From Shame to Strength.

Scars. We all have them.
I have one on my lip where at 4yrs old my tooth cut through the skin when I slipped in the grocery store. Another one under my nose where my siblings pushed me down our driveway when I was little. And yet another where a hair straightener burned my leg in the freshman dorms. Life is full of bumps and bruises, and sometimes they make for good memories to reminisce on during the holidays.

But I also have scars that come from painful memories. Scars no one could see--scars of the heart. These invisible scars are the ones that cut the deepest.

When I began unpacking the root issues of my eating disorder, the emotions of painful experiences flooded over me. Without my usual method of coping (i.e. using my eating disorder), I turned to self-harm. At the time, I didn't understand what was happening. Why was I blatantly inflicting pain on myself when I've learned so much about showing myself compassion? Why was I struggling to apply this principle when I felt overwhelmed with shame and guilt?

I've come to realize self-harm was a way to make sense of how I had been hurt. For me, it acted as a physical representation of the scars that no one could see. But using self-harm to understand my pain didn't solve the problem. In fact, it merely added to the shame I already felt. Shame for having visible scars on top of the shame from invisible scars.

The real work requires seeing strength in places where I previously saw weakness. This shift in perspective opens the door for me to show compassion to that girl who was feeling so much hurt for so long while pushing through each day with a smile on her face. That, my friends, takes an incredible amount of strength and a heaping pile of resilience. And so, by changing my viewpoint from shame to strength, I become empowered by my story.

In the same light, I have the power to change how I view my self-harm scars. The scars don't have to be a place of shame. They are simply part of my story. The story of fighting so desperately to gain a healthy life. Of overcoming challenges many people will never understand. Of finding joy in the journey despite the cuts and scars along the way.

A story of strength. A story of resilience.

***Below is a website with resources if you or a loved one is struggling with self-harm. Additionally, feel free to message me, and I will do my best to listen and point you in the right direction to get the help you need***

https://twloha.com/find-help/help-by-topic/self-injury/

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!

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. 

Just Being.

I'm so thankful for mornings like this! Today, sitting at Starbucks with a coffee and a journal is my idea of the perfect Sunday morning. But for a long time, this was not the case. In my eating disorder, I did not allow myself to sit, to be "unproductive", even for a moment. My eating disorder was not just about what I ate or how much I weighed. No, it was so much more. It was a way cope with feelings of shame, unworthiness, failure, and hopelessness.

    Having a break in the day meant feeling these emotions, emotions that were simply too much for me to bear. So instead, I kept busy. My life was a juggling act gone wrong.  At the time, I wasn't even aware of why I couldn't just "be". I thought I was doing the college thing right. Finding the perfect balance. Being the well rounded student. I made straight A's, became an avid crossfitter, joined a sorority, lead a campus ministry. So why was I still so miserable and depressed? From the outside, it seemed as if I had it all together, but on the inside I was completely unraveled.

    As I continue in my recovery, I realize that no workout, no organization, no major, no job can fill the emptiness I felt so deeply, and still feel on occasion today. I must constantly remind myself that it is only through God's unconditional love that I can begin to acknowledge the past, embrace the present, and hope for the future. So as I sit here fully present in this moment, I thank God for my journey and the ability to relax on a Sunday morning, not because of anything I have done, but solely because of His loving grace. With His peace that passes all understanding can I finally be with myself. Without doing. Just Being.