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