I wake up this morning after a difficult day and, guess what? It's a new day. That's the beauty of recovery, or at least a part of recovery that I have come to accept. It's not black and white and it's not all or nothing. If you're not 100%, you're still on track to getting better.
Recovery is a spectrum, a scale spanning mentally and physically sick to mentally and physically healthy. Between the two extremes, a clear definition of eating disordered or recovered does not exist. That means a rough day and a rough evening do NOT equate to failure, nor should slip-ups provide grounds to simply give up. Instead, slip-ups or bad days or even a bad week equate to getting back on track, identifying triggers and how you diverted from on track, and, most importantly, believing recovery is still always possible.
Anyway. I'll step off my soapbox for a moment to explore how today went compared to yesterday. I wake up at 6:42 am and immediately check the weather since we're in the south, expecting snow, and thus the end of the world. No such luck so I enjoy my treadmill workout, pushing hard for 6.5 miles, checking the forecast to monitor the impending "snow storm", and relish in the fact I'm hangover free! Treatment isn't cancelled by 8, so in I go.
Another new woman starts today after bumping down from inpatient literally within the last 24 hours. She's an older woman with two teenagers and her stories break my heart. Her stories, struggles, and experience, which we hear a limited amount of today, already inspire me to beat this thing into the ground before I, too, have 25 years of hell under my belt. I've been in inpatient or day treatment for almost a month and half now, and this is by far the best group I could ask for. It continues to amaze me how strong, beautiful, and intelligent these women are, whether they're struggling with anorexia, bulimia, EDNOS, or binge eating. It amazes me how similar our struggles are, as eating disorder patients and as women.
Recovery is a spectrum, a scale spanning mentally and physically sick to mentally and physically healthy. Between the two extremes, a clear definition of eating disordered or recovered does not exist. That means a rough day and a rough evening do NOT equate to failure, nor should slip-ups provide grounds to simply give up. Instead, slip-ups or bad days or even a bad week equate to getting back on track, identifying triggers and how you diverted from on track, and, most importantly, believing recovery is still always possible.
Anyway. I'll step off my soapbox for a moment to explore how today went compared to yesterday. I wake up at 6:42 am and immediately check the weather since we're in the south, expecting snow, and thus the end of the world. No such luck so I enjoy my treadmill workout, pushing hard for 6.5 miles, checking the forecast to monitor the impending "snow storm", and relish in the fact I'm hangover free! Treatment isn't cancelled by 8, so in I go.
Another new woman starts today after bumping down from inpatient literally within the last 24 hours. She's an older woman with two teenagers and her stories break my heart. Her stories, struggles, and experience, which we hear a limited amount of today, already inspire me to beat this thing into the ground before I, too, have 25 years of hell under my belt. I've been in inpatient or day treatment for almost a month and half now, and this is by far the best group I could ask for. It continues to amaze me how strong, beautiful, and intelligent these women are, whether they're struggling with anorexia, bulimia, EDNOS, or binge eating. It amazes me how similar our struggles are, as eating disorder patients and as women.
Inspiration is followed by morning snack. I get by on the lowest calorie options at all meals, a habit I can't let go of since I"m a Registered Dietitian and out of pure desperation to have some fraction of control. By the end of our second morning group, the snow is coming down in flurries and we're rushed to lunch. Today is prepare your own wrap day and we're instructed to fix your lunch and take it to go.
I'm elated at first. Leaving early! No afternoon snack! NO AFTERNOON BOOST! I don't have to eat my lunch! After managing 560 calories for breakfast and snack, I'm on a restrictive roll. Til I jet out of treatment and hit traffic, the start of what will be a 3 hour drive to crawl the 18 miles home. For the duration of the first part of the trip, I grip the wheel, my lunch starting a hole in my brain and stomach from right beside me. My stomach growls, a sign that treatment is fixing me and equally stimulating the overwhelming urge to stop at a grocery store, restaurant, or what the hell, that gas station to binge and purge.
I'm in tears for most of the trip home. So much time wasted; so much frustration at traffic, food, and myself mounting; and so much emotional drain. I am starving by 2:30 pm so I eat, dumping the contents of lettuce, tomato, cucumbers, cheese, and hummus, but eating the whole spinach wrap itself without being forced to like I am at treatment. I keep it down, tears sliding down my frustrated face. I still keep it down. It stays through the entire digestive tract, hitting me now in the form of toxic refeeding flatulents as I cheerily walk on the treadmill at the gym. The man next to me gets off his treadmill, nose turned upward and eyes squinting. I laugh. Success.
I'm in tears for most of the trip home. So much time wasted; so much frustration at traffic, food, and myself mounting; and so much emotional drain. I am starving by 2:30 pm so I eat, dumping the contents of lettuce, tomato, cucumbers, cheese, and hummus, but eating the whole spinach wrap itself without being forced to like I am at treatment. I keep it down, tears sliding down my frustrated face. I still keep it down. It stays through the entire digestive tract, hitting me now in the form of toxic refeeding flatulents as I cheerily walk on the treadmill at the gym. The man next to me gets off his treadmill, nose turned upward and eyes squinting. I laugh. Success.
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