Good LORD you guys. So much for getting Sofia situated and coming right back to blog. I am so sorry if I caused any of you any worry for even a fraction of a second. I am so lame for even putting up such a dumb cliffhanger type post and then not following up immediately after.
I'm lame, I suck, I know it and I'm sorry.
But I'm here now and I have a story that I'd like to share with you. And since I have no idea where to start, let's just start.
Over the years of me writing this blog, it has morphed from a casual pastime to something much more real and important and valuable to me. It's more than me just telling stories; over the years you have helped me. You've seen me through four miscarriages, one successful birth (soon hopefully two), finding out about a new sister. You've been THERE for me while I worked through my issues, you've made me laugh, think, cry and everything in between. I've shared more with you, my readers, than I have with a lot of my real life friends. For that, I thank you. Thank you for reading, thank you for reaching out, thank you for being there. You have created a safe space for me; you know my thoughts and my only hope is that I have somehow in some way done the same for you. It means the world to me to hear from you and know that something I've gone through or shared has helped you in some way, big or small. That's why I'm here and that's why I'll stay here.
A few days ago, I received an email followed shortly by a phone call talking about the exact same thing and I took that as a sign that I should share my story. For a while, it's been on my mind but I was always like, Nope. That's too much. I CANnot keep doing this to my readers and friends. I need to talk about sewing pillows. I must entertain. But as much as that stuff is my life, this is too and if by sharing my story maybe someone else shares theirs, then that's a good thing.
Trigger alert: We're going to talk about eating disorders. There's a picture.
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I've been skinny my whole life. I've never had to worry about my weight, and at nearly 38 years old and all other things remaining equal, I think it's safe to say I probably never will. I've also been teased about it my whole life. When I was younger and got my yearbook signed: Hey Skeleton Girl, I hope you eat food over the summer. When I was older and my 'friends' would 'tease' me: Ugh, you're such a skinny bitch, I hate you. Must be *nice* to eat whatever you want and not gain an ounce. Just wait till you hit 30/just wait till you have a kid - you're going to BLOW UP and I'm going to LAUGH. I was never allowed to say 'that's hurtful, don't say these things to me' because you don't get to feel bad about being thin. I felt like I couldn't stand up for myself because being thin isn't a real problem.
When I was about ten, I cried to my mom but I never really got a lot of empathy as she spent her whole life being overweight and often told me how lucky I was, how the other kids were just jealous and how I shouldn't let it get to me. Except it's not that easy; you can't cope when you don't have any coping skills. When you're a kid you want to be accepted, you want to fit in and if you don't have a place where you're comfortable, life becomes difficult to manage.
Once, my mom took me to GNC to buy some weight-gain powder but we didn't buy any; when we saw the jugs were nearly fifty dollars, I felt too guilty to ask her to spend that much money on something she clearly didn't think was necessary. I told her I changed my mind and that was the last we ever talked about it. As an adult, I understand: When you have your own demons it's hard to see past them and instead all you see is someone complaining about having something you wish you had for yourself. Plus, there was that idea back then that kids aren't capable of having complex feelings like adults do and I couldn't really be that upset and it wasn't *that* serious.
Besides, there really was no such thing as 'thin-shaming' when I was growing up and who in their right mind would ever think being skinny was a bad thing?
My mom encouraged me to start modeling, because in modeling being skinny is prized. You get praised for fitting into a size 0 and I could do that without even trying. Looking back, that probably wasn't the best decision, but I don't blame my mom for this one. In this case, I truly believe she did her best. She didn't know. I started competing in mall beauty contests and school was always the priority, but the seed was planted.
I was never tall enough for fashion modeling, but I was thin with curves and boobs which made me a perfect candidate for swimsuit modeling, and in my mid 20s I discovered swimsuit competitions. By this time, I'd moved away from home and was responsible for myself; I still hadn't learned many coping skills and was less emotionally mature than I should have been, to be standing on some stage in a bikini getting judged for my looks. But I'd been bitten by the competition bug and it wasn't long before I was in the thick of it.
That world revolved around exercise and food: Bikini models can't be bony sticks, and the best body is a toned body. I quickly learned to eat egg whites and a small bowl of plain oatmeal for breakfast with a salad for lunch and grilled fish for dinner, while toting around a giant jug of water between trips to the gym to spend hours on the treadmill and lifting weights. I nearly always at least placed in the contests and I quickly grew to love the spirit of competition. Eating healthier and working out harder than the next girl became my goal, not because I had to or because I hated myself. I just wanted to see just how long I could run without passing out; how little I could eat and still survive. It became about molding my body, about controlling myself and it was only exacerbated when I won, when they applauded me, handing me those giant bouquets of flowers and prize money. I wanted more and that meant eating less.
No one ever confessed to having a problem with food because the idea was to make it look as effortless as possible. You don't complain about being hungry; if you can't live off a bowl of oatmeal and a hard boiled egg you didn't need to be there. If you can't knock out two hours on the treadmill at a hard run, then you're obviously not cut out for the competition. Winners don't worry about food and I had an edge because I came into the game skinny; it wasn't much of an adjustment to get used to eating less. The hardest part was the exercise; I hated the gym, but if there was a girl on the elliptical at six in the morning, then I was right next to her. If I was going to lose a contest, it wasn't going to be because I didn't work out hard enough or I didn't eat small enough portions.
This is an old and grainy picture of a picture
but you get the idea. I was in my mid 20s.
At this time in my life, I was proud of my body. I loved it, I never punished myself and there was never any negative self-talk. I was in the prime of my youth; I traveled, met famous people, and I had tons of fun. We always got special treatment and VIP access. Crowds literally parted when contests were in town and all us girls came out to the clubs. Even though the drugs and sex were there, I knew enough to never mess with that stuff. I could have won more contests that way and sleeping your way to the top is a very real thing, but even back then I knew the price wasn't worth it.
Not that I got out unscathed - my brain was re-wired. Just like muscle memory, after I stopped competing and modeling my brain remembers the satisfaction of being able to control my body and even though I wasn't on stage anymore, I still sought that validation for having that control. It was powerful and it became a tool.
I began to notice that I was using not eating to manage my stress when I was in my late 20s. I was in college, working full time and everyone sort of expects that college stresses you out. It's sort of a badge of honor to walk around in a daze during finals and no one blinks when you eat once a day, or when you eat too much - Freshman 15 anyone?
I really can't even remember when it started again but when I got stressed, I stopped eating. One of the worst episodes I had was when I got pregnant for the very first time. It was the darkest time of my life and I went several days without eating. I have never resorted to binging and purging; I'm not into causing myself pain (stuffing your face makes your stomach hurt too much) and I was too vain to vomit. Plus, it's too much of a giveaway. Vomiting makes your teeth rot and your breath stink and I was never keen on sticking my fingers down my throat. It was much easier to simply never let the food in to begin with. Plus, vomiting will show a lot quicker than restricting calories. You have to starve yourself for a little while longer before it starts to show in your skin and hair; at least that's my experience. I was good at it because no one ever knew. I could walk the line like a pro. While I'm genetically thin, I was artificially skinny. People noticed, but it was more like You're so lucky to be so skinny. I wish I could be skinny like you, and my brain heard: You don't get to complain. You can't ask for help. What you see as an issue is a blessing most people would love to have. Keep your mouth shut, you don't have real problems.
So that's what I did. I found yoga and it actually helped enormously in helping me deal with stress and I thought I was 'cured.' I even told myself that I probably never really had a problem to begin with, that it was in my head. Finally, I had coping skills and with the help of a ton of therapy over many years, I took pride in having kicked my bad habit. I got married and having miscarriages didn't even knock me back into my old habits. But it's always there; once your brain is re-wired it never goes away.
One day, I looked in the mirror. I was a new mom, my husband had gotten a new job in another state, I was alone more than I wasn't, we were trying to sell our house and the burdens got heavy again. I didn't really have anyone to talk to and using any coping skills became too much effort on top of everything else and it became easier to simply stop eating.
May 2012.
I keep this picture to remind myself to never get back to this place. Breastfeeding was literally sucking the pounds off and I was too stressed to replace them. It was easy to focus on my child and not take care of myself. Again, no one blinks when you don't eat because you're taking care of your kid; if anything you get praised for losing the baby weight so quickly and being such a devoted mother. Once again, I didn't feel like I had the right to ask for help, I didn't have the right to speak up and say that I was handling stress in an unhealthy way. I just quietly stopped eating, just so that there was some tiny part of my life that made sense; I got through the day on crackers and water, not because I was too busy taking care of my baby; crackers and water was a purposeful and conscious decision. I needed to control something, anything because the world was getting too big and I was feeling too small.
We finally sold the house, moved to Pennsylvania and we were finally together as a family. Again, I thought it was just an episode and it was over. And then it happened again. I cried every day because I knew what was happening and I wanted to face it. I wanted to deal with it and make the stress go away before I hit that no-eating point but I couldn't. It was like being trapped in a locked room with a snake and I had to just let it sting me over and over again and I couldn't get away. I felt trapped and threatened and unheard and alone. I couldn't get off the roller coaster and I felt like the only way I could survive was to not eat. I was six months pregnant and I found myself staring at the open fridge at nine at night, realizing that I'd only eaten two bites of lasagna all day long and that was more on purpose than not.
It was one day but one day of choosing not to feed your fetus is one day too many. Plus, it scared the shit out of me and I was on the phone faster than my shaky fingers could dial, calling any and every hotline I could Google, begging someone to help me eat because I literally couldn't put anything in my mouth and I'll be damned if I make my kid pay for my issues. It was a Saturday night and of course all the hotlines I found were only Monday through Friday 8-5 because don't you know, eating disorders only flare up during business hours. One place I called directed me to the suicide prevention hotline and I was offended. "I'm not fucking suicidal you fucking morons. I just can't eat and if you'd just fucking say the magic words or tell me what I need to do so I can eat, I will fucking do it. You think like feeling like this?! You think I'm doing this for attention?! I need fucking help you fucking assholes."
I finally found a treatment center in Arizona that picked up the phone and I talked to a 'counselor' whose only words of advice were "Well, you've just got to eat." I swear to fucking God that's what this bitch said to me. Very politely, I was like "Ma'am I am well aware of that, unfortunately I CAN'T EAT. I'd very much appreciate it if you could just give me a tip or a trick that will help me manage my anxiety enough to where I don't go any longer without eating."
This bitch had nothing. She was of ZERO help and she was supposed to be a counselor specializing in eating disorders. I hung up with her and cried my way through the rest of the night and by the grace of God, I was able to eat the next day.
But I was shaken. I thought I was past this but I realized that this was always going to be an issue and traditional treatment centers and even counselors don't really talk to you until you're 80 pounds and hate yourself and have already attempted suicide. I felt like that because I never got that far I didn't 'qualify.'
That's why I'm telling my story. I got an email the other day from someone who wasn't drowning but knew enough that the water was getting high and they reached out to me. And then I got a phone call from someone else who also confided their food issues to me and I felt such urgency. I wanted to grab their shoulders, look them in the eye and say "You qualify. Your problems are real and valid and I hear you. I'm beside you, fighting with you. You matter. You have the strength to grab that snake by the head and stomp the shit out of it. You can do this." I have no expertise, I have no formal training, but I know that when I feel weak, I need to be reminded that weakness is a state of mind, that I've come a long way through a lot of shit and we all need cheerleaders in our corner.
I do not believe in suffering alone. We all have burdens to bear and we all have some bad habit that we could stand to lose, but there is no reason any of us should take those steps alone. We all have to walk our own paths, carry our own burdens and be responsible adults but there's no reason why we can't have some company along the way. That night, in that moment I didn't feel like I had anyone in my corner and it was the worst feeling in the world.
I posted this picture on Facebook and
one of my 'friends' (more of an acquaintance really) was like
'OMG could you be any skinnier right now?'
I wanted to say "Well I suppose I could but that would mean my eating disorder is flaring up."
Then I remembered, I've hidden quite well and it's no one's fault if they can't find me.
You can't be mad at people for saying stuff like that if you don't educate them.
So I didn't say anything, but it still stung.
That's the bottom line of why I'm telling my story - to say don't hide so well that you can't be found. Don't put on a stiff upper lip and try to power through it alone. At best, it's lonely and makes things harder than they need to be. At worst, it's dangerous and harmful to your health. We all need someone in our corner when things get too big and too loud and too much to handle and help should not be restricted to those who have sunk so low that they've gone ahead and attempted suicide or have already lost an alarming amount of weight or they've done whatever other dangerous thing. Even if you're only two steps down the wrong path, it's still the wrong path.
I will soon have two daughters and our society is still quite broken and we still have a terribly skewed ideal of body image. I'm hyper sensitive to it and I'm always on the lookout for my warning signs and I spot my triggers a mile away. I will keep lines of communication open and I will pray every day that I don't miss warning signs in my daughters. I will make sure they know every second of every day that I'm in their corner, that while they will have to walk their path with their own two feet, that I will never be far.
I don't know if aaallll these words made any kind of sense or that they conveyed my message, but I sure hope so. Don't suffer alone, it's not worth it. I did for just a night and it scared the shit out of me. I'm not talking 'oh I had a bad day' - it was dark and nasty and I would have given anything to hear someone say "It's going to be ok. You're not alone and you're going to make it."
I guess what I'm trying to say is I can say that to you, if you need me to. I've gone through some things and I've made it to the other side in one piece. I've made it through with your help and if I can return the favor, then sign me up. Sometimes you need someone who has walked the path before you to tell you that you can indeed put one foot in front of the other, that you can make it through to the other side because they've done it. I've lost babies and I'm still standing. I struggle with food and I'm still here. I have a jacked up family and I still get out of bed in the morning. And God KNOWS I have zero problems compared with what some people have to go through, but all I'm saying is you've helped me and if by sharing my story I can help, in even the smallest of ways, then I'm here.
Okay, thanks for letting me share. I'll get back to the funny and the light and the entertaining in short order.
