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.  

Hooked on Phonics

When I was little, I hated reading. And as I’ve previously mentioned, I am stubborn, so getting me to read was quite the battle. I remember squirming on the couch while my mom made me read “Sit in your seat, Pete. Eat your meat, Pete.” For some reason those sentences stuck with my family—probably because I was putting up such a fuss while my mom was doing her best to get me to read a stupid book about Pete and his meat.

The truth is I didn't like reading because I wasn’t very good at it. Fearing that I would make a mistake, I chose to memorize books instead of sounding out the syllables. During class, I would go to the bathroom when it was my turn to read out loud because I didn’t want to read a word I didn’t know or pronounce it funny (I also couldn’t pronounce my R’s still I was 13 lolz). I was scared to make a mistake, so I’d rather not try. Ah…perfection at it’s finest and at such a young age. 

Growing up I told myself that I wasn’t good at reading or writing. I stuck to math flashcards, building cell models, and memorizing the bones of the body. Because “I’m not good at reading” became my inner dialogue I never picked up a book for fun, never wrote outside of school essays, never read out loud if I could help it. 

Things changed when I went into treatment. I was required to journal. I started challenging my inner dialogue—about what I thought of myself, about my likes and dislikes, about what I’d decided I was good at and not. Through this process, I was willing to entertain the idea of reading and writing. And over time, I began to realize not only am I good at it, I actually enjoy it. 

Journaling has become an avenue for expressing my emotions when I’ve been too closed off to speak about them. Blogging and writing in general have become places of empowerment for me. By jotting down my thoughts I can connect to my true self and fight my eating disorder and critical voice with love, compassion, and truth.

Along with writing, reading is so important in my recovery process. I can’t tell you how many times Harry Potter has saved me from using behaviors. I’ve learned that instead of numbing out through destructive behaviors, I can turn to a good story of wizards and muggles, good and evil, and love and friendship. Reading is a vital coping skill for me because it allows space for me to settle down and return to the problem with a clearer mind and healthier thoughts. 

Without allowing myself to question what could be helpful in a nonjudgmental way, I never would have discovered the joy I get from reading and writing. Im so thankful for treatment where I felt safe enough to find these little things I like and uncover the deeper attributes that make me, me!

So now not only do I call myself a math nerd, I also call myself a reader/writer. And that’s a big deal for me.

PS: HMU with any good book suggestions because I just finished Harry Potter, and I’m on the lookout for the next good read!

Hooked on Phonics

When I was little, I hated reading. And as I’ve previously mentioned, I am stubborn, so getting me to read was quite the battle. I remember squirming on the couch while my mom made me read “Sit in your seat, Pete. Eat your meat, Pete.” For some reason those sentences stuck with my family—probably because I was putting up such a fuss while my mom was doing her best to get me to read a stupid book about Pete and his meat.

The truth is I didn't like reading because I wasn’t very good at it. Fearing that I would make a mistake, I chose to memorize books instead of sounding out the syllables. During class, I would go to the bathroom when it was my turn to read out loud because I didn’t want to read a word I didn’t know or pronounce it funny (I also couldn’t pronounce my R’s still I was 13 lolz). I was scared to make a mistake, so I’d rather not try. Ah…perfection at it’s finest and at such a young age. 

Growing up I told myself that I wasn’t good at reading or writing. I stuck to math flashcards, building cell models, and memorizing the bones of the body. Because “I’m not good at reading” became my inner dialogue I never picked up a book for fun, never wrote outside of school essays, never read out loud if I could help it. 

Things changed when I went into treatment. I was required to journal. I started challenging my inner dialogue—about what I thought of myself, about my likes and dislikes, about what I’d decided I was good at and not. Through this process, I was willing to entertain the idea of reading and writing. And over time, I began to realize not only am I good at it, I actually enjoy it. 

Journaling has become an avenue for expressing my emotions when I’ve been too closed off to speak about them. Blogging and writing in general have become places of empowerment for me. By jotting down my thoughts I can connect to my true self and fight my eating disorder and critical voice with love, compassion, and truth.

Along with writing, reading is so important in my recovery process. I can’t tell you how many times Harry Potter has saved me from using behaviors. I’ve learned that instead of numbing out through destructive behaviors, I can turn to a good story of wizards and muggles, good and evil, and love and friendship. Reading is a vital coping skill for me because it allows space for me to settle down and return to the problem with a clearer mind and healthier thoughts. 

Without allowing myself to question what could be helpful in a nonjudgmental way, I never would have discovered the joy I get from reading and writing. Im so thankful for treatment where I felt safe enough to find these little things I like and uncover the deeper attributes that make me, me!

So now not only do I call myself a math nerd, I also call myself a reader/writer. And that’s a big deal for me.

PS: HMU with any good book suggestions because I just finished Harry Potter, and I’m on the lookout for the next good read!

A Galentine's Letter

To My Best Friend,

Lilly Beil, You were there before I knew I had a problem. You loved me despite the fact that I was wasting away not only physically, but emotionally. I can’t imagine how helpless you felt when I was disappearing before your eyes even though I believed I was fine.

You were the first person I called when my therapist said I wouldn’t be able to go back to college if I didn’t gain weight. You cried with me. You told me it would be ok. You reminded me to take refuge in God’s ultimate grace.

When I convinced my therapist to let me go back to school my sophomore year, you stood by my side. You never gave up on me though I was giving up on myself. You were with me as I sunk into deep depression. Even when I bailed on our spring break trip, you lovingly understood. You were the only person I had the courage to tell that I wasn’t going to come back to school after spring break. Again, we cried. We cried because I was in so much pain. We cried because we couldn’t finish the year together. We cried because this disease took such a toll on our friendship.

My junior year, we lived together. You sat by me when we ate out with friends knowing that I was silently suffering over the meal. Even when I put on an act that I was all-better, you spent nights listening to me about the suffering I was still enduring. Despite the struggles I encountered, you helped me see small glimpses of joy in life. I clung to the times when we would hang out because for a brief moment I was free from my eating disorder. You gave me hope that life was bigger than my disorder.

When you studied abroad, your journey was an encouragement. Although you may not know it, your pictures and blog motivated me to want recovery. I wanted to travel and see the beauty of the world, and I knew I could only do that if I let go of my eating disorder.

And when you came back, I told you I was going to treatment. Neither of us knew what that meant, but you said we would face the unknown together. You consistently wrote me letters. We shared our struggles, but also our joys. I am grateful that you didn’t see me as weak or fragile, but strong in being able to face my eating disorder head on. You shared with me how your summer was going which was so helpful when all I saw was my eating disorder.

You’ve stood by my side forever and always. I was filled with joy when I was able to surprise you for your birthday. For the first time in such a long time, I was healthy enough to be spontaneous. You also tried to see my perspective as I explained that I was not all better just yet. Again, we cried. We cried because we don’t understand why I have this disease. We cried because we both know how hard it is to continue a friendship despite such an overwhelming illness. We cried because we have lost so much time together because of this awful disease.

Through it all, I have known I could rely on our friendship. Moving forward, I firmly believe that we will always be there for each other. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and I am excited to see all what lies ahead for our friendship. Through think and thin our love for each other runs deep. Thank you for all you have done for me!

Much Love. Forever and Always.