Jumping Ship

Tonight I did something that I haven't done in over 20 years.

A part of me is really sad that I caved.  I almost feeling like saying "you win" to my team.  I mean, after all, this was their idea.  Sure, it took four years for it to move from idea to encouragement to consideration to well, basically I've gone through the stages of grief, actually.  And I've finally moved from acceptance to action.

Tonight I intentionally ate meat.
And I didn't vomit.
And I didn't die.
And I didn't melt like the wicked witch.

Who knows what tomorrow morning will bring, or even the middle of the night, as my stomach is quite the hyper sensitive beast.  But I ate.  An entire cup of chicken rice soup.  I even drank the broth at the end of the cup.

This was (as exaggerated as it sounds) an excruciating task.  It meant giving up the title of "vegetarian" which I've coveted since I was 13 years old.  It meant giving up on what has proven to be the most useful tool in my eating disordered box of supplies.  My eating disorder has one less ally now, and that worries me.  Maybe it shouldn't, but it does.

It worries me because the path to recovery, which has been a dirt road littered with gravel and rocks, often challenging to travel, might just be starting to smooth out.  That should be good.  Making traveling forward easier, leaving more and more disordered eating behaviors behind me.  But those behaviors have been my travel companions for so long, leaving this one, the original, the biggest supporter behind?  It's anxiety inducing.

On the up side, it means that there is room for another tool, a healthier eating tool.  It means that, as long as there are no detrimental reactions to meat becoming a part of my body (and yes, I will give it a full six weeks to try out,) my menu will grow astronomically.

A part of me feels like I failed.  Like I couldn't keep up, even after more than 20 years, a vegetarian diet.  The reality is that when I became a vegetarian at 13, I only had one known food allergy.  20 some years later, I have a dozen.  Those are not choices.  I must avoid them.  The vegetarian avoidance is a choice.  It always has been.  One I hold very tightly to.  I mean, I am a vegetarian.  Period.  It's my choice to continue with that vegetarianism at the potential expense of my body, or make the choice to eat meat again as a way to better take care of my body.  I might hate the outside of my body, but I really do want to take care of the inside.

Distressing.  Confusing.  Sad.  Anxious.  Remorseful.

But also kinda proud of myself for pushing through this massive hurdle and making the attempt to take care of my body in the way it needs.  Kinda.

When You've Got it All....

and you still feel like crud......

Then you'd be me.

Cause right now, my life is really, really good.  My new job is ah-may-zing.  Seriously.  I am up well before my alarm goes off for the first time in years.  And my alarm now goes off early!  I have already faced many challenges at work, and yet, working through them has not deterred me from loving my new position.

While my new colleagues have me up on a pedestal right now, I know that the truth is, I'm walking with them, not ahead of them.  They just don't realize it.  And for every time they try to push me onto that pedestal, I lift them right up there with me.

The kids, though I don't have my own class, have been inspiring and motivating.  There is such a vibe at this new school, unlike any school I've been in before.  I love it there, even with the challenges and flaws, it's already feeling like home, and it's only been a month.

But inside.  Eating disordered behaviors are surfacing again, and I didn't even realize it.  I've been watching the depression creep up, slowly at first, and rapidly the last week or so, until now, where I'm buried in it again.  My doctor is worried.  My therapist hasn't figured this out yet, I am that good at hiding it.  My dietitian is on to me, though.

The worst part is that I actually have no reason whatsoever to feel this way.  Walking into school every morning, I'm invigorated.  The opportunities I've already been given, in this first month of school?  I know that I'm in the right place, where my talents are embraced and utilized.  I finally feel a sense of contentment.  I'm with my "peeps" who accept me and all of my quirks, just as I am.

And yet.  I am depressed.  Again.

Will this cycle ever end?

My Anxious Heart

"Depression is when you can't feel at all. Anxiety is when you feel too much. Having both is a constant war within your own mind. Having both means never winning." 

Katie Crawford, My Anxious Heart

Photo Credit

A friend sent me the link to this article about My Anxious Heart, a photo series depicting anxiety and depression with photography instead of just words.  While I found all the photos in the series so spot on and relateable, it was the quote above that got me. 

On top of the eating disorder, which is thankfully under control these days, both anxiety and depression reside inside me.  There are days where my depression is so thick I can't lift my head from my pillow in the morning.  There are days when my anxiety is so strong walking from the bedroom to the living room has me short of breath.

Sometimes I miss the numbness the eating disorder provided, it was a more tolerable numbness than the one depression carries.  Depression numb is being in the dark with no light in sight, where as the eating disorder numb is more dissociative.  Both leave me feeling rather care-less.

I struggle with lots of things I see on Facebook, and I actually stopped reading the newspaper and watching the news nearly two years ago.  Why?  Because I feel too much.  Because I'd see a story about a town in need, and my heart would break for the citizens of the town.  I'd see a story about a child who won the battle with cancer, and my heart would crack open even further for the pain they had to go through.  Feeling so much, so intensely, leaves me gasping for breath.

I don't like that I agree with the author, that "having both means never winning," but I do.  I feel like the delicate balance, the grey area, so to speak, is so hard to find, and once it's found, it is nearly impossible to stay for long.  Being in one extreme, depression, is no better than the other extreme, anxiety, at least for me.  I aim to reside in the grey area.

And yet, it seems impossibly elusive.
(That's what the depression says.)

And the idea of the grey area is terrifying.
(That's the anxiety talking.)

Still, I plug on.  I see my therapist twice a week and my dietitian once a week and the rest of my team as needed and I plug on.  They haven't given up.  So I won't either.

How Young is too Young?

My BFF and I were talking the other morning. She had company last night and is concerned about one of the guests quite possibly being anorexic. The menu was chicken, as requested by the guests, except, this person hardly touched it.  She picked at a bite here and there, leaving her plate otherwise untouched.

This is not anything new, actually. Every time this guest is around she never eats. Whether they are at my friend's house, or her own, or even at a restaurant, this person refuses to eat more than teeny bit picked off the plate.  Her mannerisms, her behaviors, they all point to anorexia.  It sadly makes sense.

The saddest part, though, is that the person we are speaking of is only nine years old.

Surprisingly, this is not uncommon. More and more kids - at this stage mostly girls, but boys as well - are developing eating disorders.  My friend, well versed in this "crud" thanks to my situation, has become an observant advocate, which will hopefully be of help to the child in question.

My friend was telling me that when she became a vegetarian at 16, her mom sent her to a nutritionist for a while, to make sure she was going to transition to vegetarianism in healthy way. The nutritionist was quite impressed with the variety of foods my friend was eating, even back then! To this day my friend has one of the most varied palates of anyone I know.

Now this differs greatly from when I became a vegetarian. That happened at age 13. And instead of learning how to be a healthy vegetarian, I just stop eating meat all together. Dinners became salad and whatever vegetable was being served. Not the greatest way to do it.  Not at all.  But my parents were rather absorbed in their own world and that of my siblings, and as long as I wasn't complaining, they let me do as I pleased, good for me or not.

You could say that this was the beginning of my eating disorder. And honestly, it was the beginning of my intentional restriction. But truthfully, it began much younger.  I was a picky eater from the get go, giving up foods that I thought were too messy or too sticky or too chewy. My diet became extremely limited even back then.

Eating disorders don't discriminate. They don't care what color you are, they don't care what size you are, they don't care what clothes you wear or what job you have, and they definitely don't care how old you are. If not treated properly, eating disorders are an equal opportunity death sentence.

If you, or someone you know is in need of support, there is help waiting. 

NEDA Week 2015 - Possibilities

Wrapping up the week with a bit of reflection...

Everybody Knows Somebody

NEDA 2013

Infographics

BodyLove

Statistics

Reality

Size vs Style

Anatomy of an ED

Secrets

I Had No Idea

What Matters

30 Day Recovery Challenge

NEDA Week 2015 - Bullying

This fact from NEDA made me stop and think.

Back in high school, I had very few friends.  Ok, I had like 4 friends at school, the rest of my friends were through unrelated extra-curriculars.

That made for a rather lonely lunch time.  One that often found me eating in the corner of a stairwell I knew wasn't that busy during lunch.  Or hiding in the back corner of the library, cause I knew I wouldn't be found.  If I was lucky, I was able to eat in a classroom.  But after freshman year, nearly all of my lunches were eaten solo.

And really, when I think about it, after freshman year, all of my lunches sucked, too.  They were about as good for you as eating a case of Hershey bars.

I ate french fries, hostess cupcakes, and Hawaiian punch nearly every single day from sophomore year through graduation. 

As isolated and lonely as I was, I never really saw myself as bullied.  I avoided the people who were unkind to me.  I avoided people in general, really.  Today, that might be seen as being bullied, but back then?  Eh.  It was what it was.

I do know that those who isolate often are hiding or covering something up.  I wished many times during those days that someone would come up to me and befriend me, or offer to help me get support.  I mean, in my mind, everyone else was living this awesome, family-friendly life, while I was hiding in my own skin.

Speak up.  Reach out.  You never know the impact you'll make.....

NEDA Week 2015 - Barbie Who?

Read full page HERE.

NEDA Week 2015 - No Blame

Not just not a phase,
but also not a blame game.

Parents.
You did NOT cause your child's eating disorder.

And for those of you (us) that have eating disorders,
you can NOT blame it on your parents.

I don't know that I ever "blamed" my parents, per say, for my eating disorder.  I do, though, wish they would have been a little more involved in my world, because maybe then they would have noticed something was up. 

Or at least, if they were more involved, maybe I'd have been better able to talk to them.  At any rate, the past is the past, and the best is yet to come.....

 

NEDA Week 2015 - Media Matters

My favorite show growing up was a Disney piece called Kids, Incorporated.  I wanted to be like one of the characters, Renee, as she had hair similar to mine. 

Even as an eight year old, I knew I wasn't pretty.  I wanted to be pretty like Renee.  As the show continued, and Renee grew, I watched her get heavier, and decided I no longer wanted to be like her.  I was probably ten when I recognized that her weight gain was not a good thing.  Didn't matter that in "real life" she was probably hitting puberty, and her body was naturally doing what bodies do.  But to me, she was getting fat.  And I was not going to let my body do that.

Now days, kids are exposed to SO much more media than I was.  I mean, I pretty much watched Kids, Inc, and maybe a few shows on Nickelodeon, but that was it.  I never read teen magazine, I preferred Disney magazine.  I just wasn't exposed to what kids are today.  For that, I consider myself lucky.

As an older teen, I was (and truthfully, continue to be) easily influenced by media.  I remember spending many Friday nights walking around the mall with my BFF at the time.  She loved looking at all the clothes in the store windows.  I loved looking at all the people and deciding if I wanted to be like them or not.  I was twelve.

I had already spent years as a chameleon - I could like whatever the person I was with at the time liked.  This was one more step into the distorted body image challenge that continues to follow me around as an adult.

While I still struggle with food and eating and body image in general, as a teacher, I make certain that my words remain neutral, positive, and encouraging to my students in all areas.  They need to know that who they are right this second is just right.  It doesn't matter what their favorite actor or singer looks like or does.  Their little bodies are exactly as they should be, and just like their job right now is school, their other job is to feed their body healthy stuff, and stay active.  I just hope they remember this when the media becomes their main teacher.

NEDA Week 2015 - I Had No Idea

When I was 13, my friends and I decided to become vegetarians.  That was 24 years ago.  And it was a huge clue that my eating had become disordered.  I just didn't know it at the time.

My parents were rather clueless, too.  You'd think that if your 13 year old announces that she's becoming a vegetarian, you'd look for alternative protein sources for her, so her body gets the nutrients it needs.

Nope. 

Instead, my meals consisted of the "typical" meal stuff, minus the meat.  Which meant that my dinner often consisted of salad and a vegetable.  Or, sometimes it was just cereal.  And I was fine with that.

Truth be told, my disordered eating began much younger.  I slowly refused to eat certain foods, I think I was eight when spaghetti became the enemy, and by ten pizza was out too.  People found it funny that in going out to eat with friends after lessons, I'd often have a grilled cheese sandwich and a bowl of croutons with ranch dressing.  That was it.

My parents continued to be clueless. 
And I had no idea I was hiding an eating disorder.

Kicking off NEDA Week 2015

It's that time of year again. 
No, not spring cleaning or holiday shopping. 
It's NEDA week.
That's - National Eating Disorder Awareness - week.

Every year since I started this blog, I've taken this week to shine some light on what the The American Journal of Psychiatry says that eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness.

Yup.  You read that right.  Highest mortality rate.

And these "disordered eating habits" can start early.

According to NEDA, approximately 80% of all 10 year old girls have dieted.  80%.  I teach 10 year olds.  I've seen it first hand.  It makes my heart hurt and my stomach turn.

The same study shows that 70% of girls ages six to 12 would like to lose weight.  

While there are many, many reasons eating disorders take hold of their victim, blaming helps no one.  Instead of placing blame, educate yourself.  Become aware.  Speak up.  You can make a difference.

Unchangeables?

We can change our hair color thanks to hair dyes.
We can change our eye color thanks to contacts.
We can change our clothing style thanks to shopping.
Three big changes people do on a regular basis.
They're great, but at the same time, they're all surface changes.

We can't change our shoe size.
We can't change our height.
We can't change the size of our schnoz.
They'd all be surgical changes that would be rather painful, I think.
I don't know how many people would wish for these changes.

So why do people, myself included, spend so much time thinking about how to make the number on the scale get smaller?  I'm not worried about changing my shoe size, so why does this number matter so much?

I can see that if you're dangerously overweight or unhealthy, but, technically, I'm not either.

So why does it seem that a (sizable) part of my brain still wishes to change the size of my body?  It would be a heck of a lot simpler to change the color of my hair (purple, please!) or my style (hello, Nordstrom!) or get a new pair of glasses (thank you, SEE!) than to continue to torture myself with numbers that really mean very little in the grand scheme of things.

Health.  That's the goal.
Good health.

Who cares what the stupid box of springs says.

Transitions

I've been seeing my dietitian for three and a half years, and it's safe to say that I've become rather attached to her.  She's seen me in the lowest lows of anorexia, and has slowly guided me back to what she says is a healthy weight (I still think I'm overweight.)  She's been patient while I threw tantrums (yes, tantrums at age 30ish) because I wouldn't eat another bite and helped me broaden my food choices.

My therapist and I have been discussing the progress I've made over the past three and a half years.  I went from someone on the verge of hospitalization to fully weight restored (I think it has been restored a little too much!)  It's been a drama filled, sinkhole riddled path, complicated by surgery, food limitations at school, and more allergies.  Progress, though, is progress, and I am grateful for the growth thus far.

This week, I will meet a new dietitian.  When I started with my dietitian, the goal was to learn how to eat healthy while handling food allergies.  Little did my consciousness know that I was hiding an eating disorder.  I was terrified that first visit, thanks to a previous dietitian I saw once, who scared me away from any and all dietitians.  Needless to say, our focus became weight restoration and maintenance.

This time, I'm nervous, but in a different way.  My dietitian said that sometimes people take you as far as they can, then it's time to move on.  I don't want to believe her.  I don't want to start over.  Even though...... I know she's sort of right.  I have to keep going without her.

I want to make sure to keep moving.  To keep growing.  To keep learning.  All the same principles I live by in my classroom.  And while my therapist and I have been working on this for a while - expanding the safety of my classroom to the rest of the world - I am afraid to put it into play everywhere else.

Most importantly, I want to give this new dietitian a chance.  I know she's not going to be the same at all, and that's ok.  She's going to come with her own perspective and ideas, and that's ok too.  And while my dietitian played quite the parental role for me, I know my new one won't.  Because I don't need that anymore.  Which, when I think about it, is a good thing.

What I do need is to learn how to eat balanced, how to manage my food intolerances while eating healthy...... and how to not let the anorexia return.  Ever. And maybe, just maybe, she'll help me learn how to like food? 

I hope she's up for the challenge...........

At What Expense?

The other day I was in the bathroom and I started thinking.  I know.  TMI.  But this isn't actually one of *those* thinking bathroom moments.

I'm kinda into helping the environment.  I try my best to purchase eco-friendly products and products that use eco-friendly packaging.  I often toss only one bag of trash a month, and about 4 bags of recycling.  I reduce, reuse, and recycle as much as I can.  I also turn off the faucet when I brush my teeth so as not to waste water.

And..... for the past several years, I've lived by the motto "if it's yellow, let it mellow, if it's brown...." (Thank you, Falkers.)  Just recently, I realized that in doing so, my toilet gets dirty fast.  Easy, you may think, just clean it more frequently.  Except I despise cleaning.  Seriously.  If I could get a self-cleaning house I'd spend my savings on it.  This realization is what kicked off the following thought process.

At what expense am I trying to "save" the Earth?  Considering my taste for cleaning, the whole "let it mellow" idea means I either have an overly gross toilet, or I clean it every 3 days.  For the last few years, I've had a rather unsightly toilet.  At what expense?

For the last 20-some years, I've gone out of my way to help those in my life.  I've learned to anticipate their needs, be prepared for whatever they may ask me to do, and essentially, I chameleon-ed myself to be exactly who they needed in whatever situation I was in.  At what expense?

In my building, I've become the go-to person for technology trouble shooting.  My colleagues will call me whenever they need something (whether or not I'm teaching at the moment doesn't seem to matter) and have emailed requests to me at all hours of the day and night.  And for the last 11 years, I've indulged nearly every request.  At what expense?

My eating disorder was an unknown secret for many years before it became "un-hideable" and I was "encouraged" to get help.  That eating disorder helped me feel in control of an out-of-control world.  It made me feel like I had some semblance of balance, of control in my life.  Therefore I put myself through a series of miserable food-related challenges that proved to be nothing good whatsoever, yet they made me feel in control.  At what expense?

I am the oldest child in my family.  My parents raised me in a way that trained me to be afraid of everything and everyone they didn't approve of.  They trained me to be the *angel* child, who always did what I was told, always could be counted on to help at family functions, be it setting the table, preparing food, or serving guests (while my siblings were off doing who knows what.)  I always conformed, without question.  At what expense?

There is a secret that I've held on to since I was in my early teens.  It is a secret so big and so terrifying, that I've very rarely allowed it to float into my consciousness, and when it happened to make it to the surface, I put 100% of my energy into vanishing it into the darkness once again.  This secret has plagued my dreams, my thoughts, my choices, essentially, my life.  It was as if I held a concealed weapon in my mind.  At what expense.

So many things in my life have been rather costly.  Whether it was my choice or it was something imposed on me that I accepted as truth...... I paid the price for so many "purchases" that had I been thinking, had I been given the choice and the time to reason, I probably wouldn't have "bought."  Though it wasn't money that was spent, the expense was much grater.  My self-worth, my self-image, my self-confidence, even my health - all were things with which I paid dearly.

I know that some of these situations, these so called "expenses" were out of my control at the time.  Some of them could have been in my control, had I used the tools to help me make better choices that weren't so costly.  At the time, though, these purchases must have served some purpose.

Now?  I'm done spending myself in unhelpful ways.  It isn't going to be easy to change my "shopping" habits, but it will be worth it in the end........

Farewell 2014, Hello 2015!

Well, it's time to let another year ride off in the sunset, as a new year approaches the horizon.  I don't know about you, but my 2014 was quite the interesting one.  There were definitely some ups (becoming an Aunt tops the list!) and there were definitely some downs (um, school troubles, anyone?) but overall, it was a growth filled year.

~ The highlights ~

I won a few technology grants for my classroom. ~ I presented at my first massive conference. ~ I jumped out of a plane with my best friend. ~ I did my first major presentation, speaking in front of my entire district of over 700 people. ~ I celebrated two years with the Pup. ~ I became an Aunt to the most adorable little peanut in the world, who has completely stolen my heart. ~ I paid off my car. ~ I watched my first class of students graduate high school. ~ I stabilized my weight. ~ I watched my niece transform my family, for the better. ~
I learned. ~ I risked. ~ I tried. ~ I grew.

Sure, there was a lot of failure and hurt and sadness and anxiety and
pain and fear and stress and tears.  But like the quote says.....
I'm going to try to see the possibilities instead of the pain.....

The word for 2014?  Possibilities.
For the first time in my life, I am seeing possibilities for a future..... for my future......

Guess it's time to bring on 2015!

Rules

I like rules.

I like following them.
(Hello, eating disorder.)

Or, at least I like following them when they do what I want them to do.

Which is keep me safe.

"Don't go out after dark if you're alone!"

That was one of my parents favorite rules growing up.

"Never say no if someone asks for help."

That was another rule they had.

"Always be helpful to others, no matter what the cost."

"Family first, even if it's not appropriate."

"Taking time for yourself is selfish, spend time with family instead."

My parents had so many rules.

And I've internalized them as my own.

Despite the fact that I've been living independent of my parents for more than ten years, their rules still haunt me.  They scared me into believing the world is a bad place, full of cruel people who you can't trust, or they might hurt you.

I'm tired of those rules.

I'm so very tired of them.

If I keep following "their" rules, I know I'll never be able to be truly at peace with myself.

If I keep following "their" rules, I will not be able to let myself be happy.

If I keep following "their" rules, I will live the rest of my life in fear.

How to get over the fear of "breaking" the rules my parents ingrained in me?

Suck it up and do it anyway.

Go shopping after dark.

Drive through the city that is scary.

Make the phone call that I'm afraid of making.

Suck it up and face the fear.

Over.  And over.  And over.

The worst part about these ingrained rules?  My parents set them, but it is me who chose to keep living them, long after they were necessary.  I held on to them.  And I continue struggling to let them go.  Because of all that?  I'm truly afraid to let myself be.  I'm afraid to allow myself to get excited, to feel happiness, to take time for myself without the guilt.

It's time to change the rules.

It's time to break them.  All of them.

It's time to suck it up and do it anyway.

I wonder what it is going to feel like 

to allow myself to live without them?

To feel excited about things....... to go on adventures both near and far....... to take time to get to know myself without the guilt....... to live a life I want to be a part of.......

I may be a rule follower.......

But these rules need to be broken.

Six Hundred!

The quote that started the blog.....

This post, yes, this very one you're reading, is the 600th post on My Purple Dreams!

When the blog began, I figured that I'd post once a week or so.... now, three years later?  Well, if I posted once a week for 2 full years, that would be 104 posts.  Considering we're at 600?  Guess this blogging thing has worked out, at least for the most part!

A few reflections on the blog....

1.  I started this blog as a part of a recovery project.  While recovery is still a daily challenge, this blog has seen me through the lowest of lows, and I hope, will see me through the consistency of recovered.

2.  My favorite part of the blog is the fact that with each post, there is a chance that someone will read my words, and they will be exactly what that person needs to read at that moment.  The words will be the glimmer of hope, the sign, the realization that they're not alone, the affirmation that they're on the right path...... The words will brighten someone else's day, or comfort the tears that have fallen.  In essence, since I have read a handful of incredible blogs, that were such support during my roughest times, I hope that maybe my words can be there to help someone else.

3.  The hardest part of blogging has been making myself write when I don't want to.  It's been letting my words hit the screen even when they don't want to leave my brain.  It's a challenge, for sure, that I succumbed to this past summer for two months, but it's a challenge that is worth tackling on a regular basis.

To all who are reading this now.... thank you for sharing even a few moments of your day with me!  I hope you find something here that makes you smile!

Normal?

I've been contemplating normal again.  I've spent time with the idea of normal before, so it's nothing new, but.... always good for reflection.

Normal can change.  What is normal at one point in your life can change to a new normal years later.  That's ok.  Normal is not something stagnant.  Technically the dictionary defines normal as an adjective that means "conforming to a standard; usual, typical, or expected."  It's also defined as a noun meaning "the usual, average, or typical state or condition."

Reading both of those definitions makes me cringe...... because neither of them fit.  Not even close.  I struggle to conform to standards, even at school - I do things different enough to make a difference, but not different enough to get noticed.  Who am I kidding.  It's noticed.  It's frequently noted that I do things differently, and for the most part, no one seems to mind.  Except me.

I am not the usual or typical.  I don't dress like most of my peers do.  I don't enjoy the same activities that are typical or expected of my peer group.  I never have.  I am far from average in many areas - sometimes above average, sometimes below average, sometimes on a whole different planet than average.

I am not normal.
But I am me.

My therapist says that being me is a good thing. Normal is not a requirement to be a good person.  You don't need to be normal to care, to grow, to learn, to change.  You don't even need to be normal to make a difference.  In my case, at least, I just need to be me.

But more than that, I really want to like me.  And I don't.  At least not yet.  There are too many things about me that I am embarrassed by, ashamed of, or afraid to acknowledge out in the world.  I'd rather hide.  I'd rather hide my shameful bits, my embarrassing secrets, and fade into the crowd.

I know that's impossible.  I've spent so much of my life trying to hide, trying to blend in, when the reality is that it just makes me stand out even more.  I just choose to ignore that fact.  Cause I still think that I am hiding everything, when really, I'm only hiding it from myself.  And unsuccessfully at that.

It's time to stop striving for normal and instead, strive to just be me.

Comparisons

I watched the cutest piece the other day showing groups of kids freestyle dancing.  That always makes me smile.  That clip was followed by a commercial showing a design rehabber and construction guru looking fit beyond words, driving a back-hoe.  Changing channels found a home-cook turned tv chef talking about a delicious Thanksgiving dish his family loves.  A few channels later the screen was filled with a DIY-er sharing simple yet beautiful home improvement projects.  Then landscape artists.  Swimmers gliding across the pool filled the screen next.  Then an unplugged concert by a pianist with a beautiful voice.  There were more channels, too, full of talents and gifts and knowledge.

Sounds like a pretty typical weekend morning, right?  Well, at least for me it is.  It's a nice treat to get up and be able to couch it for a little bit before beginning the day, which is vastly different from weekday mornings.

I hadn't realized it before that morning how much I *still* want to be someone I'm not.

I wish I could dance.  It looks like fun, despite the fact that I tend to trip over my own feet.  I wish I knew how to design and build and woodwork - I loved it as a kid, but now?  I value my fingers, thank you very much.  Cooking?  Yeah, right.  Home decorating?  I wish.  My house looks almost exactly the same as it did when I moved in ten years ago.  Landscaping?  Heck, I wish I could keep a plant alive or grow some herbs and veggies, much less put the pond into the yard that I've wanted to do since childhood.  And I still kick myself for quitting music lessons when I was a kid.  I'm envious of those who can play an instrument, it sounds so beautiful.  Throw in singing, too?  You've got me.  I'm turning green on the inside.  And not a day goes by that I don't miss the athletics I used to participate in on a regular basis.

I have my own gifts and talents.  I know that.  My therapist reminds me of them fairly regularly, too, as I often forget that I do have things to offer the world.  I see the talents of others to be much more valuable than my own.  Instead, I see myself as too clumsy to dance, to weak to do anything requiring sustained physical exertion, as far from a homemaker as possible, too lazy to pick up any athletics, and when it comes to music?  I see myself as selfish for quitting lessons as a child.

Sounds pretty grim, I know.  So is the work I'm doing to change that.  Cause you know what?  One of these days, I'm going to feel good enough.

I'm going to feel good enough.

I'm going to feel like my gifts and talents are good enough offerings for the world.  More than that, I'm going to feel like I'm valuable, just as I am.

I Bought the Wrong Butter

You probably didn't realize there was a "wrong" butter to buy.

Well, when you're recovering from an eating disorder, there is.  Or, at least for me there is.

For the last as-long-as-I-can-remember years, I've always, always, always bought sticks of butter.  Preferably the quarter sticks.  They're easier to measure, I mean, cut.

Last week, I was in such a rush as I flew through the grocery store, I grabbed the butter my parents usually buy.  With only two ingredients, I was fine with that (the fewer ingredients the better, as always) I grabbed the tub of butter of the shelf and headed to the check out.  For once, I only had the items in my basket that I specifically walked in to get.

Tub.

Of butter.

Me?

Really?

Ooopsie.....

But I survived.

And I'm actually using the butter-in-a-tub.  It tastes the same, it still works, and it actually spreads easier right out of the fridge.  The only problem is that it's not nearly as easy to measure.  To track how much I used.  To count the exact calories needed.  I mean, sure, I know how much I'm eating, I'm just not able to be as precise as I'd like.  As precise as I'm used to being.

Positive growth?  Step forward in recovery?  Maybe.  Rather fear-inducing?  Yup.