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!

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.

My New Family.

“Do you have any friends?” the guy next to me asked during the greeting time at church. We both laughed because the question came across all wrong. Of course he meant to ask if I was finding people in LA since I’m semi-new to the area. But it made me think—do I have friends here???

When I stepped off the plane on June 3^rd, I didn’t know a soul in LA. Even my brother who normally lives in Malibu was in Philly for the summer. I was completely alone, yet it didn’t feel much different from my daily life. I had friends at school and back home, but very few of them knew the “ugly” me. 

They only knew my “pretty” side: the cute bubbly Georgia peach. They saw me as a high achieving student, a dedicated gymnast and crossfitter, a fun sorority girl, and a passionate RUF leader. And the select few I let in, only saw glimpses of my reality that I quickly minimized. Although I was all those things, there was a whole secret life I was living, which was the farthest thing from pretty. I was ashamed of my eating disorder and did everything possible to hide it.

But in treatment, I couldn’t hide anymore. As hard as I tried—I even told my therapist my life was none of her business (sorry, Ally)—I no longer could wrap my life in a pretty bow. Not within the doors of Monte Nido. Slowly but surely, I allowed myself to be vulnerable. It is the hardest, scariest thing for me to do. Still. But because of this vulnerability, I have formed a family. I am no longer alone.

I have therapists who listen to how hard it is, who challenge my eating disorder voice, who help me see new perspectives. I have friends who join along side me in recovery. They hold me as tears stream down my face while we sit and talk on the beach. They take me to get donuts when I’ve planned to never eat again. They remind me why I am doing this in the first place. And my friends see me even when I have lost sight of who I am outside my eating disorder.

This process is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and yet I know I have a family cheering me on. My parents and siblings, my friends from all phases of life, my therapists, and I’m sure many more. So even though it’s hard, at least I’m not doing this alone anymore.

This family reminds me how blessed I am. They point me towards the love of God and display His grace every day. Reminding me I am worthy through Christ, my family lifts me up from the depth of my raging eating disorder. I never have to be alone again.

So in response to the guy sitting next to me in church, I don’t just have friends, I have a whole family. 

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.

Under the Table. Beneath the Skin.

The first thing I did every morning was step on the scale. I tracked every step I took as I walked to class. During lectures, I counted my calories for the day and came up with better workouts. Before I fell asleep every night, I tallied up every calorie I consumed that day, and after reaching the total, I planned my food out so that tomorrow I could eat less. Sleep and Repeat. (I’d say eat, sleep, repeat but there wasn’t much eating involved).

Needless to say, my thoughts and actions were completely saturated with my eating disorder. People might assume that I controlled my food and exercise so that I could have the best body. One might read those rituals and think that I was vain for caring about my appearance so much. And yes, appearing “perfect” was an aspect of my eating disorder, but oh it was so much more.

For me, thinking about food, exercise, and my body prevented the real feelings from arising. With every minute tied up in my eating disorder, there was no time to address my fears, anxieties, scars. My eating disorder kept me safe from the feelings that I thought would kill me if I allowed myself to feel. In its core, my eating disorder wasn’t about beauty and having a great body. It was rooted in the belief that I wasn’t worthy of being seen. I believed I needed to disappear because I wasn’t deserving of life on earth. And really acknowledging that truth was too much for me to bear.

Beneath the skin, under the table was a little girl who was beaten, battered, and broken. From the outside looking in, it appeared that I was scared to gain weight; but in reality, I was scared of so much more. I was scared of not measuring up to my own expectations. I was frightened of never amounting to anything in life. I was terrified that I would never be loved. And above all, I was afraid that if I opened up and talked about my true pain I wouldn’t be able to cope and that honestly, I would want to die because of how excruciating those feelings were.

However with the help of incredibly patient therapists and the safe environment of treatment, I proved to myself that feelings won’t kill me. My emotions are not too dangerous. I am safe. I. am. safe. Addressing the real issues leads to true freedom. So even today when I default to talking about my body and wanting to lose weight, I’m thankful for my therapist and friends who call me out on my bullshit (sorry mom for the language).

Through the ever-flowing grace of God, I am worthy of life. I am not defined my pain. The real issues are not too much for God to handle. He is bigger than my eating disorder, and I can rely on his comforting hands to guide through those difficult feelings. 

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.

Compare and Despair.

My eating disorder thrives off comparisons. That girl has skinner legs. Her abs are more defined. She has less food on her plate. She got a better grade on the test. She has more friends. With all these comparisons running rampant in my mind, no wonder I was miserable!

Under these seemingly superficial comparisons lies the belief that I am not ok as I am. When I walked through the doors at Vista, I immediately started to compare myself to the other girls. Quickly my eating disorder latched onto the idea that I didn’t deserve to be in treatment because others were “sicker” than me. The problem wasn’t simply that I thought I didn’t need to be in treatment, but rather I didn’t believe that I was worthy to receive help.

Just like every human is distinct, eating disorders don’t all look the same; they manifest differently in every individual. So maybe I didn’t have as much weight to gain as someone else or I didn’t have my eating disorder for as long as another, but I did need help. The core belief that I didn’t deserve proper nutrition and rest, yet alone love and acceptance needed to be uprooted and tossed to the curb.

Only through the power of the cross can I eradicate such unworthiness. Daily, I am replacing my fleeting eating disorder thoughts with the steadfast words of God. The Psalmist writes, “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made” (Psalm 139: 13, 14). God wonderfully created me, and unconditionally loves me just as I am—my talents, quirks, and yes even my weaknesses. My Savior views me as so deserving that he carried my sins to the cross, not because of anything I have achieved, but simply because he deeply cares for me. Through God’s grace, I can rest in the truth that no grade, paycheck, workout, no not even the number on a scale can make me worthy; but rather, my worth is found in the death and resurrection of Jesus.

Many times, I don’t look towards Christ to find my self worth. On a daily basis, I struggle with evaluating others in order to feel content in myself. But that’s the beauty of the Gospel. My actions don’t dictate my worth—Christ’s saving grace does!

So when I turn to comparison, I remember the wise words of Theodore Roosevelt, “Comparison is the thief of joy”. I remind myself that comparing stifles the joy I have in the Lord. Instead, I cling to the certainty of Scripture that I am perfectly handcrafted and incredible beautiful.

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!

Surrender.

I am stubborn. I have been my whole life. When I was little my mom used to pray that I would make good decisions because whatever I decided, there would be no way of talking me out of it. When I started gymnastics I spent every free moment practicing my back handspring. Even after landing on the top of my head time after time, I would not give up. My mind was set on getting the skill, and nothing could hold me back.

My eating disorder self took full advantage of my obstinate character. I was determined to lose “x” amount of pounds. I was fixated on every calorie that went into my body and on every calorie that I burned off. For quite some time, my eating disorder was what I wanted, and no one could make me stop.

Even in my recovery, my stubbornness has come into play. I’ve been hardheaded and feisty, determined to get my way when I thought something was unfair. Most recently, my pertinacity has gotten me stuck in a rut. It has prevented me from moving forward because my goal has been to lose the “excess” weight. Just like when I was little girl, my heart was set on the goal, and that was that. No questions asked.

However, in my recovery, I am learning what is means to surrender. To stop resisting my meal plan, my treatment team, my recovery. To be humbled and realize my way isn’t working. To hand over the reins to those more knowledgeable. In surrendering, I open the doors to receive love and support. I acknowledge that I can’t do it on my own, and I need a Savior. Surrender leaves space to accept God’s precious gift of grace that comes from the death and resurrection of his Son.  

I am learning how to use my stubbornness for restoration instead of destruction. With my mind set on surrendering to the process, I can know that my fortitude cannot be shattered. Relying on Christ’s true strength instead of the façade of power from my stubbornness, I can recover. My heart is set on recovering through the power of God, and that is exactly what I am going to do.

Trust in the LORD with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; 

in all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight.

                                                                                                Proverbs 3:5-6

Eater's Agreement

As a deserving human on this earth, I choose to eat for freedom, for relationships, for compassion, and for joy. However, I cannot live in this light while clinging to aspects of my eating disorder. I must surrender my all to recovery. Therefore, I, Margaret Hartmann, agree to eat my food and keep it. I agree to be an eater. Not only will I eat my meal plan, I agree to refrain from purging my food and abusing exercise. I know the road ahead is long and windy, yet I agree to find the joys in my journey, continuing to move forward no matter the challenge.

I agree to live each day fully in the present. I will not let the pain of my past cover me with the shame and fear I’ve known for too long. I choose to use my voice when I am frightened as I way to express my true feelings and bring truth to the situation. Paralyzing fear will no longer keep me from enjoying nights on the town or fun get togethers. As I live in the present moment, I will not let my eating disorder self gain fuel from past shame.

Additionally, I agree to respect my body. It is a temple for my soul, the home that connects my true self to the world around me. Because it is uniquely mine, comparison will no longer rob me of joy. I need this physical body to live; and therefore, I will treat it with the most tender care. Although I may not like the body I am in, I will continue nourishing it because it provides me with the gift of life. I will strive daily to choose what I am craving whether that be a rich brownie, a salty bag of chips, a crisp salad, or a silky bowl of ice cream. I choose to refrain from letting my perception of my body influence my food.

I know I will make mistakes. I will fall, and I will slip. However, I also know that I will get back up. I will learn from my mistakes. I will fight even stronger. I will do the harder thing. My fiery spirit will not give up. Each day, I agree to honor my needs, emotions, and body. Reaching out when the battle is tough and telling the truth will be my saving graces. Furthermore, I proclaim to take pride in my authentic self without judgment, knowing that I am doing my best each and every day.