Not good enough… for me

I’ve been going to meetings – EDA, and I went to one ABA meeting too – and they’ve helped me get through the holidays. And the holidays weren’t bad. But this week is here. Back to work, back to school, back to life. I’ve been hiding out the past few weeks, chilling from a tough fall semester and trying to heal. Not sure I did any of that, but I’ve been eating. And going to meetings. And not purging. And mostly not restricting. And I keep reminding myself it’s “effort not outcomes.” Continue reading

Midnight

It’s midnight again and I should be asleep in bed. I would just go upstairs, pop my Ambien, put on my sleep mask and sleep. It works – nearly every night – and yet I cannot go just yet.

I have a quiz to write, a final exam waiting. Trust documents to sign, bills to pay, taxes to review. The kids’ lunches aren’t complete, there’s laundry to be hung, and I could stay up all night working but to no avail. It’s not the work, it’s me. Continue reading

Getting ED. Getting it. Getting me.

This isn’t an easy thing to explain, this eating disorder thing. In part because I can’t think of a time except when I was a child when I was completely okay with food. Even then, I remember the comments my family made – the “jokes” and teasing that I “took too seriously” but looking back were pretty hurtful. They called me “thunder thighs,” and other names. And yet I wasn’t fat. I’ve never been fat, really.  Continue reading

What I believe (or better yet, what Ana has me believe)

T asked me to write up a list of my beliefs. Knowing my anal-retentive perfectionist tendencies, she declared that I could not create a database for my list or write up an optimization formula, or even benchmark it against other people’s belief lists. So I wrote one, and it was okay, but I realized that there’s another side to my beliefs that was staring right back at me as I looked in the fridge tonight and saw nothing Continue reading

The perpetual cycle of shame

Long before I ever started therapy, I struggled with an overwhelming sense of shame.  On the surface, I was ashamed that I had to resort to purging to handle my issues with food, and that sometimes I had to hit or hurt myself to feel better.  I felt terrible and weak that I did these things, so much so that I only told one person about my self-harm, a then-BF I dated in college.  He later figured out the purging when we went to a mexican restaurant and I came back from the bathroom with a flushed face.  Ironically, he was angry that I had “wasted” the food (I didn’t – it was delicious, which is why I ate it and then purged it) and never expressed concern about my purging, or even how I’d been lying to him the entire time.   Continue reading