Three years ago, I was living in Seattle, post-college. I had descended into a pit of depression, coupled with a lovely combination of restricting my eating, overexercising and binge eating.
It was not a good time.
There was one good thing about this time: I was living with my parents. This meant that I wasn’t paying rent, and I could use the money I earned to get help.
I did a lot of Googleing. Desperate, desperate Googling. I was sure that the answer was living in the World of Google, and it turns out that, in a way, it was.
Through The Google, I found a support group for people with eating disorders. It took a whole lot of gumption, but I went. The meeting itself was uncomfortable. It was in the dimly lit community room of a church. We sat on deflated-looking couches. I felt like I wasn’t broken enough to be there, like my problems were insignificant compared to others in the room. But I stayed and got some written resources. Through Something Fishy, I found a therapist who specialized in eating disorders, and I made an appointment.
That appointment turned out to be the best thing I ever did for myself. When I got there, I asked if there was hope to get better. Sue assured me there was. She sent me to a psychiatrist to attend to my depression through medication, and she sent me to a nutritionist, Jennifer Adler, so I could begin to nourish myself once again.
After my first appointment with Jennifer, I went to Whole Foods and bought grass-fed beef, sprouted grain bread and a bottle of kombucha. I still remember how deeply nourished I felt after eating the hamburger I made myself that night.
I remember driving down the road to run an errand the next morning, cresting a small hill and feeling buoyant with hope.
That was the beginning of several months of therapy and learning to actually eat things that nourished me. Like, oh, protein. Through that intensive work and much reading about self esteem and body image and feminism, I gradually learned that I was more than the slenderness or fatness of my body. I learned to stop trying to lose weight. I learned that I didn’t have to exercise every single day and instead began to become a real person with feelings and interests.
It’s now years later, and I have interests that aren’t food restriction and exercise. I’m becoming a life coach. I’m a photographer. I’m a food blogger. My friendships and other relationships grow stronger each week. But I still turn to food to distract me when I don’t want to do something. I still have hard-to-manage cravings for foods that don’t make me feel good. I still sometimes struggle with the way I feel about my body.
While I know that my relationship with my body and with food will change throughout my life, right now, I want to be more free. I want to address the deeper issues behind reaching for chips when I’m stressed and hating on my body when I feel like I’m not enough. And this isn’t only about me. I want to be free of this cycle for my clients. I want them to know that it’s possible to be wholly, brilliantly yourself, and to let go of the obsessions and insecurities behind which we all hide.
Over the past few weeks, I’ve been undertaking an intensive, uncomfortable project to identify the feelings and needs that hide behind the food cravings I experience when I’m not hungry. It’s been exhausting, and I find myself needing to sleep much more after a day of feeling my emotions instead of pushing them aside as I often do.
It’s been worth it, too. Awfully painful, but worth it. I can see changes taking place. My needs are becoming more apparent. Self-care becomes less optional every day.
Why am I telling you all this? I’m not entirely sure. Even as I write this, I don’t know if I should be spilling my deepest, darkest secrets onto this virtual page. I can’t decipher whether this darkness fits with the effervescence I’m committed to sharing with you.
I suppose I’m hoping this will help one or two of you. I think, also, that I’ll probably be writing about some of the things I’m learning about self-care and self-like, and I want you to know that I wasn’t just born knowing these things. I’m only learning them now after twenty-five years of secrets and depression and unhealthy patterns.
And one last thing: I know that not everyone struggles with food and body issues. But most people struggle with something, whether it’s smoking or relationships or drugs or the computer or gum or television or texting.
I guess I’m hoping that my something will help you to release your grip on your something.
