standing on bittersweet

I read this passage while finishing up a marvelous book, The Book of Bright Ideas, by Sandra Kring. Lately I've been feeling a knot coming up in my stomach slowly releasing an anxious murmur as it rises to the surface...

"Who will you be without me? Do you really want to let me go? Will you be able to control anything? Will you run in the other direction and make me a puffy stomach? Will you spin out of control and wind up the same way… confused and not knowing which step to take next, because you are so wildly out of control? Do you really want to say goodbye to me as a friend… when you are not sure you have someone else better to spend the day with? Do you really want to do this to yourself? Are you ready to live with the consequences of letting me wither away and wash thorough your system just like that breakfast you just enjoyed? I made you think didn't I? …. you didn't think about what it would be like to lose me as a companion. Bad companion or not… when I leave, I will still leave a void. Some kind of void. Actually, a pretty damn big one. Who will console you when you are sad, worried or having a pretty shitty day? Are you ready for the empty hole I will leave when you let me go? Oh… and you were so anxious to bid be farewell. A little bittersweet, eh? A little more bittersweet than you were prepared for… "

~ ~ ~

From The Book of Bright Ideas by Sandra Kring: 

"…I realized that I wasn't standing at the magic tree anymore. I was standing at the place they call "bittersweet". That place that, if you could find it on a map, would be the mountain that sits between happy and sad. And I thought bout how when you stand on that mountain, you can almost feel God's hand on your head and you just know, deep down inside, that even if you don't understand everything that happened to cause those mixed feelings, you still know there was a good reason for them happening.

…then I smiled and reminded [Aunt Verdella] of what she and Winnalee had both once told me. That you have to go on believing anything's possible, or else, what's the point?"

on the mountain of bittersweet.

and believing anything is possible.

it is, it is, it is, it is, it is, it is...

C 

    

tallest mountain

children forgive themselves for a lot.
they slap their friend…
say they are sorry
and move on.
we lose that ability with age.
with life.

forgiving myself is the last big mountain I have to climb
lately I have realized that it may be the largest of all.

sure, the physical weight was a battle enough.
ha, I thought that was all.
so naive.
but, what about finding out who you are again?
starting from the very beginning
while still able to look back
on a young woman and late-teen you don't know anymore,
shaking with anxiety and dwindling away from life's threshold
on an early teen who was strapped to a
ballet barre yet the first to jump at cheesecake without even a wink,
on a child that refused to wear shoes in the summer
and dressed up her cat in babydoll clothes.

all women dear to your heart,
but yet so strange and so distant.
almost like a childhood friend you hope to
meet again later on down the road.

how do you forgive yourself for stealing away years from your own life,
the only life you have?
robbing your body
confusing your mind
starving your spirit
and just...giving up all hope.
I honestly thought this was it.
I was trapped forever.

Now, looking back on the trap,
I become sick on my stomach wondering what could
have been if it had never happened
if I never knew how to restrict
if I never allowed anxiety to control me
if I never feared help
if I ever… opened my eyes.

oh, forgiving myself may be the tallest mountain there is.
every new situation that is uncomfortable, there lies a "what if…"
every question of my future, there lies a "what if…"
every comment on my weight, there lies a "what if…"
every day of feeling lonely, there lies a "what if…"

… but what if this was all meant to be?

I ask myself that in writing,
because I will be honest,
I don't yet believe it in my heart.
I still see a mistake.
I still see stolen years, relationships, giggles,
memories, hobbies, life, heart.
But maybe after I'm over the mountain
I will meet the childhood friend I hoped to cross paths with again.

Maybe I will believe this was all meant to be.
Maybe I will forgive.

at the foot of the tallest mountain,

C

whole

I am more complete.
I am more alive.
I am safe.
I am home in my skin.
I am
{on my way to being,
not-too-far-from
and beginning to taste the meaning
of what it feels to be}
whole.

this I will not fear.
I will not fear being whole
I will not fear that responsibility
I will not fear that feeling, skin deep
skin surface
internal sensation.
this fullness I will accept as a gift.
a memory of the past,
a taste of the future,
a new outfit
of a value beyond Madison Avenue.
this I will not fear,
this gift I will allow myself to indulge
a birthright to being whole
someone tried to take away

I dont know her, the one who stole it

but if I did know her,
I cannot imagine the emptiness she must feel.
Because I know what it feels to be almost empty
to feel as though there is room within your body
to fill with the best treasure you can find.
an abundance of storage
for just the perfect fit
more room to fill
and less possessions to hang on to
to get attached to
but if you could only find that one treasure
once you find that one treasure
to fill all the empty space you saved
you made
you will capture it all and stuff it inside

but it will never come
one treasure is not the answer

it is all the jewels of life
yes, it's not that easy
it's difficult
but you have denied all of the small treasures
turned away from shimmering stars
and crystals of delight
to remain empty.
to remain the same.

because love is to difficult to trust

and then be broken

so you wait for the one thing that

will not hurt when you treasure it

you wait for what is to come
perfection
that will never come

this i will not fear

it's here right now
the jewels that have tried to enter
when will you open your skin

and begin to whisper

I am more complete.

I am more alive.

I am safe.

I am home in my skin.

I am

{on my way to being,

not-too-far-from

and beginning to taste the meaning

of what it feels to be}

whole.

being still one year & still I know.

still i know

be still and know next year {inhale} next year it will not be this way. 

be still and know you have come far

be still and know one year is not enough time

be still and know one year is behind you

be still and know one year is ahead of you

be still and know the memories have no control over you

be still and know the past, is the past

be still and know this is not forever

be still and know there are millions of people struggling, feeling pain they, too, didn't ask for 

be still and know you are strong enough

be still and know you will make mistakes

be still and know bravery is built

be still and know crying brings another layer of armor

be still and know this is only a season

be still and know there is purpose in pain. there is pain with purpose

be still and know there is life beyond, why did you ever stop believing 

be still and know it isn't over

be still and know you cannot rush pain… thus, cannot rush healing.

be still and know tomorrow is another change

be still and know you are not alone

be still and know you are not alone

be still and know you are not alone

be still and know.

be still and know you have to be still

you can be still

you were made to be still.

you long to be still

you grow from being still

you fear being still

but you must

be still.

face. the. fear.

let your being, be still.

listen to the declaration of your body

listen to your inner teacher

she knows more than you think

be still and know

you are strong enough

be still and know

you can be still.

one year ago you said

you can.

you would be still.

and still it doesn't change.

only time

in time,

C

she's still there.

she will surface again. someday.

let it heal

a wise instructor read the following poem in class

this weekend at the nyc yoga journal conference.

this needs no preface. just soak. i still am.

Let it Heal By Ruth Forman

Listen to the song and let is tell you how

be quiet be quiet be still

let the angels put their hands on where it hurts and

smooth be quiet be still

ask for prayers around you and bathe in song

be quiet be quiet be still

sit in children's laughter twice a day

be quiet be quiet be still

leave your thoughts for another time

wrap yourself in daylight

knit yourself a friend tighter than you imagined

let good people close to you

move away from those that suck from you

be safe be quiet be still

if you have no hands

write

if you have no feet

walk

if you have no voice 

sing

and a chorus will carry you

if you have no eyes

see 

if you have no arms

hug

be thankful be quiet be still

and the pouring come upon you like holy water

and the healing a new plant

break the ground

emerge clean and willing

sorry and thankful

new and quiet

rejoice

like children at kickball

wise like grandmother's on the stoop

ready to live

and whole

ready

and

whole.

wrap yourself in daylight,

C

the damn cookie diaries

there are so many things I could write about tonight.
but honestly, it would probably all come streaming out from
my hands in a jumbled disaster that I would not even be able
to put a title on, other than "shit my eating disorder says"
(let's hope no one ever makes an incredibly offensive parody on this one)

I've been wanting to write for days, but all I get is crazy little snid-bits of thoughts
that are literally now scribbled all over my planner,
my post-it note stash, grocery receipts, frequent buyer cards,
basically any form of paper I could get my hands on in the moment
when a thought hits.
Yes, I have an iPhone, but I don't believe in writing what truly matters
with your thumbs… you gotta put your whole hand into it sis-tah!
Anyway, one of them turned into a list entitled:
The (Infinite) Commandments of an Eating Disorder: Thou shalt not
That one got a little touchy though and is still in the
"let me sit here and think about this in a couple of days" phase, 
so you may get to munch on that in a few days.


Another longer spontaneous rant came as
the product of a cookie.
yes.
only in recovery world will one 
ever be compelled to journal about
a freakin cookie.
at what point does this become funny?
I'm leaving this as is: a stream of consciousness, if you will.
I only share this because I am sure that most of you
reading have been assigned to keep a "food journal" at some point
or another (or will do so in the near future)
that includes both a record of nutrition and… feelings. oh the F word.

I will warn anyone before reading this that this post does discuss

a simple "snack" (a cookie if you have not already guessed it!) and

a bit about the struggles of gaining weight. 

So please do not read any further if you think it

may be a trigger for you… I certainly do not intend to trigger anyone

by any means. Yet, I know that I had benefitted greatly from reading/hearing

raw, unedited thoughts of someone else who has struggled with

the battle before… and it made sense to me, it helped me make sense

of my own rants, it helped me know it was okay to rant, to get angry,

to write every SINGLE thing you felt and most of all it helped me realize

I was completely and utterly not alone.

...

~March 4, 2012~

After having lunch today it was like all of the "hunger" just disappeared. I knew this was reality and that it would come and go as any normal person expereinces but it just got really frustrating again, because I knew unlike any other "normal" person… I had to push through it, I still had to eat… I couldn't trust my body's hunger. This was my medicine.

It was difficult to dismiss the "oh you've really let yourself go now" thoughts that began to come : "Oh no wonder you're feeling full and a little gross right now... you've been sustaining for days... what did you expect after eating all that and cheering yourself on for doing so well?" I knew they were lies, I knew in my heart that I had done well, I had done my body a favor... but I also was reminded of the discomfort. The discomfort that will come with gaining weight. It sucks quite frankly. Absolutely sucks. Gaining weight doesn't fell good to anyone, no matter if you need to or not! It feels tight, cramped, uncontrollable, yet controllable at the same time… strange, indescribable, unpredictable… and completely against everything I have ever practiced or set out of achieve. Let's face it, never in your life have you picked up a magazine that says, "GAIN 10 LBS THIS SPRING! GET READY FOR BATHING SUIT SEASON! SHOW OFF THAT CAKE! WE'LL SHOW YOU HOW!" 

HA! No. 

And now I am sitting here waiting on a friend to get coffee knowing I will have to get a cookie or something to go with it because its right around "snack time". I want to want it. I do. But I don't want it right now... it feels forced, uncontrollable, uncomfortable, so. not. hungry... but I know I have to do it, because if I don't... I will feel guilty for giving in, I will have to write it down for my therapist to see, I will have thrown in the towel and said "YOU WIN TODAY" and I won't do that. I want to right now and it seems tempting… maybe just this once, you've earned a slack. No. I won't. 

I got the damn cookie and it was good. Yes, I was full and it took about every grain of strength I had to decide to do it, but I did. I pushed through it. Because it had already been a day of struggle I, of course thought about it for an hour… cookie, cookie, cookie, Mr. Cookie in your tummy. But it passed. Just like everything else has in the past. I feel okay at the moment... not great, I'll admit, but I'm here. 

I'm here fighting off the frustration (for the millionth time) of "why do I even have to do this, how did I get here… are you really writing about a freakin cookie right now?" And I transitioned into just being grateful. I have what I need to fight through this.... everything I need. I'm not great, but I'm okay. I ate the damn cookie and I won't go to bed feeling guilty tonight. I'd say it was damn good too... and big. Enormous, giant, with sugar on top...so what? I don't curse much, but I'm feeling particularly infuriated towards the E.D. tonight… oddly and uncharacteristically bitter, but I don't hate the feeling. Who else has to sit here and write their feelings about a damn cookie? This freakin sucks. 

And that's all I have to say about that. Humph. I will win.

next time I'm bringing him with me.

love and damn cookies,

C

the waters within

I've hit that point where I can't even write for five minutes without changing my mind. The point where a couple of minutes go by and everything changes: up, down, left, right, joy, tears, love, pain, numb, crippled, giggling, screaming. Emotions: it feels all so new to me.

I won't go back and recount the days since I last wrote, since you most likely all know the feeling of complete recovery chaos all-too-well. One day I'm on top of the Empire State Building waving Hello to cloud 9 and the next I am curled up with my head between my knees wondering if I will ever be free of this.

Step-by-step, I know the answer is yes. This is only for awhile.

Sunday afternoon I felt the sudden urge to plop down and scribble out everything that was swirling wildly in my mind trying to find a crevice to leak out. Thankfully, I had my school binder in my purse (the size of a suitcase) and ran into the nearest Starbucks that appeared to show any sign of an open barstool (ugh, Manhattan coffee addicts…)

I decided it was time to let the words surface, come what may… dare I discover what was in there. dare I bring these torrent rivers to surface. I decided instead of trying to make sense of everything in a blog post, I would admit I have no idea WHAT I am making sense of right now and just...share the ranting river of words. Because I know that you all have either been there, felt that, done that, conquered this, or are getting ready to experience the strong currents of the recovery river.

Hang on… A wise friend told me, It will pass, It will get better.

February 19, 2012

I am probably going to be incredibly late to church in writing this, but my heart tells me this is exactly where I need to be and what I need to be doing at this moment. While it was on my mind. It scares me a little to be sitting in a public Starbucks, actually the one right by church, pouring out my gut onto the page. What if someone comes in that I know from church? What if they ask why I am frantically scribbling in my flowered binder? What if they see my late snack I am finishing up so that I didn't miss one today, because that is priority? How do I tell them: "oh yeah… I'm coming I just had to stop because it was snack time and I felt the sudden urge to write?" Oh wait… that actually sounds normal, right? It's not weird for someone to stop because they needed a snack. People get hungry, believe-it-or-not. It's not peculiar for someone to get "the next great idea" and sit down to write it out. This is New York City after all, for all they know I could be writing the next Gossip Girl season. It's okay, you're okay. So what if they see?


I feel like everywhere I go this weekend it's E.D. Sometimes it has been positive (get-outta-my-face-and-shut-up that actually is a good cookie and you know it) and sometimes its been a dog I want to put a muzzle on (you're tired, go to bed… I'll take care of you, you don't need that bedtime snack, just lie… you need sleep. NO!) I don't want this to consume me, but its so hard to disassociate myself from it when I constantly have to wear my invisible armor. Food is everywhere, that's a fact. Sometimes the kind of food that talks… "you're stressed, run away from me… you know you should really stop wanting me, I'm no good for you… You don't need me. Hellloooooo, don't I look good? How long has it been since you had me? Would you be proud to tell your dietician that you ate me?…" It's really quite loud and obnoxious when I'm having a somewhat quiet day, which would be today… Somewhere in the idleness of a peaceful mind it knows exactly how loud to speak in order to get my attention. This is certainly where the distraction of a sweet furry friend would come in handy. (sigh)


I want something else to define me. Not numbers, not how many snacks I need, not "challenges", not even recovery itself, not school, not work, not even what used to: coffee, running, dancing, painting, perfect grades, long-curly hair… but rather something new that has meaning, that I can openly share, that radiates from my skin, that brings tranquility to my spirit instead of lies. Something that just doesn't temporarily fill up the vacant room. No, THAT would be an eating disorder. 


Such an easy filler… food is always there (or not there). "Food" defines everyone, in some way… but all of us differently.  It's in your control, you can take week long breaks from it, you can have it all to yourself, it mops up any tears with its presence or absence, controlling it doesn't cost you any money: so easy to alter, cut back, tweak, reject, accept, ignore… Yeah, It doesn't necessarily cost money, but it can cost you everything. Food, sustenance, affects how we function, our ability to think, our capacity to feel…a gift to our bodies that we have the chance to taste, feel and be a part of. We gain a richer experience of receiving energy, of functioning properly, of being able to… well, be alive.


Doesn't that make anorexia seem outlandish? I like that word outlandish. The most outlandish thing in the entire world. If we have this key to life, why don't we use it? Why wouldn't I want my heart to pump blood? My brain to think as clearly as possible? My fingers to feel what my hands touch? My organs to expand and contract with breath and activity? My life to be full, to be energetic, to be well… living at all. Living outlandishly.


All of this came about as a result of this morning… this Sunday morning in yoga. Unlike any other day, my heart sank when I stepped into the studio. It startled me. I had no idea why the feeling came, but it was too real to ignore. I felt an uneasy presence. And rolling out my mat, I saw her. There was a woman in the back row laying down that I immediately knew was the source of the unexplainable troubled heart in my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes and my hands started shaking, sweating. I tried to lay down and not turn back. Unfortunately, there were mirrors in the studio and even though I was in the front row, I could see her reflection the entire hour. My heart grieved and ached for her. I couldn't judge her, though ego begs me to, I couldn't… I knew, I knew how much pain she must feel and I wanted to reach out and rescue her, ask her if it was worth it… tell her there's more.


As I struggled to revert my attention inward, the glances of fellow classmates kept directing my attention towards… oh my… for once, I knew I was not the "smallest" in the room (not like that even really matters), but in this case I noticed because I knew. Everything about her emanated what I knew, the past, the struggle, the disorder. 


I knew it had been the cause of my heart to hit the floor, because my spirit craves freedom from it… now, it makes me uneasy, it makes me squirm, it makes me run for cover, I want no part of it. And I want that for other women as well, not only myself.


I saw the veins protruding, a familiar disguise. I saw the thighs as thin as the calves, the sunken eyes, the withered hair, the glossed over grin, the two 26.2 water bottles laying at her side, the knee brace concealing an injury, yet she was still going. I don't describe this to point her out, I describe this because it was me. I knew her once. And I didn't want to ever meet her again.


What scared me most was: she was a grown woman… possibly mid-40s. That was my worst fear, that was what made my heart sink through the floor. I don't want this to be my future. I don't want to still be here. Do I still look like that? Do I want to look like that? Heavens no! I wonder if she is married… if she has children… if she knows how dangerous this is… If she wished for something more? If she wanted out just like me? If she had struggled since a young age? If she ever knew true love? If she ever went out at 3 a.m. for cheesecake with best friends because it was fun? If she ever considered taking a day off running? If she wanted to… live? 


I ask these questions, because I don't want to ever have to ask them to myself again. I don't want to be here in mid-life, I don't want to be here again. In fact, I found myself staring in the mirror hoping, praying, blinking again, hoping for the pounds to just appear. Please, oh please… please come. I don't want other women grimacing at my presence, I don't want the instructor standing by my side for strength support, I don't want to know what this is like 20 years from now. I won't, I can't, I will not, I stop here, I will fight the fight, I will pick up my armor every morning, I will take time to recover, fully. I will make it a priority, I will accept mistakes and allow grace. I will take this day to fuel the fire within my spirit. A fire that has been there for a very long time. I will led it spread like wildfire.

along the banks of the waters within,

It will spread like wildfire.

until the day all that is left is

me.

pure water within.

firing Mr. Fix It

i've decided that my tool box needs a makeover.
or rather… I just need to buy more tools.
for the past two or so years, I've only had one
and we all know what that one tool is:
the ED all-in-one wrench.

The ED wrench could fix almost anything.

a broken heart,

a dreadful, snowy day,

loneliness,

lack of direction,

late night studying,

a mid-term exam disaster,

frustration with a body part,

a big bump in the road,

a terrible hair day,

friendship troubles,

monsoon weeks,

a longing for home,

a loss of a loved one,

an unknown turn just ahead,

a ding in my front bumper,

an "I feel gross" day,

exhaustion from late nights,

a heart crying out for something…

anything.

It helped me not feel any of it.

Numb, paralyzed, just a walking existence.

Barely existing.

The one tool in my toolbox helped for awhile,

in fact, it helped for much too long.

I mastered how to use it,

welcomed the power I felt when it was in my hand,

finished the day with it under my covers,

held it in my hand on the couch,

clung to it for dear life,

ran miles with it... carrying it like a baton

and perfected hiding it beneath my smile. 

No toolbox needed at all,

it came with me everywhere

and was the cure for all life's problems, worries and fears 

in one little tool…

until it transitioned into my best friend and constant companion,

even on the "good" days.

One little Mr. Fix it.

I've decided to fire Mr. Fix it.

don't let the overalls fool you.

There isn't one tool to fix everything.

There never should be.

There never has been,

but lies have told us otherwise.

Lies have told us numbers are the only thing that make sense,

Lies have told us that its okay to not feel anything,

Lies have told us that there is no other told this powerful,

Lies have told us we are invincible,

Lies have told us, the more you use the told,

the more effective it becomes,

Lies have told us we might as well forget about being able to concentrate again,

Lies have told us this is the only way, the only cure, the only tool.

Wrong. 

There are so many other ways,

so many other tools:

funny movies, disney coloring books, knitting, a cup of tea, skyping with a friend, taking a nap, listening to a healing playlist, looking through an old photo album, going for a walk, laying down and taking ten minutes to breathe, standing on your head, just going outside, painting your nails, going out to get coffee…

What if you are frustrated with the mirror?

why don't you walk away and come back in twenty minutes in a new outfit?

What if you are stressed out with studying?

why don't you take ten minutes to paint your nails, clear your head?

What if you are feeling lonely?

why don't you call a friend who lives far away?

or maybe mom, she will always answer.

What if you are discouraged with recovery?

instead of giving in, why don't you lay down for a little while

and color, read, or write a letter.

What if your are just having a downright bad day?

why don't you go out and get coffee ,

there is nothing that won't fix

(but make sure you have something with it,

because you KNOW coffee does not constitute a snack)

What if you are having a terrible hair day?

instead of beating yourself up on the inside,

why don't you do your hair in pig tails…

pig talis are always cute and pin back frizz like a charm.

What if it seems like everyone around you in dating someone?

why don't you watch youtube videos of sexy guy singers

and not feel the slightest bit guilty about it

because you are single, HELLO!

Or… watch a Madea movie and make yo'self proud of your independence.

What if you are so anxious about something you cannot stand it?

why don't you take a nap, and reset your body?

What if you have an afternoon to do absolutely nothing?

why don't you paint, or find something to spark your creativity?

What if you are challenged to go to a restaurant?

why don't you welcome the opportunity to try something new?

What if you have the busiest day of your life ahead of you?

why don't you take 5 minutes in bed before you get up

just being and breathing deeply, to set the tone for the rest of the day?

What if you fall off your bike?

why don't you take this time to rest,

and start over?

What if you are having a tough time with your recovery meal plan?

why don't you sit down an write a letter to yourself

that you will read next year, thanking yourself for

drinking the boosts and eating twelve jars of peanut butter…

because you are much healthier now,

believe it.

Why don't you fill up your toolbox,

oh heck make it overflow,

with tools that are healthy, helpful, fun, 

creative, unique…

instead of allowing your old Mr. Fix it to handle it 

by hammering away your emotions.

oh, and get a cute toolbox,

fire Mr. Fix it

C

what is in yours?

the question

I am a professional what-iffer.

Usually, my what-iffing leads me into a downward spiral of doubt,
worry, negativity, hesitation, yadayadayada.

The beginning of the New Year was yet again
and emotional day.
Once again I was left breathless in trying to tame
my emotions when reflecting on a year
where I went from barely hanging on to being alive.

Looking back on where I was last year at this time

making the decision to leave school and stay home a semester,

extremely ill and in complete denial, working myself into the ground, 

sleeping only four hours a night, 

caking a smile on my face, exercising incessantly,

spending most of my time alone or working…

I have never been filled with more hope and
gratitude for being given a shot at full recovery.

Over Christmas break I went home to visit my family for the holidays
where I would say goodbye to one year and welcome a new beginning…
in the place where I both ran to and hid from the world
and myself only one year prior.

I knew it was going to be a difficult journey home.

I was anxious about being faced with clouds of 

past "sick memories" hovering over everywhere I went.

Lets face it … holidays = lots of food and dessert.

I knew my mom was going to be pushing cake

and brownies on me whenever she could and I would have 

to beg myself not to squirm in my skin at the thought.

I was uneasy about going to church and putting on the

famous "perfect face" I had worn all my life… the one I've been working on ditching.

I feared seeing people from my past who were 

the source of much anxiety, unhappiness and loss.

I was terrified of anyone commenting on my weight, 

even though I hadn't notably fluctuated that much since September,

I didn't want anyone to say anything at all… 

yet, some people just can't help not to comment on weight. 

Grrrrrrrrrr. 

So, my only hope against the nervous energy was an appointment
I had scheduled with my therapist from this past summer.
...the one who had first led me away from denial
and onto the road of recovery:

the raging storm of challenge, happiness and hope.

I wanted her to see what she had helped create…
the woman I am coming to know. 

how far I have come, yet how far I have to go…

now I can be honest about both.

The transparency I am beginning to show, speak and not fear.

The confidence I am gaining every week and how
I am learning to express who I really am,

as I break through the numbness to discover who I really am.

Her enormous, swallowing hug was almost enough therapy to call it a session.

I just knew this was going to set my mind more at ease towards the coming weeks. 

After I got done telling her all about my new adventures

in the City… the failures, the lessons, the growths, the fall-backs,

the victories, the joys of apartment dwelling and the friends I have made…

we talked briefly about the holidays… because everyone knows 

it is the toughest time of year for ED recovery.

And now that I am honest with myself, 

I was feeling the quivers I had heard everyone talk about.

But I guess it is better than not feeling at all.

She asked me what "my plans" were for the holidays and I

paused and said, "You know… I don't really think we have any…"

Whoa.

what?

I sort of smiled to myself as I noticed the irony of that statement.

Back in June I began to see a therapist for "anxiety and OCD"

…okay yes I do struggle with both, 

yet they were certainly second to the ED hiding beneath my skin. 

The most maddening quality to my OCD life was… planning. 

My mind was constantly going five-hundred-miles-per-minute

making plans for the rest of the day for no reason at all.

She had be talk through why I might be inclined to planning

so obsessively and it all led back to control, stress and perfection.

Once I got the OCD under control with the help of medication,

she challenged me with an all-too-familiar,
yet entirely different, "What if…" question.

"What if you woke up one day 

and didn't plan anything the whole day?"

"HELLO! No plans?! I don't know if I can do that…"

...and now here I am looking her in the eye saying, 

"…no plans" and it is not bothering me one bit.

Oh, how far I have come…

~ ~ ~

Now, months later, my new therapist in Manhattan has been

helping me confront and question my life-long struggle with 

perfectionism.

That's a big cookie to crumble… like Grand Canyon sized chocolate-chip!

Though I was undoubtedly born a perfectionist, 

being a "preacher's kid" since day one has certainly contributed to my 

"obligation" to put on a pretty smile no matter what…

If you have to hide your frustration or exhaustion, then so be it! 

"Just be pleasant" seemed to be the overarching rule of the PK's.

And I was good at it… I still am could be good at it.

I am choosing now to not hide behind my smile, that's too easy.

I've done that all my life.

The real challenge is to ask myself how I really feel,

what I really want to say… sure, don't go around frowning

or cussing the world! Haha, that is certainly not beneficial to anyone!

But rather… How am I truly feeling today?

Am I tired? It's okay to say you're tired.

Are you frustrated? It's okay… it's normal to be aggravated sometimes.

Are you just feeling quiet today? It's okay to not do everything.

Are you really wanting to spend time with these people 

because you truly enjoy their company? It's okay to not agree with everyone.

Are you struggling today? It's okay to say "no" and cancel an obligation.

all of these things I denied myself for years.

Before going home for a holiday break, I was expressing my

anxiety about going back to church and home… seeing all of the people

that have watched me grow up and have seen all of my "transformations".

I knew they would ask questions... some I would be unable to answer.

And I knew they would want to know how I was liking the City.

And I had convinced myself they had expectations of what I had been

accomplishing and doing since I moved.

Even people that barely knew me... who only know me as the "PK".

I was terrified to put my smiling mask back on...

to just revert to my old ways of 

"be pleasant, be pleasant! No matter what. It doesn't matter how you really feel!"

My therapist looked at me and shot me with more of
those "What if…" questions I was a professional at cultivating. 

But these were ones I had never, ever asked myself:

So, what if you didn't put on a smile? 

What if you listened to your heart 

and didn't feel obligated to go? What if you said exactly what you were feeling? 

What if you were entirely honest?

What if you stopped yourself before putting 

on the mask and asked the non-masked girl 

the question?

What would happen then? 

Could you do it?

oh dear… could I?

There's only one way to find out.

With all of these "What if.." questions being tossed 

at me in a different format than I was used to... a more constructive format,

I decided to create a list of my New Year's "What if" Challenges

instead of the typical list of resolutions.

While sitting on the airplane traveling back to begin 

a new year's journey in the City,

I wrote a list of "what if" questions that provoke a thought pattern 

of helpful challenge instead of a doubtful fuss.

It is both my plan to thrust my thinking towards recovery

and my initiative to end the battle with harmful "what ifs" in 2012.

Maybe, just maybe, next year the what if's will be entirely transformed.

I can only hope…

yet, no matter what this year brings, 

I will hold onto that hope.

Because of how far I've come, because I am now able to effectively process my thoughts, because I have learned to face my struggles, because I have been blessed with the tools I need to recover, because I have found hope again… a long lost companion, that I don't intend on letting go.

Complete New Year's "What if" Challenge list coming next post.

Until then Happy New Year,

Happy New Beginning,

Happy New Goals of Recovery,

Happy Second Chance,

Happy New Discoveries,

and Happy New Hope,

C

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