Emotional Yoga- moving the body and mind

Yoga in a train station.  Brisbane Australia

I went to my first yoga class in months last Thursday.  For those of you who know me, you know that yoga used to be my "thing."  I practiced pretty much every day.  Sometimes even twice a day.  In 2006 I awkwardly took my first class.  I was hooked from day one even though I was uncoordinated, falling down, and was extremely ungraceful.  Imagine a flamingo trying to do yoga, all knees and awkward.  That was me.  Even though my first few classes were challenging and I felt like an idiot, I still really dug it.  I stuck with it even though it felt weird.  I had actually found a form of movement that I liked!  I eventually felt strong, confident, determined and beautiful.  This was my kind of exercise.   It was slow and calculated.  Calming.  I could breathe and concentrate on only me and what my body needed to do.  I could turn my thoughts inward and connect with myself.  I craved it.  I was even considering becoming a yoga instructor.

Then something happened.  Once I relapsed back into my eating disorder, yoga turned into something very different.  I started focusing on the wrong things.  Instead of loving what my body was capable of doing and accepting that, I started to worry rather than relax:  What did I look like?  What body part wasn't right?  Why were my arms so big?  Who here is thinner than I am?  Damn it, why couldn't I do this pose?  Why wasn't I perfect at this yet?  I wasn't good enough.  Like many other things in my life, if I was not perfect, if I was not the best, I didn't think I had any business doing it at all.  My practice became more about what I should be able to do and my expectations of myself rather than an authentic experience.  It was no longer a release for me, but another thing to stress about.  My mat got shoved in the back of my car under the jumper cables; forgotten.

I would occasionally go to a class here and there.  I even got to do light yoga while I was away in the hospital for treatment.  I didn't stick with it as I had before because it fell second to the eating disorder.  I didn't fully appreciate my body.  Inside I loathed its weak boundaries and  incapability.  But last week I gave it another go.  Those true, original thoughts came back.  The appreciation, the patience, the acceptance.  I couldn't do everything I once could do but I was ok with that.  I wasn't quite as flexible, I needed some adjusting, I had a little trouble following instruction.  But it was alright.  I accepted my imperfections.  I accepted where I was that day.  I didn't put any pressure on myself and it was an amazing practice.

During the final pose (savasana) I started to cry.  Not a sobbing, earth-shattering wail, but fat tears rolled down my cheeks as I lie face-up on the floor.  I figured they might.  I could feel them rising up even before the pose and this wasn't the first time this has happened.  Having an emotional release during yoga is actually quite normal, especially during that final pose.  Even so, I was really hoping no one else would notice.  After at first trying to stifle them back, I decided to let go and be gentle with myself.  Instead of judgmental and critical of myself, I became curious as to why I was crying.  I came up with this:  I have been mean to my body.  Awful to it really.  I have been terrible to myself.  While the kind words of my instructor pierced my consciousness, I took her words to heart.  What I have done in the past, is past.  I am forgiven.  I forgive myself for how I have treated myself.  I have abused my body both in the physical sense and the mental.  No, my body is not perfect, but it is mine to take care of.  It is the only one I have been given.  Why have I punished my body so?  Why have I denied it care, fuel, love and compassion?  What has this body done that is so wrong and unforgivable?  Nothing.  It doesn't deserve the treatment I have dealt it.  I don't deserve it.

So yeah!  Wow!  How could I not cry while coming to this realization?  Now I wouldn't say that this one yoga class "healed" me.  I have had a difficult time with my ED as of late.  But, if I can bring this up again, if I can be gentle, curious and non-judgmental of myself, maybe I will be heading in the right direction.  More yoga, more emotion and more connection.  Namaste.

Live on!
-Kristy

From Funk to Friends- finding reconnection

Let's see how many of my friends read my blog!  Haha!

I'm in a funk.  Yup.  A compete funkfest.  I'd love to blame it all on the season but I am afraid it 's more than that.  The weather here has been beautiful with the exception of today, so it's not just the fall blues.  I'm not feeling down all of the time.  I have moments of funklessness.  But for the most part, I am feeling low and melancholy.  Oh, and when I say melancholy I mean I could totally spend this dreary day at my favorite cemetery reading Sylvia Plath and listening to my poor-me playlist.  "Did she just say her favorite cemetery?"  The thing is, I think I could fix this.  I know what I need to do.  It's just getting my sad ass up and doing it.  What I need to do is eat, (obviously, duh) and connect; both with others and myself.  These two things seem so simple.  Eat and connect.  Voila!  The problem with depression is it likes to keep me idle and detached.  It disables me from moving forward.  The role of the depression is to lock me up and throw away the key.  Logically, I know what to do.  I just have to shake this devil off my back.

Friends Under the Rain 

by Leonid Afremov

 

So, here is a shout out to all of my friends:  you will most likely be getting a call from me.  I know, sit by your phones, have your Skype up and running.  I'm coming out of my hole.  I have some amazing life-long friends and some incredible newer comrades.  One friend in particular has been in my life just a few years and in that time she has always been there for me.  I know if I needed her she would come running.  I just have a hard time asking.  She needs me too.  However, since I hit these patches, I tend to isolate and hermit myself.  In short, I haven't been putting out the effort.  I have not been the greatest friend.  What do I expect in return?  I have friends I haven't heard from in a while and I take that personally.  Maybe I am too much.  I am too overwhelming.  I have outworn my welcome.  Used up my friendship card.  This can't be true for all of my friends.  The phone works both ways.  The people who don't want to be here will show themselves out and some have.  But not everyone.  The people who have been in my life have proven that they don't mind that I am...well...me!  I have to remind myself, it's not always about me.  The friends I haven't heard from might be going through their own "funk" and I would know that if I put the effort in and connected with them.  Instead, I tend to turn it into a "me" thing.  No more.  Phones will be ringing, texts will be sent, reconnection will be established.  If any of my friends are reading this, you have been warned.

What I  also need to do is go over the list of people I have in my life and the people I want in my life.  I must let go of the people who have made it clear that a relationship with me is not a necessity for them, and really focus on the people who do what to know me.  For too long I have been wasting my time forcing relationships with people who don't need it as much as I do.  I have to let those go.  I have to quit trying to change me for them.  I will never be everything for everybody.  Kristy is not everyone's cup of tea and I truly have to accept that.  I need to put my energy back into the circle of people who are important to me and those I want to have a relationship with.  Those who really want to be in it with me.

I think once I make that human connection with that important circle again, the eating part will come more naturally.  An eating disorder really wants its host to be alone.  It's easier to survive if there is no one around to challenge the rigid and crazy rules and behaviors.  One is so much easier to control when there is a disconnect with people and feelings.  Connection is the eating disorder's enemy.  If I can force myself to take that step, accept me as I am, and see that my loved ones do too, I believe the food piece will fall back into place.  So here I go, one reach-out at a time.  I'm calling.

"The truth is, everyone is going to hurt you.  You just got to find the ones worth suffering for."  -Bob Marley

-Kristy

What The? -10 random things I learned while traveling abroad-

I just returned home from visiting my sister and brother-in-law in Australia.  The two of them moved there three years ago and I finally made it out to see them.  I brought my 9 year old son on his first trip anywhere.  We had an amazing time.  I have to say, I learned some interesting things about myself and the world on this first trip abroad.  Here are some of my random realizations, in no particular order:

10.  I am not as prepared for world travel as I thought I was.  Go to Bali?  India?  Brazil?  Of course I can.  After all, I now have a passport!  I would love to!  However, after this first international trip, I have learned that perhaps it is not as easy as I thought to seamlessly slip into another culture.  I mean, I was in an English-speaking country for crying out loud!  I still had issues figuring out which coin was which.  What was the woman with the accent was saying?  Which direction is north?  Driving on the right hand side?  Terrifying!  Finding food I recognized? Help!  Grams?  Litres?  If all of this was a shock to me in Australia, what on earth would I do in a significantly different foreign country?  Australia is a great place for me to practice being out of my comfort zone.  I realized I need to get out more!

9.  Skip looks on a 24 hour travel mission.  Go for comfort!  From my house to my destination we were traveling for 24 hours.  One flight alone was 14 hours long.  Now, I don't want to go into a lot of detail about this, but let's just say my yoga pants were fine during the long travel.  What I was wearing underneath the yoga pants was not fine.  And a bra?  Oh heck no!  A supportive tank top or sports bra is the way to go.  From now on it is comfort over cute when traveling.

8.  Study up!  A "napkin" means something completely different in Australia than it does in the US.  A "fanny pack" is apparently not a little purse-like pouch one wears around their waist.  I could have spared myself some embarrassing moments if I had studied up on my Aussie lingo a bit more prior to my trip.

7.  I am not a pleasant person on a 6 hour drive in a cramped car.  I don't like waking up from naps or riding in a car for long periods of time.  On this trip I had to do both simultaneously. I later had to apologize to my hosts for any foul language I may have spouted out and for calling my brother-in-law a jerk.  Thank goodness we're all family.

6.  What? I have an accent?   "I'll have the raspberry muffin please."  Apparently my accent was difficult for the baker to understand.  "Oh you mean rosburry?"  "Ummmm yeah. ROSBURRY."

5.  I am not actually afraid of flying.  In a previous blog post I wrote about my fear of flying.  I discovered though that while I don't particularly care for take-off or landing, what really makes me nervous is the navigating of the airport.  The process of getting through security, customs, passports, boarding passes, baggage, lines, strange airports.  All of the chaos of getting from here to there is the real issue.  I don't like turbulence or the loud noise of the plane.  But I am not particularly afraid of being up in the air once I am there.  Once I am up, it is actually a sense of relief!

4.  I don't need any stinking makeup!  I for the first time since I was probably 14 years old I went completely makeup free for two weeks.  Granted I don't normally wear a lot of makeup but consciously not bringing any with me was slightly nerve wrecking!  I have to say, I spent much less time in the mirror while on this trip.  My hair got combed at best.  There was just too much to do to worry about how I looked.  I noticed I was much less self-conscious.  It was all sand, sun and adventure.  I really didn't care what I looked like.  What a relief!

3.  The world is really big!  Since I have never been anywhere besides the US, I finally got to see another piece of the world.  I mean, I knew the Pacific Ocean was big but when one is flying over it for hours and hours...and hours it is monstrous!  I felt so small and insignificant while flying in that huge, yet small and insignificant jet.  It has never taken me more than 7 hours to get anywhere.  This journey around the planet was eye-opening and awe-inspiring.

2.  The world is so small.  On the other side of the world there were so many differences: Styles, accents, geography.  Yet, there were a great many similarities as well.  I would notice all the things I recognized from home: kindness in people, some of the same songs on the radio.  A sign for Coca-Cola or a Subway sandwich shop.  It reminded me of our unity and humanity.  We are so far apart from each other, but so much the same.

1.  Don't touch it!  It will probably kill you!  From poisonous toads to extreme electrical outlets, this place was deadly!  All the things I was comfortable with at home went out the window in Australia.  See that spider?  DON'T TOUCH IT!  That kangaroo there?  IT COULD KICK YOU!  My sister actually had to tell me to back off from the 5 ft (1.524 m) wild carpet python.  Cars have the right of way over pedestrians so even crossing the street has to be thought about more carefully!  Apparently I feel safe at home and all common sense was lost.  It really is a miracle I survived.
So there it is.  Just a little of what I learned.  These are strange things that I did not take into consideration before.  Now I know some helpful tips that will make my next adventure go so much more smoothly.  Oh, and I had better start brushing up on my metric conversions before returning to Australia.

Live on,

-Kristy

On Coming Out

Just about every day, it hits me:  I went public with this.  Everyone who knows me, everyone on my Facebook list, anyone who reads my blogs, my neighbors, my kid's teachers, my boss, my former classmates, they all know the secret I've kept for years.  Some have known much longer than others.  But it's all out there now.  The voice in my head criticizes my decision.  "You should have kept your mouth shut.  This is so embarrassing.  You can never hide.  This will follow you forever."  I get a sense of panic.  Oh my God.  What must people think of me?  I know what some think because some say whatever pops into their head.  That is almost better than wondering what people are thinking.  I've heard everything from, "I wish I had that!" to, "But you don't look that skinny." I've heard, "Put Kristy in front of it.  She'll eat anything!" to, "Oh you look great!  Are you trying to lose weight?"  I've even had a physician say, "Lift up your shirt.  You look fine."  And another tell me, "You're going to die."  I have heard it all.  It is still much worse wondering what people are thinking and not saying out loud.

So why did I "come out" about this anyway?  Why not just keep the secret?  Looking back, I guess it just sort of...happened.  Two years ago I had to take a leave of absence from work for an undetermined amount of time.  I was being sent to a hospital halfway across the country.  I had no idea how long I would be there but the average was about 6-8 weeks.  I ended up staying there for 3 months.  I figured it was better to start letting people know why I left town.  There had to be a reason why I was away all summer.  Why I wouldn't be taking my kids to their first day of school.  Why I never showed up to cub scout meetings.  My husband had to take time off from work.  My parents and in-laws had to take the kids for weeks at a time.  I knew the rumors would start flying.  People would think I left my husband and kids.  People might think I had a drug or alcohol problem.  People might assume I had some other disease.  I didn't want to put the pressure on my family to lie for me.  So the truth came out.  More so than I initially wanted.  I posted a letter to all those I thought really needed to know.  Friends, family, co-workers.  Some knew already but most did not.  Word spread and I became more and more open and comfortable with honesty.

When I fist opened up about this I was surprised at the response.  I felt so much love, compassion, support.  Some friends became closer.  A few, more distant.  It was a truly eye-opening experience to find out who really wanted to be a part of my life.  Others started sharing.  They knew someone else.  They didn't know anyone else.  They had a sister, a friend, a mother who had bulimia, anorexia, binge eating disorder.  I talked to people all over who struggled with food in one way or another.  This natural, basic need has turned into a big problem for so many people.  I met others like me.  I met families like mine.  I was not alone.  Sure, some didn't have much to say to me or took a step back.  But for the most part, opening up was the most beautiful way to find out who and what was important in my life.

There are times when I wish I didn't have this plastered out there.  I sometimes think that the disorder is all people see when they look at me.  Do people see that I am creative, funny, smart, and basically just pretty awesome?  Or do they just see Kristy, the loud-mouth anorexic chick who just wants attention?  I'll never  truly know what others see in me.  I suppose it only matters how I see myself.  I try to focus on who I want to be and the journey I have been on.  When I get asked for help, when I hear stories from others, I know I did the right thing by being open.  Honest.  Me.

-Live on,

-Kristy

Oh...I Am So Going.

I had a wake-up call yesterday.  I was sitting in "D's" office (my dietician) and I was irritated about something my husband had told me last week.  If I don't get my crap together quick, I might not be allowed to board the plane to Australia in three weeks.  What the #$%*?  Now I know he didn't come up with this on his own.  "Dr. H" must have planted this in his head last week when he saw her.  I was hopping mad!  Or rather, my ED was.  Just wait until I get in a room with "Dr. H."  I am going to give her a piece of my mind.  But after talking with "D" a few minutes she explained their combined concerns.  She gently informed me it would not be ethical for them, as professionals, to let someone who was sick slip through and board a plane for a huge trip with a clean bill of health.  Reality check Kristy.

I hate to admit this but...they are right.

While the airline will not let people fly who are too ill, there is no way in this situation for the airline to know if I am too sick to fly or not.  That's not really the point though.  "D" really had me thinking yesterday.  What kind of trip do I want to have?  How long have I wanted to do this?  Didn't this illness take this opportunity away from me before?  Do I want to be sick on this wonderful adventure?  Do I want to be dizzy, shaky, fainting or more susceptible to other illnesses?  HELL NO!  In three weeks a lot can go wrong in this disease as I have seen first hand.  I have got to get it going in the right direction.  I refuse to let this ED take something else away from me.

My dear, sweet husband also shared his fears with me.  I could see the emotion he often tries to hide written all over his face.  He told me he was afraid to let me go in the state I am in.  I am not only going without him, I am solely responsible for our son.  Who is going to be there if I am too confused to figure things out?  What is my 9 year old going to do if I pass out?  It's all on me.  I need to get well not only for myself, but so I can safely get our son to the other side of the world and back.  I have got to make my health my number one priority.  I've got to be the grown-up.

So, "D" put me back on a strict meal plan that I simply must follow.  And, I am all over this.  I made breakfast my bitch.  I licked lunch.  Dinner is a done deal.  This is happening.  I have to say, while eating my egg, toast and berries this morning I was cranky as all hell.  I think I told my poor husband to go eff off (don't worry, he can handle it) when he came to see how I was doing.  He patted my shoulder in encouragement.  After 16 years of this, off and on, he knows that my ED is the one who is angry, not the real me.  After breakfast I felt..well...freakin' great actually!  I was excited, energized (imagine that?) and motivated.  This trip could be a triggering point (see last blog post Fear of Flying) but this can also be a catalyst for something good.  I am going to fight for this.  I want this for me.  I want to live life.  In ED there is no life.  Only emptiness, loss, and loneliness.  Screw that!  I am going to Australia a healthy sheila.  Watch me!

Fear of Flying

My dad has worked for one of the biggest airplane manufacturers in the world for the last 30 years.  He is always trustworthy, extremely intelligent and kind.  And yet, when he has tried to scientifically explain how a huge, metal tube with wings can soar thought the clouds effortlessly, my mind shuts him down.  Nope.  Nothing that big should be hurtling through the air.  It's just...well...not right.  For me it defies nature.  It is wrong.

I have to bring myself and my son aboard one of these blasted things in three weeks.

Not only do I have to calmly sit myself on one of these terrifying tubes, I have to do so without any help of pharmaceuticals or alcoholic beverages.  My 9 year old will be with me for his very first flight.  Mom has got to be cool.  Chill.  Sober.  RELAXED.  I don't want to crush the poor boy's hand during takeoff.  I don't want to turn into a melting pile of anxiety.  I definitely do not want to make him worry right along with me.  He asked me last night if planes crash into the ocean and if anyone has ever died in a plane crash.  Oh &%@#!  I could feel my heart racing as the image of a plane aflame crashes into the icy cold ocean.  Ok, breathe.  Be calm.  Logically I know that the likelihood of my dying in a car-crash is way more plausible than a plane crash.  But a car is at least on the ground already.  The fact that this thing is thousands of feet in the air mocking God is what terrifies me the most.

Bridesmaids, 2011

This will also be the largest jet I have ever been on and my first trip out of the country.  Not only that, but the flight will be so very, very long!  We will be on our way to Australia (where about a million other things could kill me).  Needless to say, there is a lot of anxiety arising with this pending adventure.  I am an anxious person to begin with.  Throw in some stress and you've got a big, hot mess right here.  I've got to get this under control, and quick.

Now don't get me wrong.  I am excited to visit my sister in Australia!  I am sure we are going to have beauty of a time.  This is a trip that many people dream of!  If only I could just turn that part of my brain off that brings up all of the nonsense.  I am not worried about getting bit by a poisonous spider, or a eaten by a shark.  I am not worried about toxic snails or drop bears.  I am worried about a number of other things.  The flight over the vast oceans is only one of my concerns.

What if this huge trip does not live up to all the hype?  People of told me they have wanted to visit Australia their whole lives.  It's on bucket lists and savings plans.  I just get to go.  Largely due to the fact that my sister and bro-in-law paid for my (death) ticket.  Sure, we had to save quite a lot too for our son's passage but for the most part, this should be a pretty stress-free visit.  No need worry about a place to stay or a car or getting lost.  All of that is taken care of.  So why am I so freaked out?

Well here's another big reason:  My inevitable departure (if I live that long of course).  Saying good-bye to my only sister and best friend is extremely hard.  I did not realize just how close we were until she moved there almost three years ago.  It was devastating.  She tries to visit once a year or so but each time we part it is like a scab getting torn back open.  I miss this person.  I want to be with this person.  And she moved across the planet.  I do not see her moving back anytime soon or ever really.  She is extremely happy there and I want her to be as happy as she can be.  I just long for those conversations over coffee that do not transfer well via Skype or text.  I cannot wait to see her.  I am so very blessed to have this amazing opportunity.  I am just going to have to have my band-aids ready for the wound it will surely open when I leave.

There is also a tremendous amount of pressure to get well before I go.  My eating disorder has flared back up a bit in the last couple of months.  I do believe this trip has brought up some issues.  Issues that are easier to deal with by dabbling in my disorder rather than facing my "feelings" about them.  I have got to get this this going the right direction.  Otherwise, my trip could be severely compromised.  I also don't want my sister to see me like this.  I want her to see me healthy and happy and excited!  Not picking at my food and getting light-headed.  Nothing like a little recovery deadline to add some nerves!

As the days tick down I get more and more excited.  Both the good and the bad anxiety.  I know I just need to take one step at a time.  My intelligence will take over and get me from point A to point B to point C and so on.  I just need to take a deep breath, and step aboard.

Food for Thought 


How do you cope with anxiety?

What are your fears?

Any advice for my travels?

-Live on (and no worries mate)
-Kristy

Living the (revised) Dream

-My contribution to There but for the Grace of Kelly-
 
Here it is again.  A daunting plain white screen and what feels like my very first post.  It's not of course.  I have my own blog.  But writing for someone else?  This is something new.  A new audience, a new group, new possibilities!  Where do I begin?

I guess I'll start with this is a dream.  I have always wanted to write.  When I was a little girl I would make up and write elaborate stories.  I craved written assignments where I could let my imagination roam free.  I would compose my own little books, poems, even songs (I am not musical).  My fifth grade teacher saw potential and was convinced I would be a writer.  I was elated!  I had something to hold on to.  I could be a writer along with the hundred other things I wanted to be.  I could do anything!  Oh the mind of a ten year old girl.

Then, somewhere between middle school and college I lost that enthusiasm and my confidence.  By the time I was in high school my hopes had crashed down to earth.  Any critique or criticism of my work made my dream slip farther and farther away.  Finally a voice in my head became louder than my dream, "You are not good at this.  Others are so much better than you."  My stories, poems, thoughts on paper were shown to no one.  The writing became scarcer and scarcer and finally put away in a box.  A dream was all it was.  I dropped out of college because I didn't get a perfect grade in every class I took.  My black and white thinking grew blacker and whiter.  If I cannot be perfect at something, I shouldn't do it.  This went for everything I did: my art, my education, anything new I tried.  This unfortunately went on for a long time.  Too long.

Hop, skip and jump forward few years.  I'm now a 35 year old woman (with no college degree mind you).  I have a career.  I have a pretty dang awesome husband.  I have two growing children watching my every move.  I want them to see who I am as a woman, not just their mom.  I want to encourage them to try things.  I want them to see me try new things and follow my passions.  I want them to know they don't have to be perfect at something to do it, or at the very least give it a try.  I have learned a lot about myself.  I accept certain things about myself both the good and the bad.  I may never write a best-selling novel but if I enjoy writing, then why not freaking write?  My drawings may never be in an art gallery but if I like creating then dammit I should do it!  The ship may have sailed on some of my dreams, but what options are still open to me?  What can I do?  I can write.  I can reach others through my words.  My dreams and goals may have altered a bit. But is that so bad?


Food for Thought

What dreams have you given up on? 

What has held you back from your goals?

Are there dreams worth reopening and exploring?

Live on!
-Kristy

Summer Break? What is That?!

I am overwhelmed.  There I said it.  Ahhh, that feels good.  I admit I bring this chaos upon myself.  I put too much on my plate for lack of a better term.  And now I am paying for it.  Don't get me wrong.  I enjoy much of what I do.  There is just a lot of it.  Between my full-time job at the office, being a mom, volunteer work, house work and recovery work, I am beat!  Physically and emotionally.  Is it any wonder why I choose to take a nap whenever possible? 

Tonight I volunteer at the wildlife shelter.  I take pleasure in feeding raccoons and listening to the owls hoot as I walk by.  But it is nasty hard work!  I am hauling tail when I am there and I have to remind myself to take a break.  Especially since I go straight from my "real" job to the center.  A day of work at the office followed up by another 5 hours of mopping, sweeping, endless extra gross laundry and dishes at the center.  (Hold on.  Let me tell you about this laundry for a second.  Imagine your cat pooping all over your bed sheets.  You have that, "What the F@$*?" moment before you start to clean up the disaster.  Now multiply that by about 100 and give the crap an extra "wild" aroma.  There.  You've got it!)  Today I will consciously work in an hour in-between the two jobs for myself.  An iced coffee in the sun with my blogging journal to refresh my mind is just what I need.  Tonight when I come home, my husband will take one whiff of me and ask me to go boil myself.  Sexy!

Saturday mornings I volunteer at the animal spay and neuter clinic.  I love the connection I have made with the people there.  I wrap surgical packs and clean instruments as well as help take care of the animals.  More poop!  I really enjoy being a part of the community.  I think it's important to show my kids I have many interests and make time for those things I care about.  I have been volunteering at various places since I was 14 and the work is meaningful to me.  I don't want to give up anything.

I'm just dog tired.  (Pun intended.)


I not only have all of this I do on a daily and weekly basis, but I have hit a particularly rough patch with my recovery.  There.  I said that too.  It's time to bump it up a notch and I am not sure I have any more energy for it.  I have some serious thinking to do and some hard conversations to tackle.  I just don't wanna!  I don't feel like I have much time to contemplate my next steps.  Like really sit and think about deep shit.  I'm always on the move and there is always the next item on the schedule to cross off.

Tomorrow my husband will drop of the kids with my parents so we all can have a much needed break.  The kids also need a little escape from the monotony of our weeks.  We have been spending some great quality time together while they are on summer break.  We have been having fun camping, playing, visiting parks and beaches.  It's great.  But mama needs to chill!  I am so very thankful I have family that is willing to help us out.  Not only is it great for my husband and me.  But I really truly value the relationship my kids are building with other family members.  Some of my fondest memories from childhood are the times spent with my grandparents.  I want my kids and our parents to have that special bond that they can only have together. 

So date night it is!  We have been terrible about being consistent with dates and when we do have time together we get lost on what to do with ourselves.  We need some adventure.  We need something new even if it is just for a weekend.  On Saturday we are pulling out our list and doing something from it!  And we might have to work in a nap as well.  Mama needs a nap. 


Food for Thought

How is your summer shaping up?  

Are you able to take time out for yourself each day?

What is your favorite summer activity?


Live on!

-Kristy

I Camped. Then I Napped

We packed up the kids and went car camping this weekend.  We rarely go camping.  After 30+ days with no rain in the great Northwest, it rained.  Hard.  We started out our fun family weekend drenched in a mud lot in a tarp covered hell.  And if you all think hell is hot, it's not.  It's freezing ass cold.  This downpour should have been a clear red flag that this family should head home.  We didn't.  We said, "Screw you rain gods" and braved the elements.  With much swearing under our breaths by my husband and myself, and a canopy on loan from my fantastic friend, we set up our weekend villa.

Then next thing we noticed once our paradise was in place was the nicely timed burn ban in effect.  $#!%!  No freakin' campfire?!  Son of a...!  No matter.  We were going to have fun on this blasted camping trip come hell or high water!  Remember, we had both hell and high water.

The rain let up a bit and we made do with the soaked site and smoreless evening.  The kids were having fun.  My husband and I sat back and watched my daughter create a slug village and watched the snail races.  She got filthy and played with moss, mud, rocks and sticks for hours.  Excellent!  My son turned our tent into the most technologically advanced nylon nook around!  Complete with remote control lantern.  Things were looking up!

The Snail Races (those are pistachio shells on slugs)

Until that night when our lovely loud-lipped neighbor to the west decided to keep us wide-eyed with her stories of bad taste.  Her voice was one of those that carried.  Her name was Jenna from what we could clearly hear.  Her middle name she mentioned was Tailia.  Classy.  Thank you so much Jenna Tailia.  My kids finally fell asleep in the cold, damp tent.  I put my headphones on to drown out Jenna's drunken cackle. 

We learned you cannot even touch an eagle feather.  Turning one in to a park ranger is a big no-no.  Thanks for the scolding and the threat of a $5,000 fine Ranger Rick.  "Any chance of the burn ban getting lifted due to all that rain we just had?"  The answer was less than friendly.  "Alrighty then.  Thanks."  Son of a...(smile) 

"What sweetie?  You need to go to the bathroom again?  Even though we just walked the quarter mile there and back through the sticker bushes?  No problem!" Goddammit, son of a...(smile.)  "You don't want any of the food I just made you?  You know, it took me half an hour to boil the water for the blessed...(smile.)  "Oh, you want 8 Oreo cookies instead?"  No problem.  This is going to be the best camping trip ever!  What the %$#& just bit me?!

Another night of flying f-bombs from Jenna Tailia.  This time a Ranger Rick told her to keep it down.  She apparently "knows her rights!"  I pipe in with a "SHUT UP!"

We leave by 9:30am the next morning.  I leave Miss Jenna Tailia a little letter pinned to a bush at her campsite.  We are home by 10 in the morning.  I take a nap.  Ahhhhhh.  A  purring cat and a down comforter.  Now this is bliss!  That night we have a freaking campfire at home.  Complete with smores.  Camping again in two weeks?  Sure!

Live on,

-Kristy  

The Lie of the Look

I have to share a deep dark secret with all of you.  Part of this blog is about me being open and honest.  I feel like I have to set a thing or two straight so here goes:  I'm out of shape.  Yes, I said it.  I am not even kidding.  I seriously could not run a mile if zombies were chasing me.  I could not finish an aerobics class if I were getting paid.  I could not go on a hike with any kind of incline if there were a fucking pot of gold at the top.  If I were to try to swim I would be food for the fishes.  And, if you want to see something really funny, stand on the sidelines and watch me try to ride a bike for any amount of time.  I literally fell off my bike and had to walk it up a hill last time I rode.  I hate any kind of organized cardio exercise.  I get whiny, sweaty, out of breath, and my side feels as though someone is stabbing me with a knife (and even if they were, I couldn't run far).  Here is another thing:  I am thin.  Now hear me out.  I do not say this to be offensive to anyone.  I do not mean this to sound as, "I'm thin and I don't even have to try!"  What I am saying is, there is a huge misconception of thin = healthy, fat = unhealthy.  I am thin and unhealthy and I have to open up about this.  For those that see me and think I have it all together and I must be super healthy in my eating and exercise regimen.  It's all an illusion.  And I am not proud of it.

I have been fit in the past.  Although, I have NEVER been marathon ready.  I would go to the gym and exercise.  It was not because I was trying to be healthy or feel good.  It was all to get thinner.  Period.  And, it was never enough.  I never got that rush that made me feel awesome when I worked out.  The only rush I got was from the scale.  It was hollow, short-lived and not fulfilling.  The only reason I go to the gym now is to take a yoga class.  I wish I liked working out.  I wish I liked to get out and run every morning.  I just don't.  I would rather take a nap than Zumba.  This is the reality for me and I am actually ashamed of it.  

What really got me thinking about this topic were two articles I came across last week.  One is called All Hail The Fathletes written by Ragen Chastain.  Ragen is blogger of Dances With Fat.  She wrote this piece about what it is like to be an athlete and a dancer while being large.  What attracted me initially to the story was the picture.  Here is a woman, much larger than myself , beautifully doing full on splits.  This is something I cannot do even as a slender woman.  She explains the prejudice she has to endure and the stigma associated with being large.  I thought about how unfair it was that because I am the size I am, it is assumed that I am fit.  I am not.  If I were forced to live off of stamina and physical fitness, I would die. 


The other piece is called This is not Your Typical Weight Loss Story written by  a woman who wants only to be known as "Susan".  This is a true account of what it is like to be a "fat anorexic".  This story was so touching and deep.  I teared up as I read it.  I could relate to her on some level.  I myself have never been emaciated.  I have never looked like one of those shocking pictures people think of when they hear the word anorexia.  Here is an eye-opener for many people:  Most people who struggle with eating disorders do not look like they have eating disorders.  Most are not ghastly waifs that look on the verge of death.  Most of us look "normal" or may actually be heavier.  That does not mean it is any less serious or painful.  Many people who die from their eating disorders do so while looking perfectly fine.

So, as healthy as I may look, let me tell you what I feel like on a daily basis.  I pretty much feel like crap a lot of the time.  I have no one to blame for this but myself.  When I am in my eating disorder I may look great as people have often told me but I feel terrible both physically and emotionally.  I don't follow my body's natural hunger and satiety cues.  I actually can't really tell what my body needs or wants after a while.  So, I won't eat until I go into hypoglycemic mode.  I will get dizzy, burning hot, irritable.  I get devastatingly sad.  I shake so bad I can hardly hold things.  I get so confused it feels like I am dreaming.  My limbs tingle.  By now my body is familiar with what I have done to it in the past.  My biology fights to survive.  This is not what it feels like to be healthy both in body and in mind.  This is not fit.

My conclusion to this blog is simple.  That fat man walking down the street might have just run a 5k the day before.  That skinny girl at the gym may be healthy or miserable in her skin.  As much as we think we know people's stories by looking at them the truth is, we don't.  Now you know a little of my story.  Things are not always what they seem.
 

 
 Food for Thought

Have you ever made judgements about yourself or others by looks alone?

What are your first thoughts when you see someone fat or someone thin?

Where do our judgements come from?  Biology?  Society?  Family?  Friends?  Media?



Live on!

-Kristy


 

My Story of Hope

I wrote my Story of Hope for NEDA (National Eating Disorder Association) in January of this year.  I just typed it up and hit "submit" and off it went.  I really didn't think about it much after that.  It slipped my mind.  When I did remember I wrote the story I thought that NEDA must not have liked it.  After all, I got no response.  Oh well.  No big deal.  A couple of months later I got an e-mail form NEDA asking if they could use my story.  It needed a title so I chose Mothering Me.  NEDA asked for a picture so I sent the one of my family and me at the airport when I returned from treatment.  They liked it!  I was surprised to say the least.  My story was going to reach thousands of people.  Wow!  I then submitted it to Hungry for Change UK.  They wanted to use it as well.  What?!  I started getting feedback.  Friends, family, acquaintances, strangers were reading my inner most thoughts about one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make: leaving my family for treatment of my eating disorder.  Everyone I knew, and many people I didn't, could now read about my secret.  Scary, and amazing!  The response I received was overwhelming.  My story could help someone.  Another mother, a teenage girl, a husband, a son of an eating disordered mom.  The possibilities were so inspiring.

From this, I decided to go further.  The Mothering Me blog was born.  My musings of life during recovery.  What a journey I am on!

Here is Mothering Me as it appears on the NEDA website:
http://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/node/2958

Stories of Hope

Mothering Me

By Kristy Butler

I remember sitting in an eating disorder support group circa 2000. I had been attending this group for several months with many different kinds of people. There were people young, old, men, women, wealthy and not. There was a mother of 2 small children in the group. I was 22 years old and had struggled with my eating disorder nonstop for 3 years at that time. I was so upset with this woman. I remember thinking, "when I am a mom, I will NOT have an eating disorder!" After all, how could a mom engage in such behavior when she had everything, including children to love and nurture? Nope, not me, I wouldn’t let that happen. Skip forward 10 years. I was married to my best friend. I had two beautiful, awesome children, a son and a daughter. I had a house, a job, friends, and a supportive family who cared about me. Yet there I was, engaging in the dangerous behavior of my eating disorder. I was doing the same thing I had judged this woman for so many years before. That’s what made it feel even worse, I felt like a hypocrite. As much as I thought I was hiding my disorder from my children, the two of them knew something wasn't right with mommy. Sure, I would color and play with them, but my mind wasn't there. My heart wasn't there as much as I had wanted it to be. I was not present with them. All I could think about was my next act, my next time alone where they wouldn't see me. How many calories have I consumed today? How can I get more exercise? How can I hide this from my husband? It was the constant dialog with my eating disordered brain. When my 4 year old daughter asked me if I would have some of her cake when her birthday came around, I could see it in her eyes. When my 7 year old son asked if I would eat breakfast with him, and I said, "no" I could read it on his face. Something was not right with mom. It broke my heart to know that no matter how much I tried to hide, no matter how young they were, they could see through me. They knew I was not well. The shame was overwhelming. How could I be a mother, and have an eating disorder? That was the turning point for me. My children are what made me seek help. If it was not for me, it was for them at the time, which was fine, because in that moment, I didn't think I deserved treatment. Someone else was surely "sicker". I did not believe I deserved it, but I knew my children at least deserved their mother. They needed me to be actually there with them; present, alive, healthy and free. I sought out-patient treatment for several months. Then I finally left for partial hospitalization treatment halfway across the country. I left my husband and kids for 3 months. I told them I was leaving because I was sick and I needed some help. I told them I would be so much better when I got back. Then I left them in the middle of the night. I kissed them and said good-bye while they were sleeping. They didn’t see me leave. I missed a summer and I missed their first days of school that year. I missed reading them stories and watching them play. But most of all, I missed myself. I missed knowing who I was as a person. I worked HARD in treatment. It was the most difficult thing I had ever done. It was painful. It was draining physically, emotionally and mentally. I never want to go back. I would if I had to though, because not only are my children worth it, I am too. I can see that now. Returning home after treatment was mixture of ups and downs, but mostly ups. I fell to my knees in tears at seeing my son, daughter and husband waiting for me at the airport. I looked different but I was alive and excited and overcome with emotion. Getting back into my home life was not easy, but I had a whole new bag of tools. I was learning who Kristy was! I was more than just a mom or a wife, a certain weight or a certain size, I had a soul. I had things that inspired me and made me tick. I still have some days that are more difficult than others, but I see who I really am now. I see the woman my children see. I see the woman my husband sees. I see the woman my friends and parents see. I am a work in progress and I am AWESOME!

This is EDNOS

I have to remind myself that this is a process and not a product.  While I am in recovery, I am not "recovered".  I no longer fall into the category of anorexia nervosa so I am classified as having EDNOS.  Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified.  Eating disorders are sneaky as hell and even when I don't think I'm struggling, I just might be.  This is so disappointing for me.  How can I be support for others when I am needing it myself?  How can I talk the talk of hope when I am in a backslide?  Am I in a backslide?  If so, why?  Oh bloggity blog!

Last week I went to my  dietician (I'll just say "D") whom I have been seeing regularly for 2 1/2 years.  I was thinking, OK, where do we go from here?  Can we be done?  Maybe this is the best I will ever be and I'm alright with that.  I feel pretty good.  I have got everything under control.  After chatting we both quickly realized things were not as simple as I was telling myself they were.  After much talking, crying, and repeating my nervous laugh to stifle the tears, I left on a meal plan.  Again.  Only this time it is with the intention to gain weight.  A weight gain meal plan.  The first one I have been on since I was in the treatment hospital almost two years ago.  $#!%!  I was sad, surprised, embarrassed, scared, angry but mostly, tired.  

This is exhausting.

I already have a lot going on in my life and now I have got to put eating, recovery and gaining weight in the front of the line.  I just don't feel like it to be honest.  I mean, gaining weight?  On purpose?  Who wants to do that?!  In treatment I didn't feel like I had much of a choice.  Restore to a healthy weight, or stay there indefinitely.  I wanted out so I did what was required of me.  Out here, while I am not actively trying to lose weight, I am not trying not to lose weight either.  This pressure to gain and be accountable to myself has made my eating habits even worse.  I am just so tired of thinking about food!  What I am going to eat.  How much I am going to eat.  When I am going to eat.  Why I am going to eat.  Preparing food to eat.  Who will see me eat.  Shopping for food.  Am I eating appropriately.  It all makes me....well....not hungry.    

While my ED is screaming at me, I still fight.  I was not aware how present it still is. Everything D said, the asshole in my head had some retort.  And I mean EVERYTHING.  This awesome woman, who is a RD, CEDRD, CD and who has worked with over 600 people over the last 10+ years did not know as much as my Ed did.  Seriously ridiculous.  I go back to D tonight.  I haven't done shit with my meal plan.  I have not even bought the supplements I am supposed to be drinking.  I have done nothing.  I have turned apathetic.  I am just so tired of this work.  

Whacking At It

Recovery.  I have been in a solid state of it for about a year and half now.  By "solid" I mean a  commitment to a permanent, sustainable, long term life without my eating disorder.  I have been in recovery before.  Even for a couple of years at a time.  For example, when I was pregnant with my children I was in definitely recovery.  It just hasn't stuck.  The difference this time is the commitment to not ever having my ED as an option again.  This is terrifying.  Every single time I was so called "recovered" before, I stopped the dangerous behaviors.  Even many of the wicked thoughts took a back seat to my daily life.  However, my ED was always on the back-burner simmering, "I'm here when you need me.  You'll be back."  And I knew I would.  When I wasn't engaging it was still always an option.  This process of breaking up with my ED for good is, well, really hard.  Can it even really be done?  How can I promise I will never go back?  Is full, total, unconditional recovery possible?  Jenni Schaefer, author of Goodbye Ed, Hello Me believes so and has written extensively about this.  But can I truly get there?

This last little string to cut feels more like a steel cord leash.  When I was engulfed in my eating disorder the leash was short.  I couldn't go far.  I had little control to move beyond what the leash allowed (although I thought otherwise at the time).  Even though I have more slack on the leash and I am able to get farther away, I am still tethered.  This part of recovery is the sawing at the cord.  Am I strong enough to break it and run free without ever looking back?  My dietitian and I have talked at length about this.  She used the analogy of Whack-a-mole game.  You know, that carnival game where a toy mole's head pops up and you are supposed to hit it with a rubber mallet.  Eventually heads are coming up from everywhere and it is nearly impossible to whack them all.  Just when I feel like I've got one behavior corrected, a different pops up.  This is my eating disorder's desperate, almost subconscious, attempt to cling to me.  This particular part of the battle has really convinced me that this disease is not a choice, but rather a disease of the mind.  It is not a lifestyle option but a mental illness.

So, one mole at a time, I keep whacking.  The things that come up surprise me.  The ridiculous ideas I come up with seem to come from nowhere.  One strict rule this week might not have even on the radar a month ago.  My brain hears information all around and makes it's own conclusions and rules.  My job now is speaking truth back to these thoughts.  Are non-organic grapes really going to kill me?  Probably not, but not eating will.  What will really happen if I eat lunch before noon?  Not a damn thing.  Is eating more than one fear food in a day seriously affecting me?  Really?  Truth: no.  I continue to speak these truths back to the twisted part of myself.  I try to  consciously challenge the self-placed rules. When my ED says, "you can't possibly eat that."  I try with all my might to fight back.  "Oh really?  And why not?  Who says?"  I push myself to the exact opposite of what the ED is telling me.  It is extremely difficult.  Every day is different.  This week my goal to make fast food a neutral food.  This seems impossible!  But whack I will!  This game is mine.

Live on!

-Kristy

Lovely Days

My daughter, Lily

A gorgeous summer day is upon us in Western Washington today.  This is the kind of day that many of us who reside here live for!  All of those dreary days when we wonder why we make this area our home go out the window when the sun graces us with its presence.  The bright orb is glowing in the sky.  It hurts my eyes a little when it has been gone for so long.  It takes a few minutes to adjust to the light.  The temperature was supposed to be in the 80-90's this week which can cause some of us to start wining a little, "too hoooooooot."  But the gentle breeze is keeping sun-starved skin cool and comfortable.  Yes, I am happy today!  I can actually feel my mood is different on days like this.  I don't feel the oppressive gloom I feel on the overcast days.  I have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and the fall and winter months can be difficult.  Today however, summer is here, and I will take it!

Knowing this weather perfection  will not last long makes me want to be out in it even more.  I want to put on something pretty, dig out my sunglasses and get out of the house.  I long to enjoy the beautiful area I live in.  For those of you who live in Washington State, you already know how special our corner of the world is.  It rains enough to keep the huge variety of trees lush and green.  The panoramic hills satisfy the eye's need for interest.  The mountains tower above still tipped with snow.  The Puget Sound sparkles and comes to life in the sun.  It seems the water is almost as happy to see the glow as we people are.  I live in a small town and I love to see everyone out in their yards, walking their dogs, washing their cars.  This weekend I fell asleep to the crackling sound of my neighbor's fire-pit.  It smelled like camp-out and I could hear their laughter and chatting.  I drifted off loving life.

My back yard is my sanctuary.  I am out in it whenever I can be which to me is not often enough.  Since I live in a development and all of our yards about not much bigger than a postage stamp, I work hard with what I have.  I have crammed my little space with plants and trees.  Flowers and pots.  There are feeders to lure the local wildlife to our little patch and we have had a successful outcome.  Feathered and furred visitors stop by for a snack or a bath and I sit back and enjoy my handiwork.  Of course, my sanctuary is not my own.  The kids have decorated the space with their toys and creations.  Neighborhood children of all ages gather in my back yard in particular.  I don't mind.  It just makes my little yard more active and full of life.

It is easy for me to stay in the moment on days like these.  Appreciating what I have, who I am with and where I am is so much simpler when the sun is shining.  I feel like I am a part of the world and life around me.  My values are much more in focus.  My family, nature and my spirituality.  If only I could feel like this everyday.  Maybe I should move to where the sun shines more often.  Nope.  Washington is my home and I appreciate the glorious summers days while they last.


Food for thought

What do you truly appreciate about the area you live?

Do you struggle with Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD)?  If so, what strategies have you found that help you?

Live on!

-Kristy

What's in the Bucket?

In my Bucket by Kristy Butler 2013

We've all heard of  the Bucket List right?  For those who are not familiar with the term I will explain.  The Bucket List is a list of all the things you want to do before you "Kick the Bucket" as they say.  What do you want to do in the short amount of time you are here?  There are entire websites dedicated to helping people make this list.  BucketList.org for example gives ideas if you're feeling like your bucket is half empty.  You can also see how others reached their goals and get help with reaching your own.  Making your personal list is fun and so inspiring!

As someone in recovery, it has been helpful to look towards things I want to accomplish other than focusing on what I can't.  Thinking and writing out my bucket list has been so much more rewarding and productive than engaging in my eating disorder behaviors.  Now, some of the items on my list I have already done.  Most I have not.  Some are simple and seem pretty attainable.  I don't think I'll have any problem getting up in a hot air balloon for example.  Many of the items on this list seem next to impossible!  Seeing the Sedlec Ossuary?  Well I would have to go to the Czech Republic for that!  In any case, I challenge you to make your own list!  Here are 50 things I want to do before I die.  I plan to add more as I think of them.  My list might be a lot like yours, or it might be completely different.  Write your own and start marking off the achievements!  #31- Start a Blog....NAILED IT!   

1. Ride in a hot air balloon (and survive.)
2. See the Grand Canyon
3. Be a mother  2003 & 2007
4. Teach someone to read  2008 to current (and if they learn to love it that would be even better!)
5. Teach someone how to ride a bike  2010 to current
6. Save a life
7. Lean a foreign language
8. Learn how to play an instrument
9. Write a children's book (and maybe get it published)
10. Visit Australia (going September 2013)
11. Learn how to meditate
12. Have a house on the beach
13. Learn how to knit  2012
14. Have a chat with a Buddhist Monk
15. Visit The Netherlands
16. Be an extra in a movie
17. Visit the Amazon
18. Learn sign language
19. Speak in front of a crowd
20. Kiss in the rain (husband?  You game?)
21. Learn to stand on my head
22. Attend a Southern Baptist service
23. Go skinny dipping
24. Volunteer for a cause I feel strongly about (looks like I might have an opportunity with NEDA!)
25. Shoot a gun (no, I am not condoning gun use.  I just figure if I am going to have a valid opinion of them, I should shoot one once.)
26. See red lava flow in Hawaii
27. Read my grandmother's Bible
28. Go to the Sedlec Ossuary
29. Go ghost hunting
30. Assist in a crisis
31. Start a blog  2013
32. Learn to drive a stick shift
33. Hold a hummingbird (preferably alive)
34. See all movies that won Academy awards for Best Movie
35. Attend a protest for something I believe in
36. Attend a retreat of silence (basically a retreat where I have to shut the hell up for a few days!)
37. Stop a crime
38. Go to the Taiwan Lantern Festival
39. Visit Bali
40. See the Cristo Redentor in Rio De Janeiro
41. Go on a backpacking trip with my love (like an overnight one)
42. Plant a ginkgo tree and watch it grow over the years   2012
43. Tell a stranger they are beautiful  2012
44. Have a big party with all the people I care about (who's coming?!)
45. Fly a plane (and survive)
46. Hold some one's hand as they pass away
47. Meet the musician, Sting
48. Go to Día de Muertos Festival
49. Grow old with my husband
50. Help someone recover

 Oh, and if any one out there is able to help me reach any of these goals, let me know!

Live on,

-Kristy

I Did and I Do

Marriage has been on my mind lately.  The topic seems to be all around me at the moment.  Beginnings.  Ends.  In the middles.  The arguments about who should be able to marry are in full force in our society at the moment.  It is summer now so there are weddings planned; invitations sent.  The media is crazy with the superficial aspects of dresses and celebrities along with the deeper issues of marriage equality for gay and lesbian couples currently standing in front of the supreme court.  Love is in the air, for some.  And reality is being lived by others.  All of this had me wondering.  Why is it that I am married?  Why is it working for us and not others?  How long will this roommate phase last?  What are we doing right and what are we doing wrong?  So much to contemplate.  Blog?  I DO!

I went to a dear friend's wedding last weekend.  I took my daughter and my husband stayed home with our son.  The wedding was gorgeous.  Perfect.  My gal was stunning and I cried at the sight of it all as I always do at weddings.  The way she and her new husband said their vows, planted a tree, and gazed longingly into each others eyes made me wistful.  Soul mates.  I was there once.  My husband and I met in high school and married shortly after.  We were ridiculously smitten.  I mean that whole, "I can't live without your face!" thing.  I thought about our own wedding almost 16 years ago.  I was terribly sick with anorexia when Don married me.  I can't even bear to look at the few wedding photos we have.  I was a ghost of the woman I am now.  And my love married me anyway.  Throughout the years our relationship as grown and changed.  It has evolved.  Often instead of gazing into each other's eyes and stealing kisses, we are discussing who is going to pick up which kid and who is going to be able to clean the cat box today.  We are, like many others, in the dreaded "roommate phase".  I long for that wedded bliss feeling I saw in my friend the other night.  The absolute joy and the promise of love to one another always.  Although Don and I try very hard to have time to connect, That starting point seems so far away.  We quite simply don't have the time to enjoy each others company as adults.

Where do we go from here?  Don and I talked last night (while being interrupted by kids needing things).  We are still as committed to one another as ever.  We genuinely enjoy each others company.  We make the other smile and laugh.  We just need to make time for us a priority.  So, date nights are being prescribed, one night a week.  Whether it's for a couple of hours or a whole night.  We are doing this.  Not only are we making this commitment for ourselves but our children need to see that we care about our relationship.  What a gift for them to see that mom and dad actually like being around each other!  So a sitter will be found and Don and I will start dating...again.

Some things we plan to do....alone!

Walk through the arboretum
Go to one of the many beaches in our area
Take a ferry boat ride to San Juans
Go to the Brower's Cafe
Explore the Seattle Center (with no kids?  Yes!)
Visit the zoo (seriously?  Yes!)
Long drives
Check out the new Chihuly Museum
Dress up and visit the Seattle Art Museum
Go thrift shopping (one of our most favorite things to do!)
Have a Photography day
Take a tour of Theo's Chocolate
Visit a Farmer's Markets
Cook a great meal together
Go to the ocean (it's been a while)
Take a Hike
Go to one of the many festivals in our area
Visit our friend's bar
Play tennis (we're terrible but that's part of the fun!)
Stroll through an old cemetery (weird, but that's so us.)
Stroll through the Pike Place Market
Have a picnic
Get up in a hot air balloon ride
Take a train ride


Any suggestions are greatly appreciated!

Live on!

-Kristy

So Far, in One Month

“Our lives are not our own. From womb to tomb, we are bound to others, past and present."  

  -Cloud Atlas

 
I have been doing this blog for about a month now.  I am also transferring the material to my Wordpress account: http://motheringme.wordpress.com/  So basically I am running two blogs.  I know!  Dang girl!  I just want to reach as many people as possible and it is going really well!  I am amazed at how many people are actually reading and commenting back to me.  Unfortunately I have discovered if you want to comment on Blogger you have to have an account which many people do not have (another reason why I am also posting in Wordpress).  People I never thought would want to read my blog, are!  It goes out on Facebook and POOF!  Everyone I know pretty much gets a copy of my diary.  SCARY!  Every time I hit the "Publish" button my heart races.  Is this really a good idea?  Do I really want everyone I know reading my stuff?  Is this important?  Relevant?  I start second guessing myself intensely.  Though the fear is overwhelming, (I can't even read something I wrote after I publish) the reaction is just as powerful.

Not only are my musings reaching people, but I feel so incredibly honored that people are sharing their own stories with me.  My goal is not only to step past my own fear, try something new and challenge myself.  I want to help people.  So many others have helped me through my recovery process.  My parents have always been open, kind, patient and involved.  My in-laws have been so accepting and helped me pay for the incredible expense of treatment.  Many of my friends have been so supportive of me.  I got letters and cards while away in treatment.  I have a treatment team who has stood by me and guided me through recovery.  I have an amazing husband who has been with me literally in sickness and in health.  I have let strangers into my life to teach me and take care of me when I could not do it on my own.  With all of this being said, I am so very, very fortunate and thankful.  I do not take any of it for granted.  I feel it is my turn to be that support for others.  I may not be able to do a lot of things, (those who know me know that I cannot bake a damn cake to save my life) but I am able to be a support and lend a helping hand to those who need one.

As I start this journey of advocacy I admit I am afraid.  What if I don't know what to say?  What if I say the wrong thing!?  What if I don't know how to help someone?  I do not have any special powers.  Just because I have walked through this disease does not mean that I have all the answers.  Strategies and coping mechanisms that worked for me might not necessarily work for others.  I do not know the magical combination of words to say to cure someone.  I don't believe anyone has this power.  I do know that I can be a non-judgmental listener.  I have been where many people have been.  I have felt the shame, the fear, the guilt, the emptiness, the fullness.  Nothing is shocking to me in this disease anymore.  I am trustworthy and honest.  These things I have learned about myself through this recovery.

When I reflect on this Mothering Me project I think about how much things have changed in the last month.  I am making specific time for myself in this hectic life I live.  I am writing and jotting things down on a daily basis.  I am exploring similar blogs and reminding myself that I am not alone.  I am opening my mind and using it differently.  I am drawing and actually sharing my art.  Ultimately, I am sharing myself.  It's terrifying, and yet so healing.  I feel even more inspired!  In spite of my fear of hitting that daunting "publish" button, I think I will keep going.  Please feel free to share your thoughts on either of my blogs.  I am loving the feedback.

Live on!

-Kristy

Not About the Hair

 I am sitting at a coffee shop, writing away, when a man comes up and says, "Some hair!"  Now, currently I have very bright, crazy red hair.  I mean it's the color of freakin' beet roots.

Beets.  Pretty much the color of my hair.

I get comments on my hair on almost a daily basis.  Mostly positive responses:  "Love the hair!"  "I wish I could pull that off."  That kind of thing.  I figure those who don't care for it or think it's obnoxious mostly keep those comments to themselves.  That whole, "If you can't say something nice" idea.  This man had me thinking though.  It was hard to know what he meant by "Some hair!"  Was it good hair?  Was it bad hair?  Did I care?  I pondered the thought; why did I color my hair such a conspicuous color?  I came up with the idea of identity and concluded it's not really about the hair specifically.  If only those strangers around me knew the real reasoning behind my vibrant locks.  I felt a blog post forming!

Psychologically speaking, I don't know why some of us have a deep need to have a tangible identity.  For me, I need some way to distinguish my "self" from the billions of other people on this planet.  What I do know now is that for many years I was trying to obtain this sense of self by doing the only thing I knew how to do:  be tiny.  Since I realized at a young age that I would never be the smartest, the prettiest, the richest, the most athletic, the best at this or at that, there was this one thing I knew about myself.  I could be small.  Now this may sound extremely shallow to a great many people out there.  Hell, it sounds shallow when I write it down!  However, contrary to what many people believe, being anorexic is not about being vain.  God knows I was far from attractive when I was at my sickest.  Being anorexic was about many things: control, depression, repressed feelings, self-loathing, attention, wanting to disappear, etc. (I will go into more of these in later posts).  Anorexia also became about sustaining an identity when I didn't feel I had a valid one.  Kristy is thin.  Period.  Even though I didn't always see this in myself when I looked in the mirror, I got the confirmation I needed from others.  "You're so thin."  "I wish I were that skinny." and so on.  All of this helped fuel the fire of my identity crisis.  If I am not thin.  What am I?  Who am I?

In recovery these comments I had grown to need, stopped.  When I reached a healthy weight and I no longer had anorexia as my identity, I still had the need to know who I was.  I am one of 7 billion human beings after all.  So is everyone else.  In treatment many of us were struggling with this dilemma.  Now what?!  We had all been sick for so long that it was impossible to know who we were outside of our disorders.  So began the long task of reaching down deep within myself.  I still knew I could not be many things and I accepted that.  But what was I already?  Who could I be?  This was scary and daunting but I was also hopeful.  Oh the possibilities even for me!  I could see this attempt to redefine identity all around me.  Some of us got piercings.  Many got tattoos.  We colored our hair.  Took up new hobbies.  New identities were being explored.  Some people may judge these attempts to find ourselves as silly or juvenile.  I thought it was beautiful.  There was so much creativity and excitement in those who chose recovery.  We were stretching our wings.  We got to choose something else.

My friend Danielle's recovery tattoo.

So here I sit with my beet red hair shining bright.  To some it is just a hair color.  A silly phase along with my nose ring and this blog.  For me it is much more than that.  I get to try on new options.  I started volunteering.  I am writing.  I am actually accepting that I am artistic.  I started advocacy work.  I have a lot of opinions and I am pretty outspoken.  As for the hair, people often ask me if I will keep it this way.  I will for now.  It is a healthy expression of who I am at the moment.  I'm the gal with the red hair, along with many other things.  That's me!  I am not anorexic.  I am finding myself and my freedom.  What will I discover next?  I can't wait to find out.



Live on!

-Kristy

Proof of Life

"Welcome to the inner workings of my mind" -MS MR

I opened up my blogging journal and turned to the page of The Things I Love.  In the thick of my disorder, life was very black and white.  There was little room for the things I truly care about.  In recovery, I made a random list of moments that brought me back to the land of the living.  I got the idea from reading a book called The Book of Awesome by Neil Pasricha.  Check it out, it's awesome and hilarious!  Some of those on my list are the same things that just about everybody appreciates:  Sunsets, hot coffee, that kind of cliché stuff.  Now of course there is nothing wrong with those typical things, but what specifically makes us tick?  What gives each of us a sense of peace, comfort, joy, laughter?  What us gives us the proof of life that we all need?  What makes us the same and what makes us different?  We each crave certain things.  What gives me personally the feeling that I am in and of this world?  I would encourage anyone who is in recovery or just having a hard time remembering who they are, to start writing a list of their own list.  Looking at this list and adding things to it really reminds  me of what makes me, me!  Give it a try for yourself!  You may learn some really interesting things about what in this world makes you truly happy.  


Here is my list in no particular order:

• Driving through falling leaves
• Watching my children play when they don't know I'm there
• Sunrises and sunsets
• The sound of silence when it snows
• Listening to beautiful music
• The smell of jack-o-lanterns when they are lit
• The sound of my husband laughing really hard
• Holding hands
• The feeling of sand between my toes
• The Dalai Lama's smile
• The smell and sound of campfires
• The colors of Autumn
• Pretty much any flower
• Sincere hugs (My friend Erica gives the best!)
• Watching the clouds pass over me
• Windstorms
• The sound of my children laughing
• My daughter's beautiful eyes
• My son when he snuggles with me
• Watching birds
• Observing nature in silence
• Thunder and lightening
• Looking in windows at night when I pass by
• The sound of a cat purring 
• Swinging on a swing set
  
• Playing hide-and-seek with children
• Coffee with friends
• Coffee alone
• A great yoga practice
• Singing in my car (and car dancing)
• The sound of  barred owls
• Fresh, clean bedsheets
• Rainy days in a cozy house
• Giving gifts that I made
• The way I feel after a good cry
• The feeling of laughing so hard it hurts
• Feeling really small under the night sky
• Really good chocolate
• Spending a great day with my sister
• Watching the ocean alone
• Sleeping with the window open
• Naps in the middle of the day
• Knowing I married my best friend
• A really good, fresh pain au chocolat 
• Reuniting with loved ones
• My mom and dad when they are laughing together
• Wearing something I feel confident in
• My (unnatural) red hair
• The smell of rain after a dry spell
• A really good find at a thrift store
• Helping someone I care about
• The feeling of soft things under my nose
• The sound of wooden wind chimes
• Watching babies sleep
• Drawing
• Catching a glimpse of a shooting star
• Seeing my parents are still in love
• The feeling I get when my house is clean
• Finding stuff in my coat pocket that I forgot about
• Falafel gyros
• Cooking something that tastes really good
• Watching my garden bloom
• The cold side of the pillow

Food for Thought

What moments make you truly happy and feel alive?

Where you able add anything to your list?


Live on!

-Kristy