(Note: This has been in my draft posts since October – I’ve backdated it to October 20, 2023 but just know today is February 20, 2024. Thanks for your understanding!)
I can’t believe it’s been 3 years. As I’m sitting here writing this I don’t know if that feels like it’s been too long, or that it’s been too short. Either way, I can’t say that it’s been the “best 3 years of my life” because then I’d be lying to you and to myself. All I can do is reflect. And look back at how things have changed in the last 3 years.
I haven’t given an update since May of 2023 and I know exactly why. I’m sitting in the messy middle. Recovering from atypical anorexia completely flipped my world upside down. I am living a life that I didn’t even know existed. I’m proud for healing and saving my life from my ED, but the aftermath of the Pandora’s box that healing opened proved to be too much to handle. This last summer I started on an anti-depressant .
Being in my 40’s, mental health was not discussed as it is today. It was very stigmatized and frowned upon to “not be ok”. You were just supposed to suck it up and stop complaining. So when I found myself having to live day in and day out with my abuser, what I thought I could handle was a clear mismatch from the reality I was living. I’ve mentioned it in previous post, but I suffered from something called passive suicide. While I had no intention of ending my life, the gut wrenching feelings that came up 2,3,4 times a day when I thought about ending my life were too much for me. I was trying the feel all my feelings; used feelings charts, was non-judgmental, did vagal exercises, deep breathing…. They worked to let me process the feeling, but the feelings would return over and over again. I know that it’s because I’m still here. In this house, passing by my husbands bedroom day after day. I know it’s because I see his facade slip every now and then (it’s very subtle at this point because he is VERY good ay hiding). I know the real him is still in there and the “I’m all better and no longer an abuser” rhetoric is a slithering lie. And my body knows that too. I am not emotionally safe here. I know that. I but stay anyway. Because despite everything, both my husband and I are putting on the performance of our lives for the sake of our children. I’ve had them separately evaluated by a mental health professional to see if they have caught on in any way, and so far, they haven’t. I don’t know what I’ll do when they realize they’ve been lied too and duped by us. I already carry that guilt. I wonder how staying will affect their mental health in the future?
My marriage falling apart was not what I expected when I recovered. I’ll often sit in my bed, thoughts wandering, and ask God (universe?) why I didn’t just stay the way I was. Why couldn’t I just have stayed sick, spent my entire life (however long it would have been) dieting every Monday over and over again. I mean, my mother still does it and she’s in her mid 70’s. So why me? Why was I shown that web page about food freedom? Why did I click it? Why did it resonate so strongly? If I would have never healed, I would have never gained my recovery weight, would have never been brutally rejected by my abusive husband and would have never sought trauma healing. Why did it have to be me? Why was I the one who had to be the generational cycle breaker. And why, for that matter, couldn’t my husband be the abuser who changed? Why couldn’t he find a powerful YouTube video of the hundreds of men out there trying to do better after they realize they were the abusive one? Why, why, why.
I got an email the other day that said I was talking about my marriage WAY too much compared to my recovery. And while I can’t disagree with the email – a lot of my blog posts do revolve around my trauma healing, I think it’s important to recognize that in order for any of us to have become anorexic, we suffered some form of neglect, trauma or abuse. Our imbedded will to survive was threated some how and the ONLY way we knew how to cope was by controlling our bodies. I used food and my body to have some sense of control when I didn’t as a child being emotionally abused. As an adult, I used it as a way to cope with my anxiety surrounding a lack of self-love and self-worth. As a wife, I used it to cope with what was happening in my abusive marriage. We all have different ways of manifesting pain, unease, trauma, confusion, etc. Mine was starving myself and manipulating my body. It was the only sense of control I felt I had (albeit a false sense). If you still don’t think that your anorexia has NOTHING to do with food and everything to do with underlying deep rooted mental health issues, I encourage you to explore more freely. I can pretty much guarantee that if you don’t get to the root of the issue – why you felt the need to take yourself to the brink of death, you will always have the same mindset and recovery will be a lifelong struggle.
Food wise, nothing much has changed. My breakfast has been the same for 3+ years, give or take. It’s something about that combination that hits every satisfaction point for me. While I certainly have access to other breakfast foods, I still go back to my toast + peanut butter + honey + hemp hearts along with a banana and a Greek yogurt. I crave it every morning, I feel good eating it and it keeps me full for about 3 hours which is ideal. Lunch is pretty much always left overs. I don’t tend to prioritize my macronutrients here because normally I’m just too lazy to cook something. I have however, been intentional in adding a fruit or a vegetable to this meal. When I first wanted to add vegetables, my body was like, NOPE, I don’t want vegetables. But I knew that the fiber from fresh fruits and vegetables would help with digestion and maybe my heartburn, so I decided that if vegetables weren’t something I wanted, fruit was something I did. So for about 6+ months, I added a fruit to my lunch, along with whatever else I was eating. Then, when I felt ready and didn’t have that strong pushback, I added veggies to my meal ALONG my fruit (Note: I didn’t take away my fruit) and gave myself permission to eat as much or as little of anything that I wanted. Now, I can say that for about 5 days a week, I’ll eat the veggies and not want the fruit, but other times if the veggies aren’t fresh or if they’re too squishy, I’ll leave them. My goal is to eat the veggies with my meal and eat the fruit afterwards because I find that eating the sweet fruit with my meals almost triggers, at least for me, the “end’ of my meal. I found out that when I ate the fruit with my meal, I often ate less of my main meal. That resulted in me being hungry about 2 hours later, which wasn’t ideal for me. I felt it and I knew that I hadn’t eaten enough, but couldn’t figure out why I felt full at lunch when in reality I really did need more food. After some experimentation, I discovered that my body wanted something small and sweet to signify the end of the meal. I didn’t realize that fruit could serve this purpose. I often thought it was a piece of chocolate, I handful of mini marshmallows or a couple of Oreos as it had been in the past. Now, much to my surprise, the fruit was able to satisfy my mental satisfaction. And yes, sometimes I’ll have the fruit AND still want Oreos or chocolate or something else. I just don’t really think about it any more.
Dinner is normally very balanced – I focus on a balanced plate. I’m not too concerned about the quality of each macronutrient ie. a hotdog vs a chicken breast, white rice vs brown rice, etc. At this point, I don’t want to complicate things and instead focus on having a protein, carb, fat and vegetable on my plate. It seems to work extremely well. I rarely, RARELY eat after dinner. The main reason is because I’m not hungry and don’t want anything! The second is that eating too late at night can make my heartburn act up. If I snack, it’s between lunch and dinner, around 3:30-4 ish. Maybe a granola bar or some cheese and crackers. I’m just trying to take the edge off so I don’t spoil my dinner. Sometimes this backfires and I overeat, most of the time I’m bang on with my hunger cues and eat dinner just fine. I haven’t binged since that fateful day when I ate 12 full-size chocolate bars. I think that was my very worst and my very last binge. There’s no need too. I eat whatever I want, whenever I want and no longer have a scarcity mindset. In fact, my husband is always complaining that all of my food goes bad in the cupboard because I have it once and then realize I don’t want it anymore. It’s like I don’t even think about it. My mind isn’t full of racing thoughts about food, about what I ate, about what I might eat. To be honest, I can’t even remember what I eat anymore. There’s no need to keep tabs of it. I think that’s the food freedom everyone is talking about. I’ve achieved it. I really have. I only wish I could enjoy it more.
I wish I could be much prouder of myself and everything I’ve accomplished in the last 3 years to recover. Maybe it’s because it’s clouded by how much I still have to do in trauma recovery? The hopelessness that I feel about having to leave my marriage in the future? I can see how those thoughts take up more space in my head than my accomplishment of recovery. But I SAVED MY LIFE. Let me repeat that – I SAVED MY LIFE. I was inevitably going to lose my life much sooner than I would have. We know that anorexia is deadly. I can’t argue with that. I think what I need to emphasize is that I saved my physical life, but the quality of my life is not what I thought it would be with recovery. And I think it’s important to point out that my trauma healing is not over. There are many beautiful people who have recovered from anorexia AND their trauma living a full, free and incredible life. I’m just not there yet. Please reach out and consume their content too – because I don’t want you to think that recovery is going to throw you into the spiral it sent me it. I just have to work a little harder to get out of my abusive situation. You can not heal in the same environment that harmed you. That has never been more true for me.
I thought it would be fun to go back and re-visit some of the things I wrote about 3 years and see how that’s changed. It’s so important to document your journey somewhere. You can be a little crazy like me and do it for all of the internet world to see, or decide to keep a journal. Just document so you can go back and see when you don’t think anything has changed.
Weight gain: I weighed in at 247 lbs on my 3-year recovery anniversary. So all of my weight gain was in the first 4 months of my recovery. I’ve gone back and forth within 10 lbs or so, but I’ve been wearing the same clothes for 3 years, I know my size, I know my fit , I know what type of underwear I like to wear and the most comfortable bras. I don’t know if I could gain more weight even if I wanted too. I weigh myself primarily for the sake of this blog and I limit it to 2-3 times a year, if that. There’s really no need to. Like, it’s a measure of my body against the force of gravity. Such a non-threating, platonic thing – it’s 3 numbers on a scale. Something that used to have such power over me is something I kind of feel sorry for now. I also don’t care about the numbers. When the nurse asks me what I weigh, I say 240 lbs. If I’m over that, I’m over. If I’m under that, I’m under. I means absolutely nothing to me now. I don’t mind getting on the scale and couldn’t give a shit what someone says about my weight. My family doctor is extremely fat phobic. But there is a shortage of family doctors where I live and I need her to order tests and do preventative care. I always tell white lies about “how I’m really trying to loose weight and exercise” and then she drops it. If she pushes too hard and won’t order a test that she would someone who wasn’t overweight, I ask her to note her refusal in my chart and that normally does the trick to make her realize that she’s in the wrong. I also don’t try to educate people who don’t want to be educated. My family doctor doesn’t not give a rats ass about fat phobia. She doesn’t care about the harm she is causing because she not in the mindset to understand why what she’s saying or doing is harmful. I don’t want to spend my time arguing with someone who isn’t open-minded to doing things differently. I also don’t talk to my husband, father, mother, siblings, aunts, uncles or cousins about it. My entire family thinks that fat is the worst thing you can be in life – I just set boundaries for myself that if they talk about my weight or shame me, I leave. Has it resulted in some pretty awkward holidays, absolutely. But guess what? None of them talk about my weight anymore – they got THAT message.
My digestion and heartburn has slowly healed again. I weened off of my heartburn medication. How did I do it? I read a book called The Way Out: A Revolutionary, Scientifically Proven Approach to Healing Chronic Pain by Alan Gordon and Alon Ziv. This has a very unique way at looking at chronic pain. It’s not for everyone, but the techniques discussed were in line with what I had been doing for trauma healing so it was easy for me to understand the mindset shift. Take a look if something is taking rather long to physically heal. I do get heartburn flares about once a week so it’s not ALL gone, but I’m off all meds including TUMS and I can eat whatever I want (still not wanting alcohol though) and feel good about 90% of the time. I think in about 6+ more months, I should be rid of it all together. One thing healing has made me realize is how SLOW it is. For someone who’s life revolved around productivity and getting things done fast and efficiently, slowing down was extremely hard for me. I did not realize how much time it takes to heal your mind, body and soul. Give yourself time – I’m going to say it again – GIVE YOURSELF TIME. Before complaining and feeling depressed and down on yourself, wait at least 3 years, ha!
The re-inflammation of my lower leg tendonitis has resolved. The diastasis recti opening up has gone down to 2-3 times year, if that, as I know what aggravates it to pop out and don’t do it. I no longer have any problem painting my nails, clipping my toe nails, shaving my legs or reaching my nether regions to wipe. I will admit that I still get hot flashes from doing very little physical activity; helping my daughter get her PJ’s on, loading laundry into the washing machine, walking to get the mail, BUT, it doesn’t happen daily like it used too; maybe 1-2 days a week now. My endurance has increased. I can now go on walks with my children, I’m able to go to the zoo for the day and walk around and I can do my grocery shopping without shooting pain in my legs within 2 hours of starting. I no longer have daily pain. I can say that most of the time I’m pain free from all of the things that used to consume me daily: upper back pain, hips, lower back, feet/ankles, shoulders, thighs, calves, etc. I still get extremely tired but I find it’s on the 2-3 days right before my period and then it’s over. So I suspect it absolutely is hormonal as it’s consistent and happens every month no matter my physical activity, sleep patterns, etc.
Unfortuanly my immediate family members still don’t support me. I can not go to them nor can I talk to them about my struggles. I tried, let me tell you how hard I tried, to get them to understand what I was going through and comments about my weight and me failing recovery because I was still fat were not helpful. My therapist just told me they weren’t safe people to talk to about it and so I just stopped looking to them for support. Was that incredibly hard? Of course – it was devastating. But I wasn’t prepared to cut them out of my life for not doing the work to understand what recovery from and ED entailed. Would it have been nice – of course! Did some of my very close friends take the time to learn how to support me – they did! As I mentioned earlier, I set boundaries around discussing my weight and ED and my family has respected them.
I can’t say that I have any more body dysmorphia – I’m not shocked or surprised when I see my reflection or pictures of me on social media. But I don’t always like what I see. It’s SO HARD. For my entire life I was bombarded with images of skinny people. All of the overweight women in my family were ALWAYS taking about how fat they looked. Kids at school would make fun of the fat kids. TV shows, ads, magazines….it was (and STILL IS) everywhere. It’s so hard to fight back against that. That little voice, sometimes it doesn’t even have to say a word, is able to say something like “yeah, your stomach is disgusting – no wonder your husband is repulsed by you”. Like really, REALLY? How in the world is that helpful? It’s not, it makes things SO MUCH harder. So I’ve restarted mirror work. I never really gave it a good shot because I wasn’t really loving myself. I had to learn to separate my body from me. Even if I was in a different body, I’d still be me. The person who deserves love, the person who is worthy simply because I’m a human being. The person who’s value isn’t based on how she looks or what she can do for people. I am lovable no matter how big or small I am because it is not my body that determines my worth. And so, very slowly and everyday, I learn to look in my EYES, my HEART and my SOUL for the love I have always deserved. It’s so damn hard, but I’m committed. I feel like this is that LAST STEP that I can’t take because my abuser still lurks. When he leaves the house, even for 10-15 minutes at a time, there is this weight lifted off my shoulders. I take long, hard, deep breaths. I am safe.
Clothing is ok. I’m lucky enough that I don’t need a fancy wardrobe. I’m able to find enough stuff at Old Navy, Costco and Marshall’s/TJ Maxx. I still to this day can not show my belly. Meaning, I still have to wear oversized baggy sweaters and shirts. I know it makes me look “larger” but the feeling I get from not having anything form fitting around my stomach far outweighs how I think I look. Nothing is ever pressing on my stomach, I never wear shape wear, and I always make sure I have elastic waistbands. Comfort is my mail goal. I no longer wear high heels and love my crocs. I actually have to stop myself from judging myself. It’s one less thing I have to worry about. And because my size hasn’t changed, I don’t need to keep buying 2-3 sizes of everything, ha!
So I’ll end of here for now. I know I’m not posting like I used too – I’m in a horrible bout of depression and just have zero energy, stamina, desire, for anything. I do the bare minimum and I lay in my bed. I’m not in the best place. I hope that you are much better than I am.