Proud.
I am so excited to write this post. I am so excited to share about the things I have learned and the person I have become. That's not to say I am a completely different person than I was before I left for res. I have the same experiences and knowledge I had before, and I have built upon them during my time spent at Living Hope. There were already seeds of recovery planted in me when I arrived, but what I didn't know I needed was the time in this sort of setting to give those seeds the opportunity to grow. I have a garden now. Sometimes there are diseases and bugs that get in and try to harm the beauty within it, but it is too plentiful, too full.
As I begin to write about this journey, I am sitting the the terminal in Oklahoma waiting to board my flight back to Houston, and I am on the verge of tears of joy. You see, the last time I left a treatment facility, as you might recall, I used behaviors in the airport before departure. And then again 10,000ft in the air on the plane. I remember feeling so out of control and powerless. This time I was more afraid to not eat lunch than to eat it. I was afraid of falling of the horse as soon as I was set free. So when the initial thought of not having to eat lunch crossed my mind, my first response was to look where I could get food, and fast. At this moment I realized how different I was. Tears began to well in my eyes as I walked to a line up of food venues. Nothing looked particularly exciting, but I credited that patricianly to the reduced voice of ED that glorified and obsessed over the taste and euphoria food brought me. I decided on a place that served burrito bowls because a) that sounded the most appetizing and b) this place didn't have the calorie counts posted on their menu. I didn't recognize the voices in my head advocating for my health in the way that they were. After I ordered and got my food I headed over to fill up my drink and check out what that had. Only Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, and Dr. Pepper. I hate Pepsi, but I almost got Diet Pepsi out of habit. "No liquid calories!", Ed tried to tell me. But I didn't want Pepsi. I wanted Dr. Pepper, so I got Dr. Pepper. I sat down, ate my food, and reveled the fact that I didn't want to purge. I didn't want to binge either. I just wanted to satisfy my hunger and return to my gate to board my flight. But first I wanted to tell everyone I could about this feat. I couldn't hold it in. I couldn't stop smiling and laughing to myself at how crazy this was. At how I never thought I could be at this place, but here I was.
After I got off the plane I headed to baggage claim to see my parents for the first time in two months. I was surprisingly excited. I felt happy. Who I was really excited to see was my cats at home. They were the first thing I saw when I walked in the door to my house. The second thing I saw was my beloved glass scale sit-in gin the kitchen floor. It shocked me to say the least. This one my mom had taken to work with her many months ago, but I guess she had brought it home in the time that I was away. (Also, before you ask, yes, our scale is in our kitchen. It pretty much always has been which I didn't really think twice about until my dietitian pointed out the absurdity of this earlier in treatment.) My mom had stopped at the store before coming home and my dad went to take a nap after we got home, so the house soon became a battleground between me and that scale. I was flooded with thoughts wondering why it was still there. How could they forget to remove it before I got home? I wanted to go get on it, but I also wanted to throw it away for good. I compromised with myself by taking out the batteries that were in it and throwing them away to make it less easily accessible to my ED. I wasn't quite ready to get rid of it entirely, for this was my scale. The one I bought to obsessively monitor my weight in college and for the first several months of treatment. There was so much emotion attached to it as much as I wish there wasn't.
That weekend was back was full of adjusting to normal life again. I got to catch up with some friends on Saturday evening which was wonderful. It was also wildly perfect timing in that they were going through their closet and a lot of the stuff they were getting rid of was a perfect fit for my new, healthy body. I was sort of short on clothes that fit me comfortably after going home which was hard in and of itself. But having other things to wear that were new and I wasn't use to how they "should" feel on my body was a big relief.
That Sunday morning I was singing in the praise band at my church. Something I really missed while I was gone. I'm really grateful that I am able to be a part of that because it is fulfilling for me in so many ways. I get to do something I am passionate about regularly and share that passion I have with others. It also is a way for me to constantly evaluate and think about my spirituality and how it plays a role in my life. On that note, while I was in Norman, I got the opportunity to attend Life Church on Sundays. It was definitely refreshing to be able to participate in worship from the congregation for a change and refill the cup I had been pouring out to others for so long. I enjoyed their service a lot and the pastor's, Craig Groeschel's, messages. Something that we did experience during these services was how the diet culture has infiltrated even religious practices, especially Christian ones. We began going through a series titled, "Habits" to kick off the new year. Everybody knows the new year is the diet industry's Black Friday, and the messages about changing your body and diet did not fail to enter the house of the lord. While Craig's sermons brought attention to the importance of how small, every day changes can effect your life in the long run. In his words, "Small disciplines done consistently lead to big results over time". You might be able to see where this took a turn for the, um, fatphobic tendencies. Now the premise of this concept is incredibly powerful and life changing if used in a appropriate ways, but from a disciplined and regimented man like Craig, these ways seemed to sometimes cross the line into promoting unhealthy behaviors. Something that stuck out to our little posse of eating disorder patient was when he mentioned that "[He has] a very strict diet". Great, we thought, all turning heads are making eyes at one another, we knew the territory he was introducing the congregation to all to well. He elaborated that every morning he puts 12 blueberries in his bowl of oatmeal that he measures out and if his wife puts in 14 blueberries then his whole day is essentially fucked. Hellooooo normalized disordered eating (honestly, this sounds like more of an eating disorder than just disordered eating but it's not my place to make that call). It's not his fault. But this was a consistent theme throughout the series. I might have even called it: "Habits: Developing a Good Relationship with Christ and a Bad One with Food". Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed his preaching overall, he was exceptionally engaging, funny, and empowering; there were just some... interesting choices in the ways he talked about food and bodies. Not trying to turn this in to a roast at all, because again, I do not blame Craig for the influence that the outside world has on his perspective and values, but something he also discussed is how you become like the people you surround yourself with. He stated that if you are friends with people who go to the gym all the time, you probably will be in that habit yourself. On the other hand, if all your friends are obese, you are 57% more likely to be overweight. This one particularly bothered me because it wasn't merely a depiction of how he treats food and body image in his life, but it can be interpreted that being "obese" (which is a term I do not like to use for reasons that deserve a whole separate post) is inherently bad and you should not be friends with people who are because then, God forbid, you could be too! This is flat out fatphobia: a dislike a of fat people and/or obesity. To sum this unforeseen tangent up, church in Norman taught me a lot of different things.
I don't even know how to smoothly transition from that into what I want to talk about next, so I am not going to even bother. While I was at Living Hope, I was always very much looking forward to going back to my team and peers at CFD in Houston. They had become my people and I was just plain excited to see them again. Since I was discharging on a Friday, my initial plan and intention all along was to start PHP the following Monday. However after not hearing from the admissions coordinator for CFD up until the day I discharged, I decided to email her to check in on how things were going for my intake. I got a email back really quickly from her (literally the coolest most reliable employee I've ever worked with) saying she hadn't heard from anyone at living hope and the next available admission time was not until Thursday. My heart sunk when I read this. I was going to have to put everything I had into making it just through the weekend, so this felt impossible. I tried to talk back to myself and remind myself that however har dit may be, I would get through it, but it didn't make it any easier. By the grace of God before my flight took off to Houston, I got another email from her telling me that there was a cancellation on Tuesday and I could reserve that time for my admission instead. After believing my date to return would be six days a way for a number of hours at that point made four days seem manageable. I was so thankful. But I still had to make it to Tuesday. The plan on Monday to keep myself on track was to go help my mom out in her classroom of four year olds so I wouldn't be alone all day. I knew that this was the best option, but I was still dreading it. I could force how draining it was going to be for me and I was 100% right. By the end of the day all I could do was lay in her classroom floor until she was all packed up and ready to go home. It was the most exhausting thing I had experienced in so long and it didn't help that I was coming off of two months of being almost entirely sedentary 24/7. Needless to say, my stamina was not where it use to be.
Tuesday had finally come. I had made it to my admit day successfully without stepping on the scale in my house. A major win in my book. I was anxious at first because in the email confirming my admission I was told to come in at 10am, but from what I recalled, the center didn't open until 12. Luckily right before leaving I got the time confirmed by my therapist and a wave of relief swept over me as I got in my car to make the good ol' 13 minute drive to my old stomping grounds. It wasn't exactly the same feeling walking in as it was the first time I returned from res. I had been gone significantly longer this time and I anticipated some changes to greet me. I walked in and saw a few familiar faces of staff whom I was excited to see. There were only a few people there because I had arrived extra early to take care of all the intake business. There are just a few highlights I want to mention from my first day. Arguably the most noteworthy thing that occurred took place about half way into my intake around 10:30am. This my was usual AM snack time, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't be tended to unless I prompted the need for it because of the likely assumption that I had had it before I came in. I could have used this opportunity to passively let the time pass and not intervene for the sake of my recovery. It would have been an easy way to restrict. But instead I stopped the therapist doing my intake and asked if I could grab something for my snack. I went out of my way to follow my meal plan.
The rest of the day was full of reunions, smiles, and nostalgia. I was glad to be back. Ready to continue this fight. And fight I did. About a week later I was having a bit of a hard time in the morning hours, not eating to eat breakfast and having the strong desire to weigh myself. I got out the scale that my mom had since hidden, but when I want to find a scale, I will find it. I placed it on my kitchen floor and stood in front of it. And stood there, and stood there. There was a part of brain that was wanting to know out of curiosity, part of it wanting to know so I could change it, and a new part of it wanting to get as far away from the soul crushing machinery as I could. I placed one foot on it and leaned into it, watching the number gradually rise and then fall when I pulled my foot off. I thought to myself, "is this something I want to do?". Again, some of me screamed yes. But I was able to keep talking back to that voice trying to reduce it's volume. I said to myself, "this is only going to hurt you, it's a choice you are being presented with and choosing to follow through with it will not help you in any way". I stepped back. What was the point of putting myself through that? I realized I didn't deserve to do that to myself. That number didn't matter to me. I thought of all the other things that make me who am I aside from it and felt a rush of emotion. Anger, pride, happiness, fear, all at the same time. Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were opening the tool drawer and I had a hammer in my hands. I went out the sliding door to my back porch and laid down some newspaper in a hurry. I set the glass scale on it and crouched above it with the hammer in my hands after setting up my phone to record this moment. I counted down from three and hit it with about 50% force. Nothing happened. It took several attempts and a few different approaches, but when I aimed for the edge of the glass plate, it was game over. It shattered. In an instant into what seemed like a million pieces. My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking and I had this gigantic expression across my face. I slowly separated each piece of glass and placed them into a grocery bag with a new riveting idea in mind. This was entirely too symbolic not to make art out of. I had just enough time before PHP to go to Hobby Lobby with a bare minimum of an idea in mind and get some materials. I am really proud of the final product. I gave it to my therapist and she now has it on the wall in her office. It was so much fun for me to create which was a exciting feeling to have on it's own. I have a feeling this won't be the last time do a project of the sort given how much I enjoyed doing it and the response I received from it. I'm just excited. For the first time in a long time about nothing in particular, but about what the future holds, even though it's generally unknown. I know there will be challenges and bumps in the road to come, but I pray that I am equipped with the support and tools I need to endure them and push through those times. I believe in myself.
Glo
As I begin to write about this journey, I am sitting the the terminal in Oklahoma waiting to board my flight back to Houston, and I am on the verge of tears of joy. You see, the last time I left a treatment facility, as you might recall, I used behaviors in the airport before departure. And then again 10,000ft in the air on the plane. I remember feeling so out of control and powerless. This time I was more afraid to not eat lunch than to eat it. I was afraid of falling of the horse as soon as I was set free. So when the initial thought of not having to eat lunch crossed my mind, my first response was to look where I could get food, and fast. At this moment I realized how different I was. Tears began to well in my eyes as I walked to a line up of food venues. Nothing looked particularly exciting, but I credited that patricianly to the reduced voice of ED that glorified and obsessed over the taste and euphoria food brought me. I decided on a place that served burrito bowls because a) that sounded the most appetizing and b) this place didn't have the calorie counts posted on their menu. I didn't recognize the voices in my head advocating for my health in the way that they were. After I ordered and got my food I headed over to fill up my drink and check out what that had. Only Pepsi, Diet Pepsi, and Dr. Pepper. I hate Pepsi, but I almost got Diet Pepsi out of habit. "No liquid calories!", Ed tried to tell me. But I didn't want Pepsi. I wanted Dr. Pepper, so I got Dr. Pepper. I sat down, ate my food, and reveled the fact that I didn't want to purge. I didn't want to binge either. I just wanted to satisfy my hunger and return to my gate to board my flight. But first I wanted to tell everyone I could about this feat. I couldn't hold it in. I couldn't stop smiling and laughing to myself at how crazy this was. At how I never thought I could be at this place, but here I was.
After I got off the plane I headed to baggage claim to see my parents for the first time in two months. I was surprisingly excited. I felt happy. Who I was really excited to see was my cats at home. They were the first thing I saw when I walked in the door to my house. The second thing I saw was my beloved glass scale sit-in gin the kitchen floor. It shocked me to say the least. This one my mom had taken to work with her many months ago, but I guess she had brought it home in the time that I was away. (Also, before you ask, yes, our scale is in our kitchen. It pretty much always has been which I didn't really think twice about until my dietitian pointed out the absurdity of this earlier in treatment.) My mom had stopped at the store before coming home and my dad went to take a nap after we got home, so the house soon became a battleground between me and that scale. I was flooded with thoughts wondering why it was still there. How could they forget to remove it before I got home? I wanted to go get on it, but I also wanted to throw it away for good. I compromised with myself by taking out the batteries that were in it and throwing them away to make it less easily accessible to my ED. I wasn't quite ready to get rid of it entirely, for this was my scale. The one I bought to obsessively monitor my weight in college and for the first several months of treatment. There was so much emotion attached to it as much as I wish there wasn't.
That weekend was back was full of adjusting to normal life again. I got to catch up with some friends on Saturday evening which was wonderful. It was also wildly perfect timing in that they were going through their closet and a lot of the stuff they were getting rid of was a perfect fit for my new, healthy body. I was sort of short on clothes that fit me comfortably after going home which was hard in and of itself. But having other things to wear that were new and I wasn't use to how they "should" feel on my body was a big relief.
That Sunday morning I was singing in the praise band at my church. Something I really missed while I was gone. I'm really grateful that I am able to be a part of that because it is fulfilling for me in so many ways. I get to do something I am passionate about regularly and share that passion I have with others. It also is a way for me to constantly evaluate and think about my spirituality and how it plays a role in my life. On that note, while I was in Norman, I got the opportunity to attend Life Church on Sundays. It was definitely refreshing to be able to participate in worship from the congregation for a change and refill the cup I had been pouring out to others for so long. I enjoyed their service a lot and the pastor's, Craig Groeschel's, messages. Something that we did experience during these services was how the diet culture has infiltrated even religious practices, especially Christian ones. We began going through a series titled, "Habits" to kick off the new year. Everybody knows the new year is the diet industry's Black Friday, and the messages about changing your body and diet did not fail to enter the house of the lord. While Craig's sermons brought attention to the importance of how small, every day changes can effect your life in the long run. In his words, "Small disciplines done consistently lead to big results over time". You might be able to see where this took a turn for the, um, fatphobic tendencies. Now the premise of this concept is incredibly powerful and life changing if used in a appropriate ways, but from a disciplined and regimented man like Craig, these ways seemed to sometimes cross the line into promoting unhealthy behaviors. Something that stuck out to our little posse of eating disorder patient was when he mentioned that "[He has] a very strict diet". Great, we thought, all turning heads are making eyes at one another, we knew the territory he was introducing the congregation to all to well. He elaborated that every morning he puts 12 blueberries in his bowl of oatmeal that he measures out and if his wife puts in 14 blueberries then his whole day is essentially fucked. Hellooooo normalized disordered eating (honestly, this sounds like more of an eating disorder than just disordered eating but it's not my place to make that call). It's not his fault. But this was a consistent theme throughout the series. I might have even called it: "Habits: Developing a Good Relationship with Christ and a Bad One with Food". Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed his preaching overall, he was exceptionally engaging, funny, and empowering; there were just some... interesting choices in the ways he talked about food and bodies. Not trying to turn this in to a roast at all, because again, I do not blame Craig for the influence that the outside world has on his perspective and values, but something he also discussed is how you become like the people you surround yourself with. He stated that if you are friends with people who go to the gym all the time, you probably will be in that habit yourself. On the other hand, if all your friends are obese, you are 57% more likely to be overweight. This one particularly bothered me because it wasn't merely a depiction of how he treats food and body image in his life, but it can be interpreted that being "obese" (which is a term I do not like to use for reasons that deserve a whole separate post) is inherently bad and you should not be friends with people who are because then, God forbid, you could be too! This is flat out fatphobia: a dislike a of fat people and/or obesity. To sum this unforeseen tangent up, church in Norman taught me a lot of different things.
I don't even know how to smoothly transition from that into what I want to talk about next, so I am not going to even bother. While I was at Living Hope, I was always very much looking forward to going back to my team and peers at CFD in Houston. They had become my people and I was just plain excited to see them again. Since I was discharging on a Friday, my initial plan and intention all along was to start PHP the following Monday. However after not hearing from the admissions coordinator for CFD up until the day I discharged, I decided to email her to check in on how things were going for my intake. I got a email back really quickly from her (literally the coolest most reliable employee I've ever worked with) saying she hadn't heard from anyone at living hope and the next available admission time was not until Thursday. My heart sunk when I read this. I was going to have to put everything I had into making it just through the weekend, so this felt impossible. I tried to talk back to myself and remind myself that however har dit may be, I would get through it, but it didn't make it any easier. By the grace of God before my flight took off to Houston, I got another email from her telling me that there was a cancellation on Tuesday and I could reserve that time for my admission instead. After believing my date to return would be six days a way for a number of hours at that point made four days seem manageable. I was so thankful. But I still had to make it to Tuesday. The plan on Monday to keep myself on track was to go help my mom out in her classroom of four year olds so I wouldn't be alone all day. I knew that this was the best option, but I was still dreading it. I could force how draining it was going to be for me and I was 100% right. By the end of the day all I could do was lay in her classroom floor until she was all packed up and ready to go home. It was the most exhausting thing I had experienced in so long and it didn't help that I was coming off of two months of being almost entirely sedentary 24/7. Needless to say, my stamina was not where it use to be.
Tuesday had finally come. I had made it to my admit day successfully without stepping on the scale in my house. A major win in my book. I was anxious at first because in the email confirming my admission I was told to come in at 10am, but from what I recalled, the center didn't open until 12. Luckily right before leaving I got the time confirmed by my therapist and a wave of relief swept over me as I got in my car to make the good ol' 13 minute drive to my old stomping grounds. It wasn't exactly the same feeling walking in as it was the first time I returned from res. I had been gone significantly longer this time and I anticipated some changes to greet me. I walked in and saw a few familiar faces of staff whom I was excited to see. There were only a few people there because I had arrived extra early to take care of all the intake business. There are just a few highlights I want to mention from my first day. Arguably the most noteworthy thing that occurred took place about half way into my intake around 10:30am. This my was usual AM snack time, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't be tended to unless I prompted the need for it because of the likely assumption that I had had it before I came in. I could have used this opportunity to passively let the time pass and not intervene for the sake of my recovery. It would have been an easy way to restrict. But instead I stopped the therapist doing my intake and asked if I could grab something for my snack. I went out of my way to follow my meal plan.
The rest of the day was full of reunions, smiles, and nostalgia. I was glad to be back. Ready to continue this fight. And fight I did. About a week later I was having a bit of a hard time in the morning hours, not eating to eat breakfast and having the strong desire to weigh myself. I got out the scale that my mom had since hidden, but when I want to find a scale, I will find it. I placed it on my kitchen floor and stood in front of it. And stood there, and stood there. There was a part of brain that was wanting to know out of curiosity, part of it wanting to know so I could change it, and a new part of it wanting to get as far away from the soul crushing machinery as I could. I placed one foot on it and leaned into it, watching the number gradually rise and then fall when I pulled my foot off. I thought to myself, "is this something I want to do?". Again, some of me screamed yes. But I was able to keep talking back to that voice trying to reduce it's volume. I said to myself, "this is only going to hurt you, it's a choice you are being presented with and choosing to follow through with it will not help you in any way". I stepped back. What was the point of putting myself through that? I realized I didn't deserve to do that to myself. That number didn't matter to me. I thought of all the other things that make me who am I aside from it and felt a rush of emotion. Anger, pride, happiness, fear, all at the same time. Before I knew what I was doing, my hands were opening the tool drawer and I had a hammer in my hands. I went out the sliding door to my back porch and laid down some newspaper in a hurry. I set the glass scale on it and crouched above it with the hammer in my hands after setting up my phone to record this moment. I counted down from three and hit it with about 50% force. Nothing happened. It took several attempts and a few different approaches, but when I aimed for the edge of the glass plate, it was game over. It shattered. In an instant into what seemed like a million pieces. My heart was pounding, my hands were shaking and I had this gigantic expression across my face. I slowly separated each piece of glass and placed them into a grocery bag with a new riveting idea in mind. This was entirely too symbolic not to make art out of. I had just enough time before PHP to go to Hobby Lobby with a bare minimum of an idea in mind and get some materials. I am really proud of the final product. I gave it to my therapist and she now has it on the wall in her office. It was so much fun for me to create which was a exciting feeling to have on it's own. I have a feeling this won't be the last time do a project of the sort given how much I enjoyed doing it and the response I received from it. I'm just excited. For the first time in a long time about nothing in particular, but about what the future holds, even though it's generally unknown. I know there will be challenges and bumps in the road to come, but I pray that I am equipped with the support and tools I need to endure them and push through those times. I believe in myself.
Glo
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