So many of us, have been damaged in so many ways, and one of the "damages" many of us have incurred has been the loss of our voices. In overcoming that, we have had to discover our voices and liberate them again. Having a voice, means using it, often through faltering attempts and trial and error. If a tree falls in the forest and there is noone there to hear it... well then, I can't answer the question if it makes a sound but ... for sure NOBODY HEARS IT! Communication and talking takes at least two. I truly believe that journaling and writing are wonderful healing methods, but talking to others about our pains and experiences is an ever more important step in the journey. We must make friends, and we must talk about where we have been and what we are holding inside. The things we hold inside are so dark and so painful, that we simply must push ourselves to find people we can trust and talk to. The very act of keeping these things inside eats away at our souls and turns us into wasted and more damaged people among the land of the eating normal.
However, this truly is a huge risk for us. In doing so, it takes friends, and people we trust to help us do that. Only safe people can provide us those havens, but we have to take risks in finding those people. Some things inside of us can be dark and scary to share. Some of those are ED issues, and certainly not all of them are. So many of our issues that contribute to our food issues must be explored as well and often friends can help us heal those wounds as well, even without knowing about the food issues. Friends who have ED's and friends without ED's all allow us to become stronger and can listen to us as we find our voices again, but we have to make smart choices and only surround ourselves with people who will encourage us to find our voices in safe smart ways. We must learn to recognize and stay away from people who will take advantage of our nature and use it against us in unsafe ways. Developing co-dependent relationships with individuals of the opposite sex or other people with addictive personalities or dangerous personalities are not ways to heal. I see many of us exploring relationships, wanting to practice our new voices and reaching out and the potential to find individuals that can do more harm than good to us exists within each of us.
We must be able to learn to use our own voices to say:
This is where I have been, this is where I want to go...
This is how I want to be treated, and I will expect no less...
These are my strengths, these are my weaknesses, these are the challenges I am trying to overcome...
We have to recognize who these people are, and who they are not. Take risks, and keep trying! It doesn't take a million good friends! Only a few.
But always remember healthy friends allow us to:
Be ourselves- the confident, strong, interesting, honest, and complex selves that we are
Always say what we feel, what we really feel.
Speak the truth, encouraging us to say the truth, even if it is ugly or painful.
Allow us to experiment and be wrong and make mistakes and not judge us.
Encourage us to grow and be grown up and make grown up decisions.
Have our best interests at heart and keep us out of harms way.
Hear what we say, not what they want to hear.
Never, ever, do things that make us feel small, confused, worse or increase our tendency to harm ourselves.
--------------------------
I continue to feel blessed by the friends I have that love and encourage me in my own journey.
I am no longer sad by the friends I have lost, or the people I have had to close the doors of my heart to.
Thank you my friends.
And I continue to feel true hope for all my new ED friends as well as we continue to develop our beautiful honest sonorous voices together.
-------------------
"The glory of friendship is not the outstretched hand,
nor the kindly smile nor the joy of companionship;
it is the spiritual inspiration that comes to one when
he discovers that someone else believes in him
and is willing to trust him."
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
Why come?
If you are hesitant to come to a meeting, here are some effects I have observed and thought I would pass along to encourage others to come:
Reasons to come
1) to feel less alone, to realize there are others like you
2) to meet one other person and exchange contact information
3) to become inspired by another persons story of strength, hope, recovery or motivation
4) to hear strategies others have used for recovery
5) to find resources from others
6) to be heard, to be accepted, to be embraced for who you are
7) to receive specific help in your own struggle from others who know what you are going through
8) to become accountable to others in your recovery
Some people drop in only once, some come regularly. Whatever is comfortable for you is fine with us! There is an amazing power in human connection and knowing you are no longer alone with this horrible isolating disease.
Reasons to come
1) to feel less alone, to realize there are others like you
2) to meet one other person and exchange contact information
3) to become inspired by another persons story of strength, hope, recovery or motivation
4) to hear strategies others have used for recovery
5) to find resources from others
6) to be heard, to be accepted, to be embraced for who you are
7) to receive specific help in your own struggle from others who know what you are going through
8) to become accountable to others in your recovery
Some people drop in only once, some come regularly. Whatever is comfortable for you is fine with us! There is an amazing power in human connection and knowing you are no longer alone with this horrible isolating disease.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Me
I saw myself small on the inside
I saw myself large on the outside
then I saw me
And I was free
our work continues... it never ends.
THANK GOD FOR PEANUT BUTTER! (oh and string cheese.....)
I saw myself large on the outside
then I saw me
And I was free
our work continues... it never ends.
THANK GOD FOR PEANUT BUTTER! (oh and string cheese.....)
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Believe with me
I have to believe there is a life after ED, and that we recover and that we move on and live a free and restful life without it. There is so much to hope for my friends. Recovery is a beautiful, stronger, smarter, happy place. It is a place with healthy soul, mind, life and relationships. Recovery is real, it is out there. I choose every day to believe that. And we find freedom when we can truly believe in ourselves. But until that day....
Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow.
-Helen Keller
Keep your face to the sunshine and you cannot see a shadow.
-Helen Keller
Saturday, March 21, 2009
My Planet
One thing which is unique to eating disorder recoverers, and which makes it so difficult for us while we suffer, while we go through the process of recovery, and after, is how ubiquitous food (and related issues of weight and body image) is. The alcoholic or other substance abusers can walk away from the places and opportunities that will trigger a relapse or a problem. They can easily and clearly verbally set limits to others regarding these needs as well. And We wonder sometimes too, if you really understand how much like aliens we are sharing this food planet with you.....
On My Planet
Grocery stores would only have the foods I want to eat on sale the day I want to eat them.
Food is never fried, or otherwise contaminated by visible grease, butter, or heavy oils.
There would be no bakeries, no candy stores, no pizza places, no fast food places.
Movie theaters would not have concession stands.
Restaurants would only serve my menus (This is of extreme importance): fresh yogurt, cold cereals, organic berries, green leaf salads with balsamic vinagrette dressing, orange juice and 7 kinds of iced and hot tea all day long and YOU would be happy and not think twice about ordering the same thing.
We would have ample time and perfect weather every morning to briskly climb a mountain before work.
Everyone would have free access to yoga classes every night.
Human bodies would be incapable of producing cellulite.
Mirrors would be outlawed that showed a reflection from the waist down.
There would be entire clothing stores devoted to each body type and size.
Magazines would not feature articles about weight loss, body improvement, or dessert recipes.
Models and actresses would come in all sizes.
There would be no reason why we would ever need to know our weight during our lifetime.
This would be the equivalent to freedom for me. This would be like John Lennon's vision in Imagine to me.
On My Planet
Grocery stores would only have the foods I want to eat on sale the day I want to eat them.
Food is never fried, or otherwise contaminated by visible grease, butter, or heavy oils.
There would be no bakeries, no candy stores, no pizza places, no fast food places.
Movie theaters would not have concession stands.
Restaurants would only serve my menus (This is of extreme importance): fresh yogurt, cold cereals, organic berries, green leaf salads with balsamic vinagrette dressing, orange juice and 7 kinds of iced and hot tea all day long and YOU would be happy and not think twice about ordering the same thing.
We would have ample time and perfect weather every morning to briskly climb a mountain before work.
Everyone would have free access to yoga classes every night.
Human bodies would be incapable of producing cellulite.
Mirrors would be outlawed that showed a reflection from the waist down.
There would be entire clothing stores devoted to each body type and size.
Magazines would not feature articles about weight loss, body improvement, or dessert recipes.
Models and actresses would come in all sizes.
There would be no reason why we would ever need to know our weight during our lifetime.
This would be the equivalent to freedom for me. This would be like John Lennon's vision in Imagine to me.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
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.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
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.
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.
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