Today I practice forgiveness. Daily. I am no longer the queen of grudges. And I am much happier because of it. That doesn’t mean I don’t still get mad at people. I do. I just feel the feelings and then let them go.
I would get nowhere holding onto the grudges I was holding on to. I would spend so much energy hating so and so. Meanwhile s/he would be going on with their life, oblivious to the time they were spending in my head. I would be like, “How dare they go about all happy and crap, when I’m still over here pissed about what happened.” It just wasn’t fair.
Then I heard I quote from the mighty O herself (Oprah) on forgiveness: “Forgiveness is giving up the hope that the past could have been anydifferent.” She went on to explain that it doesn’t mean that what happened to you is ok. Just that you accept that it happened. Then move on.
I have an ex-boyfriend who was physically abusive to me for years. To say he isn’t my favorite person would be an understatement. But I have forgiven him. I don’t want him in my life, but I still have forgiven him. I can see him now and not want to immediately run and hide or have the urge to mentally kill him with my thoughts. People are amazed that I can have polite small talk with him. I’m a different person now than I was when we were together. I’m no longer the insecure girl with no self esteem. The girl who allowed him to walk all over her. He doesn’t know the new me, and he probably never will. And that’s fine. Just because you forgive someone doesn’t always mean they have to be in your life. You can forgive people that have passed away, moved far away, or will never ever see again.
Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself. The word itself is FOR GIVE. Give yourself this. Make peace with the past for you. As long as you’re holding grudges and what not, the other person still has control and power over you. Release it. Surrender. You don’t have to call the person and let them know what you’re doing. Make it personal. Something between you and your Higher Power. Just do it. Practice it daily. I promise your life will be so much more peaceful and calm. Don’t we all want that? I know I do.
Relapse is a part of recovery. It’s going to happen. Accept it.
The most important thing to do when it happens is DO NOT beat yourself up over it.! DO NOT!!! You’ve spent years beating yourself up already. Now is the time to take care of you. Practice self forgiveness. Practice self love.
There was a time in my recovery that on the outside to others, it seemed like I was getting worse. People that cared about me were worried. Asking me if treatment was a good idea. I told them yes. It was working.
What they didn’t know was that I was finally dealing with all the negativity that my e.d. had protected me from. All theses scary emotions were coming up. I was having to deal with situations that happened years ago. Things I should have dealt with and felt then. Not surprisingly, it was a bit overwhelming at times to say the least. There were a few days when after a tough therapy session, I would have to call in sick to work the next day and just stay in bed and cry all day. I can see why people thought I was going backwards and not forwards. But I knew that every tear shed was a tiny victory for me. Me – who used to view crying as weak. Me – who used tears to manipulate others. I was now bawling unabashedly. Reveling in my sobs. I was mainly mourning the three year old inside me who lost her dad and didn’t understand why. I was mourning the unhealthy ways I tried to protect the little girl from getting hurt. I was begging for her forgiveness.
Now when the emotions would get too much – and they did – I would lapse. Notice I said lapse, not RElapse. To me lapse is more of a temporary situation. You fall down, get back up. A relapse is when you stay down for awhile. How long, of course, is up to you. It’s always upto you. Hopefully not for long. But if so, forgive yourself. (FORGIVE=GIVE FOR YOURSELF) Know that it happens. It is a part – a vital part – of recovery. I’ve heard it shows that you are on the right track of recovery. You are. Get up. Brush yourself off. Keep looking forward. Don’t give up.
I’m dating myself by saying this, but I saw this video for the first time many years ago when I was still sick. It was late at night when it came on MTV, and I believe I was not sober. The video made me cry. It is a beautiful song and video. Enjoy.
It was my first therapy appointment. I just got through giving my new therapist the brief history of my life story and my eating disorder. I knew I was angry. At the world. At everyone. At her for even for saying that.
She told me she wanted me to go home and make a list of all the people I was angry at. I told her that there wasn’t enough paper in the world. (I was making such a great first impression.)
Well I did. I put down everyone I could think of. From WAY back. We’re talking from the girls who teased me in kindergarten up to the ex-boyfriend I was currently living with. No one was spared.
When I finished and read through the list, I had to put someone else on top. Myself. I was mostly angry at myself. For ending up having to get help. For getting sick enough to need help. For feeling ashamed at being sick. I deserved to be on top of that list more than anyone else.
Anger was always a very scary emotion for me. I never learned how to deal with it. I grew up with my mother constantly telling me that if I have nothing nice to say, then say nothing. And the always helpful, “A lady never shows her true feelings.” (When I told my therapist these words of wisdom, she exclaimed, “Bullshit!”) So it’s easy to see how I could have developed an e.d. to help me to cope with uncomfortable feelings.
But with getting better, you have to learn how to deal with all the junk you’ve been avoiding. And anger was a big one for me. All anger is, is sadness putting on a tough face. That’s it. We as a society are more comfortable showing anger than tears. I wasn’t very good at either.
One of the ways I would get anger out in the beginning of my recovery was to drive around at night with my music blaring and just screaming at the top of my lungs. I would have the angriest music I could find on and just scream and scream. I felt so good to finally get out all the years of pent up anger out out out. Believe me, there was a lot of it to get out.
I did just mention that I was living at the time with my ex-boyfriend. (Under no circumstances would I ever recommend this to anyone.) One day I was really mad at him for something. He was not at home for me to tell him. I saw one of his t-shirts laying on the floor. I’ll never forget it. It was purple. I picked it up and just laid into it. I ripped that shirt to shreds. Tore it up. It was just a bunch of torn strips when I got through with it. I didn’t have an ounce of negativity left in me. There was some guilt in what I did to one of his favorite shirts though. Oh well. Looking back, I should have owned up to what I did a few days later when he went looking for it. But I played dumb. I thought to myself that it was better his t-shirt took a fall, than my recovery.
Now I deal with anger a bit more saner. I take a lot of deep breaths. A lot. I do practice yoga, so I have many different breathing techniques at my disposal. Talking it out with someone helps too. It doesn’t always have to be the one you’re angry at. Sometimes you just have to vent and that’s fine. What’s important is that you don’t let the anger simmer inside you. Get it out. Journal. Exercise. Tear up a damn t-shirt. Get it out! Feel your feelings.
The only way out is through. The only way to heal is to feel. (I used to hear those two sayings so much in therapy. Just thought I’d throw those out there.)
By the time I finally entered therapy, I knew what my eating disorder represented. I had read all the books. I had analyzed myself up one side and down the other. I knew my e.d. was not about food. It never is. I knew it was a coping mechanism. Starving myself meant starving my feelings away. The less I ate, the less I felt. Binging equaled stuffing my feelings down. So far down that they didn’t exist anymore. Or so I thought. Purging equaled bringing the feelings up. To be flushed down the toilet. I wasn’t puking up the food. I was puking up my feelings. After vomiting, I was void of all feelings. I felt nothing. Total numbness.
But with all my self-analysis, I still found it impossible to stop.
I wanted to – at times. Other times I was so thankful for it. I thought that if I didn’t have it, I would be forced to face myself and all my negative feelings. I wouldn’t be able to handle it. They would crush me. I would die from mental exhaustion. I was sure of it.
Deciding to get help was one of the scariest things I ever did.
I had flirted with the idea for so long.
But it wasn’t until I was scaring myself that I decided to stop. I had been scaring my family and friends for years. That didn’t bother me. I felt they were over reacting. I mean, I controlled it. It did not control me. What a big fat f-ing joke that was. Only I didn’t get it. For me to get the punchline would have had to be me dying, I guess. Thank God and Daddy, I started scaring myself with it.
The purging episodes were getting to the point where I would basically pass out by the toilet. The room would be spinning. I would be spinning. I felt as if I didn’t know where I was or who I was. I would pull myself up by holding onto the sink. Once standing the room spun more. My eyes couldn’t focus. Everything was muggy and foggy. I would have to get on my hands and knees and crawl to my bedroom, where I would have to pull myself up on the bed. Once safely under the covers, I would pass out.
Now I’ve always been one for the dramatics, but this was a bit much. This wasn’t me being a drama queen. This was real.
I was scared.
I didn’t mean to start crying on the table of my gynecologist’s office. I really didn’t. All he did was ask me how I was doing and the floodgates came bursting open. I told him how I was starving myself and that when I would eat, out it would come. How I tried and tried to stop, but couldn’t.
When he was finished examining me, he left the room saying he was going to call (the treatment center I went to). I am to this day ever so grateful for this man. I really don’t think I could have ever made that call. But for some unforeseen reason, I was made to cry on that table, however embarrassing it was. And it was.
I could hear him in the hall on the phone taking charge. He told me to come out and talk to them. They made me an appointment for me to come in for the next week. I am told to come by before to fill out papers and a questionnaire about my e.d. to see how best to treat me.
I am at once scared and excited. All for the same reason. The thought of giving up my constant companion, living without it, making it through life without it, succeeding without it. I was split down the middle. A part of me was like, forget it, you’ll never make it. You’re wasting their time and your money. The other part was filled with unspoken hope.
It is scary to ask for help. Very. For so long, we have been hiding in shame with our disease. We thought we didn’t deserve help. Other people do, but we don’t. I’m here to tell you, you do deserve it. You can’t do it alone. Ask for help. It is out there.
There will be many times in recovery when things get tough. This is a test and you will be tested. Be prepared.
My first real challenge came about two years into my recovery. My mother suffered a brain aneurysm. If I hadn’t been at home to call 911, she would have died for sure. Luckily I was there and did call. She was rushed to the hospital. They began running tests on her to find out what was wrong. They figured out that she had suffered a brain aneurysm and they had to do surgery on her, but only after they had her stabilized. On top of that, they informed my siblings and me that there was only a 50% percent chance she would make it. Take a wild guess how I wanted to deal with it all.
All I wanted was a cheesecake and quick access to a toilet. I didn’t want to feel. I didn’t want to feel the helplessness, the fear, the uncertainty, anything. I wanted to be numb. Completely numb.
But I knew that would not help anything. It wouldn’t serve any purpose. It wouldn’t change anything. It would temporarily help me escape my problems and feelings, but they would still be there when the numbness wore off. My mom would still be in the hospital with an aneurysm. How would my relapsing help? It wouldn’t. It wouldn’t help me. It wouldn’t help her.
So what did I do? I prayed like never before. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I prayed to God and I prayed to my father who passed away when I was three years old. I asked both for strength and to watch over mom. I also cried a lot. A lot. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep. I ate. Slowly. I was careful not to eat fast, because I wanted to go into full on binging mode so bad. I did not let myself get too hungry either. I took care of myself.
I’m happy to say that my mother and I both made it through that horrible time. That time in my life has been the biggest challenge to my recovery. It was one of the most frightening times of my life.
Just know that you will be tested in your recovery. I hope you pass with flying colors. Be strong.
