Greetings from Santa Barbara, CA, a beautiful place to call home. Born in WV and raised in the mountains of NC, I might have laughed at anyone bold enough to suggest that I would find myself living on the edge of the Pacific Ocean.
Climbing trees, shucking corn, and staging my make believe radio show in the living room, I was certainly not a high risk candidate for an eating disorder. I was tenacious. I was the "most likely to succeed." Secretly though, I was always scared. Scared of everything that might go wrong and worried about everything that was going too right.
Looking back anorexia makes sense as a sort of guard rail for life and also as an entry point for bulimia, the more spontaneous, vigorous, spirited life I didn’t know how I could control. My two selves, appreciative and fearful of one another, propelled me forward for some time.
I remember with a startling clarity the only physician I ever came clean with. He looked at me and said. "You are one of the healthiest young women I’ve seen, but if you continue to treat your body the way you do now, it will stop working." While his assertiveness seemed admirable, I still felt invincible. Letting go seemed a whole lot more frightening than letting my body fend for itself.
Fortunately I wound myself up so tightly, something had to give. I lost the façade of control I had perceived and presented for so long. It felt like one of those funny little wind-up toys spiraling out of control and them coming to a dead stop. If you wind them up enough times, they do eventually wear down. Somewhere during that process, I started to lose my will. I felt defeated. I was humiliated. I lashed out at the people closest to me, because I couldn’t feel my own pain any longer. The only pain I could feel was the pain of hurting someone who loved me.
"We think, we feel, we do. What would you like to do instead of your eating disorder?"
These were surprising words coming to me from a therapist.
"Our levels of intelligence, sensitivity and motivation vary along a spectrum. When they all operate at a "12" we can find ourselves in the pressure cooker. But we do have choices. We can find a balance. We can reign in our run-away brains. We can appreciate rather than suffocate our keen sensitivities. We can excel and create and even impress people without basing our entire self worth on what other people may think or say about us. Finding this sense of balance and self-awareness is much harder than having an eating disorder, but you have to want it bad enough."
"How bad to really want to get better, he asked." "Are you ready to do work?"
Most of the professionals I had visited tried to figure out what was wrong with me, why I was sick. After some time all of their obvious insights had become predictable and boring. Finally someone got it. I wasn’t all messed up. I had healthy relationships. I had a lot to look forward to in life, if I could find a way to focus on what was working instead of what wasn’t. If I could turn the volume down in my head and open up my heart just a bit, my fears might be rediscovered as opportunities, instead of ultimatums.
It would have been impossible for me to suddenly stop experiencing fear. When I focused on overcoming my fears, I only became more scared and more aware of things to be scared about. When I began to accept that fear was a feeling, not a reality, an interesting freedom began to emerge. Bit by bit, I began to realize that the things I feared were not as crippling as the fear itself. Feeling my way through fear allowed me to experience the emotion along a continuum rather than as a constant threat. Participating in life, taking action, succeeding and failing, living life, diving in… pulled me through fear and back into life. Living allowed me to eat just as much as eating allowed me to live.
Somewhere inside the pain, confusion and agony of an eating disorder there is a gift waiting for us to peel off the layers of paper and untie the ribbons and bows. A dear friend and colleague, Richard Mackenzie, M.D., Director, Division of Adolescent Medicine at Children’s Hospital, Los Angeles shared this metaphor with me last year. Dr Mackenzie’s insight reminded me of the message my therapist had challenged me with years ago. His words summed up my experience well. Long after my eating disorder faded away there remained a consciousness, an awareness, an ability to experience all of my senses that is stronger and more appreciated now than ever before. I believe this is the gift that an eating disorder bequeaths as we let go of our perceived control and take the risk inherent in living.
I still want to please people. I still worry about things I cannot change. I still know how many calories are in an ice cream cone. They are desires, ideas and common knowledge. They come and go, like the waves I walk in as the tide comes in and goes back out. Acceptance allows the security that control will never afford. Walking back into life is more powerful than fear.
Now trained in Psychology, Motivational Intervention (Storti Model), Executive & Life Coaching, Conflict Resolution, and Exercise Physiology, I find myself blessed with the opportunity to walk alongside individuals who are opening the gift that an eating disorder can bring.
"My eating disorder was horrible; it was a very dark time. But, it left me with a bigger life, more colorful, maybe even better than I could have imagined before."
These are the cheerful words I am privileged to hear so often from the bold, strong, creative individuals I work with everyday.
