21

yesterday, I celebrated turning 21.

wow.

I still have not really wrapped my head around the year that I have had.

Sitting around the table with three other girls that have come into my life bringing joy and passion, I nearly lost my breath a couple of times and had to catch myself. I just could not believe I was here, 21, living… laughing,

 

just finished final exams with three semesters left of college,

experiencing my first "drink" (yikes.) without counting the calories,

sharing "boy stories" and welcoming epiphanies offered through another,

laughing (and not grieving) over mistakes we have made,

thanking God for always starting a new path when we didn't follow the first time…

and, dare I risk the claim…. happy. Yes, I was happy. 

I am happy. I remember what it feels like now.

… each marveling at how our life catastrophes and victories had miraculously brought us to Manhattan, at the same time, place, church… and leaping off point in life.

I'd say that was quite a lot to take in a your 21st birthday celebration.

I laid in bed that night numb for a new reason,

overwhelmed by the thought of where I was this time last year

and how far I have come.

This year I was not laying in bed

dreading going back to school, setting my alarm clock to get up and run the miles away, wondering if this was all there really was, feeling guilty about having cake two nights in a row, hiding from the judgment of others by avoiding friendships, rolling around unable to sleep because my body was in "defense mode"… wondering if this was it…

This year I was laying in bed 

thinking of the victories I had won, thankful for the strength I am gaining to press on through the hard days, grateful for the confidence I am learning to establish relationships with once again… resting assured that tomorrow will come, proud of all the birthday dessert I have enjoyed (or working on it), rubbing my belly sore from all the laughter, re-reading all of the birthday wishes and beginning to believe again that people really did care, basking in the pride of successfully finishing another semester, anticipating the year to come, washing away the lies I had believed all week, 

curling up in a tiny but growing ball and embracing my body, 

thanking it for sticking with me,

thanking my mind for growing stronger,

thanking my heart for remembering how to live, even when I had forgotten how. 

For most people, I'd say their 21st birthday was "the big one" because they could go buy a dirty martini (which is disgusting) and not have to worry about getting carded… but, I'd have to say mine was a little different. 21 to me was not a celebration of a number, but rather a celebration of health and second chances.

I will never stop celebrating those two things,

no matter what the years or scales say.

I'm 21, I'm happy, I'm still learning, but I'm living.

in celebration,

C

the choice

Do not have expectation,

take challenges as they come 

and allow yourself enough grace.

This is the day you have been given,

you can choose to give it up

and later remember nothing.

or you can choose to live 

and have meaning

and have life.

clearly, they chose to live.

just choose,

C

beating still

I don't know why I couldn't tell anyone.
Maybe it was because I was scared to say it out loud, then it would be real.
      because I can't fully remember the day, but I do. Oh I do. 
      because I am terrified someone will demand medical help.
But my heart is stronger now,
stronger than before.
my heart is beating.


I have verbally told one person.
I just had to say it, tell someone, get it out of my head
away from being trapped behind my teeth
away from sinking too far down, knowing it would be only for a little while.
the words ached as they drained out, but...
It relieved me.

Grateful, humbled, in awe, broken,
I am healing and I am beating stronger.
And now, I decided it was time to… well, write.
write and relieve, so that I don't re-live

Last night in yoga class we ended by laying down as usual.
One hand over my heart, one hand on my belly.
I was working on calming my brain from listing everything I had to do afterwards
and battling away the thoughts of,
"Your pants feel tighter, don't they?
Good… bad. Good… bad.
Yay? Nay? Ugh… shut up. Didn't I tell you that five million times today?"

Something stopped my thoughts in their tracks,
my heart beat.

All of the sudden I became aware of my heart beating, drumming, expanding, contracting, moving, pounding, singing, breathing within my chest.
I stilled my hand over my heart and let the beat take me to that place I feared,
the memory that came,
that past fear, ache…
now,
a world of gratitude.

Oftentimes when I get overwhelmed or frustrated,
I have recently began to close my eyes and place my hands over my heart.
Because I remember to be grateful it is there, it is working,
it is pressing on
and so am I.

Two months ago, I had a revelation that nearly paralyzed my body for an entire night. It was a Sunday again, seems to be the day of emotion. I was probably feeling a little anxious about the coming week and I was in church swaying, lost in the music and I felt my heart begin beating really fast. Of course I reacted in a nervous panic, an any other ED conquerer would…What's going on? Why is it doing this? Am I going to pass out? I feel fine? I ate today… what is that? Why is this happening? Nothing happened, it was just telling me it was there. I was there. Immediately my mind swept away to February. That pain in my chest radiating down my arm, unable to breathe normally for days. It had come over me like an electric shock on the way home from my grandmother's funeral and wouldn't let me go. I was terrified. I slept with my mom for a couple of nights, refused to go to the doctor, took more "heartburn" medicine than any human should take and blamed the coffee, hardly slept in fear of not waking up, googled possible diagnosis and absolutely, positively refused to even think of: heart attack. 

The ED told me lies, but fed me terror. I've never been so scared. Yet, during these days… I was numb. Didn't even know how scared I was, yet writhing on the inside. Crying for help, asking for a saving grace. I didn't want this to be the end, but my body refused to feel, no part of me could shatter it. I didn't want to face the doctor's questions, they terrify me. I didn't want to believe the pain down my arm was anything but a pulled muscle. I didn't want my friends to ask why I went to the hospital. I didn't wanna scare momma and I didn't want to tell dad I knew this disease was responsible for it… the battle I didn't know was doing this to my heart.

A few days later, after resting, laying off the caffeine and regaining strength from the loss of emotions over the previous week… the pain subsided, the memory would not leave. Every time I had the slightest offbeat, my body quivered. Could this be it? Still, the woman who could still feel the slightest bit was terrified… so she pushed it further and further down. I don't want to deal with you now.
Hidden.

 It wasn't until I was in the dermatologist office weeks after the pain when I picked up a little "Women's Health" magazine in the waiting room. Ironically enough, February was Heart Health month...I was flipping through and the bold letters of a page caught my eye "I had a heart attack and didn't know it…" It took me ten minutes to force myself to read the article. Yes, yes, yes and…. yes. But no, I won't believe it. I won't. 


I didn't believe it then, but I lived.
It's still beating.
Now, I believe. I'm ready… to look it in the eyes.
To write it for my eyes to see, to rid me of the pain.
EKG's later… it's still beating.
Screams, laughs, hard days, nervous hours, downward dogs,
doctor's visits, loud music concerts, late night silences,
early morning "motivation showers"…. it's still beating.
Tears of joy, it is still beating.

That Sunday night… wasn't a "scare".
It was a gift. A reminder.
It was a cleanse. Yes, I survived a heart attack,
one that should have never happened.


But,
everyday as recovery gets harder then easier then harder again,
it beats and beats and beats.
You're not finished. You're only beginning this life
just beginning to beat and beat…and beat.
you are new, but it is
beating still.

another chance.
my heart says

Thank You for another chance, 

C

for a heartfelt post of gratitude: read.

message

from tonight's service at Hillsong NYC.

It doesn't matter if you are at rock bottom, Jesus' arms are long enough to reach you and lift you out. When He asks to you hop of board with Him, He isn't asking that you fly the plane. He just wants you to agree to be on board. That's it. Just get on. When you cannot fly yourself, He will fly for you. Just get on. It will be okay.

It will be okay.

It will be okay.

I promise,

C

conquer: be patient and trust

It was July 23, 2011. I have it written down so that I will always remember.
I had just started a new medication and facing the extreme "side-effect" anxiety.
I knew that sometimes the medicine worked, and sometimes... it only made it worse.
I was terrified and miserable for days worrying, 
"Am I different today? Is it getting worse or am I just paranoid? Am I supposed to be dizzy?"
I spent days sifting through the emotions of my body adjusting to the medicine
and I had begun to think I was going to give up, I couldn't keep feeling like I was walking on air.


I still don't know how, but I got up to open the coffeeshop that morning (aka 4:30)
and I just happened to feel the need to grab "The Inner Voice of Love" by Henri J.M. Nouwen
on my way out the door. I usually had about thirty minutes alone with only 2 customers at 6:00 a.m. so I figured I might as well read.


I was completely defeated and beginning to lose hope. I didn't understand... I had already had this massive breakthrough, I was ready to do this. I was ready to get better. I didn't want to feel submerged in the depths of the disorder anymore... but this was all getting too blurry again. Would I ever make it out?


And then at 5:45 a.m. I had finished all of the opening work I flipped open the book.
Prayer answered. 

"Receive All the Love That Comes to You"

by Henri J.M. Nouwen

While you may feel physically and mentally strong, you still experience a forceful undercurrent of anguish. You sleep well, you work well, but there are few waking moments when you do not feel that throbbing pain in your heart that makes everything seem up in the air. You know that you are progressing, but you can't understand why this anguish keeps pervading everything you think, say, or do. There is still a deep, unresolved pain, but you cannot take it away yourself. It 

exists far deeper than you can reach.

Be patient and trust. You have to move gradually deeper into your heart. There is a place far down that is like a turbulent river, and that place frightens you. But do not fear. One day it will be quiet and peaceful.

You have to keep moving, as you are doing. Live a faithful, disciplined life, a life that gives you a sense of inner strength, a life in which you can receive more and more of the love that comes to you. Wherever there is real love for you, take it and be strengthened by it. As your body, heart, and mind come to know that you are loved, your weakest part will feel attracted to that love. What has remained separated and unreachable will let itself be drawn into the love you have been able to receive. One day you will discover that your anguish is gone. It will leave you because your weakest self let itself be embraced by your love.

You are not yet there, but you are moving fast. There will be a bit more pain and struggle. You have to dare to live through it. Keep walking straight. Acknowledge your anguish, but do not let it pull you out of yourself. Hold on to your chosen direction, your discipline, your prayer, your work, your guides, and trust that one day love will have conquered enough of you that even the most fearful part will allow love to cast out all fear.

For some reason I remembered this passage this week. 

And once again, I opened up my book and relived July 23rd.

I can still remember standing in the coffeeshop crying my eyes out 

because once again I knew

once again I needed to be reminded... one day the anguish would be gone. 

There is hope.

Prayer answered, November 13, 2011.

And still I know I am not yet there. 
Sometimes I don't even feel like I am moving fast, 
while other days I feel as though I am "back to normal"
Then a hard day hits when I go to bed realizing 
I hadn't put everything I could into recovery that day
"keep moving as you are moving"


I wonder if I need extra help and I wonder if I am ready for all of this.
I wonder if it is too much for me to handle alone
And then,
"Keep walking straight. Acknowledge your anguish, 
but do not let it pull you out of yourself... 
dare to live through it."

I worry that people can see that people know,
that they judge.
I have nightmares about disordered thoughts,
that wake me up and try to make me believe the lies.
"the most fearful part will allow love to cast out all fear."


I catch a taste of that love every Sunday.
I move closer and closer to recognizing the taste of love,
remembering what it feels like to love... and to be loved.
Tonight, I had to rush out of church in time to catch the subway back with a new friend
and I ran over to say goodbye to a God-send, Hilary.
"Oh okay girlfrannn you go and run, text me this week, okay?
Love you girl."

I almost tripped on my skirt.
But my instinct reacted quicker with a smile.
"Love you too, Bye!!"

Step by step, love is conquering the fear

Love from other people, Love for myself,

Love for other people and Love for life.

Step by step, be patient and trust.

"keep walking straight"

conquer.

"keep moving forward"

conquer.

"there will be a bit more pain and struggle"

conquer.

"move gradually deeper"

conquer.

"allow love to cast out all fear"

conquer.

be patient and trust,

C

this I hunger

I hunger for a day when all of this is a distant memory
when I can look back in my rearview mirror and hardly see the remnants

I hunger for a day when my mind and heart beat at the same rhythm
when my mind does not play tricky games and my heart rules my head

I hunger for the meal without numbers, don't we all?
Only vitamins, nutrients, smells, tastes, life.

I hunger for the moment when everything aligns
and all I am living for and working for has definite meaning, without-a-doubt

I hunger for the year, the full year completely devoid of disorder
when I see, feel, listen, smell more clearly than ever before

I hunger for the week when I am not reminded of those times
those times when it was hard to breathe, those times I was scared

I hunger for the moment when I can tell someone else,
healing is possible. Don't lose hope just yet. Hang on, oh please hang on.

I hunger for the day I can help, help and not be helped
because I will be strong, wise, victorious and insightful

I hunger for the afternoon when I am tired,
I am tired and I listen, I listen and I realize, I realize and I allow rest

I hunger for the month when the only numbers in my head are rent and electric bills
one woman's burden is another woman's relief, in perspective


I hunger for the week I can escape reality completely and just go
to be intuitive, in the moment, thinking about nothing else, belonging no where else
but here, now


I hunger for the holiday that doesn't have calories and sugar
the holiday that only has fellowship, home, sweet, family.

I hunger for the day when I can read for two hours and be completely
completely and entirely focused, engaged, just two hours.

I hunger for the day when I can share my story
because it is in hindsight now I can see, I can reflect, I can embrace, I can identify.

I hunger for a day when I know what hunger means,
when it isn't that strange to say... hunger.

hunger (v): a strong desire or craving.

this I desire,

C

i can do this

It's killed me to not have written in a week. It's been hard to find time recently to really sit down and process my thoughts. As discussed in my previous post, I've been struggling between pushing my emotions aside and saving them for tomorrow or dealing with them right then and letting them distract me from my everyday life. I hate to let them consume me to the point where I cannot even leave my apartment.... thankfully, I have not let that happen yet, except for the days when I really do just need to rest.

How deep do I allow myself to dig when I have to function as usual the rest of the day? ... Gosh, now I understand why so many choose to escape for a couple of months to learn how to think clearly, eat normally and sift through the pain without any other distractions.

With that said, many of the "normal" everyday things keep me going. Even though there are days when I think I cannot function in both "worlds" today, I know that I could not bear to be isolated from the elements of life I grow to love more and more each day. Because so much of what (and who) is around me slowly walks me back to the life of a "normal" twenty-year (almost twenty-one, AH!) old.

Even when I feel like I cannot recover and live as any other college student would, I am reminded of the things in the universe that keep my heart beating and feet walking in a forward direction... even when it is uncomfortable.

waking up to the smell of coffee grounds and saying hello to my roommate

receiving positive feedback on a paper I labored over for hours

being invited out for dinner and a movie by a new friend

finding out three people at church live just around the block

skyping with old friends that have truly not forgotten

conquering tripod headstand in yoga on Sunday morning

waving to the laundryman on the street that none-other-than an Indian version of my grandpa

writing a paper I have absolutely NO interest in, but one that challenges my brain to think outside of herself 

passing by Free People on the way to school wishing I had all the shoes in the WORLD

getting a text from my boss that says, "You're a ROCKSTAR! THANK YOU!" (not even kidding)

sitting on my bed with my roommate laughing at 90s music videos

visiting a new part of Manhattan every week

eating ice cream at midnight and not even caring

waking up to a new morning with no regrets, it's a new day

yesterday was yesterday

all of this says, "I can do this."

Last week in therapy, after rambling on with thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, worries, revelations, questions, stresses, blessings, on-and-on-and-on for 45 minutes... my therapist looked at me and said, "well... you've had a full two weeks."

Well... okay, when I try to cram two weeks of regular emotions and recovery emotions into 45 minutes, I guess it does sounds like a lot. If it just sounds like a lot, you can only imagine how it feels. Sometimes at night it is overwhelming and then in the morning it is gone. While in class I can silent the voices (finally, a skill that was acquired slowly), and while in church I feel as though the all the angels are speaking into my soul at once. Sometimes I leave paralyzed, other times I am fighting back two years of tears, sometimes I leave not knowing where to put my foot to take my next step. If you sit me down with my thoughts for an hour and a half, play music in the background and have people praying for healing of all categories all around me...you wind up with a very emotional little girl.

Just when I think I can't handle all that I am dealing with on the inside,

all of this says, "I can do this."


I am strong enough to sift through these strongholds, because I built them with my own strength. I have within me the strength it takes to tear them down... ones that didn't even need to be built in the first place. I have the smile it takes to energize the day and the wisdom required to be successful in school. I have the armor necessary to equip me for battle and the courage it takes to say, "Okay, so that wasn't my best effort, but I will try again tomorrow."

all of this says, "I can do this."


all of this says, "I am doing this."

to begin this week,

you can do this,

C

The Rescue

Music has always spoken to me louder than any word, poem or voice.

When nothing else can get through to me, you can bet a song will break my resistance.
There's just something uniquely captivating about music.

A few months ago my roommate and I had gotten tickets to see Tyler Ward in concert at Webster Hall this past Wednesday. Not just that, she had gotten us Meet and Greet Tickets to talk with him before the show because she has been severely in love with him for years (though I did not know this until five minutes before we met him, when she was about to faint!) She just cracks me up. Anyway, Tyler was as lovely and his voice and a truly grateful for meeting us... he was a refreshingly genuine musician who had not let fame eat away at his character. Best of all, he wore a cross necklace around his neck and an I Am Second bracelet on his arm. However amazing he was in person was slightly downplayed to exhaustion from a hectic week of school and work... I had hit a wall by Wednesday night. I was not in the best mood due to lack of sleep, I was feeling guilty for not taking care of myself as I should have for that week and I was frustrated with a mid-term paper hanging over my head to finish that night. Ugh. I wanted to enjoy the concert so badly, but I was just so tired and run down I knew I would not enjoy it to it's full potential, but I stuck it out anyway...

To my surprise I was able to enjoy the show much more than I had anticipated on my journey there, mostly because I practiced a little DBT method my therapist suggested... this is the day and the moment you have been given, so what are you going to do with what you have been given? I stopped focusing on the exhaustion and tuned into the rhythms surrounding me and the very energetic Tyler Ward jumping around on the stage.

The Rescue stole away all of my anxiety

("you really have not done well on that paper you have to finish tonight,

 you know you have not eaten as well as you should have today, 

How on earth are you going to sleep tonight?...)

and negativity

("my back hurts so badly from standing for five hours I could saw it in half, 

it's going to take so long to get back on the subway, 

there are so many people crammed into this tiny studio room 

that there isn't enough oxygen for all of us, 

was two opening bands really necessary?")

The ED-anxious-mind was silenced.

Mr. Ward came out for one more song with just his guitar. While introducing the song as one of his first songs ever written, he began to weep. Oh great here it comes...my eyes have an instinct I like to call "tear empathy"! I tuned in for the last song with everything I had and the tears began to fall. Here is the YouTube video Tyler made for The Rescue featuring videos submitted by fans about their insecurities, anxieties, setbacks, and failures and how

we overcome and have been rescued.

after that I have no words.

rescued and broken,

C

the world and a world within.

it has been one of those weeks that I just can't seem to comprehend.
overwhelming, exhausting, draining... you all know the story.

recovering from an ED is an entire war of it's own... you all know the story.

not only are you trying to keep up with loads of schoolwork, maintain relationships (new and old), be a kind roommate, do your job as best you can, get the sleep you need, manage your anxiety and have a little fun amidst it all...

deep inside of you, there is another body fighting off a disease.
you wish you could just push it back down in there and say,
"not today, not today, I've got too much to do to deal with you."
but you know that, in pushing it further down, it will only scream louder and the battle will claim victory on your body and mind...once again.


no, I won't let you.


And with that defense,
comes a call for more strength, more than you will ever know.
Not only are you trying to just... live life normally.
You are learning to live life normally all over again.
You are functioning with the rest for society,
while you are re-learning how to function at all.
It's scary, and uncomfortable.
those who surround you could not possibly understand.
...
I don't remember who I was,
and so I'm starting over.
I think about that girl when I was thirteen and she seems like a Disney princess.
I think about that girl in the pit of anorexia and she seems like
a piece of dust in the wind.


She just blew away, her presence no one noticed,
her despair no one could see,
because she was just swept away,
a weightless body and vacant heart.

You know the story,
I know that all who have dealt with this, know this story all too well.


So I am writing this to relieve this battle from my chest tonight,
and to take a break from these midterm papers...
To somewhat just cry, because it's hard.
It's hard to have a
whole world living inside of you that is hidden from the "normal world"
and you have to live and fight and breathe
in both at the same time.

It's okay to let the world inside you cry,

and it's okay to let the outside shed some tears too,
sometimes... you just can't help it

when you have to study for midterms and also have to recover, every day.
I'm not sure which is more difficult at the moment...

But I do know the truth in this song I found on Monday.
One that has played on my iPod at least five times per day this week.
It is not on YouTube yet for me to share,
but the lyrics are enough.

I do know....

The Sun Will Rise

"I can see the wait there in your eyes

I can feel the thought in your sigh

Your knuckles are bruised from a losing fight

One way down a dead end street

Broken glass underneath your feet

You think the day won't break the sunless night

The sun will rise

The sun will rise

When you've lost your lights

The sun will rise

It'll be alright

It'll be alright

I've been in stuck in a storm before

Felt the wind raging at my door

Couldn't move, couldn't breathe, Couldn't find a way out

Somehow my clouds disappeared, 

Somehow I made it here

Maybe just so you could hear me say

The sun will rise

The sun will rise

When you've lost your lights

The sun will rise

It'll be alright

It'll be alright

Although you can't see it

So hard to believe it

Sometimes you just need a little faith (All you need is a little faith)

There's an answer to your prayer

And I swear that there'll come a day yeahh

The sun will rise

The sun will rise (The sun will rise)

It'll be alright"

-Kelly Clarkson

the sun will rise,

in both worlds.

it will rise,

C

make it possible.

strong enough for...

it was a most glorious day.
I am not sure why,
but I woke up knowing it was going to be sunshine.
and it was.

another glimpse of me showed up today.
a quality of her that I knew was deep inside, but had been hidden.


I had just completed my challenge
given by my dietician every week.
today, it was a drink of blended goodness from Starbucks.
may I suggest the Salted Caramel Mocha Frappaccino?

I left Starbucks just about bouncing off the walls from

caramel, chocolate, espresso, a great counseling session, successful morning at work,

and the fact that I was about to go down to SoHo for an art class,

my favorite part of Manhattan.

After taking three steps down to the 6 train station,

 I turned around because something caught my eye.

There was an older African-American mother 

standing at the top of the stairs with her little one in a stroller. 

Businessmen and women were whizzing by left and right not paying her any attention. 

I did something that caught me a little off guard.

the fact that I even noticed her at all surprised me, 

after living with an eating disorder you become numb everything, 

even things right in front of your face that used to catch your attention.

I walked back up the stairs without even thinking.

whoa, who is this person? 

oh yes, it's me.

"Hey! Do you need help getting that stroller down the stairs?"

She just smiled real big and nodded at me.

And so I grabbed the bottom of the stroller,

Starbucks in had and 10 pound bag on my shoulder 

we slowly side-stepped our way down the stairs.

Everyone just continued to whizz down the stairs right by us in their own usual world.

I stumbled a little and about lost my breath, I was carrying a child.

The little girl in the stroller didn't even flinch.

she was holding onto the railing as we went down

singing, "Down, down downnnn."

She trusted me... she didn't even notice my size.

Her mother just said, "Uh Oh!" and didn't question my ability.

She didn't doubt me. and on we went.

I started laughing at the irony of the situation.

Here I am, just about the most pipsquweak girl on Lexington Ave.

and I am the one helping this woman carry her stroller down the stairs!

What's wrong with this picture?

It's sad no one else even cared to stop and help her with the simple task,

but I am glad that I had the privilege of lending a hand.

Because it showed me an instinct that I once had,

and proved to me that it was still there:

She was not lost

She was coming back

She was powerful

She was a caring young woman

She can be trusted

She can feel and smile

She was strong enough for someone else... and for herself.

strong enough,

C

grilled cheese and savasana

I remember the first time that it really clicked
My best friend, mom and I (the two most important and inspiring people in my life)
went out for an end-of-summer dinner at a little cafe at the beach.
We sat and joked and laughed and all ordered the "gourmet grilled cheese"
I can't remember whats all in it... but I remember it was cheesy gourmet,
a masterpiece that was just fighting my ED in the face,

"Yeah! What now?! Whatchu gon' do about it foo?"

(Giving food a ridiculous dialogue eases the discomfort)

I have no idea what this means...
but it looked appropriate

I hadn't restricted at all that day, in fact, I remember getting into the car with my mom on the way to dinner and saying, "I did so well today... let me tell you what I had!!!"
And even though I had eaten normally all day, I wasn't going to restrict at dinner...
I was going to plow on through the day and be proud of myself.


After dinner we all came back to the house and carried on with our usual
laughing and chatting about... with L (best friend) in the room, there is never a shortage of chatter.
We were going upstairs to watch a movie or something when we ended up
somehow (I had no idea how)
deciding that, instead, we needed a moment of relaxation.
And when I say relaxation I mean... a full-on relaxation: a savasana
Within thirty seconds L and I were laying on the floor.

L: "We're taking a SHAVATS-STANA"

C: "L,there is NO T in Shavas-ana?"

L: Well how do you say it then? Yes, it is ShavaTsTana."

C: "Oh whatever, just lay on the floor!!!"

I started talking about this cool "eye pillow" that they use at my yoga studio
to rest on your forehead during Savasana... so L decided it was imperative
for us to have a legitimate savasana if we were really going to do this thing properly.
We gathered our resources... being a deck of cards, a candle, and a T.V. remote
and stacked the items on top of our "third eye" to fully surrender into the savasana.

My dad came in an saw the two of us laying down on the floor,
palms facing up,
bellies giggling,
decks of cards and T.V. remotes on our heads,
legs propped up on the sofa (for increased lower back support)
bursting with laughter
and doing everything BUT "savasana".

"What are you two doing now?"
"SHAVATS-STANA!"


And you know what happens next.
Yes, Dad got down on the floor and tojoin our "SHAVATSTANA"
Legs propped up and all, we all laid in that room just relaxin' away.
Now, we were not bursting with laughter,
we were howling...

Mom came in (who had stepped out to talk on the phone)
and was unable to verbally express her feelings towards what she saw.
The three of us, doing savasana... with household items on our foreheads,
heaving to catch our breath from laughing so dangerously much.

And then it clicked...
I was laughing
I was really, really laughing.
And I remember it.
We were hysterical.
In that moment I realized
that grilled cheese made me laugh.


Okay, so it was not "literally" that one food item, but it was weeks of feeding myself with the things my body needed, it was the ability to sleep through the night, it was the ability to let go, it was the effort I had put into recovery... it was me... letting myself be fed again. 
And fed to the fullest of joy. I remember that laugh, I probably always will.

And so now two months later...

I am in serious recovery.

not just that kind of recovery.

weekend recovery.

ha!
Goofy Miss L came to visit me on Thursday in my new home
and we had a whopin' Manhattan-Reunion-Party unlike any other.

(first we realized we must be real grown-up girls now because this was a monumental weekend to our friendship... 

being that it was the first time we had visited one another at one of our "houses"

which means...YIKES we're GETTING OLD!)

It was phenomenal to hear another voice from the past that knew me
like the back of her hand,
but also good to just have... a friend that didn't really care.
Someone what didn't remind me of anything E.D.
because she doesn't belong in that world and I'm trying to say goodbye to it forever.
With that comes some challenges, of course,
some things she just can't understand...
why everything is planned,
why I have to "think ahead" for dinner
why going out for a sundae at midnight makes me sweat
why I take so long to order...
why I have odd habits
it's a process that I am still in.


But she has been there through it all,
before, during and after, and before, during and after again...
and she always will be.
I'm exhausted from the lack of sleep,
laughter and tears shed this weekend
but it was well worth it
to be fully engaged with my best friend,
more myself than I ever have been,
to be transparent,
to be fueled,
to be loved and to give love,
to go to church and cry because I'm so grateful I'm still here, today
to remember
and to truly be in the moment...not drifting off into outer space.
Gosh now I may need to go take another mini savasana.

always got my back.
from then 'til now.

be still,
C

five years.

Do you know the days when you just

know

that five years down the road... you're going to be alright.

Not just alright, you're going to be healthy.

Not just healthy, you're going to be happy.

You're going to be free.

You're going to be at peace.

I've had that feeling a lot lately,

so much a part of me wants to rush right through these

years and get to those times of freedom.

In reality I know that things will never be perfect,

and I will always have to be on guard against

the ED, the terrible friend.

But, you know, in five years...

I will be thankful that I didn't rush right on through

the healing.

I'll be grateful that I took the steps, 

I did the work,

I felt the pain, I cried the tears,

I yelled for help, I dug deep within,

I fell and I got back up.

Because in five years I will be able to say,

I did it. I conquered this thing. 

and now here I am.

Life will never be void of failures,

tears, worries, mess ups, let downs, start overs,

broken hearts, lost jobs, anxiety and fear.

But I can choose to let them not win.

"She is going places,

She just doesn't know where or when yet"

...but in five years you'll see.

you'll see,

C

the voices from the past

"Recovery isn't about regaining who you once were...

but rather finding yourself as you are at present.

Let it be me. Let my life be me."

It's terrifying starting over sometimes. I mean like... really, truly, starting over. Finding this quote reminded me of the hope I have in beginning my journey again, defining myself again.

It's scary to think about going back home for Christmas break and seeing the people that knew me when I was so sick... or seeing people from High School that knew me when I was "healthy" then saw me go through a period of "unhealthy" and then be back at...almost-healthy-and-working-daily-at-it. Or seeing the people that knew me as "the ballerina"... then "the runner"... then "the biker"... or "the book nerd". Now, I am not defined by any one of these.

I don't know who I am exactly 

but I am finding out every day.

Just like I am in Kindergarten,

I am learning my favorite colors,

whether I like Jell-O,

what my favorite movie is...

what it feels like to go out to coffee with friends and laugh until your drink comes out your nose,

what it feels like to really focus my eyes on something,

what it feels like to just sit. yes,  just sit on the couch.

what it feels like to wake up in the morning and be, happy.

what it feels like to wear heels all day long and never have the urge to lace up my running shoes,

what it feels like to dream,

what it feels like to know whats inside you and remember it tomorrow,

what it feels like to miss someone,

what is feels...

exactly, I'm learning how to feel.

and so it's scary... facing the past, being reminded of the pain.

being reminded of the times I have forgotten,

being reminded of the unconscious days.

being reminded what it felt like to just, exist.

being reminded of the people who watched, confused.

and just didn't understand... couldn't possibly understand the pain.

Though there are two voices from the past, from the the joy, from the tears, from the pain, that walked through it alongside me... enjoyed years with me before sickness, and are now supporting me and watching me as I well... go off to Kindergarten again.

"Bye Mom! Bye Dad! Miss you today at school!"

Yep, mom and dad.

They are the two relentless voices, that don't remind me of the pain.

They don't remind me of "who I was" or "who I should be" or "that dancer I should have been" or "that doctor I was destined to be" or "that star student I was in high school".

They don't remind me of the judgmental stares, or the self-conscious anxieties.

They remind me of who I want to be.

They remind me of my life I have been given, by both them and my Savior.

They remind me of the person I am becoming, who I am pressing forward to be.

Not who I was, not who I was supposed to be,

but who I am right now.

That's exactly who I am supposed to be.

NYC momma, look out!

My mom visited this weekend.

It is so nice to be so transparent.

It's a sickness that is hard to talk about with "just anyone",

because they could never possibly understand,

never understand the years of pain I am growing out of...

but my parents were there, they went through it all with me.

Maybe not within me, within the pain,

but they were there when no one else could be.

Tonight, after my mom left, I attended a late yoga class.

While we were laying on our mats preparing for the opening Vinyasas,

the instructor said,

"Now begin to deepen your breath,

even if you don't need it at the moment, breathe for someone else.

Breathe for someone that needs your breath."

and it reminded me of my mom and dad,

They were breathing for me when I couldn't breathe for myself, 

literally and figuratively.

I could not be more grateful.

Even though I still need all of the "breath" that I can get right now,

and there are days when I still need to borrow some oxygen,

I had the desire to give mine away tonight 

because someone shared theirs with me,

and it saved my life.

Now, I have the chance to find myself.

Once my lungs become a little stronger

and my breath reaches deeper and deeper,

I'll breathe for someone else,

I will pass along the blessing.

Thank you for breathing for me

even when it hurt,

C

put it on cruise control

sometimes, you just have to put your body in "cruise".
Let go on the gas, let go of control, and just listen.

That's the gear I'm currently driving.

There are moments during the week when I feel unstoppable
I am powerful, fearless, relentless in the morning.
and then the afternoon rolls around...

"Oh you've eaten quite enough today. You're not really hungry for that snack are you? I mean dinner is right around the corner, you can make up for it there. I mean if you don't snack now you can have ice cream later, oh wait no... that's not good, don't do that. do it. don't do it. do it. oh wait... did you just drink that mango juice? You know that has calories so now you definitely don't need that snack later. And you had a cookie. OoOoOoOo a cookie.... I'm tellinnnnnn'. "

SHUT.

UP!

ED Voice.

SHUT UP!

It would be easier to just skip it, it would require less thought to not figure out what I was going to make for a snack, it would be a "coping mechanism" to restrict, it would be just like the old times when my anxiety was particularly high that week... but I don't want this to be old times. I want to fight this.

I want it, I want it, I want this!

I looked at my nutritionist today and asked, "When will I ever have to not think about this? Will it ever stop? Will I ever just be normal?"

I wish she had a definite answer, but that's the price you pay. It may always be a battle, it may not be... there is no telling. However, she did say, "Think of this snack as a pill... it's your medicine right now. The quicker and faster it is the less you have to think about it, you just have to do it. It's your medicine."

So, here I am in cruise control.

When my anxiety is particularly high because I'm thinking about all I have to do that day... that week, or if I'm beginning a new job, or if I'm still trying to meet new people in this ginormous town... I just have to put it in cruise control.

and take my medicine.

You just have to do it, C.

You gotta do it.

Even if you have to close your eyes to eat that cake,

close your eyes and do it.

you will be proud of yourself when you did.

you conquered that.

And one day when you're in manual,
rather than cruise control... it will be even better. Believe it.

Okay so I said to eat all that cake, 

BUT THIS ONE!

Because if I were the artist of this

masterpiece, I may have to kill anyone who eats this.

Just saying. Amazing!

eat your sushi cakes,

in cruise control,

C

breaking through

This blog has been sitting here, designed and ready for about three weeks.
It was just on Monday evening that I decided, it was time to write, it was time to pour out my own heart... it seemed like the best thing I could do for myself.

You see, I just moved to a new city... and started completely new. I basically left everything and every one I knew and started completely over. There were of course doubts and hesitations about beginning my "new journey" when I was so young in my "recovery journey"... but something deep in my gut told me this was the leap I needed to take. Sure, I dealt with the anger of "why didn't God allow me to recover sooner, so that I could be much stronger" but in the end, I see that He gave me countless opportunities to turn around, and I only pressed in harder. Therefore, I went deeper and waited longer... and now I am paying for it.

That being said, I've come to the conclusion that this isn't paying for anything... this is my reward for taking the initial steps. This is joy. Now, in this very moment, it doesn't matter when it started, how many signs I missed, how many doctors I had to see, how many friends I lost... what matters is: I'm headed in the right direction... and for that, I am choosing to rejoice.

Because of the recent move, I find myself oftentimes feeling alone in my recovery and that is where I have been comforted in reading other recovery blogger's thoughts, inspirations and struggles. Not having my parents to confide in, finding a connection with a new therapy "team", worrying about meeting new people and not dealing with the self conscious thoughts of, "what are they thinking? oh gosh, do they know? are they looking at me weird?" ... it all can be a bit overwhelming, even to a normal, heathy twenty-year-old! So, I decided the best way to not feel alone is to write, like so many other wonderful bloggers

One day I got extremely discouraged when I realized just how much ground I had to cover in order to restore... well, everything. I got so angry with myself I couldn't even see past the guilt. I was mad for putting my body through this, I was frustrated with the amount of time I had left before I move, I was furious that I hadn't listened sooner... and I felt completely defeated. I felt like a kindergartener going to school for the first time and meeting friends. Learning how to do things on her own without the ED... being responsible enough to take nap when I'm tired... listening to the teacher (therapist and nutritionist) because they know whats best for you... discovering what it is you are good at in school... wondering if you will be a pilot, a firefighter, a ballerina, or a vet... I was truly starting at the beginning.


My mom looked at me and said, "You know, being at rock bottom is a wonderful place to be... because you know without a doubt, it can ONLY go up from here."

and it has.
There are of course days when I feel like throwing in the towel, when I don't feel like making new friends because they will think I'm awkward, when I'm tired of having to think about "me, me, me!", when I'm sick of going to all of the appointments, when I am really just wanting to make sense of things through restricting like I know how to... but, I just keep telling myself.

It's only up from here.
As long as you keep putting one foot in front of the other.
That's all it takes, you don't have to run.
Just walk, just step.

On Tuesday morning when I shared the birth of this blog with my mom,

she sent me this photo because it reminded her of gray skies breaking away to blue.

That is happening everyday, as I peel back one small layer at a time.

And take the time to rejoice over ever single breakthrough,

you earned it.

you did the work.

you broke away.

On that same morning I got an email from my first therapist that I had to leave behind during the move, sniffsniff, with a note that resonated with me:

"To get something you never had, you have to do something you never did." When God takes something from your grasp. He's not punishing you, but merely opening your hands to receive something better. Concentrate on this sentence. "The will of God will never take you where the Grace of God will not protect you." 

No matter if it is a day when the grey clouds are growing ugly,
or the bright blue is beginning to bleed through,
know that you are protected 
and you are at a wonderful place... at the beginning, breaking through.

be still,

C

farewell letter from a fighter

Dear Disorder,

I don't write hate mail, I never have.

And I'm not going to write you hate mail either,

because even though you are the worst friend I could ever have,

you are turning a very broken journey into 

a new beginning of healing, help and hope.

I'm learning more about myself,

the self I am now,

the self I will be,

and the self I was... the young woman I always imagined I'd be at 20 years old. 

I'm finding who that young girl was and
creating the woman on the other side of trial.

The soon-to-be woman tearing away all of the lies you clothed me in for far too long,

The lies that poisoned my heart, my mind, my faith and my body.

You told me you would never leave me alone,

but you told me I couldn't enjoy time with anyone else.

You told me I could lie,

you told me I wouldn't pay.

You made me believe everyone judged me,

a self-conscious and guarded little girl.

You robbed me of my life 

and you took away my laugh... and I loved my laugh.

You told me if I stayed by your side,

I could numb myself to all pain... what pain?

You forced me to be perfect,
nothing else mattered, don't be a failure.

You told me to count,
like my life depended on it,
funny.... it did.

You said no one could rescue me,

so I stopped believing I had a Rescuer.

You told me I could never love again,
how can you love if you can't feel?

You made my bones define my character

and my veins mask my forgotten face.

You told me I had no friends,

and I had lost all the ones I once had.

You told me I'd never be remembered,
you told me I never could help, you made me selfish.

You said I couldn't look people in the eye,

"you're too weak to figure out what to say"

You told me I had to ride, run, DO! SOMETHING!

and you ran me into the ground, literally

You made me scared,

and fear the end.

You made my skin dry

and my eyes sink with emptiness.

You fed me lies,

and I was still empty.

You told me I was never getting out,

you told me I was nothing without you.

You told me that a racing heart was nothing to raise concern,

you made me dizzy and confused.

You told me I couldn't be strong.

But I WANT to be a strong woman.

"No you don't, you won't. You can't, " you'd say, "You're mine."

You made me exhausted and lifeless,

an existing body... and no more.

I'm here to prove I exist. Now.


You told me I'd never have a family or be healthy,
never have a future apart from you.

You took away my ability to dream,

what does that feel like anyway?

You took away my tears,

I used to love a good cry. 

You told me I would never be able to 

concentrate long enough to read a book again,

much less read scripture.

You convinced me I couldn't go to that party,

"there's cookies there"

You told me I didn't have my own name,
you were my identity. It was better not to have a name.

You told me I was never going to find someone,

anyone... "who would love this odd-rail woman?"

You told me I could not sit still and watch a movie,

I had to be up doing something, anything...

You told me that extra handful of granola was out of the question,

and that sample tray? "Don't even think about it"

You made me run, run, run away from all else

but you came with me... and wouldn't leave.

You thought you could have my heart,

and I thought sometimes you would take it.

You thought you could claim my life,

but I am taking back my breath.

It's mine.

This body is mine, the only one I've been given.

The best one I've been given...

to dance, to create, to sing, to write, to live, to serve, to giggle, to truly live.

and to fight.

I'm fighting because I'm still here,

I'm fighting because I've been given a second chance, apart from you.

I'm starting from square one, I've been given a clean slate.

It's scary as hell, picking up those pieces...

or finding that the ones that I dropped, are now completely lost.

That's when I'll pick up new ones.

That's when I'll turn to the Creator of this body and ask,

"Okay... I'm ready. What now?"

It's okay to not know,

It's okay to have no idea what tomorrow will bring,

will it be a battle, or will it be freedom?

I don't know, but I know the battle has begun 

and I will not stop fighting until it is won.
I've got nothing left to lose.

And I will commit my journey to the Lord,

and commit my heart to those who are in the battle.

And tell them they have the armor within them to fight,

it's always been there... we just have believed the lies,
your dreadful lies.

And to these lies (and you, Disorder) I bid farewell.

I'm not great at goodbyes and neither are you.

You're going to try to befriend me again,

and it will be tempting, because I'm looking for new friends now.

But your not really my type... I don't like selfish people.

You are selfish, you are scheming and lying.

I'm saying goodbye, I'm putting on my armor.

I'm fighting because I'm still here,

I'm fighting because I've been given a second chance, apart from you.

Sealed with truth,

C

the girl who is now finding her new name, her true name.
there is hope.