical characteristics that don't fit in with airbrushed models, or what is generally considered "conventionally attractive", but when we accept ourselves and love ourselves our beauty shines through. And that's true whether a person is considered conventionally attractive or not. Thin people have as much beauty to share with the world as fat people, and vise versa, because it's not about what you look like, but what you are like.

I don't think I'll ever entirely get over the shaming instinct, but as I continue to recover from 15 years of chronic dieting, over exercising, bingeing, and purging that instinct will be set at bay.This is what I'm working on going forward. This is what I want to help other people work on. Whether it's through my writing here, my friendship and love, or my work as a beauty educator and MK consultant.  

________________________________________

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acceptance I cut out the part about this often referring to something negative and uncomfortable because it's not appropriate in this context.

**with a little

***neither do you, for the record