“What if you’re not broken?”

I once believed that I needed someone to save me.

First a best friend.
Then a boyfriend.
Then my therapist.

But, it never worked.

Eventually I came across a quote that said:
“you need to save yourself because no one is coming.”

Aha…I thought.

I just have to be on own hero and save myself.

I read books, journaled, meditated, did yoga, ran, lit candles, used essential oils.

Nothing.

I dug deep into personal finance, productivity, “lifestyle” changes, vision boards…and more therapy.

But, you guessed it.

That never worked either.

If I’m honest, it treated a lot of the symptoms…

But, I still felt broken.

Then one day, while scrolling through yet another podcast, I came across one called:

“What if you’re not broken?”

And, it planted a seed.

After what has been a YEAR and then some, the question finally sunk in.

I’m not broken.

I never was.

I don’t need to be fixed by a friend, boyfriend, a therapist or myself.

Does that mean everything is good?

Of course not. I still live in this dumpster fire that we all share.

But, it’s this dumpster fire that made me think I wasn’t enough.

This world sent me spiraling between depressive moods, anxious thoughts, and disorder eating.

This world has thrown racism, sexism, classism and all the isms into my face.

For the first time, one of my favorite quotes makes a hell of a lot more sense



“The world may be broken, but hope is not crazy.”

The world is broken, not me.

Just because I don’t look, act, sound or perform the way the world wants or expects, doesn’t mean that I wasn’t born enough.

We’re all good enough and then the world teaches us to doubt that about ourselves.

So, you, also are not broken.

Even when your mind tells you that you are, or your stupid boyfriend, or the world.

The reason all the changes you’ve tried aren’t working is because there is nothing to fix.

We can always grow. And we will.

But flowers grow…we don’t consider them broken when they’re just seeds.

We don’t consider babies broken.

The only difference is that they haven’t been taught to hate themselves, and we have.

So dear, if no one has said it today, you are not broken.

You, like all of us, deserve to love and be loved.

-Rule

It’s not “just a diet”

Do you ever wish you could just hold on to dieting for a little bit longer?

Just until you’re back at your pre-recovery weight.

But this isn’t dieting, is it?

Years of obsessively counting and weighing and fasting and exercising is not dieting.

Sitting on the floor crying after successfully purging is not dieting.

Even if your mind keeps saying you can be normal after you’re done putting yourself through hell.

Even if it tries to convince you to just put off your recovery for a month or 2 until you’re where you should be.

But, it’s not just a diet.

And you can’t keep putting it off.

-(Rule)

I’d Rather Hate My Body Than Hate Myself: ED Recovery

When you suffer from an eating disorder and decide that you’ve had enough, there are thousands of conversations you have to have with yourself. One of the toughest is whether you or your body is more important to you.

Recovery involves doing a lot of things to your body that you never would’ve done otherwise.

Mainly, it involves doing a lot of “normal” behaviors that other people do.

Eating regularly.

Not obsessessing about calories.

Exercising for fitness and not as a punishment.

Not vommiting for any reason other than the flu.

To a person without an ED, these probably seen like no brainers. But a part of me and I believe other people with EDs believe we don’t deserve this normalcy.

If we’re not thin, we don’t deserve to eat food.

If we’re not thin, one workout is just not enough.

In our heads, we don’t deserve recovery until we’re thin.

But that means recovery never comes.

So when the time comes you have to choose: you or your body.

Every day you have to choose to put your health, happiness, and sanity above your physical appearance even if it feels impossible.

Today, I choose me.

I don’t know about tomorrow.

-(Rule)

 

I miss the empty feeling: self-recovery

Today I felt hungry for the first time since I started trying to eat “normal”. After eating breakfast for a week then skipping it today, my stomach was begging for food. But I hate the feeling of hunger. It’s uneasy in the same way as being too full.

You see, something happens when you stop eating for so long. Your body adapts. You stop feeling hungry and just feel content: no tummy growls, no hunger pangs, just a numbness that turns into pride when you realize its been 18 hours since your last meal.

I miss that feeling even though I know its bad for me.

Me, My Scale, & I

To say I’m obsessed with my scale would be an understatement. There is nothing else in the universe that can control my feelings and emotions so completely.

A Typical Day

6:45 AM – My stomach growls as I pull myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. The house is silent and cold as I take off everything except my underwear and sit down to pee. I think to myself, these steps are non-negotiable.

Seconds later, I pull out on my shiny black scale that measures to the tenth of a pound. My heart races. I take a deep breath and turn it on. I see the 000.0 and know there’s no turning back.

145.5

I exhale a sign of relief while mentally trying the calculate whether I’ve lost 3.2 or 3.3 lbs. Every ounce counts. My thoughts start racing. Yes! It’s working. I’m strong. I’m worthy. I smile for a second, feeling proud of my “accomplishment”. Fasting Monday really did help, even if it took me twice as long to read for class because I was light headed. It was worth it. I take a moment. I reminisce about the good ole days when my strength had gotten me down to 128.0 bringing my total weight loss to 132lbs. The summer I lost my period and usually only ate 1 Kashi bar during a 12-hour period. I look down more time and read 145.5

Then I step off, feeling like my trusted friend is lying to me. So I weigh myself again.

145.6

This time it’s saying I only lost 3.2 and not 3.3. My heart drops. How?! Why?! I step off again and start over. Deep breath.

145.6

Maybe I should go pee again? No. Maybe I’ll try again after my workout.

45 mins later- I get on and the number has gone down again.

145.2

I mouth a silent yes. I don’t care if its water weight. Feeling especially pleased with myself, I’m ready to start the day.

5:00-I walk in from school and head straight to the scale. Glad I always walk the 20 minutes to school. The scale is happy so I’m happy. Skipping lunch did the trick.

145.0

Hw. Netflix. Hw. And before bed, I say good night to my scale to make sure things between us haven’t changed.

145.0

I lay down with an empty stomach to start all over again tomorrow.

Articles always talk about how the most successful dieters are those that weigh themselves everyday. In my experience, that behavior also makes the most “successful” EDNOS.

I’m trying to avoid the scale during my recovery, but its been difficult so far. I can’t continue to let the number control me.

-(Rule)

Why I’m Happy I Gained 2 lbs this Weekend.

As someone who has been overweight for years, I have a very abusive relationship with food. It’s a constant push and pull between what my body tells me is false and what my brain tells me is fact.

The main reason I continued to support my disordered eating habits was simple.

If I ate more food without obsessively exercising 6 or 7 days a week and “fasting” (aka starving myself ) then I would gain weight. Its a math game. 1 slip up would’ve put back years of hard work.

No matter how many diet books I read or how many times I met with my nutritionists, my body would only respond to eating 1200 cals or less.

To me, this was not an irrational thought. It was a proven fact. Year after year, I watched myself eat less than everyone around me, workout out way more than anyone I knew and still never reach my dream weight.

So the first step to my recovery is debunking this myth.

This past week, for the first time since 2011, I took a week off from working out without compensating. I tried not to eat less or do other physical activity in place of my normal workouts.

And something magical happened. After a weekend of binging and a week of not working out, I gained 2 lbs.

How is that a miracle? Well, over the last few months when I fasted and worked out, my weight tended to stay the same or fluctuate -/+ 3lbs. 

Ha! I have my proof. I can eat more than 1200 cals, not kill myself working out, and be about the same.

This week was tough mentally. My mind and body were telling me stop eating and go for a run. I even had thoughts about purging (which I doubt typcially do). My mind berated me every day but I chose not to exercise and eat.

But despite my inclination to binge, I still wasn’t able to eat regularly through out the day.

So, step 1 is complete. Now on to step, 2 eating breakfast, lunch, dinner. The thought of which overwhelms me so completely that grocery stores give me panic attacks.

But I can do this. I will do this.

-(Rule)

When you try to convince yourself you don’t have an eating disorder.

I have an eating disorder. Before today, the closest I have come to actually talking about it is saying that I have a weird relationship with food. Which is true, but it also makes me feel like I’m hiding from something.

You see, since I can remember, I’ve always been the ‘fat girl’ or chubby as people like to put it when you’re 8. And no, this is not body dysmorphia talking, these are cold hard facts.

The last time I was a normal weight I was probably 5 years old. You might be telling yourself . . . but fat people can’t have eating disorders, they’re fat. Maybe you’re right. Let me tell you how this journey began and you can decide for yourself.

When I was 12 years old I decided to take my weight into my own hands. I could just diet and exercise and the weight would go away, forever. I had tried before, basically every year since I was 8, but I wouldn’t fail this time. I couldn’t listen to one more person call me fatso.

So I did. I started eating low fat, then I was introduced to low carb, then I started eating turkey bacon, I cut out all soda, chips, and candy. I was on a roll.

Every morning I would eat 1 egg (70 cals), 1 slice of turkey bacon (35 cals), 1 slice of low fat wheat toast (40 cals) and drink 4oz of skim milk (45 cals) for a total of 190 calories. On good days, I would have a chance to eat a piece of fruit!

I ate a variation of that same breakfast for basically the whole year.

My plan was working. I was dropping pounds like crazy. It could’ve been the food or it could’ve been my new found workout plan.

I had convinced my mom to buy me Turbo Jam also known as the fun kickboxing dance party. And when I wasn’t doing that I was trying to bench press on my brother’s weight bench or use my jump rope. Every time I missed a jump I would force myself to start over until I got a 100 in a row. I hated myself. I would be so angry that I would slap myself for messing up.

Then I started having thoughts. Maybe if I ate even less and worked out even more I would finally be skinny. All of my friends were skinny. I was even heavier than my older sister and brother.

So I did. I ate less. Lunch at school was a piece a fruit. After school my snack was a workout then a perfectly portioned low calorie sandwich or exactly 1 cup of low calorie soup.

To workout more without anyone noticing, I went outside to play with my friends more often. Every game I suggested was some kind of cardio. Nowadays, I wonder if they ever noticed.

Double Dutch-check

Basketball-check

Running races-check

We even found time to occasionally play hide and seek and tag. While everyone else was laughing and having fun, all I could think about was am I burning enough calories and is my stomach and thighs jiggling too much.

But I stayed the course. I fasted and exercised and dieted and exercised and it was all okay because I was a fat pig, right? No one would tell a fat person to stop losing weight. Dieting is normal. It’s not an eating disorder. There’s no way I’m anorexic. The BMI chart told me so. And who could argue with that logic?

Then 1 day during 7th grade (after I had lost about 70lbs) I sat silently eating my apple in the cafeteria when someone made a joke that I was bulimic and they heard me throwing up in the bathroom.

“That’s not true!”I shot back. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have an eating disorder.”

I told myself I’m too fat to be anorexic and the thought of vomiting makes me cringe because I suffer from migraines that cause nausea. So there’s no way I have an eating disorder.

But I did. At the time, I convinced myself that not being fat was the most important thing …at any means necessary. Everyone thought my progress was soo great! The thought of having control over my body gave me power like nothing else ever had before…

This isn’t bad. This is a gift. I have confidence now. People like me now. Someone complimented on something besides my test scores. It was working.

How could this be wrong?

I was 13 and starving and I felt proud. Well it was wrong and it got worse. I went to 8th grade where my bulimia met depression and insomnia.

I’m sure you can guess how that story goes.

-(Rule)