"Wait, Did You Really Just Glaze Right Over That?"

Alright, will quick update: the boyfriend and I are alright again. Didn't take nearly as much time as our discussions had indicated for him to say "I've made a mistake". With all of the shit that men have put me through over the years, not a single one has ever said that. I have an immense amount of appreciation for that kind of ownership of one's actions. It also helps that he is just such a genuine sweetheart.

At any rate, this whole process has been opening my eyes to something that I think I started to touch upon in my last post. I am really starting to get myself together enough to where I actually am able to be there for other people. I was in my therapy session today (second one this week actually) and I was going into all the details with her. Then, I said something that she had to stop me and point out to me:

"It is just so weird to me. I am not used to being the calm one. I am not used to feeling like I actually have it together. Like I am in control of everything that it is that is going on in my life. I mean, things aren't quite where I want them to be; but, I know that they are heading in that direction. I just don't get derailed by things the same way that I used to".

It is such a wonderful feeling. Knowing that I am finally to a place in my life where I am who I want to be. There are little things that I need to keep working on. That will always be true. That is normal. Yet, I am ok with where I am and who I am and what I am doing. I no longer feel the need to be protected. I don't even want to be. I want to keep proving to myself that I can do all of this on my own. I won't really be changing that much more about my values over the next several years. I have gone through a rapid succession of huge life changes in the last four years that are beginning to come to a close. It feels pretty damn good to say that I think I came out on top, all things considered.

The best part about all of this is that I can finally feel outside of myself. I used to be so intent upon helping others. I took everything upon myself, except for my self. I stressed myself out trying to focus my efforts outwards. I wasn't ready to look at what was going on inside. Then, I had to. I looked at myself and I didn't like where I was at or what I was doing or where I was going. So, I turned inwards. I let a lot of people down; but, I renewed my trust in my self. Better yet, I built that trust from the ground on up.

I have spent the few years focusing my gaze increasingly inwards. I became incredibly self centered and fixated upon how every thing impacted me and my emotions. I was completely oblivious to those of others. Particularly in the moment. It wasn't because I didn't care. It was just that I had no knowledge of how I actually felt about things. I had to study myself. It was this intense phase of introspection. It made it nearly impossible for me to be truly accountable to those in my life.

Now, I finally understand myself in the moment. I don't need to spend hours reflecting just to grasp how a few minutes of my day impacted my emotions. I am able to recognize my own thoughts, feelings, and behaviors in close to real time. If things get really intense, then I know how to do that introspection and get myself sorted out. I can handle myself now. 

That means that I am now able to look outside of myself. I am now able to do so in a way that is genuine and authentic and in line with my own needs. I don't overstretch myself the way that I used to. My desire to help is no longer a desperate or frantic pursuit to prove my own worth to myself and others. It is actually out of a genuine concern for people around me. My interests in their lives are sincere. I am finding it to be an incredibly eye opening and mind broadening.

This sense of internal stability has been growing in me for the last 6-8 months. I have been tested a fair amount in that time. I have managed to prove myself over and over again. Maybe not in the eyes of some of those around me; but, in my own. Which is the pair that I care most about.

I am not this weak, sniveling little girl anymore. I am not unsure of myself or my stance. I know what I am about. I know that I won't bend or break on very many areas for very many reasons. I am sure of myself. I know that I can actually stand to hold my load and help take some of the hardships off of others.

Thank goodness. Considering that I want to be a therapist in about 2-3 years.

Frankly, I think that I am going to be a brain ninja of epic proportions. That may sound cocky to some; but to me, it sounds like exactly what I have always wanted to say.


Bring it on all you scared, broken, unsure souls.... I am about to throw some ninja stars at your cognitive errors and repressed emotions.

By "about to", I obviously mean in a few years ;)



Peace, Love, and Strength

One Thing is For Sure... I am Destined to Be a Therapist

I am trying to figure out how to go about this post without being too revealing of personal details and still able to focus upon the reality of the situation. Hmmm. Tricky tricky tricky.

Well, my ex boyfriend read(s) my blog. He practically stalked it yesterday. (Duh). I got a bit peeved when I got a comment from him to approve. Not because I have a problem with him reading. Because I told him that I needed space to deal with all of this. That I needed him to be respectful of that. So, I told him. Which opened up a conversation.

Why is it that in every fight there are a multitude of layers of total and complete bullshit that you have to sort through before you get to the actual point? It is not at all time efficient.

Well, sure enough, not only were there layers of bullshit that were organically there... He had also contrived an additional layer of bullshit. Which, I am not going to lie... Is silly and immature and a bit hurtful; but, he is a bit new to this whole "being challenged" thing. So, I am just going to drop it. He eventually told me on his own. I also knew that it was total and complete bullshit from the beginning. I just made the decision to play with the cards that he dealt me. (Being the Brain Ninja that I am).


The end result of the three hours that we spent texting last night is not much different than yesterday. We still aren't together. We still want to be together. He still isn't ready to be together. I am still a brain ninja and able to see the totality of the situation. So, the stalemate has become official and time will have to tell.

He asked for time to see if he could find a middle ground. I have no problem giving that to him. None at all. I don't no how long that will take, neither does he. I know that I have plenty to keep myself occupied in the mean time. More than enough, actually.

I made one and only one request: that he talk to me.


Why? Because I am a Brain Ninja.... that's fucking why.



I have no desire to tell him what to do. I have no desire even say much of anything back. But he needs to say those things. And realize that I am not going anywhere because of it. Which I think brings me to my point.....

The thing about therapy is that it is not curative. It is not like getting a prescription. A+B does not =C. Not when it comes to the inner workings of a human being. It takes a multitude of tactics and an immense amount of time to even figure out what the problem is, assuming that there even is a "problem". Then, you have to do something about it.

The doing is all what the person in therapy does. They are the only ones responsible for bringing about change in their lives. The reason why therapy is helpful is because it gives that individual an outlet for all of the things within themselves that they have deemed unsavory to reveal to others. Things that they are afraid, ashamed, or unwilling to acknowledge within themselves. Unfortunately, the only way that they will stop thinking or feeling those things is if they get them out.


I cannot tell you how many times I have experienced a radical shift in my world view simply from saying something out loud. To either my therapist or a very close friend. Talking is cathartic. So long as it is poignant.

There is this unfair stigma attached to therapy. That there is something wrong with it. That you are in therapy because you are broken or you need fixing or you can't handle your life on your own. That's wrong. Therapy is for anyone who can recognize that there are things within themselves that they are not at peace with. That they desire to have peace with.

Writing can have a similar effect. However, simply having another human being give you an honest reaction or to be in relation with you while you explore these things... that is what makes all the difference. Realizing that there is someone who can see what it is that you are trying to say. Realizing that you are able to say all of those things and not have another human being run for cover. That is what helps eliminate that shame or fear or unsettled emotion.

 I love my therapists. I have had a fair few of them. I have had four primary therapists that I can remember. I have been in groups with about a half dozen other therapists. They all bring something wonderful to your life. Primarily, because they don't expect anything from you. They do not judge you. They do not care what it is that you do. It has no impact on them. They just want you to find peace. They want you to get to a point where nothing can touch you, either. They want you to be able to be safe with the emotions within yourself and within others. That takes compassion. That takes a lot of healing and a lot of time. Not to mention awareness.


I think that I have finally reached that point. I think that I really am getting to where I can separate myself from others. Where I can still be genuine and in relation with them; but, I am not worried about what they do. I know that I will be able to handle my end of the bargain.

Further, I have been through so much that I can recognize the human need in so many others. I can recognize that I did so many things that were probably difficult for my loved ones to watch; but, it had not a thing to do with them. I can also recognize that doing all of those things were necessary for me to become the person who I am today. A person that I find indispensable and incredibly valuable to the world in which I live. I do not think that position will be altered much at this point in time.

I have experienced another shift.

I am recognizing that it isn't all about me. I am finally starting to be able to look outside of myself and see what it is that is going on with those around me. I am starting to feel more comfortable with my own personality. I don't feel as though I need to be accepted. I already am. I can recognize that it isn't always my fault. In fact, in many cases it has little to do with me.


In the case with my recent ex boyfriend, I know that it has jack shit to do with me. I know that it has to do with who he is as a person. It has to do with his pursuit to find himself. He has been hurt just as I have. It had nothing to do with me. It isn't my responsibility, fault, or problem. However, it is my concern. It doesn't have to impact me any further. I have already distanced myself from what it is that is going on with him. I have already been able to see what it is that is happening in him. I saw it months ago. I was waiting for him to come out with it. He didn't go about it beautifully, but then I don't know how I would have been able to handle it either.

I have never been able to be like this before. I have never been able to so completely understand what it is that is going on within another human being. Not because I know the details. Not because it necessarily makes sense or I am ok with it. Just because I can see that he is trying to find his place. He is going through a huge transition. My presence in his life was too much for him right now. Not because he didn't want me there, simply because he has to focus inwards.

I have been there. I didn't bother to be honest with the person that I was with. I tried to placate them. It prolonged my process. By a lot.

I have no idea if this will work out. I tend to think that it won't. However, there is some little part in me that tells me this is the right thing to do. That this is the only thing to do. If nothing else, he and I will simply become important figures in each other's lives. I can't argue with that.

I feel strangely at peace and ok. I don't feel distracted. I don't feel panicked or weighted. I feel like I have finally accepted myself as I am, by accepting someone else as they are.



Therapy is one hell of a drug <3

The Funny Thing About Love

I will start this out with a straight up fact: My boyfriend and I broke up this weekend and the last two hours has been the longest that I have gone without crying since about 10pm on Saturday. I also doubt that I will make it through this post without wrecking that "record". Further, I caution against anybody trying to understand the details of what it is that I am trying to convey in this post. This is my current process and, like all the rest, it is convoluted and difficult to traverse.

The funny thing about love is that real love is not selfish. The reality of loving another person in the fashion that we should all aspire to do is to cherish them on a level that goes beyond your own realm of existence and carries on into theirs, even when your part has been played out. This kind of love is referred to as agape. I do not mean the Christian interpretation of agape. I mean the interpretation of agape from the humanistic and universal lens. Essentially, agape is to love someone on a level that goes beyond reciprocal and selfish love. It is to desire that which is best for another, not that which is best for you. It is to understand another's humanity and to value that in a selfless way. Agape is self-sacrificing and all encompassing. It does not have stipulations. It does not have conditions. It does not have limits. It is unconditional. Yet, it goes beyond the physical connection with another person. It is something that extends on the dimension of time, not space.

This is the love that I have always aspired to experience.

It is not easy to navigate the complexities and travesties of life. I have been beaten down to a cowering pulp by circumstances. I am who I am today because I did not stay on the ground. I chose to stand up. I chose to open my eyes to the outside and to the inside. It was not an easy choice. It is a hard choice. It is a choice that I continue to make every single day. Why?

Because I am more authentic today than I have been at any other point in my life.

I still feel pain. Unimaginable pain. I still cry. I still wonder how the hell I will make it. I still question myself. Yet, I allow that pain to be curative, not toxic.

The pain that I am feeling now was previously beyond my realm of imagination. Six months ago, I did not believe that it was possible for me to ever allow somebody in to where it would hurt me if they left. I did not think that such a person existed who was worthy of that effort. I now know that I was wrong. I also don't regret it.

I am so happy that I can feel again. I am so happy that I am not as trampled as I was before. I am so proud of myself for how I have handled almost every aspect of this relationship. I have been true to myself from start to finish. It may have been strong. It may have been overly fearful at times. Yet, that was my process. That was what I needed to do. I needed to experience mutual respect.

That is exactly what I have experienced. On a level that I really did not think was possible; but always had hope that it was. In so many ways, this relationship has been an affirmation for me. It is sad that it will not remain within the context that it has. Yet, I think that it is still in the context that it needs to be in order to maintain that respect and compassion.

A year ago, if this had happened, I would have been raging. I would have been a seething ball of anger and rejection and self-depreciation. Today, I am in pain. I am grieving. I am also rejoicing. Well, maybe rejoicing is a bit strong. However, I am able to move beyond my own insecurities and understand someone else. I am able to recognize that it is not about me. It isn't really about us either. It is about life. It is about its ceaseless challenges and adversities.

I do not know how I will handle the coming weeks or months. I know that I will need a lot of space to grieve. I will need to give him the ability to do what it is that he needs to do. I don't think that will be as hard for me as it has been in the past. He did what was right. He is a good man. I am not the least bit angry or disgruntled. How can I be?

He did what I have asked every other man to do. They were all too weak and too cowardly. They could not love me enough to put my well being or their well being ahead of their wants. He could. That is how he is different. It gives me a lot of hope. Not necessarily for us, but for the gender on a whole.

I was such a cynic. I was a man hater. I was without compassion for the emotions of the male species. I actually didn't even recognize them as legitimate or even capable of being expressed. This process has shown me that I was wrong. I am not opposed to being proven wrong. It just doesn't happen very often. It took this series of events to show me that I was.

I didn't really believe in love. Not literally. Not rationally. I clung to it. I clung to it like a child clings to their mother's leg for safety. I needed to believe in it. Yet, I had never been given evidence of its existence. Not in my whole life.

My parents were miserable together. They loved each other in this sick and debilitating way. My mother stayed because she was too weak to be on her own. My father stayed because he could not bear to watch her flounder or my sister wail. My parents fought. My mother griped. My father drank just to smile or disappeared. My mother played on my father's emotions with my sister's and mine. We were pawns in their broken affair. They spent years in different bedrooms. That was what love was to me as a child. It was nothing that I wanted. It was awful and dramatic and without warmth. It was a farce. Everything was a farce to me because of that experience. It took until I went through it on my own to have true compassion for my father. I never understood why he waited until I had to go through it.

I entered middle school and high school as my parents' sham of a marriage reached its breaking point. I remember telling my friends "I never want to get married. It's a bunch of bullshit. I just want to have a career and adopt a baby once I have time". Then, when the split happened, I ran to the first person who would open their arms to me. I dug my nails in. I wanted to prove to anyone that I could that I was not my mother. That I would not abandon them that I would not mistreat them or neglect them.

Unfortunately, I ran into the wrong arms and I ended up getting mistreated and neglected. I then went to someone who wanted to prove to himself that he could be a good man, because his father had not been. He tried; but he was not equipped to help me. He had not yet helped him self. We clung to each other and it became a farce. It became rancid with bitterness and hatred. There was still passion; but, it was not real. It was not deep. It did not permeate. I didn't give much of a shit about what made him happy and he didn't give much of a shit about what made me happy. We were ambivalent about each other's needs. Then, we had a child. Well.... fuck.

We promised each other that we would not do what our parents had done. We promised that we would stick it out and do what was right for our baby. Unfortunately, we were also 21 and naive. He kept fucking up and I kept trying to forgive him. My emotions kept getting pushed down. Deeper and deeper until I felt nothing. The only thing that I really felt was joy when I saw my daughter smiling. I kept trying and trying because I could not get that look of joy on her face when her father and I held her hand out of my mind. Then, I looked in the mirror and I saw the ever present frown on my own. I saw myself beginning to spiral. I saw myself getting bitter and weak and nasty, just like my mother had been. I didn't want that for my daughter. So, I rallied my faith in love and I left.

I told myself that love was real. I told myself that I needed to have faith. That I needed to believe that there was something better out there for me to show my daughter. That I did not want her to struggle with the same doubts that I did. I told myself that even if I did not find love with someone else, then I would at least be able to show her how to love herself.

I have held that faith close to my chest for the last year. I have struggled through almost a year of a custody dispute. Of watching my daughter cry every time she had to go back and forth. Of watching her cling to her Daddy when I had to take her home or cling to her Mommy when I had to drop her off. I watch her throw tantrums. I watch her go through so much pain and difficulty in the process. It breaks me every single day. Yet, I promise myself that it will be over soon and then I will be able to show her everything that she needs to see. I promise myself that I will never make an easy choice; because I never want her to. I left her father because the thought of my daughter staying with that kind of man for the same reasons that I was made me want to vomit.

It was the best decision that I ever made. I have questioned it close to every day. I have wanted to go back on it. Yet, I had faith in myself. I had faith in my daughter. I believe that I can show her something more than what my mother showed me. So, I have conquered my fears and I have faced down every challenge that I have met with as much dignity and grace as I can muster.

All but one.

I did not face love.


The one thing that I felt was most important to show her was the one thing that I kept hiding from. I was so afraid. I was so cynical and skeptical. I went on dates. I had one night stands. I tried what I could bear myself to try. Yet, none of it was brave. None of it involved any risk. It was not satisfying and it was not what I would have wanted to see her doing. Unfortunately, nobody had presented themselves as a potential partner for which I would have tried.

I was beginning to wonder if I was wrong. I was beginning to wonder if I had made a mistake. I was beginning to think that I was right as a child. That there was no loving another person. That it was all about convenience and circumstance. I even tried to work things out with her father one last time. After close to six months of struggling, I caved and tried for another month. I tried to convince myself that it was the right thing. That I had been selfish. Thankfully, I realized that it was the trial period that was the mistake and not the separation. It took him hurting me in a way that I hadn't thought he would for me to remember that it wasn't what I wanted.

I said fuck it. I said that I could do it. I said that I would stick my nose in my books and Parents magazine for the next 4 years. That I would not fuss about love. That I would maintain my fatith; but, I would not ask for proof. I would do what I had to do.

Then, I got struck by lightning.

I met this man that blew my mind. Everything about him was so wonderful. In many ways, it still is. I decided to give it a shot. To try. Try to get myself proof that it was possible to actually care about someone and put their well being ahead of your own. To believe that there was someone out there worthy of my trust.

I got my proof.

I also got my heart broken and my trust annihilated yet again. I am grateful in some respects for the way that he handled it. I wish that he would have explained it more so that I could have some more closure; but, I am grateful to my therapist for helping me to get some on my own. That isn't necessarily his responsibility in the first place. I do not begrudge him or hate him or even love him any less than I did on Friday. In some ways, it is more. In some ways, he opened up to me more in this process than he did in the last 4 months.

I am fighting off the feelings that I am not good enough. That if I had been good enough, then he would have fought for me. That if it was right, then we would be together. I am trying not to say that it was because I was somehow broken. That I was messed up or my baggage was too much for him. That I was too intense and too demanding. In some respects, I was; but, that is who I am. He would not change that about me. I would not change who he is, either.

I am infuriated in many ways over the exact context of the situation. It plays off of a lot of insecurities. Sex has always been an area of confusion for me. I have never understood the desire for adventure in that realm. Aversion to boredom, I understand; but adventure is unnecessary for me. It makes me angry that I am not satisfying enough in that realm. I know that isn't really it; but I can't help but to feel that way on a certain level. One that I know is wrong; but that I must acknowledge.

There is no way for me to not be upset and hurt and angered by this situation. I don't hold it against it but there is no dismissing it or excusing it. There is a fine line. Just because I have compassion for him and his experiences does not mean that I can overlook it when it comes to my own feelings about the situation. I can't. I would hope that I can forgive him if he ever wanted to try this again; but, I can't predict how I would feel 6 weeks, 6 months, or a few years down the road.

I know that I am grateful for him having the nerve to be honest with me; but that doesn't change what he was honest about. I know that I want to try and be his friend; but I don't know if I will be able to handle that. I don't know if I can sit next to him again and not want to grab his hand or slap his face. Two extreme options, from two extreme feelings. Love and compassion versus hurt and rejection.

It hurts that he still cares about me. It hurts that I know I would have fought tooth and nail for him if the roles had been reversed. That it feels like he just dismissed me and the way that he says he feels about me. Not just says, shows; because he doesn't necessarily say it so much as he radiates. Another thing that hurts. That feeling. That electric, all consuming, gut wrenching, heart warming, distinct feeling that envelopes me whenever I got close enough to him. Losing that feeling alone is enough to make me want to curl up in a ball.

Losing the man that is attached to that feeling hurts far more.

Yet, I know that I will be ok. I have made it through this whole novella of a process without crying. I have already begun to nurse my wounds. The pain will dissipate and in a few weeks or at most a few months I will be ok. The desperation will be gone and the resilience will be bolstered.

It is just another step on my journey. He has shown me so much. I know so much more now than I did 4 months ago. About myself. About other people. About my abilities.

I wish it hadn't ended. I don't want the story to be over. Yet, I can't hold out for a to be continued...


I talked to my sister yesterday. By talked, I mean that I cried and screamed into the phone for about 20 minutes repeating "It just hurts. It hurts so much. It isn't fair. It isn't fair. What is wrong with me? What did I do? Why am I not enough? I know he loves me. I know he cares. Why? Why? Just WHY???". Until she finally told me to stop hyperventilating and listen to her.

I begrudgingly obliged her. 

She pointed out to me that I have enough on my plate. That I have a daughter and I a job hunt and the beginnings of a master's program and a career. That I have enough to keep me occupied on my own for the next two years minimum. That I need to focus on building friendships and networking and my daughter. That I am not ready to be with someone and that I am not in a place where that needs to be a priority. That it is a good thing for me to just be on my own for a while. That I shouldn't date. That I shouldn't look. That I should accept this break-up as a break from that aspect of life for a while. That it is ok for me to be alone.

I hate it when she is right.


I don't want to feel like I am waiting. I don't want to feel like I am hoping that he will come back and say that it was all a mistake. I mean obviously there are a plethora of fairy tale scenarios playing out in my head. I have a vagina. It kind of works that way. Thankfully, I also have a mind.

Sure, it would be great if the next year flew by and I had established my friend base and worked out my issues and he had gotten his shit sorted out and we ran into each other at a coffee shop; but, I am not going to cling to that idea. I am not going to do all of this for him. Just like I didn't do everything else I have done for other people.

I have done it for me. I have done it so that I am the best version of myself that I can possibly be. I push myself. I tear myself apart and I rebuild. I claw up a mountain. I get myself to standing. I fall in a pit. I crawl out of the pit and I get to higher ground. I will keep doing that. Every. Single. Day.

Because that is who I am.

I am a fighter. I am stronger and hardier than most people will ever be. I am not perfect. I still have areas where I must improve; but I am not flawed. I am not broken. I have seen to that. I have tested my limits and I have broken through them. I am not afraid of much of anything anymore. Life will not break me. Not very easily. If I was going to lose my shit, it would have happened already.

I will not be looking for a man. I will not be receptive to the gentleman that has been chit chatting with me for the last 45 mins. He is a nice guy. Unfortunately, I am not really interested in grabbing a coffee with anybody who has a penis for a while. Unless it is my gay man or a mentor or a potential boss.

Primarily because I do not want to risk meeting someone else right now. My sister is right. I have too much to work out on my own. It has little to do with my ex. I mean it has something to do with it; but, it has more to do with me. I was already in this phase when I met him. I broke my rules for him. I gave him a chance. I wouldn't say that he squandered his. He just reminded me why I was doing what I was doing in the first place. So, I will go back to doing that for a while.

I haven't really spent much time thinking about what I would do if he actually did say he made a mistake. I would rather focus on the more likely eventualities that would befall me in the coming weeks. Like getting hit by a giant hail stone. However, I don't know that my trust in him is still withstanding. I haven't gotten far enough in this. I don't really know how I would react. I know how I would want to, I just don't know how I really feel about this hurt and how it would impact a re-do.

I guess there wouldn't be a "re-do". There would be a "must-do".

That is another thing for which I am grateful to him. At least now I know what it is that I really want out of a relationship. He showed me a lot of that. Regardless of whether or not he gave it. He showed it. I am grateful for that. I am also grateful for my ability to show him what I needed.

I am hurting. I am feeling alone. I am wondering if I will be ok. Thankfully, I know that I will. I am just human enough to feel that I am not right now. I am so grateful for that.

Few people can appreciate how wonderful it is to feel pain after feeling nothing. I am glad that I got to experience joy in between. I am grateful for so many wonderful memories that I will not push from my mind. I am grateful for this kind of companionship and honesty. I just wish that the timing was a little bit better.

Deep Breaths.

Tricks of the Recovery Trade

So, I was just washing my face and I realized that I haven't put much up about all of the little things that you can do to boost your recovery odds. Why did I realize this after washing my face? Because I have "YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL. Don't Fixate" written on the mirror in my bathroom =D

Although these things are targeted more towards the eating disordered population, I think that just about everyone could utilize them in the pursuit of a healthier and more peaceful frame of mind. After all, our bodies run on food.

Five Easy Things to Bolster Your Recovery

FIRST AND FOREMOST IS TO JOURNAL!

• If there is one thing and only one thing that I can tell people who are looking to change their frame of mind to do it would be to JOURNAL! 
• Now, if you are in the depths of recovery, then you should be trying to journal all day everyday. Journal before meals, after meals, when you talk to your family, when you see a TV add that upsets you, and yeah basically all the time. Now, that doesn't mean that you need to spend half an hour dedicated to putting thoughts on paper. In fact, quick 5-10 minute blips can be quite revealing.
• If you are later on in recovery, then you would probably benefit more for doing the daily (or even weekly) verbose check in with yourself. Just dedicate one hour a week or twenty minutes every day to silencing your cell phone and allowing your thoughts to run wild. It really helps you to connect dots in your life that aren't as apparent when the thoughts are just swirling in your head.
• If you are a skeptic of the benefits of journaling, then here are a few links to verify its usefulness:
• This one is a bit oriented towards those who are in therapy Journaling in Therapy
• For those of you who are more creative Visual Jouranling
• A bit forthright and simple Health Benefits of Journaling

Pack Snacks

• Your body needs food, every 2-3 hours. We are all busy; but that just means that we have to plan ahead:
• I stash my glove box with protein bars. I literally cram the thing until it is difficult to close it.
• I keep a gallon sized bag of nuts in my car. Then I will either stash the whole thing in my purse or scoop out a handful when I go to run an errand.
• I also keep Emergen-C, Vitamin Waters, and Protein shakes in my trunk. These are for a last resort; but, if I am stuck in rush hour traffic, at least I have something.
• You should never force your body to function on empty. That puts strain on your mind and body. In fact, your body will start to go into survival mode after being nutrient deprived for only a few hours. This limits your cognitive abilities and raises your level of stress. So, plan ahead and don't leave room for excuses.

Place Positive Affirmations Everywhere

• Just like my message on my mirror, I keep little trinkets that remind me I am loved:
• A note from a best friend in my wallet
• A picture of my daughter on my phone and my laptop
• A necklace of my mom's around my neck
• A ring from my boyfriend on my finger that says "Be the change you wish to see in the world" 
• A message on my mirror that tells me to step back
• A tattoo on my wrist saying "Bigger Life"
• I find that physical reminders do better than little memos; but, memos to yourself can be a good place to start since it has taken me years to accumulate all of these trinkets.
• Put post its on your mirrors with hearts and kiss prints.
• Write different affirmations to yourself on your mirror or your fridge in dry erase marker
• "I AM Beautiful"
• "Today, I will smile all day long"
• "I have worked very hard to get here, I will keep going"
• whatever it is that speaks to you and gives you a little boost
• Put things on your sun visor that make you smile
• In general, act like you are in middle school and grafiti everything you own to be positive ;)
• For those of you that aren't in desperate need of positive affirmations; but could still use a boost when say 3:00pm rolls around? Try setting up a recurring event on your phone that goes off everyday and has a picture of a cute kitten or whatever your cup of tea is ;)
• For anyone interested in the importance of staying positive check out this article Eight Keys to Life Hardiness

Find Your Flow

• This is something that I try to push onto everybody that I know because I think that it is crucially important. However, I find that it is an enormous challenge for anyone in recovery. When you have spent years on auto pilot, it is difficult to recognize the things that really pull you into a higher state of being. 
• I am going to let another article do the talking for me on this one. Flow is something that has been researched out the ass; but, this article sums it up pretty nicely for you Finding "Flow" This Week 
• I cannot tell you how much I love blogging. I can spend an hour on this and it passes by like it was nothing. Yet, I feel so much better and more enthusiastic about my life when I complete a post. Blogging is just one of my flow states. I have around 4. Find a few for yourself. Enjoy the adventure of trying different things until you find something that really envelopes you :)

Your Body IS a Temple

• This is one that applies to everyone. You cannot reach a higher state of being if you are not treating your body like a higher being. 
• I cannot stress enough how important it is to watch what you put into your body. Excessive consumption of alcohol, caffeine, over the counter medication, food that is devoid of real nutrients (I am all for eating what you want; but nacho sauce from 7-Eleven is not nutritionally sound), sodium, and a slew of other toxins can weigh you down physically and mentally. You won't be capable of fighting the good fight towards a sound mind if your body is being treated like a toxic waste dump. You only get one body, be good to it.
• Another thing that one needs to get enough of is sleep. You must get rest. Some people only need 6 hours to make it through a full day, others need 10 hours just to function. Honor what your body needs. Turn down plans if you need to catch up on sleep. You won't be much fun if you are thinking about how long you have until bedtime anyway.
• I am all for freedom of sexual expression. Truly, do what you want with who you want. This is the 21st century. Just, please, be smart about it. This applies to everyone; but, there is a huge body of evidence to support the notion that females who suffer from eating disorders have a higher incidence of sexual promiscuity. That can completely defeat your self esteem. Personally, I run a relatively exclusive club. It makes me feel special.

There you go! Journal, eat regularly, give yourself positive affirmations, find your flow, and treat your body like the temple that it is!

<3

Things That Still Bother Me, About My Food

I finally went to the doctor today. For the first time in close to three years. Well, I have gone to Planned Parenthood and the clinic on campus a few times; but, that is about it. I was reminded about why I just do NOT like doctors.

"Now, what is your weight?"
"I actually don't know. I haven't weighed myself in 3 years. I don't want to know."
"It says here that you are XXX pounds. That doesn't sound right. You don't look like you weigh that much."
"No. That doesn't sound right. I am usually somewhere in the XXX range. Thanks."
"I will have to ask the nurse to weigh you again. Would you mind putting on a gown?"
*facepalm*

He forgot to weigh me again. Thank god. It will take me weeks to feel safe in recovery again if I can forget that number. I hate numbers. I will worry until I forget it. Once I forget it, I will probably have to go back.

I'm finding another new doctor........ *sigh*

I am going to tie this up with a few other recent occurrences and then tie it back to the rest of my doctor's visit.

Tuesday evening I had my relatively ritual chat with (one of) my favorite professor. We tend to talk mostly about the current events in our lives and psychology and students. At this point, I consider him to be a close friend and mentor. I value his advice. He is never shy about offering it. Although, it usually comes in the form of a question.

"I don't know if there will ever be a time in my life where I won't see a therapist"
"So, you're a lifer?"
"Haha yeah. Probably. Although, I don't think that I actually need therapy for any kind of diagnosable problem anymore. I just value having the opinion of someone who is outside of the glass and looking in at my life. There is so much more that an outsider can see."
"You don't think that there will ever be a time when you won't need someone else's opinion? Where you will be satisfied with your own perspective and worldview? You don't think that you will actually take a break?"
"Well, I am sure that I will eventually take a break. I think that I will reach maximum capacity for my worldview at some point. I haven't yet, though. There are still a lot of things that limit me in my life. I still have a lot of problems with things that I should not."
"Really? I wouldn't have guessed that. Like what? I mean, can you give me an example?"
"Drive-thrus. I still can't go through drive-thrus."

I then proceeded to explain to him how drive-thrus were a huge component of my eating disorder and my episodes. The sad reality is that, if I am 100% honest, I have had slips from trying to push the drive-thru envelope in far more recent weeks than I am actually willing to admit. I tried, for the sake of trying. And I still failed.

*sigh*

Later that same evening, I went to catch up with a childhood friend of mine. I haven't seen her in probably a solid year and a half or so? Not sure. Our dads were friends back in their party days and we spent the baby years together. We didn't spend much time together between 12 and 19, though. The middle school and high school years were spent apart.

She is this very petite little blonde thing. She isn't a toothpick or anything. She is just short. She has a very cute little curvy figure. I have always thought that she just had a very natural and feminine figure. Never saw any problems with it.

We got into talking about new boyfriends. Ironically, both of them have the same name. Further, the dynamics of the relationships seem to be very similar; but, the roles are reversed. If I want to be black and white about it, anyway.

Well, she started talking about how she isn't comfortable being intimate or naked around him. I asked her why on earth she would feel uncomfortable?!

"Well, this is the biggest I've been! I just don't feel like I look good. I mean look. If I bend to the side, then there is this little roll. See? That never used to be there. I feel like my movement is inhibited. I just feel blech. He likes to put his hands on my stomach and I just recoil. He says I feel soft. I don't want to feel soft."
"What's wrong with feeling soft? That's feminine and supple. He says that he likes how you feel. What's wrong with that?!"
"I don't know. I mean to me, soft just means flabby."

*sigh*

I have been sick on and off for a few weeks now. Sick a bit, then ok, sick a bit, then ok; but, never more than a few days in either direction. Well, I got really sick starting Tuesday night. I have pretty much slept this entire time. I also haven't been able to eat very much. Everything just seems unappetizing. I forced myself to eat three different kinds of soup yesterday. That was about it.

Normally, when I am sick. I don't allow my lack of appetite to impact my food consumption. It makes me anxious to allow things to get in the way of my food. If I notice that I am getting a secondary gain of possible weight loss out of something; then, I immediately overcompensate for it.

I just couldn't bring myself to do it this time.

I did not like the thoughts that I had getting in and out of the shower today as a result. It just forced me to mentally bitch slap myself back into recovery mode.

Only to go and have the doctor tell me my weight. -_-

He also told me that I should look into cutting out gluten and lactose. I have done it before and it has helped with my energy levels a lot. He reminded me that for someone who has chronic fatigue and headaches and constant digestive problems, gluten and lactose can be very irritating and harmful. He also reminded me that processed sugars can have the same impact. He wants me to try to cut them all out for a full month after I finish my antibiotics.


These incidents are all tying together to form one big picture for me. One that my professor laid out in one very perfect question:

Am I going to be a lifer?



The thing about all of these instances is that I have a handle on it. I can already feel the number of my weight fading further and further into the back of my mind. I already told my ED voice to fuck off when she suggested that I get on the scale at the gym just to make sure. I already went straight to the grocery store and got myself some calorie rich and gluten free food. I decided that I would still soothe my PMS with some dark chocolate almonds and dark chocolate pistachio toffee. He said that I had until the antibiotics were over....

I am ok. I am safe enough in my recovery to push myself. I have a good support system and I know my red flags. I know what I can and can't do; but, I also know how to cope healthily if I do.


I remember when I was in treatment, we went on outings every once in a while. The therapists would drive us to CVS or a movie or to lunch. We got out of lock up at least twice a week. Well, one of these outings resulted in a conversation that will always resonate with me. It is one of those memories that is clear in your head. Like a movie reel. I even remember what exit we got onto the freeway at.

One of the girls was talking to the therapist (who happened to be quite slim, naturally):

"How do you know what the right amount of exercise is?"
"Ha! I am not the right person to ask that question."
"What do you mean? You are so tiny! You exercise."
"Ha! Actually, no I don't. I ended up in a wheelchair when I was sick from running too much. I haven't exercised much since I got out of treatment years ago."
"So, you don't exercise at all?"
"Well, I am actually trying to start again. I am getting older and it is just unhealthy now. It isn't because of the weight. My weight is fine. Unfortunately, my muscles and my joints aren't. My doctors have been trying to get me to start. I guess that when I got into recovery, I just went from one extreme to the other."
"Wow. I don't know if I could ever not exercise."

In my head, I was thinking the exact same thing. I thought that the therapist was lying to us. I thought that it was impossible. I couldn't stand only being able to go on 20 minute walks three times a week, yoga twice a week, and an hour of light weights twice a week. I thought that was incredibly restrictive and impossibly limiting with regards to my exercise. I also didn't consider myself an over exerciser. Yeah, to me, 3-5 hours at the gym was 5 times a week was completely normal. HA!

Well, I am coming up on 4 years since my discharge and almost 3 years since I had my daughter. I can tell you in complete honesty that I have done the exact same thing that therapist did. I have not had a steady or healthy work out regimen, ever. I will try to start one and then the numbers freak me out. I don't even put my weight into the machine (don't know it, remember); but, the calories still count and I still focus on them. It pisses me off, so I stop going. I will do yoga regularly for about a month (max) and then I will get sick again. I won't start it back up.

Unfortunately, I have found this very safe area for myself. One that is still full of extremes; but, extremes that seemed to be the healthy counter to my previous ones. Which, they were. They were helpful for a very long time. That period of time was necessary in order for me to gain the necessary confidence. See, although I am nervous about finding a middle ground, it is anxiety and not fear. I know I can do it, I am just worried about the process.

It is time for me to lower my head down and charge again. In yet another area of my life.

It seems that this whole process of introspection and evolution is never ending for me. I am constantly finding things that are not to my satisfaction. I don't deem them wrong. I just think that I can do better. I can always do better.

So, I will be attempting the following in the pursuit of better health:

• Eliminating gluten, dairy, and meat (except fish) from my diet. (I already agreed to eliminate the meat for my dad.) While still maintaining an adequate intake of calories and eating six times a day.
• Limiting my intake of processed sugars (I can't give up chocolate... I draw the line there) and caffeine (two quad shots a day is not healthy).
• Limiting my alcohol intake. I will not permit myself to have more than 3 glasses of wine once a week. Except for a once a month intoxication if it is a social event (i.e. girls night)
• Implementing the exercise regimen from my treatment facility:
• yoga 2-3 times per week (45 minutes)
• cardio 3-4 times per week (20 minutes)
• weights 2-3 times per week (45 minutes)
• Trying to meditate once a day....

I will not cater to these things above the following responsibilities:

•  Social events (I won't skip the yoga to hang out and watch Futurama; but I will skip it if there is a big family dinner or friendly outing)
• Caloric intake. (if I am on a road trip or there is no food available that fits into this, then I will eat what is available to me and not skip a meal)
• Homework (if I have an exam to study for, then that comes before exercise
• Health (if I am sick, then I will not force myself to exercise)

There. I feel as though that is a health centered and not weight centered lifestyle change. I typically shy away from putting these kinds of details on here. However, I would hope that this helps those of you who are still struggling to see that it is possible to develop a healthy middle ground. I will obviously keep you all posted on how I am doing with all of this. I am a bit nervous about it. However, I feel a lot better having given myself the wiggle room in the not portion.

I will also NEVER do any of the following again:

• weigh myself
• count calories (making sure that you are within range is different than keeping a tally, ladies)
• push my body beyond a healthy limit
• take diet pills or supplements targeted at weight loss or energy increase
• fit my life into my food or exercise

I am doing this to push myself towards better self confidence in my recovery. I am trying to put myself through some exposure therapy to prove to myself that I can handle this. I am not legitimately concerned about it. I am nervous and anxious and a bit worried; but, I know that I have the peace of mind to make it through. I know that my daughter deserves to have a model of balance rather than of chosen extremes.

Peace, love, and strength my dears :)

We All Have Our Solid Areas

I had a very interesting talk with my boyfriend last night. Not that we don't typically have interesting talks; but, last night's was particularly intriguing.

We like to play the Question Game. It tends to get us into a bit of trouble at times; but, we like to play it any way. Well, we spaced on moving the laundry to the dryer and decided we would camp out until it was dry so that security couldn't lock our sheets up. We brought smart phones and wine. Everything necessary for a good time when the two of us are together.

Que googling "awkward questions to ask on a date".

Oh yeah... we went there......

Well, after discussing most attractive features and common mistakes in relationships, we got to the good stuff.

"What is your idea of a truly successful relationship?"





Truth be told, I haven't spent much time thinking about successful relationships; only failed ones. So, I decided to wing it and answer as best as I could. For me, the ideal relationship shouldn't be much different from your relationship with your best friend; except that you live together and have sex. I think that a relationship that lasts needs to involve a level of communication and personal appreciation that goes beyond affections.

He answered that he wanted to be challenged. Which is where it got interesting. He actually admitted that he doesn't think he is right about everything and likes to have his mind broadened. I am pretty sure I had what can only be dubbed a mental orgasm. I love to challenge people!

Then, I hear that which makes me smile like a two year old being told that they can't put their feet on the table (which means I will try my ankle): "There are things that I won't change on, though. I have certain areas that are pretty much solid for me".

I being the curious type, ask for a few examples. He being the cautious type, gives me one that he knows I agree with. Pussy....

He doesn't like when I call him that. He does this cute southern things that I look like a retard when I try to mimic. It's like he sucks in air through his teeth with his lips. I don't know but I think it's by far the cutest way to express frustration. Plus, it usually means that I am going to get what the two year old in me wants: a challenge.

"Well, like the whole 'everything happens for a reason' nonsense".
(he obviously reads my blog...)

Oh yeah... here comes me referring to a Scrubs episode. Here is the clip from Season 6 Episode 14. Spoiler alert ;)

Now, this is where my mind has taken our little discussion down a new and interesting path. I did not always believe that everything happened for a reason. Real quick, for the sake of clarification, I do not think that a higher power or god or anything like that is the reason. I just like to believe that all of the events in our lives intertwine and we can't know how something bad can lead to something good; but we do know that things aren't always bad, so they must. Yet, I didn't always have this "solid area".

I was talking to my mentee the other day and she is struggling to keep hold of her identity as she goes through her first gain in the recovery process. I told her that she will lose the identity that she has and create a new one. A more wonderful and complete one. That is the truth as I have experienced it.

When you are in the depths of any kind of disease, addiction, or depression you are not yourself. You are merely a shadow of the person you could be. You will do whatever it takes to make it through each day. Even if you claim to have certain values or expectations, you will bend (even break) them in order to get through. If you find someone who claims to care for you, then you will become like them in order to keep them. If you get a job that requires something of you, you will become what they expect in order to keep it. Few things are worth any extra effort or critique outside of your disorder. You don't even realize it. It is just how you operate.

That is the hardest part about recovery. As you start to try and funnel energy away from your disorder, you begin to look more closely at other areas of your life. Suddenly, you begin to doubt the ways in which you do everything. Nothing is certain anymore. You have no solid areas.

The benefit of this is that you get to turn yourself into the person that you truly want to be. You can become the product of your own hard work rather than of your circumstances.

As I entered into recovery, I found that I liked very little about myself. I did not like my boyfriend. I did not like my style. I did not like my recreational activities. I did not like my outlook on life. I did not like my tattoo. I did not like my piercings. I did not like my fake nails. I did not like how superficial I was. I did not like how spoiled I was. I did not like how sheltered I was. I did not like that I had no deeper meaning or value in my existence.

So, I changed all of it.

Little by little I began to let go of and change the things that I did not like about myself. It was a difficult process. It is ongoing. Yet, it is thoroughly rewarding.

There are few things that I don't like about myself, now. I am still insecure. Yet, it is not nearly as pervasive as it was a few years back. Primarily because I know why I do all of the things that I do and I know that they are right, for the right reasons.

This is the gift that recovery brings. You get to create your own solid areas. From scratch. Exactly how you would like them.

If you have the courage to make the hard choices.

They are usually the best ones :)

Self-Care vs. Societal Concerns

Recently, one of my mentees has been asking me about how you can balance taking care of yourself in the recovery process with all of the "real" pressures in life? Well, I typically don't do posts like this; but I will do one for her.

Here goes!

The Scenario: I am sick and incapacitated. I have a laundry list of things to do. I also have a variety of social commitments. Now what?

The Laundry List

• shower (it has been about 3 days since I washed my hair)
• put away laundry
• do more laundry
• find something to eat (everything looks like it will taste like cardboard)
• clean out my car (there are things growing in there and about 4 pairs of my daughters shoes)
• start reading the 4 chapters of counseling for my exam Tuesday
• start on my advanced statistics quiz which also happens to be due Tuesday (love it when that happens)
• start reading my child psych chapter (long but interesting)
• reorganize my daughter's dresser (my dad's cleaning lady wrecks it every time)
• clean out my bathroom (I can't find 3 of my new nail polishes... something must be done)
• do my taxes! (I hate this but it is easy)
• take medicine and get rest (yeah right!)

The Social Commitments

• therapy @ noon
• class @ 1:30 (haven't been since last Wednesday)
• get daughter to daycare
• date night with the boyfriend tonight
• St. Patty's pub crawl with the boyfriend and his friends tomorrow night (must look hot somehow)
• study group on Saturday with classmates from statistics
• family group on Saturday afternoon

The Freak Out
I don't think that I was quite ready to acknowledge every last thing that I have to do. Did it anyway. Now I am feeling slightly panicked. HOW IN THE HELL AM I EVER GOING TO GET ALL OF THAT SHIT DONE!!?!?! THAT IS AT LEAST A SOLID WEEK'S WORTH OF WORK!
*deep breath* (well, mentally... I can't quite breathe deeply at the moment)

Regardless of whether or not I was ready to look at all of the things that I need to do, all of those things were swirly around in my head. Putting them down on paper actually feels a bit better than just grasping on to thoughts as they flutter through my feverish brain.

The Resources

• my Dad
• my friends
• my boyfriend
• the whole weekend
• technology
• cold medicine

The Gameplan
Social Commitments: these are the easiest to handle thanks to the invention of text messaging

1. ask Dad to take my daughter to daycare.
2. cancel therapy.
3. email my friend to get notes from her for class.
4. ask the boyfriend for a snuggle fest with movies and take out instead of drinks for date night (he really is pretty god damn fantastic)
5. worry about tomorrow's commitments in another 10 hours

The Laundry List: these things require a bit more prioritizing and reorganization
      Self Care: let's get real, I can't do any of this until I take care of myself

1. get a few extra hours of sleep
2. take Dayquil with about a gallon of water
3. search for food (the fantastic boyfriend attempted to find a place that would deliver matzo ball   soup... no such luck... but it's the thought that counts)
4. shower (I will wait until just before I go to the boyfriend's for this one... I'm still to feverish and lazy anyway)

     Inactive Tasks: these things don't require me to do very much; but, I still need to do them

1. do laundry (I just have to sort it and cycle it through... right?)
2. get car washed (this can happen tomorrow)

     Sedentary Tasks: these things require my attention; but no movement

1. taxes (just get er done)
2. reading for counseling (ughhhhhhh)
3. reading for child psychopathology (not so pronounced uggggghhhhhhhhh)
4. statistics quiz (I have to go to campus to do this on the computer program, so it will wait until tomorrow)

     Active Tasks: these things require me to move around; but minimal cognitive abilities

1. clean out the car (this needs to happen today so that I can get it washed tomorrow)
2. reorganize my daughter's dresser (must do this before I can put away her laundry)
3. put away laundry (I hate this... it never ends)
4. clean out my bathroom (I may decide to paint my nails during the snuggle session tonight)

The End Result
I have now organized and regrouped everything that I need to do. I still feel like crap and I still feel as though I have an impossible amount of things to do. However, I have spent about forty five minutes plotting it all out. I can DO this! I know what to do and what order to do it in. It seems so much less daunting than just freaking out inside of my head.


I know that this process may seem elementary to the vast majority of you.  However, this is not an easy thing for someone to do in the early stages of recovery. It takes a whole hell of a lot of will power to silence that voice inside of your head that is screaming at you that it is all impossible and you will never get it done. She screams and screams until you give in and you slip. You end up getting nothing done and feeling awful about the episode on top of it. Worse yet, you have burned through precious time and failed to do anything but make you feel more defeated.

It is so important to take the time to figure out what you need to accomplish. At first, it will seem impossible. Yet, you will begin to feel empowered as you allow your rational side to take over. Funnel that detail oriented eating disordered self into coming up with your game plan. Remember that it doesn't have to be perfect! There will always be things that slip through the cracks and don't get done the way that you want them to. However, it is far better to at least get them done. Then, they aren't weighing so heavily upon your conscience.

Getting all of these things done will help you to feel far more comfortable in your recovered lifestyle. Let's get real here. You can't do all of this stuff when you are deep in your eating disorder. It just isn't possible. Eventually, you wear out. Sure, you can make it through a few days or even a few weeks on adrenaline alone. Unfortunately, your body will end up giving out on you and require several days to recover. Then you are back to playing catch up.

I will make no beans about this. You can NOT do the things that you want or need to do in this life if you are sick. It is NOT possible over the long term.

Granted, it isn't sunshine and rainbows living a productive life. It kind of sucks sometimes. I am not going to lie about that. Once you aren't sick anymore, you can't use it as an excuse anymore. You actually have to follow through and complete things. You can't just back out all of the time because you don't feel well. That's because you will feel just fine.

The next step of this will be long term prioritization. Once you can't back out of things, you won't get into things that you don't actually want to. I still find myself over stretching my abilities. Yet, I am getting better at telling people "no, I'm sorry; but I can't". I backed out on a research team. I told my sister that I can't afford to go on a trip. I told my boyfriend that I don't really want to go out. I told my Dad that I can't reorganize the pantry. I even asked him to do it instead. Guess what? He did ;)

I am still in the process of finding myself and my priorities. I am still finding my balance in life. I am still duking it out with my ED voice at least once a month. The point is that I am making progress. I make progress everyday. This is a very slow process. It will test every limit that you have. It will force you to come to terms with things that you don't like about yourself and your life. You will have to start making difficult decisions and letting people down. All so that you don't let yourself down.

Hang in there girl! It gets easier =D

Time to Bolster My Existential Courage

I have been a bit of a Debbie Downer recently. I won't apologize for that. It is all part of the process. Which is the whole point of this blog: to reveal that learning to function effectively is a challenge throughout the recovery process. There are always going to be challenges outside of your food.

The food is only the beginning.

There are a few things that help me in these difficult periods of time. Well, more accurately, things that make the perpetual difficulties seem less overwhelming. Which is what makes the hard times more periodic and less perpetual. ;)

I will make a brief list and then I will explain as necessary:

- Everything happens for a reason.
- Life is short, it is what we make of it.
- "Of course it hurts, the trick is not to care".
- Only try to change the things that I can.
- Count my blessings and my accomplishments.
- Remember, there is always someone who is worse off than you.
- I am still distorted; delegate some judgements to those who are not.
- "The greatest thing you can ever learn is just to love and be loved in return".




Everything happens for a reason.
     I know that this is one of those trite sayings that makes us angry as teenagers. The thing is that it is true. Sometimes, it may take you years to recognize why something awful has happened to you. You will, though. There is always a reason. Furthermore, the best reasons take longer to realize. Whenever something difficult comes up and I have utilized all of my permitted energy on fretting, I begin to search for reasons. They aren't going to be the real one. I can't possibly know why something is happening before it has run its course. Yet, the process helps me to relax and to remember that life is about the journey. You can never know your destination. If you can let go of the need for control. If you can stop fretting about what you thought was supposed to happen, then you will experience the joys of what does happen. It is difficult to do. For me, it has become a common practice. If I can find no reasons. If my reflection leaves me empty handed. I have to accept that the reason is bigger than my scope of knowledge. Which means that it could be wonderful.

Life is short, it is what we make of it.
     The reality of the matter is that we are all going to die. There is no way around it. One way or another, we will all die. Some of us will die of old age. More of us will die of unforeseen circumstances. Plenty of us will die of cancer. Regardless of how it happens, it will happen. It could happen five minutes from now. Life is short. Life is precious. So, how do you want to live the life that you are given?
     If you accept that you will die. Then, there are two options for you. Either you panic and attempt to protect yourself from every eventuality and close yourself off from opportunity; or, you free yourself and attempt to open yourself up to every eventuality and welcome every opportunity. Personally, I feel that the latter is more pleasant. When I am confronted with things that are difficult or challenging or painful, I try my best to make something beautiful out of it. I would rather have good thoughts about this short life of mine than to dwell on the unpleasantness of it.

"Of course it hurts, the trick is not to care".
     There is no way to not feel the sting that comes from a slap across the face. You can't pretend that you don't. That is lying to yourself. That is hiding from the truth. That is cowardly, not courageous. So, you just have to learn not to care that much. You will always encounter things in this life that you cannot do much about. You just have to grit and bear it. So, you must find a way to accept these things. You must find a way to keep them from impacting your daily existence. So what if you are hurting, you still have to keep living this life. If you can recognize why something is painful, then you can let it go and keep it from continuing to hurt you.

Only try to change the things that I can.
     If you can't do something about it, then learn not to care. If you can do something about it, then fucking do it. The worst thing that you can do is to become a defeatist. You can't just accept everything as it comes. You have to make what you want out if this life. Therefore, if something in your life is making you miserable and you can do something about it, then do it. You have to accept responsibility for your life. Eat right, take your meds, get an appropriate amount of exercise, stand up for yourself, go to class, go to work, pay your bills, run your errands, tell your loved ones that you care, and change. Always change. Open yourself up to it. Get used to it. Make efforts to change things that you dislike. Make efforts to change things that could just get better. Then, when you are forced to accept changes that you don't like, you will be more practiced at the process.

Count my blessings and my accomplishments.
     I cannot stress enough how much it means to pat yourself on the back. It is one thing to count your blessings. It is another thing to count your accomplishments. Your blessings are things that you have been given. Accomplishments are things that you must find on your own. You may have been given a father; but your relationship with him is an accomplishment. Do not take the little things that you do each day for granted. Personally, I like to count my blessings when I wake up and my accomplishments before I go to sleep. Start the day knowing what you are given, end the day knowing what you have done.

Remember, there is always someone who is worse off than you.
     It is another one of those trite things which is really helpful in dark times. I remember when my mother died and then my grandfather died and then the custody dispute started. All in the course of about two and a half months. I was on my way to meet with my lawyers and a friend of mine was stopped at the light next to me. I rolled down the window and we started talking. I told her I was having a crappy day. She tells me "My friend's wife just died. She gave birth to twin boys a couple of weeks ago. They died and then she died. So, someone is having a worse time than you are". I instantly felt ashamed. You don't have to go to starving children in Africa to remember that your problems could be worse. Don't diminish them. Just put them into perspective. Remember that you have the means to make things better. If things are really bad, then get a therapist.... they're helpful.

I am still distorted; delegate some judgements to those who are not.  
     I am still insecure. I am still fearful. I am still weak in many realms of my judgment. I recognize these. I recognize when I need someone else to help me see things clearly. I will turn to them and I will trust them. I will allow others to teach me when I can see that I am a novice. When I am uncertain of my body or my food. When I am worried about my relationship or my friendships. When I am in over my head and my ED voice begins to whisper pretty lies into my ear. That is when you turn outside yourself. That is when you ask for help.

"The greatest thing you can ever learn is just to love and be loved in return".
     This is not easy. This is hard. This requires your heart and your head and your trust. It is a battle. It is something that very few people ever truly accomplish in this life. It takes surrendering to something which is bigger than you are. Surrendering to the needs of another while maintaining your own. It is about balance. It is about the pinnacle of human existence. To accomplish this is to have accomplished something truly wonderful. Something that only you and one other person will be able to tangibly experience. This is my greatest pursuit. I do all of the others in order to get to this one. I must handle everything within myself before I can care for someone outside of myself. This is something that is crucial for everyone to understand. Love is wonderful. Yet, there are costs. There are always trade offs. You can't begin making trade offs before you know your own needs and abilities. Just keep the faith. Believe that you will find it when you have found yourself.

 
I feel better now.

Hope you all can glean something from this =)

Life is a Bitch.... Fuck Her Till She Screams

I pride myself on my optimism and my strength. I do my best to keep my head held high and my heart in a happy place. I am failing in that in the last 11 hours or so.

I am not handling things with my typical gusto. I no longer have the ability to handle the circumstances of my life on my own. Unfortunately, I have to ask for help. There is no room for error or for fun anymore. I have to put on my game face and bust ass again.

There are few things that I despise more than feeling as though I have lost control of my life and what happens to me. At the moment, I am catastrophizing and I feel as though I have. Worse yet is that there is no end in sight for another three years.

Three years is a long time. A lot happens in three years. Three years ago, I was 6 months pregnant, in an abusive relationship, struggling with my body image, not completing coursework, riddled with anxiety, and unemployed. I had no real grasp on what I would do with my future or how I would shape my life. Everything was this impossible haze. I didn't know where to start.

Now, I don't know how I will finish.

I have come to far to turn back now. Yet, I don't feel as though I have it left in me to go the duration. There are so many loose ends. So many disappointments. I can't even begin to describe how many things that I am fretting over. That I am trying my best to not drill me into the ground.

The most depressing part?

It is about the money.

I am not a money loving person. I like nice things. Don't get me wrong. Yet, I would rather be poor and happy than rich and miserable. Unfortunately, I cannot achieve all of the things that I need to without money. I need funds to pay the lawyers, the daycare, the tuition and on and on and on.

Worse, yet?

I should have had enough. I budgeted. I planned. I laid it all out. I figured out how much I would need for X, Y, and Z. I didn't venture away from that. Unfortunately, I didn't plan on opposing council being on drugs. Ok, that isn't verified. However, he has made enough sporadic and unnecessary legal actions to make me assume as much. All of these actions have cost me money. A lot of money. Twice the amount of money that I had expected to use for this case.

I have always been the black sheep in my family. I graduated high school through independent study, dated two drug dealers, became a pothead, went into an inpatient facility, got pregnant at 21, and spent two years attempting to rid myself of the father. To some of my relatives, I will never be able to redeem myself of the potential that I wasted. I was the top of my class, beautiful, witty, and I had the world ahead of me. Now, I have to beg for their help to make it to what they see as another whim.

These relatives expect me to fail just like my mother did. They see me as her replica. I do my best to make it clear that I am not her. I try and try and try. Yet, there is no way for me to not ask for their help in this situation. I need it.

Worse, yet?

The money that is gone? It came from losing my mother.

I know that it is somewhat irrational and immature; but, that money was what I had from my mother. All of my childhood, she promised me that I would be taken care of. That I would never have to worry. That she would make sure I could make it through school and become independent. Then, she went off the deep end and I was left to fend for myself.

She spent the money that my relatives had put into my college account on drugs. She squandered half of my father's retirement on the same pursuits. I thought that it was all gone. That there was no help coming. That my mother had failed to keep her promise.

When she passed away, my relatives told me that there was something left. That she had insisted upon a life insurance policy being kept for us. Even with all of her transgressions, she was able to insist upon that. There was enough left of my mother in the drug addict to set something aside for my sister and I.

I told myself that I would set a good chunk of it aside for my daughter. That I would start things off right and make sure that she had college taken care of from the start. I wanted that to happen before life got in the way. Before I had the opportunity to fail her in the same way that my mother had failed me.

I wasn't able to do that.

Instead, I have had to spend that money attempting to defend my rights for her. I have had to squander what I had wanted to set aside for her education on making sure that I was able to have custody of her. I have had to defend my fitness as a parent. After spending the first two years of her life begging her father to even contribute to her care at all.

There are no words to describe the level of despair that I am feeling right now.


There is just so much that has gotten wrapped up and rolled together in this. I know that this feeling will pass. I know that it will work out. I know it will be OK.

Right now, though, I feel very low.

What Happens When You Have to Suck it Up?

I have this conditioned aversion to ever saying that "things are pretty good".  My life has consistently shown me that as soon as I say that, shit hits the fucking fan. I have tried over the past year or so to get more accustomed to calm. In my mind, calm equates to the lull between the storms. It is more riddled with anxiety for me than the storm itself.

At least once the storm is here, I know what it is. Waiting for it, wondering what it will be next; well, that is nearly unbearable for me.

I am learning. I'm just a really slow learner when it comes to anything that doesn't come straight out of a textbook.

Learning to accept the calm seems to involve tolerating the unknown. Tolerating the inevitable grey areas in life. Recognizing that, sometimes, you just can not know for certain.

Now, had you told me five years ago that I would eventually have to accept that I simply could not have known everything; well, I would probably have gone off the handle on you. I would have delved into the one thing that I had which was always certain (to my mind, anyway).

My disorder comforted me in times of uncertainty. I knew that if I didn't eat, then I would feel empty. I would be incapable of recognizing the feelings and grey area and the instincts that constantly demanded my attention. I would be empty. I would be able to glide through life. Feeling nothing. No pain; but, no happiness either. I also knew that if things were just getting to be too much for me to handle, then I could just binge and purge myself into oblivion. That I would be able to spend several hours completely disconnected from the world around me. Nothing would be able to hurt me; because I simply couldn't acknowledge the existence of anything.

Several years have passed since I spent my days comforting myself through electrolyte imbalances. Yet, I am still entirely uncomfortable with the unknown. It makes me act in ways that I normally attempt to avoid. I find myself thinking in ways that bring out extreme levels of anxiety. I switch into this bizarre survival mode that makes it impossible for me to ignore anything.

I grew up in a drug house. My mother was nowhere near a functioning addict. Yet, she tried very hard to convince us that everything was ok. I could never expect a straight answer from her. I had to gather the clues and piece the answer together for myself. Twenty plus years of dealing with addicts, alcoholics, chronic philanderers, and liars have honed my instincts into those of a lioness. Few things get past me, unless I want them to.

So, when I find myself in situations where I am not certain or uncomfortable, the instincts come out to play. I feel my ears prick up, my gut wrench, my mind begin to buzz at a million miles a minute, and I begin to scrutinize my surroundings. None of which feels very comfortable. However, it is how I get answers. I know that if I pay attention, then I will know everything that I need to know.

Let's just say that it makes me very awkward at parties.

When I was sick, I did not like that survival mode of mine very much. It made me feel completely insane. For the record, it still does. The key difference now is that I have gotten a bit better at processing the information that I gather than I was when I was a 19 year old bulimic.

It has been close to a year since I have gotten "the shakes". This started when I was around 12 or so. I had a few episodes of it; but that was all. "The shakes" became part of my daily reality when I was around 16. I could simply tell you what "the shakes" are, or I could give you an example of when I would experience them. As a student, I tend to think that applicable examples are key in the learning process.

I was probably 17, maybe 18. My boyfriend at the time had disappeared for a couple of days. This was a fairly regular occurrence. I knew that he would call me to pick him up, eventually. I usually spent the days in between the loss of contact and the rescue with my head in the toilet. Well, I had just had one of those episodes where you collapse and then wake up to find yourself covered in a variety of bodily secretions, when the rescue call came in. I cleaned myself up and drove thirty minutes to the sketch apartment complex where he was at. He hadn't showered in days, his skin was ashen, his breath reeked, he had stains on his shirt, and promptly consumed about a dozen tacos.

Like always, I tried to ask him what happened.....
He had misplaced his phone.
For five days?!
Why do you always have to grill me on this?
I was worried sick!
What are you, my mother??
No, but she has been calling me nonstop!
Either drop it or take me back.

I sure as hell wasn't about to take him back, so I dropped it.

Besides, I already knew what he had been doing. I took in everything about his appearance and the appearances of those he had been with. I had gathered enough information in the thirty seconds that he had me wait in the doorway to the apartment for me to know what he had been doing. Meth and girls.

I took him home to get clothes. I waited in his room while his parents had it out with him. Then he stormed in and told me we were leaving. I gave an apologetic look to his mother and followed like an obedient pup. He had me drive him to a party.

We started drinking and smoking and having a great time. I just kept my mouth shut and everything was fine. He wasn't going to get into serious trouble with me there. Then I realized that I had lost track of him. He had vanished. I looked around the house for close to an hour; but he was gone. I went home. Fretting and worrying the whole way.

What if we had just missed each other walking through the house? He would be furious with me. Why wasn't he answering his phone? What if he went back? How could I let this happen? His mother counted on me to make sure he stayed safe!

The thoughts went on and on until I finally fell asleep.

I woke up a few hours later to my boyfriend climbing my balcony and coming into my bed. He had expectations. When I tried to resist, he questioned me. He was out of his mind on lord only knew what combination of drugs. I did as expected.

Then I started to shake. It was as though I was having a seizure. I just shook and shook and shook. I was trembling all over. I couldn't cry. I couldn't speak. I tried to move around to get myself to stop shaking. My boyfriend told me to chill out and stop trying to get his attention. I got up and went into the bathroom. The noise of my knee shaking against the cabinet woke my sister and my father. They were worried.

The more that I told them that I was fine, the more that I shook. It went on for hours. I spent the whole night trying to calm myself. Trying to soothe the anxiety out of me. Trying to stop the logical thoughts from swirling through my head. I didn't like what I was piecing together. I knew what was right and what was wrong. That week had been very wrong. Worse, I hadn't done a damned thing about it.

I don't remember how the shaking stopped. I think that I eventually just fell asleep.

How many of you can figure out what "the shakes" are for me?






The Shakes: what happens to me when I attempt to repress my emotions, rationalize away my observations; put simply, when I suck it up...



I haven't had the shakes since I broke up with my father's daughter. I think it was a bit before. I'm not sure. It was the typical cause: magnum wrapper and "I don't know how it got there".

I swore to myself that I would never get the shakes again. I promised myself that I would never hold my tongue again. I would not downplay my instincts or  my observations. I would own who I was and why I was that way. I have earned the way that I tolerate uncertainty. I have earned it through many years of pain and anxiety. Through many attempts to deny who I am and what I am capable of. Through feeling worse for the person who was hurting me than I ever did for myself. I can't change who I am. I can only change the way that I handle it.

I don't push the thoughts out of my head anymore. I don't allow the emotion to overcome my ability to think. I recognize my needs and I vocalize them. I still feel bad when they hurt people that I care about, but I refuse to hurt myself instead. I try to honor myself.

I am nowhere near perfect. My learning history has made me someone who is emotional, suspicious, and somewhat irrational in challenging moments. I have a hard time keeping myself from shutting down. It is one of the hardest things for me to do. Yet, I know that I can't keep taking things onto my own shoulders. Eventually, I will break my own back.

I allow my instincts to run their course. I do my best to not sweep their observations under the rug. It is very tempting to do in certain situations. I reach out to those who I can trust to understand where I have come from and what I am trying to do. I count on them to help me understand things the way that someone who hasn't seen the things that I have. Then I decide, logically, if I need to speak up or not. Sometimes, I don't. There are times when my instincts kick in for no reason. The important thing is that I do speak up when I feel like I have to.

I would rather force myself through an uncomfortable situation than spend hours trembling uncontrollably because I knew that I should have.

I remember the first time that I forced myself to avert the shakes. It was when my research partner blew me off for the "last time". I opened up. I told her how much it hurt me that my time wasn't being respected. That I would rather be with my daughter than sitting at Starbucks waiting for her to show up. I don't think she liked it much. The remainder of the project was difficult to get through. Yet, I felt a sudden surge of self confidence.

I want to make it clear that denying your own needs doesn't always have to be in situations of serious marginalization. On the contrary, it can be when you offer to buy lunch for someone when you really need to save your money. It can be forcing yourself to go to class when you really just need to relax for that extra hour. It can be answering a phone call from a friend that you know will spend the whole time complaining about the same shit. It is far better to speak up than it is to suck it up.

That is how I tolerate uncertainty in the present day. I do it every single day. If I am unsure of myself or a situation, then I speak up. I ask. I only turn to my instincts when I feel like there is no other choice. Instead, I try to get whatever answers I can. I try to do so in ways that enhance my communication with others and lessen my internal dialogue.

I don't need to turn to maladaptive forms of coping to feel alright with my emotions anymore. I know that I am a good person. I know that I just have to give myself, and the people around me, a chance to teach me that the fear isn't necessary. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't.

The important thing is that every time I keep my head out of the toilet.

I am still uncomfortable in times of seeming tranquility. I still wonder what is around the corner. Yet, I do not become consumed by it. I remind myself that I can make it through most anything. I know that there are plenty more challenges ahead for me. I'm not going to ruin the here and now by fretting about the could be. I will take it as it comes. Since I know how to do that, there really shouldn't be that much to worry about.

After all, the context is the difference between fear and anxiety.
Fear is what you experience when you are in the immediate path of danger.
Anxiety is what you experience when you are wondering if you will be able to handle danger when it comes.

Depression is what you experience when you aren't able to handle danger when it comes.


So, I am ok with knowing that I will experience plenty of fear before my life is over. I do my best when it comes to anxiety. For the most part, I am pretty sure that I can handle what life has in store for me. I seriously doubt that I will every be depressed again. I speak up, now.



Life is what we make of it. You have to know yourself and know your needs if you want to make the best of it. It is a process which requires an incredible amount of introspection, practice, and more introspection.

Totally worth it, though =)

The Interesting Thing About Having Been Mentally Ill

Regardless of how much I talk about recovery, I tend to forget about the reality that I was once quite mentally disturbed. The reality is that having an eating disorder counts as having a chronic mental disorder. It wasn't just that I couldn't eat my food or look in the mirror. There were so many other things about me that were just different.

A big thing that has very slowly become evident to me is the loss of my victim complex. I no longer desire to have someone cater to me or baby me or even to really take care of me. Granted, I am quickly approaching my 25th birthday. I was barely 21 the last time that I met diagnostic criteria. Yet, I know that this isn't just maturity.

There is something fantastic about finally having someone in my life who has zero prior knowledge of who I was when I was sick. It is as though I get to completely shed the remnants of those thoroughly unappealing patterns of behavior. He could not imagine that there was once a time when I needed someone to bribe me to go and be social. Nor could he ever grasp the concept that someone once brought me the majority of my meals and medicine everyday. Or that I would make myself sick to get the affection that I felt I couldn't get any other way. The victim complex was strong in me. If I was sick, then I was cared about. If I wasn't, then nobody gave me a second thought.

Or at least that was how I perceived things when I had a chronic mental disorder.

Now, I won't even take his jacket if I was dumb enough to not bring my own. I won't ask him to run out and pick me up something. It has happened maybe twice in the past three months where I have actually asked him to do something that was, in my mind, my responsibility. I just don't like feeling as though someone is having to do things for me. I absolutely love the fact that I no longer need people to do a god damn thing for me. If I can do it alone, then I will. If I can't, then I will meekly ask for help.

I think that this aspect of my disorder was the most important to rid myself of. I had grown up in a house where my mother was bedridden for months to years on end. Even when she wasn't bedridden, she still required constant care. The role of a woman that had been modeled for me was that of a helpless creature incapacitated by pain. I followed her lead and soon found myself in an inpatient facility with people changing the toilet paper for me and asking me to count while I peed (etc.). The reality is that acting helpless will eventually make you helpless.

Recognizing that I could do things on my own again was only the first piece of the puzzle. The second was realizing that people would still show me love without my needing it. There is something so wonderful about being able to ask people for help now and knowing that it isn't an imposition. Knowing that they don't need me to convince them that I can be productive on my own. Not feeling as though friendships and relationships are in jeopardy if I can't keep up appearances. That is a huge component of recovery: relationships.

So you see, I was once very ill. There were plenty of problems in my processing of information and my relationships. I had huge errors in the way that I perceived the world around me. It took not being ill for a little while to see just how great it is to be healthy.