Wandering Child

Growing up on the edge of town, in a neighborhood tucked between cornfields and public housing, I spent a lot of time floating in and out of other peoples houses. Looking back, I feel like I was a wandering spirit, often quietly observing the patterns, sounds, behaviors and even smells of other families.

I have been trying to write a short story lately about that experience.

And a tangent has popped in my head about my relationship with food in this context.

I can remember how when I was in black homes, the smells and the heat from the kitchen would produce smokey warm fumes often bristling to the nose no matter where you were in the house. Sweet and spicy flavors, crispy and strong flavors, energizing and invigorating, that one would also imagine were filling and satisfying. The kitchens were bustling, like their homes, with more than one cook, throwing in food in stages, taking turns making sure things “got done”.

In the Vietnamese and Cambodian homes, I think of the mothers, with frying pans swinging in their hands, like martial arts chefs. Quickly rushing home and producing food within seconds where moments before, there was none. Noodles and sauce and fishy pungent odors quickly permeating the house. Unfamiliar fragrances that would push me, the little stringy blonde haired ghost, back onto the street as the family gathered for their quick stop meal.

For a few of my white friends, they had (what were in my admittedly midwestern and ethnocentric view) the classic "American" staples; these were the families that wouldn't live in our neighborhood long, their parents were graduate students, or were buying starter homes and would move to a better school in a year or two; their dinners were cooking in the oven, lasagna, chicken and rice, meat and potatoes. Perhaps bland at times, but ubiquitously balanced. I remember sitting quietly hoping for the dinner invitations that never came in those houses.

But for most of my white friends, those staples they were not there. Like me, we saw those mostly in sitcoms on our black and white 12 inch televisions. We were poor. The meals usually came from cans and frozen boxes. Or greasy fast food bags. With mothers that worked long hours and came home too tired. Or, didn't work, and were just, too tired.
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I am learning how to cook again. For my children. For their smiles, and their warm happy bellies. I try. It is not always great.

But

I am a work in progress

Like my cooking.

The forest for the trees

The first meeting of EDA for CT has taken place tonight, while my feelings are fresh I wanted to record this. I feel:

1) proud of the individuals who came
2) enlightened and encouraged
3) a little overwhelmed, but not in a bad way! More like a wow... this really finally happened.. how do I keep it going?
4) incredibly connected and in awe of the power of talk
5) deeply touched by the story and inside power of each person who came

Each of us have been so controlled by food. Each of us is similarly seeking a freedom from this slave master. And each of them was willing to come out on a cold Sunday night to a strangers house and share their world and deepest fears with other strangers. Wow, that's brave.

About these meetings

I am really excited to be organizing the first EDA meetings for CT. This assumes you have recieved information ELSEWHERE or I referred you to my blog after you contacted me.

I am not a therapist, I am in solid strong recovery and am motivated strongly to reach out to others and provide a safe place to meet and connect with others. Recovery can be very lonely, but it doesn't have to be. I was frustrated during my time in counseling that there was nothing like this for me. I commited to myself that once I was strong enough in my own recovery I would find a way to offer this kind of opportunity to others.

I will be helping facilitate it, but the goal is for each individual to find their voice and for the group to eventually guide itself. We will be using the meeting guidelines published by EDA which I will provide at the first meeting. I will always help with the meeting location and any logistical problems the group encounters. But remember, you own your recovery and your behavior!

EDA uses religious language in the 12 steps, each individual is free to interpret this as a higher presence or even their own internal source of guidance.

Anyone who is currently suffering from an eating disorder is free to attend. As the facilitator, I will be very clear that anybody who feels that food, eating or weight obsessions is something for which they want to receive help from peers in exploring is welcome to be with the group: This includes anorexia, bulimia and bingers/overeaters, and those "not otherwise specified"- (like me ya'll!) Sometimes this requires a stretch into zones that we are not familiar with, but trust me, there are commonalities and we can connect in deep and meaningful ways.

Let me say again how excited and proud I am of you, and how much I am looking forward to meeting you!

A year from now

A year from now
I want to be me

I see myself and I am strong
smiling and proud
because I had the dignity and the grace to get through it all
and did not fall
I may have stumbled here and there
but picked myself up
and learned as I went along
and shooed the boogie men out of the shadows
and found the friends I had been missing all along
and I will know that I grew and became the woman I was meant to be
myself-Amy-me

But as someone recently said
no future tripping
I can not be her yet
there are puzzles to be unpuzzled
and crevasses to be plunged
and wounds to be slowly healed over
but at least I see where I want to go
and it is so nice to say
I want to run
to me
and my arms are wide open

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"The task we must set for ourselves is not to feel secure, but to be able to tolerate insecurity."
-- Erich Fromm

on coming out to people

Lately I have become so accustomed to being a Recoverer and reaching out to people as a Recoverer, that I have more and more become used to bringing it up and mentioning it to people. Yet I have forgotten perhaps how startling it is for people. I am at a crossroads in figuring out how to deal with this. Last night I mentioned it to an acquaintance over drinks as it was important context for a broader story I was telling. And I didn't really wish to go on a tangent and reveal more than the fact that I was "an eating disorder recoverer". Yet for her, I could see the surprise, discomfort, alarm and tentative curiosity. She danced "gently" between probing and avoiding. I think we have to continue to remember others comfort levels.

However, what I have decided is that I do not necessarily have to make peace with my past (in so many ways) but i do have to make peace with my present. And my present and my future is this- I am an Eating Disorder Recoverer. This is a real label that right now I wear. It is an important part of my soul and a guiding part of my future endeavors. As another friend repeatedly tells me, if I am ashamed and look down on myself, and model this through my words and actions, how do I expect others to treat me and those who suffer.

We are everywhere, we are your sisters, your teachers, your daughters, your friends, your colleagues, your mothers, your wives and lovers.