It's a bird...It's a plane...It's Superman!

Sometimes I like to think I have superpowers. That I can work two jobs, go to school full time, be super involved in my sorority, go to PT twice a week, and oh yeah do that little thing called recovery too. I think this hectic schedule should be easy to manage. But the reality is, I am only human, and I run myself into the ground trying to keep up with this jam-packed lifestyle.

Why do I do it? Why do I take on more than I can bear? Even that question is hard for me to consider because I don’t like to admit I have a cap on what I can handle. However, I have had to face this issue because a lot of my eating disorder lives in the need to always be productive. I’ve come to realize it stems from a place of acceptance and worth, or lack thereof. I’m scared I won’t be seen as “good enough” if I don’t do 101 things. But deeper than fearing other people not accepting me, I’m scared that I won’t be able to accept myself. When I keep myself busy, I don’t have to grapple with the questions of worthiness. I’m scared if I stop the train, the self-hate will be too much for me to tolerate. So it seems easier to equate my worth with productivity and ignore the real issue of feeling undeserving and worthless.

The chaos quiets my inner critic for the moment; but in the greater scheme of things, it just makes the voice that screams “I am a failure” even louder. Inevitably, when I over commit, I have to let go of some things I love. And quitting something, makes me feel like a disappointment.

So what can I do to not feel like I have failed? This go around, I am stopping the cycle before it spins out of control. I am proactively taking time away from my job because I’ve started to notice my eating disorder popping back in. If I continue to let my recovery rest on the back burner, I will most definitely lose things I love and value. My recovery has to come first because I have to be healthy in order to enjoy my other commitments.

And by prioritizing my health, I have the space to truly address the feelings of failure that arise when I face the reality that I do have limits. I am realizing that I am strong enough to combat my inner critic, that I do have the tools I need to manage my emotions. Adding balance to my life and accepting my humanness allows me to be present in my life, instead of running around like a chicken with its head cut off.  

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 Space Where Choice Lies.

a piece from my brother's senior art portfolio

There comes a point in gymnastics where it is just you and the beam. You’ve done the drills, you’ve trained your body to do the skill safely, and all that is left is the deciding. Standing on the beam, arms pressed strong overhead, feet aligned, hips square, and I’m ready. I am the only thing that stands in the way of me staying frozen in that position or flying through the air as I connect two back handsprings. So often I stood there frozen. For hours. For days. For weeks. I was stuck. The fear of the unknown, of the potential failure outweighed the possibility of performing the series successfully. But what I didn’t grasp at the time was that staying in that ready position and not going for it led right to the failure I so feared. My rationale was that not giving myself the option meant that I couldn’t mess it up. What if I tried my hardest and still failed? In my mind, I thought that it would feel worse than not trying at all. Now I realize it feels the same. Incapable. Inadequate.

The situation is different now, but the energy is the same. Lately, I’ve been in this limbo of wanting to get better while also wanting to hold onto the safety in my eating disorder. The self-hate and criticism, the story that I replay over and over, somehow seems more comfortable than the risk it would take to go all in. Having the space to decide to tell myself a different story is terrifying. With the power of choice comes responsibility. I tell myself if I don’t allow another option then there isn’t a possibility of failure. I don’t have to wonder “what if”—what if I commit to a path of self-love, compassion, and acceptance, but I fall short? I still end up with the feelings of failure and little self worth. But those are the exact lies that my eating disorder feeds me, which keep me stuck. Just like staying frozen on top of the beam leads to a feeling of failure and inadequacy, so does living in between the eating disordered life and a healthy life. I’m scared of the feelings of failure after I’ve given it my best, but by not trying, I inevitably feel those exact feelings.

What I am realizing is: there is hope in having the space to choose. It subdues the fear. I know I’m already experiencing the very things I am scared of, so why not try? Why not eat my food, and keep it? Why not fight those urges of letting my eating disorder morph into new behaviors? Why not take the risk and trust the process? In allowing the option to succeed I am honoring the part of me that wants to get better. That believes my story has a purpose. That trusts I am loved, cherished, and worthy simply because I exist.

I end with this quote because 1. the image is hilarious and 2. it speaks to so much truth.

“Be decisive. Right or wrong, make a decision. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who couldn’t make a decision.”

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.

Surprise!!

“Surprise!” I exclaimed as I hugged my best friend for the first time since May. It was her birthday, and I flew into Waco to celebrate. After she recovered from the initial shock, her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you are here…in the flesh!”

The whole trip was really a surprise. I had no agenda, no schedule, no to-do list. I simply wanted to be with my Baylor friends. A year ago, this would not have been possible. If every minute was not planned, I would panic and break down. My detailed plans kept me productive; they proved that I was successful. The underlying truth was that my agenda prevented me from addressing my pain, discomfort, and brokenness. A side effect of that wall was not experiencing any joy from surprises.

On this journey of recovery, I am learning to embrace surprises. This trip, I was able to participate in an unexpected event: breakfast at midnight. In honor of Taylor Swift and feeling 22, we cooked up delicious breakfast food to share amongst our close friends. I was not going to miss out on this experience! In my eating disorder, I would have said I’m too tired and gone to bed to avoid eating crepes and bacon at midnight. But this weekend I was able to choose relationships over food. Crepes and bacon would not stop me from being present at my best friend’s breakfast at midnight party.

While most surprises from my time in Waco were amazing and wonderful, one hit me hard. Surprise! You are not recovered! This was the first time I had been back to school since May. I slept in the same bed, ate at the same table, and used the same bathroom as I did when I was in the depths of my eating disorder. I would be lying if I said that it was easy. Au contraire—it was freaking hard.

More than anything I would like to be recovered. I would like to live in Waco and finish my senior year with my best friends. I would like to have my eating disorder be a thing of the past. But that is not reality, and that is ok. It is ok that I struggled to finish my meals and that I cried as I thought about how much I ate out and how little activity I did this weekend. It is ok that I am not recovered just yet. Surprise! Recovery doesn’t happen over night!

From someone who has high expectations for herself, this surprise is hard to bear. It’s hard to know I am missing out on my senior year at Baylor, to see my eating disorder still effecting my friendships, to try to explain my struggle to my friends and know that they don’t fully understand.

But hard doesn’t mean I’ve failed—it means I’m still fighting. I am on this road of recovery, and I haven’t reached the end quite yet. I know there will come a time where I will be fully recovered, where my eating disorder will be behind me. However, I also know this: my eating disorder won’t be the only hard surprise I will face in life Surprise! Life is not perfect!

I don’t have to dread these future challenges because I know that my strength does not come within my broken self but through my omnipotent Savior. Life doesn’t have to be easy for me to be ok. I can be ok through God’s saving grace. These bumps in my life may come as a surprise to me, but they are no surprise to God. He is in control, which means I am free to experience wonderful surprises, and I can rely on God for strength to conquer the not so wonderful surprises too.

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.