Stakes are Low

Friday I left my last class holding my head high because I can now say that I’ve finished an entire year of college while keeping my sanity! This is something I have never done before. Honestly, it is something that I doubted I could ever do. So what changed? How was I able to successfully finish my junior year of college (round 2)?

Well, so much has changed, but I can narrow it down to one thing: compassion.

See, back a few years ago, I set the highest expectation for myself: perfection. But the problem with perfection is that it doesn’t exist. There is always another hoop to jump through, another rung on the ladder to climb. But, I was determined. I would do everything possible to reach that perfect ideal I had in my head. I gotta say, I got pretty close—at least from the outside looking in. However, the drive for perfection tore me to pieces. I always felt like a failure. If I wasn’t perfect in every little thing I would beat myself up, physically through my eating disorder and mentally through all the lies I told myself about how I was such a failure. The joy in any success was tainted by the intense pressure of the next task. In the end, those high expectations knocked me off my feet.

But I’ve grown, and I’ve changed my motto. “Stakes are low”. Whether it’s in preparation for a final or getting ready for a Theta formal that anticipatory anxiety creeps in. I fight the battle with perfection. What if I screw up? What if I don’t make an A? What if I embarrass myself? In these moments, I remind myself, “stakes are low”. I give myself compassion, the space to mess up and still be ok. Because even if I fail my final or make a total ass of myself, I’m still me. Those events, those high expectations I put on myself to try to make sure I end up a success, don’t have to define me. In the end, my achievements and the way people view me don’t really matter. My true friends and family don’t love me because I make straight A’s or because I’m the perfect sorority girl. They love me because I am a loyal friend, because I care deeply, because I am funny. And ultimately, they love me just because I am me. Whether I end up a doctor, a therapist, or jobless. Whether I am popular or an outsider. Whether I have a 6 pack or squish rolls. Their love for me doesn’t change. And most importantly, God’s love for me doesn’t change.

I am no longer crushed by the pressure of perfection. I am free to live, to make mistakes, to learn from them. I am free to just be—to relax and put my worries aside. Because stakes are low NOT high. Part of me wishes I could go back and tell my old self that, but a larger part of me knows I needed to go through those times to get to where I am now: living a life of self-compassion. So instead, I will share with all you who also struggle with the desire to be perfect: STAKES ARE LOW.  

Let's Talk about It.

Let’s talk about it. When two people love each other very much…no wait. That’s not what I meant to talk about. 

Let’s try this again. Eating disorders. There we go. Let’s talk about eating disorders. 

• 30+ million people struggle with an eating disorder in America alone

• 42% of 1st-3rd grade girls want to be thinner

• 33% of teenage boys and girls use unhealthy weight control behaviors such as skipping meals, fasting, smoking cigarettes, vomiting, and taking laxatives

• Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness

• Every 62 minutes someone loses his/her life as a direct cause of an eating disorder

Did you actually read those statistics? If not, back up and look at them. They are shocking even for me who is far more educated in eating disorders than the average bear. These statistics are great for getting a panoramic view and seeing the pervasiveness of eating disorders. But, these numbers fall flat because people with eating disorders aren’t just numbers on a paper. They are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, babysitters, best friends, students, coworkers, and so on. They have a story, and each one is unique. 

The problem is so often our stories are silenced. Silenced out of fear. Silenced out of shame. Silenced due to the stigma and myths about eating disorders. Silenced because the words simply won’t come.

See, eating disorders thrive in silence. All the lies that feed the eating disorder are reinforced when we remain silent. Well, I’m done letting eating disorders thrive. Since starting my recovery, I choose to use my voice and talk about my eating disorder and eating disorders in general. And that’s exactly what I did about a month ago. I shared my journey with about 100ish college students. And this time the roles were reversed: I, my true self, was thriving while the shame, self-doubt, and fear have in my eating disorder was silenced. Although my voice quivered at times, I have never felt more empowered. It is my hope that when I spoke, I touched one person. That one person felt heard, understood, and loved.

And I will continue to talk. I will continue to share my story and be an advocate for eating disorder recovery. I will continue to open up about the things that are still hard and not let my eating disorder swallow me whole.

I will also listen. I will show compassion and help dismiss the shame, so that someone can open up and talk about their struggle. I will not simplify a person to a mere statistic, but I will see them as human. A person who is hurting, who is fighting, who is doing their very best, who…is just like me and just like you. 

365 Days of Choosing Life.

In 365 days, I have moved 2,335 miles away from home, lived in 6 different houses/apartments, and spent 196 of those days in treatment. Needless to say, I’ve made a lot of changes in 365 days. And it all started with the decision to choose life.

June 3, 2015—exactly a year ago—I embarked on a journey to start living again. At the time, I had no idea what that entailed, but a timid little knock on the door was my first step in choosing life.

Looking back on this year, I see so much I have gained. The most important thing that has aided me in choosing life day in and day out has been using my voice. I’ve learned to speak up for myself, and it has made me more courageous than I ever thought possible. I have been able to voice my needs and feelings in friendships, at work, and with family where a year ago I would have turn inwards, beaten myself up, and taken it out on my food. I have learned that I only have one life, and I am the one who lives it; therefore, it is my responsibility, right, and privilege to make sure the things in my life are congruent with the way I want to live. By using my voice, I align my actions with my commitment to choose the life I want for myself.

In addition to using my voice to meet my own needs, I have taken a brave step to use my story as a source of advocacy. A year ago you couldn’t pay me a million bucks to tell my friends and family how sick I was. I was too scared and ashamed to speak the truth. Now, 365 days later, I am an open book, willing to share what I have done this year. I couldn’t be prouder of my recovery and the hard steps I have taken (and will continue to take) in order to be recovered.

With every blog post, part of me is filled with fear because I am allowing myself to be vulnerable to the world. But a bigger part of me is empowered. Empowered that I can use my story to make a difference in other’s lives. Empowered that I can advocate for recovery from an illness that goes unseen by most of the world. Empowered that I can speak truth to my peers when they struggle. Empowered that I, in spite of my hardships and brokenness, can be a light in this world.

And the responses I have received in return truly touch my heart. My eyes fill with tears of gratitude when I receive responses of encouraging affirmations, ways you can relate, and questions on how to get help. Taking a risk, although terrifying, is beyond rewarding. The incredible experiences I have gained by being vulnerable outweigh the lure of my eating disorder.

So much has changed in 365 days. Yet sometimes I feel like I’m still that withering girl waiting at the front step. In those moments, I thank that girl for taking the first step through the doors of Vista, and for choosing life. And, in honor of that brave soul, I will continue to choose life.

The Two Paths.

Sometimes I feel like living in recovery isn’t any better than living in my eating disorder. Sometimes it feels a lot harder—the lies about my body, food, exercise, self-worth are all still here; yet, I’m choosing not to listen to them. Sometimes it seems easier to just give in and stop fighting all together. At times like this, I have to remember:

There are two paths in front of me.

The one that is familiar and known is my eating disorder. It is alluring. It is enticing. It seems like the less strenuous path. However, I know where this path leads. It dead-ends leaving me alone, depressed, and dying. I know there is no potential for good that comes from my eating disorder. I’ve been there, I’ve done that, and I’ve gained evidence that is not the life I want to live.

The second path is unknown. It is just being paved with each step I take. I can’t see what lies ahead of the hills. I don’t recognize the twists and turns. But at least this path has potential for good. And for now, I have to hold onto that hope.

I’m clenching onto the hope that the chatter from behind trying to convince me to change paths will cease as I continue to move forward. I’m gripping onto the hope that this path is jam-packed with grace for each time I stumble or take a few steps backward. I’m not letting go of the hope that there is a finish line at the end of this road.

The in between of recovery, of no longer wanting my eating disorder and not yet being recovered, is like climbing Mt. Everest. But I cannot lose hope. There are many times where I’ve cried out and asked God why—why me, why an eating disorder, why such the struggle. So many times in this past month I have begged God for some peace and quiet from my own torturous thoughts.

But amidst those nights, I also see little glimmers of my hope coming to life. Moments of singing my favorite song at an amazing Ben Rector concert (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2fFKKkcx70). Of standing in awe at the beautiful coast of California. Of meeting Mickey in the most magical place on earth. Of getting lost in a good book (I’m joining the Harry Potter clan, and I got sorted into Hufflepuff)—these moments remind me to continue forward. They remind me that there is freedom from my eating disorder.

So I will trek on, and I will not lose hope.

The Life to be Desired

Today marks the first day of National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Through my recovery, I have grown a passion for advocating for eating disorder recovery and awareness. In today’s society, eating disorders are glorified. Women (and men) are praised for doing a detox, cutting out carbs, forcing themselves to work out, and losing weight. But let me tell you first hand, an eating disorder is far from desirable. 

I was tortured every moment by my own mind. No matter how many pounds I lost, my eating disorder told me that the number on the scale was too high. No matter how rigidly I restricted my food, my eating disorder convinced me I was consuming too many calories. No matter how hard and long I exercised, my eating disorder pushed me to work out harder. And no matter how many times I purged my food, my eating disorder whispered one more. 

That life is full of misery, shame, and self-hatred. That life is not something to be glorified.

What should be glorified is recovery. 

Every day I wake up hearing the same lies I heard in my eating disorder, but now I am choosing to act differently. I am choosing to eat even when I feel awful in my body. I am choosing not to exercise even when I am want to numb out my emotions. I am choosing not to throw up even when I am flooded with more feelings than what seems to be tolerable. That, my friend, should be praised.

And sometimes, I don’t choose to act differently. Sometimes, I listen to the lies of my eating disorder and start to beat myself up for having a slip. But the difference is now I don’t stop at the shame. I talk back and remind myself of compassion and grace. I reach out to my treatment team and friends when I can’t find the words for myself. By fighting back despite using a behavior, I grow stronger in my recovery until one day recovery becomes recovered. 

So next time you catch yourself glorifying the diet culture that undermines the true struggles of an eating disorder, remind yourself of the girl, or boy, or me! who is fighting each day, turning to grace over shame, and winning the battle over the eating disorder. That is the life worthy of praise.

No Pain, No Gain. No Way!

Since the age of 9, I've lived and breathed gymnastics. I practiced 16 hours a week, went to gymnastics camps over the summer, and traveled for competitions most weekends. When I wasn't at the gym, I was choreographing beam routines and configuring my bars skills into a complete set. I followed the elite and college gymnasts in awe of their talent and dedication. (Rio Olympics T-203 days. Go USA!)

Being a gymnast, my body was in tip-top shape. I could do more pull ups than most boys my age, and I could hold a plank for hours. However, my focus wasn't on my appearance, but on my ability to do the sport I loved. My body was merely a piece of the puzzle that helped me experience the joy I received from gymnastics. 

As my eating disorder took over, this view of my body changed drastically. Exercise was no longer about finding joy through movement; it became the means to changing my figure. Instead of a fit body being the side effect of the sport I loved, it took center stage. Exercise turned into a way to punish myself after enjoying a meal out with my friends. It was a way to counterbalance every calorie I consumed. Movement numbed me of anxiety, stress, and emotional scarring. 

Now that I am in recovery, I am working every day to change my motivation behind exercise. Although I would love to report that my mindset around exercise is completely healthy again, I can say it is changing. When I went home for Christmas, I was able to do gymnastics. For the first time in 3 years, I didn't let my eating disorder self gloat over the calories I was burning. I didn't cling to the hope that my weight might drop from these 2 practices. Rather, my heart overflowed with love from seeing my old coaches and teammates, and my thoughts revolved around the happiness I felt from practicing a sport I love--a sport that my healthy body can do!

I hold onto moments like this to remind myself that life is better in recovery than in my eating disorder. These moments are what motivate me to speak honestly with my treatment team and get back on track when I find myself running to "make up" for a meal or to rid my mind of past pain. Flipping around at the gym, hiking to see the beauty of God's creation, ice staking with a best friend--these are my joys in my journey. These are the glimpses of hope that show me full recovery is possible. 

I thank God for the progress I have made. I thank God for this beautiful body that can take me on amazing adventures. I even thank God for the times I slip because they teach me that I cannot do this on my own; I need a Savior who loves me despite my faults and failures. As I daily take steps to living a recovered life, I rely on Christ alone. His strength continues to help me make healthy decisions about exercise, and His grace will always, always covers the times I use movement for my eating disorder.

Bigger Jeans. Bigger Life.

Bigger Jeans. Bigger Life.

That’s what a wise therapist told me when I was in residential treatment. And I hated it. I hated the concept that I couldn’t have a good body and a good life. I hated someone telling me that I couldn’t have a satisfying life in my eating disorder. I sure didn’t want bigger jeans, but I did want a bigger life, which lead me to constantly question:

Why can’t I be skinny and have a full life?

Just to give you a little inside look into my thoughts, I’d like to take a moment to explain how my eating disorder self manipulates…pretty much anything. Dialectical Behavioral Therapy (DBT) is based off the principle that two things can be true at the same time. For example, I can be anxious about my lunch, AND I can eat it anyway. It’s a great tactic that can empower me to acknowledge my feelings and challenge my eating disorder at the same time. However, my eating disorder self has exploited this theory, convincing me that I can keep the parts of my eating disorder that makes me feel safe AND get my life back.

The voice says, “They tell you in therapy that you can hold two things to be true at the same time. With that logic you CAN have the perfect body AND be free from the destruction of your eating disorder.”

For quite some time, these manipulative lies are what kept me from surrendering to the “bigger jeans, bigger life” attitude. Nevertheless, with lots of help from therapy sessions, groups, and most importantly God's grace, I slowly came to accept this outlook. And now, I am here to say that it couldn’t be more true.

Being 3 days out of eating disorder treatment, I have taken time to reflect on these last 7 months. The realization I have come to is that I am finally getting my life back. With my bigger jeans, I can enjoy life. I can enjoy ice cream out with my friends. I can enjoy conversations around the dinner table. I can enjoy a morning stroll by the ocean. In my eating disorder, I couldn’t enjoy any of those events because I was only half present. The other half of me was busy calculating calories, pushing my food around, counting my steps, making up workouts to burn off the food.

But beyond life events around food and exercise, I can simply live. I can laugh with my coworkers. I can comfort a friend in need. I can engage in intellectual discussions. I can relax with a crossword. I can simply live.

I want to be connected and think beyond food and exercise. But if I turn ever so slightly to my eating disorder, my vision becomes hazy. I overlook my values, my beliefs, the core that makes me who I am because my eating disorder tells me that all will be ok if I just to have the perfect body. So, in answer to my previous question, I can’t be skinny and live a full life because my soul self, the woman I truly am, is lost in my eating disorder.

You might say that I have my life back because I am out of treatment, have a job, and am enrolled in classes. These facts are true, but for me, getting my life back is more than the tangible; it is experiencing each moment of life, fully participating in the steps along my journey. I know that as I continue in recovery, my life will grow in ways beyond what I can even imagine. So here’s to embracing bigger jeans for a bigger life!