Grieving

They say in order to feel the good, you have to be willing to feel the bad. Living in recovery, I’ve experienced the full range of emotions. From total serenity when watching Harry Potter on a night in to complete sadness when friends move away. From blissful excitement at Disneyland to overwhelming stress from schoolwork. Even during the times when I’ve wanted to numb out the hard emotions or punish myself because I hear the nagging voice telling me I do not deserve happiness, I’ve let myself feel. I’ve discovered that riding the wave of emotion is loads more freeing then bottling them up and anxiously praying the flood gates don’t break.

Lately, I’ve been facing a whole new emotion: grief. While no one is “ready” to grieve, the past two years of feeling emotions had led to me to cope with this emotion in a healthy way.

            In the past few months, three people in my life have passed away. The pain that accompanies death—especially unexpected and tragic death—is too much to bear alone. My first inclination is to isolate, shut down, and sleep. But instead, I’ve reached out for support. I have wept with my friends and family who are going through the grieving process too. Leaning on each other, we share each other’s pain. I have been vulnerable with my close friends who are not presently grieving, but who can come along side me to comfort me and take care of me. Not to discount the excruciating pain, but by grieving with people, the anguish is no longer too much to bear. There’s a unifying factor, a uniting sense of love, when I allow myself to rely on others for the strength to heal.

            While each day is a rollercoaster of emotions as I grieve, I choose to ride it. I let the sadness hit me in the middle of class. I allow myself to rest when I planned on exercising because grieving is exhausting. And I continue to eat even when I lose my appetite, because I know that living in recovery is the only way to love and to allow others to love me through this grieving process.

In loving memory of Bianca Red Arrow, Fisher Hartmann, and Coach Ronnie

1 Corinthians 13

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/

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.