Easy as ABC

For the first time in over a year, I am back in school. I still bleed green and gold, but I am finding a new home at Loyola Marymount. This time around, I am committing to doing things differently—to lean on love not perfection.

As soon I enter the classroom, I can hear the perfectionism gears start to churn. “my notes must be error-free, my answers must always be right, I cannot mess up.” But that thinking is the old me. The environment brings out my perfectionistic tendencies, but now I am able to fight back. I remind myself that perfection is simply a façade—a way for me to feel in control when really I am scared of the uncertainty. It’s easier for me to hit the books and stress out over my performance instead of addressing the underlying fears. So rather than share about my “challenging coursework”, I choose to open up about the real things that are hard about being back in school.

It’s lonely. I only know a handful of students, and some days I feel invisible. As a commuter student working 2 jobs, it is hard to devote time to meeting people at school. But I know it is highly important because my eating disorder thrives in loneliness. Loneliness turns into unworthiness which either leads to a) unhealthy behaviors that give me a sense of accomplishment or b) destructive behaviors that result in punishment for being not good enough. Siding with my healthy self instead of my eating disorder self means combating loneliness with love. Self-love through acknowledging my accomplishments and participating in self-care. Love from my Savior who accepts me with all my faults. Love from my amazing friends who listen and laugh with me. And love from new friends I’ll make as I become more involved at LMU. These relationships are what remind me that I am enough just as I am and that I don’t deserve to be nasty to myself.

It’s scary. Starting back at school, which was a huge component of my eating disorder, makes me fearful that I am going to get sick again. I’m scared that I’m going to set unattainable expectations and place unnecessary pressure on myself. Will the demands of school lead me back into my depression? Will I turn to my eating disorder to cope with the stress of schoolwork? Am I capable of doing this? The great thing about recovering in a community is that I have too many people that care about me to let me fall back into the traps of my eating disorder. I don’t need to future trip because I know I have support that will keep me healthy. All I need to do is be honest, letting those around me help when I am struggling. I am capable of this!

The Jackson Five got it right—college might not be as easy as ABC, but love is, and that is what I need in order to do school differently.

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.

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.”