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/

Stakes are Low

Friday I left my last class holding my head high because I can now say that I’ve finished an entire year of college while keeping my sanity! This is something I have never done before. Honestly, it is something that I doubted I could ever do. So what changed? How was I able to successfully finish my junior year of college (round 2)?

Well, so much has changed, but I can narrow it down to one thing: compassion.

See, back a few years ago, I set the highest expectation for myself: perfection. But the problem with perfection is that it doesn’t exist. There is always another hoop to jump through, another rung on the ladder to climb. But, I was determined. I would do everything possible to reach that perfect ideal I had in my head. I gotta say, I got pretty close—at least from the outside looking in. However, the drive for perfection tore me to pieces. I always felt like a failure. If I wasn’t perfect in every little thing I would beat myself up, physically through my eating disorder and mentally through all the lies I told myself about how I was such a failure. The joy in any success was tainted by the intense pressure of the next task. In the end, those high expectations knocked me off my feet.

But I’ve grown, and I’ve changed my motto. “Stakes are low”. Whether it’s in preparation for a final or getting ready for a Theta formal that anticipatory anxiety creeps in. I fight the battle with perfection. What if I screw up? What if I don’t make an A? What if I embarrass myself? In these moments, I remind myself, “stakes are low”. I give myself compassion, the space to mess up and still be ok. Because even if I fail my final or make a total ass of myself, I’m still me. Those events, those high expectations I put on myself to try to make sure I end up a success, don’t have to define me. In the end, my achievements and the way people view me don’t really matter. My true friends and family don’t love me because I make straight A’s or because I’m the perfect sorority girl. They love me because I am a loyal friend, because I care deeply, because I am funny. And ultimately, they love me just because I am me. Whether I end up a doctor, a therapist, or jobless. Whether I am popular or an outsider. Whether I have a 6 pack or squish rolls. Their love for me doesn’t change. And most importantly, God’s love for me doesn’t change.

I am no longer crushed by the pressure of perfection. I am free to live, to make mistakes, to learn from them. I am free to just be—to relax and put my worries aside. Because stakes are low NOT high. Part of me wishes I could go back and tell my old self that, but a larger part of me knows I needed to go through those times to get to where I am now: living a life of self-compassion. So instead, I will share with all you who also struggle with the desire to be perfect: STAKES ARE LOW.  

Let's Talk about It.

Let’s talk about it. When two people love each other very much…no wait. That’s not what I meant to talk about. 

Let’s try this again. Eating disorders. There we go. Let’s talk about eating disorders. 

• 30+ million people struggle with an eating disorder in America alone

• 42% of 1st-3rd grade girls want to be thinner

• 33% of teenage boys and girls use unhealthy weight control behaviors such as skipping meals, fasting, smoking cigarettes, vomiting, and taking laxatives

• Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness

• Every 62 minutes someone loses his/her life as a direct cause of an eating disorder

Did you actually read those statistics? If not, back up and look at them. They are shocking even for me who is far more educated in eating disorders than the average bear. These statistics are great for getting a panoramic view and seeing the pervasiveness of eating disorders. But, these numbers fall flat because people with eating disorders aren’t just numbers on a paper. They are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, babysitters, best friends, students, coworkers, and so on. They have a story, and each one is unique. 

The problem is so often our stories are silenced. Silenced out of fear. Silenced out of shame. Silenced due to the stigma and myths about eating disorders. Silenced because the words simply won’t come.

See, eating disorders thrive in silence. All the lies that feed the eating disorder are reinforced when we remain silent. Well, I’m done letting eating disorders thrive. Since starting my recovery, I choose to use my voice and talk about my eating disorder and eating disorders in general. And that’s exactly what I did about a month ago. I shared my journey with about 100ish college students. And this time the roles were reversed: I, my true self, was thriving while the shame, self-doubt, and fear have in my eating disorder was silenced. Although my voice quivered at times, I have never felt more empowered. It is my hope that when I spoke, I touched one person. That one person felt heard, understood, and loved.

And I will continue to talk. I will continue to share my story and be an advocate for eating disorder recovery. I will continue to open up about the things that are still hard and not let my eating disorder swallow me whole.

I will also listen. I will show compassion and help dismiss the shame, so that someone can open up and talk about their struggle. I will not simplify a person to a mere statistic, but I will see them as human. A person who is hurting, who is fighting, who is doing their very best, who…is just like me and just like you.