Thursday, March 27, 2014
A Video for Your Viewing Pleasure
I'm dating myself by saying this, but I saw this video for the first time many years ago when I was still sick. It was late at night when it came on MTV, and I believe I was not sober. The video made me cry. It is a beautiful song and video. Enjoy.
A Video for Your Viewing Pleasure
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Anger
"You're a very, very angry girl."
I sat there thinking, No s--t, Sherlock.
It was my first therapy appointment. I just got through giving my new therapist the brief history of my life story and my eating disorder. I knew I was angry. At the world. At everyone. At her for even for saying that.
She told me she wanted me to go home and make a list of all the people I was angry at. I told her that there wasn't enough paper in the world. (I was making such a great first impression.)
Well I did. I put down everyone I could think of. From WAY back. We're talking from the girls who teased me in kindergarten up to the ex-boyfriend I was currently living with. No one was spared.
When I finished and read through the list, I had to put someone else on top. Myself. I was mostly angry at myself. For ending up having to get help. For getting sick enough to need help. For feeling ashamed at being sick. I deserved to be on top of that list more than anyone else.
Anger was always a very scary emotion for me. I never learned how to deal with it. I grew up with my mother constantly telling me that if I have nothing nice to say, then say nothing. And the always helpful, "A lady never shows her true feelings." (When I told my therapist these words of wisdom, she exclaimed, "Bulls-t!") So it's easy to see how I could have developed an e.d. to help me to cope with uncomfortable feelings.
But with getting better, you have to learn how to deal with all the junk you've been avoiding. And anger was a big one for me. All anger is, is sadness putting on a tough face. That's it. We as a society are more comfortable showing anger than tears. I wasn't very good at either.
One of the ways I would get anger out in the beginning of my recovery was to drive around at night with my music blaring and just screaming at the top of my lungs. I would have the angriest music I could find on and just scream and scream. I felt so good to finally get out all the years of pent up anger out out out. Believe me, there was a lot of it to get out.
I did just mention that I was living at the time with my ex-boyfriend. (Under no circumstances would I ever recommend this to anyone.) One day I was really mad at him for something. He was not at home for me to tell him. I saw one of his t-shirts laying on the floor. I'll never forget it. It was purple. I picked it up and just laid into it. I ripped that shirt to shreds. Tore it up. It was just a bunch of torn strips when I got through with it. I didn't have an ounce of negativity left in me. There was some guilt in what I did to one of his favorite shirts though. Oh well. Looking back, I should have owned up to what I did a few days later when he went looking for it. But I played dumb. I thought to myself that it was better his t-shirt took a fall, than my recovery.
Now I deal with anger a bit more saner. I take a lot of deep breaths. A lot. I do practice yoga, so I have many different breathing techniques at my disposal. Talking it out with someone helps too. It doesn't always have to be the one you're angry at. Sometimes you just have to vent and that's fine. What's important is that you don't let the anger simmer inside you. Get it out. Journal. Exercise. Tear up a damn t-shirt. Get it out! Feel your feelings.
The only way out is through. The only way to heal is to feel.
(I used to hear those two sayings so much in therapy. Just thought I'd throw those out there.)
love and light, kelly
I sat there thinking, No s--t, Sherlock.
It was my first therapy appointment. I just got through giving my new therapist the brief history of my life story and my eating disorder. I knew I was angry. At the world. At everyone. At her for even for saying that.
She told me she wanted me to go home and make a list of all the people I was angry at. I told her that there wasn't enough paper in the world. (I was making such a great first impression.)
Well I did. I put down everyone I could think of. From WAY back. We're talking from the girls who teased me in kindergarten up to the ex-boyfriend I was currently living with. No one was spared.
When I finished and read through the list, I had to put someone else on top. Myself. I was mostly angry at myself. For ending up having to get help. For getting sick enough to need help. For feeling ashamed at being sick. I deserved to be on top of that list more than anyone else.
Anger was always a very scary emotion for me. I never learned how to deal with it. I grew up with my mother constantly telling me that if I have nothing nice to say, then say nothing. And the always helpful, "A lady never shows her true feelings." (When I told my therapist these words of wisdom, she exclaimed, "Bulls-t!") So it's easy to see how I could have developed an e.d. to help me to cope with uncomfortable feelings.
But with getting better, you have to learn how to deal with all the junk you've been avoiding. And anger was a big one for me. All anger is, is sadness putting on a tough face. That's it. We as a society are more comfortable showing anger than tears. I wasn't very good at either.
One of the ways I would get anger out in the beginning of my recovery was to drive around at night with my music blaring and just screaming at the top of my lungs. I would have the angriest music I could find on and just scream and scream. I felt so good to finally get out all the years of pent up anger out out out. Believe me, there was a lot of it to get out.
I did just mention that I was living at the time with my ex-boyfriend. (Under no circumstances would I ever recommend this to anyone.) One day I was really mad at him for something. He was not at home for me to tell him. I saw one of his t-shirts laying on the floor. I'll never forget it. It was purple. I picked it up and just laid into it. I ripped that shirt to shreds. Tore it up. It was just a bunch of torn strips when I got through with it. I didn't have an ounce of negativity left in me. There was some guilt in what I did to one of his favorite shirts though. Oh well. Looking back, I should have owned up to what I did a few days later when he went looking for it. But I played dumb. I thought to myself that it was better his t-shirt took a fall, than my recovery.
Now I deal with anger a bit more saner. I take a lot of deep breaths. A lot. I do practice yoga, so I have many different breathing techniques at my disposal. Talking it out with someone helps too. It doesn't always have to be the one you're angry at. Sometimes you just have to vent and that's fine. What's important is that you don't let the anger simmer inside you. Get it out. Journal. Exercise. Tear up a damn t-shirt. Get it out! Feel your feelings.
The only way out is through. The only way to heal is to feel.
(I used to hear those two sayings so much in therapy. Just thought I'd throw those out there.)
love and light, kelly
Anger
"You're a very, very angry girl."
I sat there thinking, No s--t, Sherlock.
It was my first therapy appointment. I just got through giving my new therapist the brief history of my life story and my eating disorder. I knew I was angry. At the world. At everyone. At her for even for saying that.
She told me she wanted me to go home and make a list of all the people I was angry at. I told her that there wasn't enough paper in the world. (I was making such a great first impression.)
Well I did. I put down everyone I could think of. From WAY back. We're talking from the girls who teased me in kindergarten up to the ex-boyfriend I was currently living with. No one was spared.
When I finished and read through the list, I had to put someone else on top. Myself. I was mostly angry at myself. For ending up having to get help. For getting sick enough to need help. For feeling ashamed at being sick. I deserved to be on top of that list more than anyone else.
Anger was always a very scary emotion for me. I never learned how to deal with it. I grew up with my mother constantly telling me that if I have nothing nice to say, then say nothing. And the always helpful, "A lady never shows her true feelings." (When I told my therapist these words of wisdom, she exclaimed, "Bulls-t!") So it's easy to see how I could have developed an e.d. to help me to cope with uncomfortable feelings.
But with getting better, you have to learn how to deal with all the junk you've been avoiding. And anger was a big one for me. All anger is, is sadness putting on a tough face. That's it. We as a society are more comfortable showing anger than tears. I wasn't very good at either.
One of the ways I would get anger out in the beginning of my recovery was to drive around at night with my music blaring and just screaming at the top of my lungs. I would have the angriest music I could find on and just scream and scream. I felt so good to finally get out all the years of pent up anger out out out. Believe me, there was a lot of it to get out.
I did just mention that I was living at the time with my ex-boyfriend. (Under no circumstances would I ever recommend this to anyone.) One day I was really mad at him for something. He was not at home for me to tell him. I saw one of his t-shirts laying on the floor. I'll never forget it. It was purple. I picked it up and just laid into it. I ripped that shirt to shreds. Tore it up. It was just a bunch of torn strips when I got through with it. I didn't have an ounce of negativity left in me. There was some guilt in what I did to one of his favorite shirts though. Oh well. Looking back, I should have owned up to what I did a few days later when he went looking for it. But I played dumb. I thought to myself that it was better his t-shirt took a fall, than my recovery.
Now I deal with anger a bit more saner. I take a lot of deep breaths. A lot. I do practice yoga, so I have many different breathing techniques at my disposal. Talking it out with someone helps too. It doesn't always have to be the one you're angry at. Sometimes you just have to vent and that's fine. What's important is that you don't let the anger simmer inside you. Get it out. Journal. Exercise. Tear up a damn t-shirt. Get it out! Feel your feelings.
The only way out is through. The only way to heal is to feel.
(I used to hear those two sayings so much in therapy. Just thought I'd throw those out there.)
love and light, kelly
I sat there thinking, No s--t, Sherlock.
It was my first therapy appointment. I just got through giving my new therapist the brief history of my life story and my eating disorder. I knew I was angry. At the world. At everyone. At her for even for saying that.
She told me she wanted me to go home and make a list of all the people I was angry at. I told her that there wasn't enough paper in the world. (I was making such a great first impression.)
Well I did. I put down everyone I could think of. From WAY back. We're talking from the girls who teased me in kindergarten up to the ex-boyfriend I was currently living with. No one was spared.
When I finished and read through the list, I had to put someone else on top. Myself. I was mostly angry at myself. For ending up having to get help. For getting sick enough to need help. For feeling ashamed at being sick. I deserved to be on top of that list more than anyone else.
Anger was always a very scary emotion for me. I never learned how to deal with it. I grew up with my mother constantly telling me that if I have nothing nice to say, then say nothing. And the always helpful, "A lady never shows her true feelings." (When I told my therapist these words of wisdom, she exclaimed, "Bulls-t!") So it's easy to see how I could have developed an e.d. to help me to cope with uncomfortable feelings.
But with getting better, you have to learn how to deal with all the junk you've been avoiding. And anger was a big one for me. All anger is, is sadness putting on a tough face. That's it. We as a society are more comfortable showing anger than tears. I wasn't very good at either.
One of the ways I would get anger out in the beginning of my recovery was to drive around at night with my music blaring and just screaming at the top of my lungs. I would have the angriest music I could find on and just scream and scream. I felt so good to finally get out all the years of pent up anger out out out. Believe me, there was a lot of it to get out.
I did just mention that I was living at the time with my ex-boyfriend. (Under no circumstances would I ever recommend this to anyone.) One day I was really mad at him for something. He was not at home for me to tell him. I saw one of his t-shirts laying on the floor. I'll never forget it. It was purple. I picked it up and just laid into it. I ripped that shirt to shreds. Tore it up. It was just a bunch of torn strips when I got through with it. I didn't have an ounce of negativity left in me. There was some guilt in what I did to one of his favorite shirts though. Oh well. Looking back, I should have owned up to what I did a few days later when he went looking for it. But I played dumb. I thought to myself that it was better his t-shirt took a fall, than my recovery.
Now I deal with anger a bit more saner. I take a lot of deep breaths. A lot. I do practice yoga, so I have many different breathing techniques at my disposal. Talking it out with someone helps too. It doesn't always have to be the one you're angry at. Sometimes you just have to vent and that's fine. What's important is that you don't let the anger simmer inside you. Get it out. Journal. Exercise. Tear up a damn t-shirt. Get it out! Feel your feelings.
The only way out is through. The only way to heal is to feel.
(I used to hear those two sayings so much in therapy. Just thought I'd throw those out there.)
love and light, kelly
Monday, March 24, 2014
Asking for Help
By the time I finally entered therapy, I knew what my eating disorder represented. I had read all the books. I had analyzed myself up one side and down the other. I knew my e.d. was not about food. It never is. I knew it was a coping mechanism. Starving myself meant starving my feelings away. The less I ate, the less I felt. Binging equaled stuffing my feelings down. So far down that they didn't exist anymore. Or so I thought. Purging equaled bringing the feelings up. To be flushed down the toilet. I wasn't puking up the food. I was puking up my feelings. After vomiting, I was void of all feelings. I felt nothing. Total numbness.
But with all my self-analysis, I still found it impossible to stop.
I wanted to - at times. Other times I was so thankful for it. I thought that if I didn't have it, I would be forced to face myself and all my negative feelings. I wouldn't be able to handle it. They would crush me. I would die from mental exhaustion. I was sure of it.
Deciding to get help was one of the scariest things I ever did.
I had flirted with the idea for so long.
But it wasn't until I was scaring myself that I decided to stop. I had been scaring my family and friends for years. That didn't bother me. I felt they were over reacting. I mean, I controlled it. It did not control me. What a big fat f-ing joke that was. Only I didn't get it. For me to get the punchline would have had to be me dying, I guess. Thank God and Daddy, I started scaring myself with it.
The purging episodes were getting to the point where I would basically pass out by the toilet. The room would be spinning. I would be spinning. I felt as if I didn't know where I was or who I was. I would pull myself up by holding onto the sink. Once standing the room spun more. My eyes couldn't focus. Everything was muggy and foggy. I would have to get on my hands and knees and crawl to my bedroom, where I would have to pull myself up on the bed. Once safely under the covers, I would pass out.
Now I've always been one for the dramatics, but this was a bit much. This wasn't me being a drama queen. This was real.
I was scared.
I didn't mean to start crying on the table of my gynecologist's office. I really didn't. All he did was ask me how I was doing and the floodgates came bursting open. I told him how I was starving myself and that when I would eat, out it would come. How I tried and tried to stop, but couldn't.
When he was finished examining me, he left the room saying he was going to call (the treatment center I went to). I am to this day ever so grateful for this man. I really don't think I could have ever made that call. But for some unforeseen reason, I was made to cry on that table, however embarrassing it was. And it was.
I could hear him in the hall on the phone taking charge. He told me to come out and talk to them. They made me an appointment for me to come in for the next week. I am told to come by before to fill out papers and a questionnaire about my e.d. to see how best to treat me.
I am at once scared and excited. All for the same reason. The thought of giving up my constant companion, living without it, making it through life without it, succeeding without it. I was split down the middle. A part of me was like, forget it, you'll never make it. You're wasting their time and your money. The other part was filled with unspoken hope.
It is scary to ask for help. Very. For so long, we have been hiding in shame with our disease. We thought we didn't deserve help. Other people do, but we don't. I'm here to tell you, you do deserve it. You can't do it alone. Ask for help. It is out there.
But with all my self-analysis, I still found it impossible to stop.
I wanted to - at times. Other times I was so thankful for it. I thought that if I didn't have it, I would be forced to face myself and all my negative feelings. I wouldn't be able to handle it. They would crush me. I would die from mental exhaustion. I was sure of it.
Deciding to get help was one of the scariest things I ever did.
I had flirted with the idea for so long.
But it wasn't until I was scaring myself that I decided to stop. I had been scaring my family and friends for years. That didn't bother me. I felt they were over reacting. I mean, I controlled it. It did not control me. What a big fat f-ing joke that was. Only I didn't get it. For me to get the punchline would have had to be me dying, I guess. Thank God and Daddy, I started scaring myself with it.
The purging episodes were getting to the point where I would basically pass out by the toilet. The room would be spinning. I would be spinning. I felt as if I didn't know where I was or who I was. I would pull myself up by holding onto the sink. Once standing the room spun more. My eyes couldn't focus. Everything was muggy and foggy. I would have to get on my hands and knees and crawl to my bedroom, where I would have to pull myself up on the bed. Once safely under the covers, I would pass out.
Now I've always been one for the dramatics, but this was a bit much. This wasn't me being a drama queen. This was real.
I was scared.
I didn't mean to start crying on the table of my gynecologist's office. I really didn't. All he did was ask me how I was doing and the floodgates came bursting open. I told him how I was starving myself and that when I would eat, out it would come. How I tried and tried to stop, but couldn't.
When he was finished examining me, he left the room saying he was going to call (the treatment center I went to). I am to this day ever so grateful for this man. I really don't think I could have ever made that call. But for some unforeseen reason, I was made to cry on that table, however embarrassing it was. And it was.
I could hear him in the hall on the phone taking charge. He told me to come out and talk to them. They made me an appointment for me to come in for the next week. I am told to come by before to fill out papers and a questionnaire about my e.d. to see how best to treat me.
I am at once scared and excited. All for the same reason. The thought of giving up my constant companion, living without it, making it through life without it, succeeding without it. I was split down the middle. A part of me was like, forget it, you'll never make it. You're wasting their time and your money. The other part was filled with unspoken hope.
It is scary to ask for help. Very. For so long, we have been hiding in shame with our disease. We thought we didn't deserve help. Other people do, but we don't. I'm here to tell you, you do deserve it. You can't do it alone. Ask for help. It is out there.
Asking for Help
By the time I finally entered therapy, I knew what my eating disorder represented. I had read all the books. I had analyzed myself up one side and down the other. I knew my e.d. was not about food. It never is. I knew it was a coping mechanism. Starving myself meant starving my feelings away. The less I ate, the less I felt. Binging equaled stuffing my feelings down. So far down that they didn't exist anymore. Or so I thought. Purging equaled bringing the feelings up. To be flushed down the toilet. I wasn't puking up the food. I was puking up my feelings. After vomiting, I was void of all feelings. I felt nothing. Total numbness.
But with all my self-analysis, I still found it impossible to stop.
I wanted to - at times. Other times I was so thankful for it. I thought that if I didn't have it, I would be forced to face myself and all my negative feelings. I wouldn't be able to handle it. They would crush me. I would die from mental exhaustion. I was sure of it.
Deciding to get help was one of the scariest things I ever did.
I had flirted with the idea for so long.
But it wasn't until I was scaring myself that I decided to stop. I had been scaring my family and friends for years. That didn't bother me. I felt they were over reacting. I mean, I controlled it. It did not control me. What a big fat f-ing joke that was. Only I didn't get it. For me to get the punchline would have had to be me dying, I guess. Thank God and Daddy, I started scaring myself with it.
The purging episodes were getting to the point where I would basically pass out by the toilet. The room would be spinning. I would be spinning. I felt as if I didn't know where I was or who I was. I would pull myself up by holding onto the sink. Once standing the room spun more. My eyes couldn't focus. Everything was muggy and foggy. I would have to get on my hands and knees and crawl to my bedroom, where I would have to pull myself up on the bed. Once safely under the covers, I would pass out.
Now I've always been one for the dramatics, but this was a bit much. This wasn't me being a drama queen. This was real.
I was scared.
I didn't mean to start crying on the table of my gynecologist's office. I really didn't. All he did was ask me how I was doing and the floodgates came bursting open. I told him how I was starving myself and that when I would eat, out it would come. How I tried and tried to stop, but couldn't.
When he was finished examining me, he left the room saying he was going to call (the treatment center I went to). I am to this day ever so grateful for this man. I really don't think I could have ever made that call. But for some unforeseen reason, I was made to cry on that table, however embarrassing it was. And it was.
I could hear him in the hall on the phone taking charge. He told me to come out and talk to them. They made me an appointment for me to come in for the next week. I am told to come by before to fill out papers and a questionnaire about my e.d. to see how best to treat me.
I am at once scared and excited. All for the same reason. The thought of giving up my constant companion, living without it, making it through life without it, succeeding without it. I was split down the middle. A part of me was like, forget it, you'll never make it. You're wasting their time and your money. The other part was filled with unspoken hope.
It is scary to ask for help. Very. For so long, we have been hiding in shame with our disease. We thought we didn't deserve help. Other people do, but we don't. I'm here to tell you, you do deserve it. You can't do it alone. Ask for help. It is out there.
But with all my self-analysis, I still found it impossible to stop.
I wanted to - at times. Other times I was so thankful for it. I thought that if I didn't have it, I would be forced to face myself and all my negative feelings. I wouldn't be able to handle it. They would crush me. I would die from mental exhaustion. I was sure of it.
Deciding to get help was one of the scariest things I ever did.
I had flirted with the idea for so long.
But it wasn't until I was scaring myself that I decided to stop. I had been scaring my family and friends for years. That didn't bother me. I felt they were over reacting. I mean, I controlled it. It did not control me. What a big fat f-ing joke that was. Only I didn't get it. For me to get the punchline would have had to be me dying, I guess. Thank God and Daddy, I started scaring myself with it.
The purging episodes were getting to the point where I would basically pass out by the toilet. The room would be spinning. I would be spinning. I felt as if I didn't know where I was or who I was. I would pull myself up by holding onto the sink. Once standing the room spun more. My eyes couldn't focus. Everything was muggy and foggy. I would have to get on my hands and knees and crawl to my bedroom, where I would have to pull myself up on the bed. Once safely under the covers, I would pass out.
Now I've always been one for the dramatics, but this was a bit much. This wasn't me being a drama queen. This was real.
I was scared.
I didn't mean to start crying on the table of my gynecologist's office. I really didn't. All he did was ask me how I was doing and the floodgates came bursting open. I told him how I was starving myself and that when I would eat, out it would come. How I tried and tried to stop, but couldn't.
When he was finished examining me, he left the room saying he was going to call (the treatment center I went to). I am to this day ever so grateful for this man. I really don't think I could have ever made that call. But for some unforeseen reason, I was made to cry on that table, however embarrassing it was. And it was.
I could hear him in the hall on the phone taking charge. He told me to come out and talk to them. They made me an appointment for me to come in for the next week. I am told to come by before to fill out papers and a questionnaire about my e.d. to see how best to treat me.
I am at once scared and excited. All for the same reason. The thought of giving up my constant companion, living without it, making it through life without it, succeeding without it. I was split down the middle. A part of me was like, forget it, you'll never make it. You're wasting their time and your money. The other part was filled with unspoken hope.
It is scary to ask for help. Very. For so long, we have been hiding in shame with our disease. We thought we didn't deserve help. Other people do, but we don't. I'm here to tell you, you do deserve it. You can't do it alone. Ask for help. It is out there.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
This Is a Test
Today a friend of mine that has her own addiction struggles received some bad news about a close family member. I hope for her and her families sake, she is able to be strong and make it through without the drug of her choice. Please whoever is reading this, say a prayer for her and her family.
It got me thinking about times in my recovery when it got tough. This is a test and you will be tested. Be prepared.
My first real challenge came about two years into my recovery. My mother suffered a brain aneurysm. If I hadn't been at home to call 911, she would have died for sure. Luckily I was there and did call. She was rushed to the hospital. They began running tests on her to find out what was wrong. They figured out that she had suffered a brain aneurysm and they had to do surgery on her, but only after they had her stabilized. On top of that, they informed my siblings and me that there was only a 50% percent chance she would make it. Take a wild guess how I wanted to deal with it all.
All I wanted was a cheesecake and quick access to a toilet. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to feel the helplessness, the fear, the uncertainty, anything. I wanted to be numb. Completely numb.
But I knew that would not help anything. It wouldn't serve any purpose. It wouldn't change anything. It would temporarily help me escape my problems and feelings, but they would still be there when the numbness wore off. My mom would still be in the hospital with an aneurysm. How would my relapsing help? It wouldn't. It wouldn't help me. It wouldn't help her.
So what did I do? I prayed like never before. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I prayed to God and I prayed to my father who passed away when I was three years old. I asked both for strength and to watch over mom. I also cried a lot. A lot. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep. I ate. Slowly. I was careful not to eat fast, because I wanted to go into full on binging mode so bad. I did not let myself get too hungry either. I took care of myself.
I'm happy to say that my mother and I both made it through that horrible time. That time in my life has been the biggest challenge to my recovery. It was one of the most frightening times of my life.
Just know that you will be tested in your recovery. I hope you pass with flying colors. Be strong.
love and light, kelly
It got me thinking about times in my recovery when it got tough. This is a test and you will be tested. Be prepared.
My first real challenge came about two years into my recovery. My mother suffered a brain aneurysm. If I hadn't been at home to call 911, she would have died for sure. Luckily I was there and did call. She was rushed to the hospital. They began running tests on her to find out what was wrong. They figured out that she had suffered a brain aneurysm and they had to do surgery on her, but only after they had her stabilized. On top of that, they informed my siblings and me that there was only a 50% percent chance she would make it. Take a wild guess how I wanted to deal with it all.
All I wanted was a cheesecake and quick access to a toilet. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to feel the helplessness, the fear, the uncertainty, anything. I wanted to be numb. Completely numb.
But I knew that would not help anything. It wouldn't serve any purpose. It wouldn't change anything. It would temporarily help me escape my problems and feelings, but they would still be there when the numbness wore off. My mom would still be in the hospital with an aneurysm. How would my relapsing help? It wouldn't. It wouldn't help me. It wouldn't help her.
So what did I do? I prayed like never before. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I prayed to God and I prayed to my father who passed away when I was three years old. I asked both for strength and to watch over mom. I also cried a lot. A lot. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep. I ate. Slowly. I was careful not to eat fast, because I wanted to go into full on binging mode so bad. I did not let myself get too hungry either. I took care of myself.
I'm happy to say that my mother and I both made it through that horrible time. That time in my life has been the biggest challenge to my recovery. It was one of the most frightening times of my life.
Just know that you will be tested in your recovery. I hope you pass with flying colors. Be strong.
love and light, kelly
This Is a Test
Today a friend of mine that has her own addiction struggles received some bad news about a close family member. I hope for her and her families sake, she is able to be strong and make it through without the drug of her choice. Please whoever is reading this, say a prayer for her and her family.
It got me thinking about times in my recovery when it got tough. This is a test and you will be tested. Be prepared.
My first real challenge came about two years into my recovery. My mother suffered a brain aneurysm. If I hadn't been at home to call 911, she would have died for sure. Luckily I was there and did call. She was rushed to the hospital. They began running tests on her to find out what was wrong. They figured out that she had suffered a brain aneurysm and they had to do surgery on her, but only after they had her stabilized. On top of that, they informed my siblings and me that there was only a 50% percent chance she would make it. Take a wild guess how I wanted to deal with it all.
All I wanted was a cheesecake and quick access to a toilet. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to feel the helplessness, the fear, the uncertainty, anything. I wanted to be numb. Completely numb.
But I knew that would not help anything. It wouldn't serve any purpose. It wouldn't change anything. It would temporarily help me escape my problems and feelings, but they would still be there when the numbness wore off. My mom would still be in the hospital with an aneurysm. How would my relapsing help? It wouldn't. It wouldn't help me. It wouldn't help her.
So what did I do? I prayed like never before. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I prayed to God and I prayed to my father who passed away when I was three years old. I asked both for strength and to watch over mom. I also cried a lot. A lot. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep. I ate. Slowly. I was careful not to eat fast, because I wanted to go into full on binging mode so bad. I did not let myself get too hungry either. I took care of myself.
I'm happy to say that my mother and I both made it through that horrible time. That time in my life has been the biggest challenge to my recovery. It was one of the most frightening times of my life.
Just know that you will be tested in your recovery. I hope you pass with flying colors. Be strong.
love and light, kelly
It got me thinking about times in my recovery when it got tough. This is a test and you will be tested. Be prepared.
My first real challenge came about two years into my recovery. My mother suffered a brain aneurysm. If I hadn't been at home to call 911, she would have died for sure. Luckily I was there and did call. She was rushed to the hospital. They began running tests on her to find out what was wrong. They figured out that she had suffered a brain aneurysm and they had to do surgery on her, but only after they had her stabilized. On top of that, they informed my siblings and me that there was only a 50% percent chance she would make it. Take a wild guess how I wanted to deal with it all.
All I wanted was a cheesecake and quick access to a toilet. I didn't want to feel. I didn't want to feel the helplessness, the fear, the uncertainty, anything. I wanted to be numb. Completely numb.
But I knew that would not help anything. It wouldn't serve any purpose. It wouldn't change anything. It would temporarily help me escape my problems and feelings, but they would still be there when the numbness wore off. My mom would still be in the hospital with an aneurysm. How would my relapsing help? It wouldn't. It wouldn't help me. It wouldn't help her.
So what did I do? I prayed like never before. I prayed and prayed and prayed. I prayed to God and I prayed to my father who passed away when I was three years old. I asked both for strength and to watch over mom. I also cried a lot. A lot. Sometimes I cried myself to sleep. I ate. Slowly. I was careful not to eat fast, because I wanted to go into full on binging mode so bad. I did not let myself get too hungry either. I took care of myself.
I'm happy to say that my mother and I both made it through that horrible time. That time in my life has been the biggest challenge to my recovery. It was one of the most frightening times of my life.
Just know that you will be tested in your recovery. I hope you pass with flying colors. Be strong.
love and light, kelly
Sunday, March 16, 2014
A Losing Battle
YOU WILL NEVER WIN!!!! EVER!!!!
An eating disorder is a war with your mind. One that you will never win. You will never be thin enough to shut the ugly voice in your head. Never. No matter how thin you get, it will never be enough. You could weigh 0 pounds and the voice will still tell you what a fat piece of crap you are. It is hell. A living hell.
The sad thing is that you believe every word it says. It has brainwashed you. You are at its mercy. It lives to punish you. It will keep punishing you until you decide you don't want to listen anymore. It sounds simple, but it's not.
I remember telling my mom about it. How the voice tells me I'm fat, I'm a pig, I don't deserve food, and what not. She was crying and said, "Just tell the voice to shut the hell up." I began crying, telling her I can't.
It had become my companion. Sick as it was, I felt that it was my friend. For someone who has never experienced an eating disorder, I know that it sounds crazy. It is. It promised me happiness, love, a beautiful life. But there were strings attached. I could only have those things if I was thin. The thinnest. The best at dieting. And of course, as I said in the beginning, you will never be thin enough. So as long as the e.d. is your "friend", you will never have the happiness, the love, and the beautiful life it promised you. Never. The perpetual catch-22. You will forever be trying to catch up to the dangling carrot. As soon as you're almost close enough to grab it, it's yanked far away from you. Laughing manically at your stupidity, "Did you really think you would get it? Look at you. You're disgusting. You have a long way to go. Fat chance at winning." This is who you consider your friend.
I listened to that voice for years. Believed it for years.
When I began recovery, it got really pissed. "They're going to make you fat. They're lying to you. I'm the only one who tells the truth." And on and on.
As I said before, I let it have its say. Then I went on with getting better. It was hard. There were times the e.d. voice won. But I forgave myself and marched on. Eventually with time, the voice quieted down. Not overnight for sure. We're talking a few years here. At times of stress, it likes to pop in and see how I'm doing. I politely close the door. That's one visitor I don't need.
love and light, kelly
An eating disorder is a war with your mind. One that you will never win. You will never be thin enough to shut the ugly voice in your head. Never. No matter how thin you get, it will never be enough. You could weigh 0 pounds and the voice will still tell you what a fat piece of crap you are. It is hell. A living hell.
The sad thing is that you believe every word it says. It has brainwashed you. You are at its mercy. It lives to punish you. It will keep punishing you until you decide you don't want to listen anymore. It sounds simple, but it's not.
I remember telling my mom about it. How the voice tells me I'm fat, I'm a pig, I don't deserve food, and what not. She was crying and said, "Just tell the voice to shut the hell up." I began crying, telling her I can't.
It had become my companion. Sick as it was, I felt that it was my friend. For someone who has never experienced an eating disorder, I know that it sounds crazy. It is. It promised me happiness, love, a beautiful life. But there were strings attached. I could only have those things if I was thin. The thinnest. The best at dieting. And of course, as I said in the beginning, you will never be thin enough. So as long as the e.d. is your "friend", you will never have the happiness, the love, and the beautiful life it promised you. Never. The perpetual catch-22. You will forever be trying to catch up to the dangling carrot. As soon as you're almost close enough to grab it, it's yanked far away from you. Laughing manically at your stupidity, "Did you really think you would get it? Look at you. You're disgusting. You have a long way to go. Fat chance at winning." This is who you consider your friend.
I listened to that voice for years. Believed it for years.
When I began recovery, it got really pissed. "They're going to make you fat. They're lying to you. I'm the only one who tells the truth." And on and on.
As I said before, I let it have its say. Then I went on with getting better. It was hard. There were times the e.d. voice won. But I forgave myself and marched on. Eventually with time, the voice quieted down. Not overnight for sure. We're talking a few years here. At times of stress, it likes to pop in and see how I'm doing. I politely close the door. That's one visitor I don't need.
love and light, kelly
A Losing Battle
YOU WILL NEVER WIN!!!! EVER!!!!
An eating disorder is a war with your mind. One that you will never win. You will never be thin enough to shut the ugly voice in your head. Never. No matter how thin you get, it will never be enough. You could weigh 0 pounds and the voice will still tell you what a fat piece of crap you are. It is hell. A living hell.
The sad thing is that you believe every word it says. It has brainwashed you. You are at its mercy. It lives to punish you. It will keep punishing you until you decide you don't want to listen anymore. It sounds simple, but it's not.
I remember telling my mom about it. How the voice tells me I'm fat, I'm a pig, I don't deserve food, and what not. She was crying and said, "Just tell the voice to shut the hell up." I began crying, telling her I can't.
It had become my companion. Sick as it was, I felt that it was my friend. For someone who has never experienced an eating disorder, I know that it sounds crazy. It is. It promised me happiness, love, a beautiful life. But there were strings attached. I could only have those things if I was thin. The thinnest. The best at dieting. And of course, as I said in the beginning, you will never be thin enough. So as long as the e.d. is your "friend", you will never have the happiness, the love, and the beautiful life it promised you. Never. The perpetual catch-22. You will forever be trying to catch up to the dangling carrot. As soon as you're almost close enough to grab it, it's yanked far away from you. Laughing manically at your stupidity, "Did you really think you would get it? Look at you. You're disgusting. You have a long way to go. Fat chance at winning." This is who you consider your friend.
I listened to that voice for years. Believed it for years.
When I began recovery, it got really pissed. "They're going to make you fat. They're lying to you. I'm the only one who tells the truth." And on and on.
As I said before, I let it have its say. Then I went on with getting better. It was hard. There were times the e.d. voice won. But I forgave myself and marched on. Eventually with time, the voice quieted down. Not overnight for sure. We're talking a few years here. At times of stress, it likes to pop in and see how I'm doing. I politely close the door. That's one visitor I don't need.
love and light, kelly
An eating disorder is a war with your mind. One that you will never win. You will never be thin enough to shut the ugly voice in your head. Never. No matter how thin you get, it will never be enough. You could weigh 0 pounds and the voice will still tell you what a fat piece of crap you are. It is hell. A living hell.
The sad thing is that you believe every word it says. It has brainwashed you. You are at its mercy. It lives to punish you. It will keep punishing you until you decide you don't want to listen anymore. It sounds simple, but it's not.
I remember telling my mom about it. How the voice tells me I'm fat, I'm a pig, I don't deserve food, and what not. She was crying and said, "Just tell the voice to shut the hell up." I began crying, telling her I can't.
It had become my companion. Sick as it was, I felt that it was my friend. For someone who has never experienced an eating disorder, I know that it sounds crazy. It is. It promised me happiness, love, a beautiful life. But there were strings attached. I could only have those things if I was thin. The thinnest. The best at dieting. And of course, as I said in the beginning, you will never be thin enough. So as long as the e.d. is your "friend", you will never have the happiness, the love, and the beautiful life it promised you. Never. The perpetual catch-22. You will forever be trying to catch up to the dangling carrot. As soon as you're almost close enough to grab it, it's yanked far away from you. Laughing manically at your stupidity, "Did you really think you would get it? Look at you. You're disgusting. You have a long way to go. Fat chance at winning." This is who you consider your friend.
I listened to that voice for years. Believed it for years.
When I began recovery, it got really pissed. "They're going to make you fat. They're lying to you. I'm the only one who tells the truth." And on and on.
As I said before, I let it have its say. Then I went on with getting better. It was hard. There were times the e.d. voice won. But I forgave myself and marched on. Eventually with time, the voice quieted down. Not overnight for sure. We're talking a few years here. At times of stress, it likes to pop in and see how I'm doing. I politely close the door. That's one visitor I don't need.
love and light, kelly
Friday, March 14, 2014
New Beliefs
For recovery to be successful you have to believe two things: you deserve recovery and you can recover.
To be completely honest, I did not believe those two things when I began. I was hoping I cold find a way to "maintain" my eating disorder. To somehow have it waiting in the wings for me. To bring it out when I needed it most and then put it back when I no longer needed it.
I learned quickly that was not the case. If I was to get better, I had to say goodbye to it.
What helped was that my treatment team believed in me when I did not. They cheered me on. They encouraged me. By no means did they let on that it was going to be rainbows and roses, but they had the confidence that I could do it. They also let me know that it was in my hands - not theirs. They could only do so much. The bulk of the work fell on my shoulders.
Slowly though I began to believe them. Yeah, I can do this. I can overcome this. I will be in the overcome statistics.
Now you may not believe you can recover right now. It's a scary thought, I know. But I also know that you can do it. Just like my treatment team before me, I believe in you. I believe in your strength. I believe in your courage. I believe that every time you fall down, you will get up and try again. You will beat this disease and live the life you were born to live. I have faith in you. You will too.
No one was put on this earth to live a sucky life. You were born with the intention to have a beautiful and joyous life. That is your right. Don't let this disease rob you of that.
love and light, kelly
To be completely honest, I did not believe those two things when I began. I was hoping I cold find a way to "maintain" my eating disorder. To somehow have it waiting in the wings for me. To bring it out when I needed it most and then put it back when I no longer needed it.
I learned quickly that was not the case. If I was to get better, I had to say goodbye to it.
What helped was that my treatment team believed in me when I did not. They cheered me on. They encouraged me. By no means did they let on that it was going to be rainbows and roses, but they had the confidence that I could do it. They also let me know that it was in my hands - not theirs. They could only do so much. The bulk of the work fell on my shoulders.
Slowly though I began to believe them. Yeah, I can do this. I can overcome this. I will be in the overcome statistics.
Now you may not believe you can recover right now. It's a scary thought, I know. But I also know that you can do it. Just like my treatment team before me, I believe in you. I believe in your strength. I believe in your courage. I believe that every time you fall down, you will get up and try again. You will beat this disease and live the life you were born to live. I have faith in you. You will too.
No one was put on this earth to live a sucky life. You were born with the intention to have a beautiful and joyous life. That is your right. Don't let this disease rob you of that.
love and light, kelly
New Beliefs
For recovery to be successful you have to believe two things: you deserve recovery and you can recover.
To be completely honest, I did not believe those two things when I began. I was hoping I cold find a way to "maintain" my eating disorder. To somehow have it waiting in the wings for me. To bring it out when I needed it most and then put it back when I no longer needed it.
I learned quickly that was not the case. If I was to get better, I had to say goodbye to it.
What helped was that my treatment team believed in me when I did not. They cheered me on. They encouraged me. By no means did they let on that it was going to be rainbows and roses, but they had the confidence that I could do it. They also let me know that it was in my hands - not theirs. They could only do so much. The bulk of the work fell on my shoulders.
Slowly though I began to believe them. Yeah, I can do this. I can overcome this. I will be in the overcome statistics.
Now you may not believe you can recover right now. It's a scary thought, I know. But I also know that you can do it. Just like my treatment team before me, I believe in you. I believe in your strength. I believe in your courage. I believe that every time you fall down, you will get up and try again. You will beat this disease and live the life you were born to live. I have faith in you. You will too.
No one was put on this earth to live a sucky life. You were born with the intention to have a beautiful and joyous life. That is your right. Don't let this disease rob you of that.
love and light, kelly
To be completely honest, I did not believe those two things when I began. I was hoping I cold find a way to "maintain" my eating disorder. To somehow have it waiting in the wings for me. To bring it out when I needed it most and then put it back when I no longer needed it.
I learned quickly that was not the case. If I was to get better, I had to say goodbye to it.
What helped was that my treatment team believed in me when I did not. They cheered me on. They encouraged me. By no means did they let on that it was going to be rainbows and roses, but they had the confidence that I could do it. They also let me know that it was in my hands - not theirs. They could only do so much. The bulk of the work fell on my shoulders.
Slowly though I began to believe them. Yeah, I can do this. I can overcome this. I will be in the overcome statistics.
Now you may not believe you can recover right now. It's a scary thought, I know. But I also know that you can do it. Just like my treatment team before me, I believe in you. I believe in your strength. I believe in your courage. I believe that every time you fall down, you will get up and try again. You will beat this disease and live the life you were born to live. I have faith in you. You will too.
No one was put on this earth to live a sucky life. You were born with the intention to have a beautiful and joyous life. That is your right. Don't let this disease rob you of that.
love and light, kelly
Thursday, March 13, 2014
An Honest Pep Talk
EATING DISORDERS KILL!!!!
It's as easy as that. It's said to be the most fatal of all the mental health problems. Ten percent of all sufferers will eventually die. It is somewhat a form of suicide. Death can come quickly or slowly and painfully.
If it doesn't physically kill you, it will kill you emotionally. That is 100% guaranteed. All your hopes and dreams for the future will be gone. Down the drain. You will be an empty shell of your former self. Your life will be on hold. For how long? Well, that's up to you. The e.d. will gladly stick around forever if you allow it. You shouldn't. It's not worth it. Believe me, it's not.
I'm not saying my life is perfect now that I'm freed from it. It's far from it. But what's different now, is that I can face my problems head on with a clear mind for once in my life.
I'm also not going to lie and say that I wasn't tempted to go back to it a few times, especially in my early years of recovery. It was that monkey on my back, taunting me, teasing me. "Come on, Kelly, just one last time. You know you want to. You know it'll make you feel better."
The difference between now and then is that I don't give much thought to the voice in my head anymore. I know it's telling me lies. Before I would believe every word it said. And I would follow it's advice blindly.
The voice hardly ever comes around anymore. But when it would when I was in the early stages, I had to learn to deal with it. I found the easiest way was to simply acknowledge it. (If I tried to ignore it too much, it just made it louder.) I listened to what it had to say. I didn't take too much of what it said to heart. What I did do is stop myself, get quiet, and ask, "Ok, what is bothering me? What is it that I'm trying to run away from?" Sometimes I could see the problem clearly. Other times I did not. But I wouldn't fall back into the e.d.
I can't. I honestly believe that my body could not handle another relapse. It just can't. I spent way too many years abusing it to no end. It will not put up with another one.
It's so easy to fall back into the hole. So easy. Each time you fall back, you fall back down to your lowest point. You continue to go deeper and deeper until one of two things happen. One: You die. Two: You hit your bottom and get help.
It's all up to you. No one else. Just you. No one can save you. No one can pull you up and dust you off. Now there will people to guide you and help you along the way. But the work rests on your shoulders.
Recovering from my eating disorder was the hardest thing I have ever done. Aside from my son, it's my greatest accomplishment. Was it easy? HELL NO! Was it fun? HELL NO! Were there times when I felt like giving up? HELL YES! Was all the work and tears worth it? HELL YES!
I kept chugging along. Taking one step forward, two steps backward, and so on. I made it. My prayer and wish for you is for you to do the same.
love and light, kelly
It's as easy as that. It's said to be the most fatal of all the mental health problems. Ten percent of all sufferers will eventually die. It is somewhat a form of suicide. Death can come quickly or slowly and painfully.
If it doesn't physically kill you, it will kill you emotionally. That is 100% guaranteed. All your hopes and dreams for the future will be gone. Down the drain. You will be an empty shell of your former self. Your life will be on hold. For how long? Well, that's up to you. The e.d. will gladly stick around forever if you allow it. You shouldn't. It's not worth it. Believe me, it's not.
I'm not saying my life is perfect now that I'm freed from it. It's far from it. But what's different now, is that I can face my problems head on with a clear mind for once in my life.
I'm also not going to lie and say that I wasn't tempted to go back to it a few times, especially in my early years of recovery. It was that monkey on my back, taunting me, teasing me. "Come on, Kelly, just one last time. You know you want to. You know it'll make you feel better."
The difference between now and then is that I don't give much thought to the voice in my head anymore. I know it's telling me lies. Before I would believe every word it said. And I would follow it's advice blindly.
The voice hardly ever comes around anymore. But when it would when I was in the early stages, I had to learn to deal with it. I found the easiest way was to simply acknowledge it. (If I tried to ignore it too much, it just made it louder.) I listened to what it had to say. I didn't take too much of what it said to heart. What I did do is stop myself, get quiet, and ask, "Ok, what is bothering me? What is it that I'm trying to run away from?" Sometimes I could see the problem clearly. Other times I did not. But I wouldn't fall back into the e.d.
I can't. I honestly believe that my body could not handle another relapse. It just can't. I spent way too many years abusing it to no end. It will not put up with another one.
It's so easy to fall back into the hole. So easy. Each time you fall back, you fall back down to your lowest point. You continue to go deeper and deeper until one of two things happen. One: You die. Two: You hit your bottom and get help.
It's all up to you. No one else. Just you. No one can save you. No one can pull you up and dust you off. Now there will people to guide you and help you along the way. But the work rests on your shoulders.
Recovering from my eating disorder was the hardest thing I have ever done. Aside from my son, it's my greatest accomplishment. Was it easy? HELL NO! Was it fun? HELL NO! Were there times when I felt like giving up? HELL YES! Was all the work and tears worth it? HELL YES!
I kept chugging along. Taking one step forward, two steps backward, and so on. I made it. My prayer and wish for you is for you to do the same.
love and light, kelly
An Honest Pep Talk
EATING DISORDERS KILL!!!!
It's as easy as that. It's said to be the most fatal of all the mental health problems. Ten percent of all sufferers will eventually die. It is somewhat a form of suicide. Death can come quickly or slowly and painfully.
If it doesn't physically kill you, it will kill you emotionally. That is 100% guaranteed. All your hopes and dreams for the future will be gone. Down the drain. You will be an empty shell of your former self. Your life will be on hold. For how long? Well, that's up to you. The e.d. will gladly stick around forever if you allow it. You shouldn't. It's not worth it. Believe me, it's not.
I'm not saying my life is perfect now that I'm freed from it. It's far from it. But what's different now, is that I can face my problems head on with a clear mind for once in my life.
I'm also not going to lie and say that I wasn't tempted to go back to it a few times, especially in my early years of recovery. It was that monkey on my back, taunting me, teasing me. "Come on, Kelly, just one last time. You know you want to. You know it'll make you feel better."
The difference between now and then is that I don't give much thought to the voice in my head anymore. I know it's telling me lies. Before I would believe every word it said. And I would follow it's advice blindly.
The voice hardly ever comes around anymore. But when it would when I was in the early stages, I had to learn to deal with it. I found the easiest way was to simply acknowledge it. (If I tried to ignore it too much, it just made it louder.) I listened to what it had to say. I didn't take too much of what it said to heart. What I did do is stop myself, get quiet, and ask, "Ok, what is bothering me? What is it that I'm trying to run away from?" Sometimes I could see the problem clearly. Other times I did not. But I wouldn't fall back into the e.d.
I can't. I honestly believe that my body could not handle another relapse. It just can't. I spent way too many years abusing it to no end. It will not put up with another one.
It's so easy to fall back into the hole. So easy. Each time you fall back, you fall back down to your lowest point. You continue to go deeper and deeper until one of two things happen. One: You die. Two: You hit your bottom and get help.
It's all up to you. No one else. Just you. No one can save you. No one can pull you up and dust you off. Now there will people to guide you and help you along the way. But the work rests on your shoulders.
Recovering from my eating disorder was the hardest thing I have ever done. Aside from my son, it's my greatest accomplishment. Was it easy? HELL NO! Was it fun? HELL NO! Were there times when I felt like giving up? HELL YES! Was all the work and tears worth it? HELL YES!
I kept chugging along. Taking one step forward, two steps backward, and so on. I made it. My prayer and wish for you is for you to do the same.
love and light, kelly
It's as easy as that. It's said to be the most fatal of all the mental health problems. Ten percent of all sufferers will eventually die. It is somewhat a form of suicide. Death can come quickly or slowly and painfully.
If it doesn't physically kill you, it will kill you emotionally. That is 100% guaranteed. All your hopes and dreams for the future will be gone. Down the drain. You will be an empty shell of your former self. Your life will be on hold. For how long? Well, that's up to you. The e.d. will gladly stick around forever if you allow it. You shouldn't. It's not worth it. Believe me, it's not.
I'm not saying my life is perfect now that I'm freed from it. It's far from it. But what's different now, is that I can face my problems head on with a clear mind for once in my life.
I'm also not going to lie and say that I wasn't tempted to go back to it a few times, especially in my early years of recovery. It was that monkey on my back, taunting me, teasing me. "Come on, Kelly, just one last time. You know you want to. You know it'll make you feel better."
The difference between now and then is that I don't give much thought to the voice in my head anymore. I know it's telling me lies. Before I would believe every word it said. And I would follow it's advice blindly.
The voice hardly ever comes around anymore. But when it would when I was in the early stages, I had to learn to deal with it. I found the easiest way was to simply acknowledge it. (If I tried to ignore it too much, it just made it louder.) I listened to what it had to say. I didn't take too much of what it said to heart. What I did do is stop myself, get quiet, and ask, "Ok, what is bothering me? What is it that I'm trying to run away from?" Sometimes I could see the problem clearly. Other times I did not. But I wouldn't fall back into the e.d.
I can't. I honestly believe that my body could not handle another relapse. It just can't. I spent way too many years abusing it to no end. It will not put up with another one.
It's so easy to fall back into the hole. So easy. Each time you fall back, you fall back down to your lowest point. You continue to go deeper and deeper until one of two things happen. One: You die. Two: You hit your bottom and get help.
It's all up to you. No one else. Just you. No one can save you. No one can pull you up and dust you off. Now there will people to guide you and help you along the way. But the work rests on your shoulders.
Recovering from my eating disorder was the hardest thing I have ever done. Aside from my son, it's my greatest accomplishment. Was it easy? HELL NO! Was it fun? HELL NO! Were there times when I felt like giving up? HELL YES! Was all the work and tears worth it? HELL YES!
I kept chugging along. Taking one step forward, two steps backward, and so on. I made it. My prayer and wish for you is for you to do the same.
love and light, kelly
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Just the Way You Are
Where you are is perfectly fine. What you have done in the past is perfectly fine. Most importantly, who you are is more than perfectly fine.
Stop beating yourself up. Start loving yourself.
Everything you've done in the past is just that. The past. You did the best you could with what you had and what you knew.
Everyday is a new day, a chance to begin again. Forgive yourself for whatever imperfections you believe about yourself. Strive to do better each day.
What I'm saying may sound like a fairy tale right now to you. Something that you think you'll never be able to accept. The more you practice the concepts of recovery, the easier they become.
But first please forgive yourself. Just do it. I promise you're nowhere near as horrible as you think you are. Not even close. I used to tell my therapist horror stories about my past, trying to get her to see how bad a person I was. She wouldn't play my game. She wouldn't agree with me.
Instead she told me, "Kelly, you did the best you could. Now you're learning new ways to cope. Forgive yourself. I'm not going to join you in gaining up on you and your past." She was also the first person who ever told me that I was fine just the way I was. I didn't have to be smarter, prettier, or Lord knows, thinner to be a better person. I was fine just being me.
So now I'm telling you: You are fine just the way you are!!!!!! Believe it! Live it!
Stop beating yourself up. Start loving yourself.
Everything you've done in the past is just that. The past. You did the best you could with what you had and what you knew.
Everyday is a new day, a chance to begin again. Forgive yourself for whatever imperfections you believe about yourself. Strive to do better each day.
What I'm saying may sound like a fairy tale right now to you. Something that you think you'll never be able to accept. The more you practice the concepts of recovery, the easier they become.
But first please forgive yourself. Just do it. I promise you're nowhere near as horrible as you think you are. Not even close. I used to tell my therapist horror stories about my past, trying to get her to see how bad a person I was. She wouldn't play my game. She wouldn't agree with me.
Instead she told me, "Kelly, you did the best you could. Now you're learning new ways to cope. Forgive yourself. I'm not going to join you in gaining up on you and your past." She was also the first person who ever told me that I was fine just the way I was. I didn't have to be smarter, prettier, or Lord knows, thinner to be a better person. I was fine just being me.
So now I'm telling you: You are fine just the way you are!!!!!! Believe it! Live it!
Monday, March 10, 2014
The Sentence that Changed My Life
I knew I was sick. Had known for quite some time. Knew I needed help. Didn't really want it though. Also didn't feel deserving of it. Pretty sure many of you know the feeling.
One night I was on a recovery website looking at the survivor's wall. People who had recovered would post encouraging things to others who were suffering. One sentence in particular stood out the most. I'm paraphrasing, but here it is: The fact that I'm still alive shows that God has not given up on me.
That one little sentence made me cry, brought me to my knees, have a revelation. It was like a religious experience and I'm by no means religious.
I thought back to all the times He could have taken me, but didn't. All the times I flirted with death. All the times I prayed for death to come and take me. But He didn't. I was still alive. I didn't want to be most of the time, but I was.
Now I'm not saying I jumped on the recovery bandwagon the very next day. But it got me thinking. It got the ball rolling. It would still be a few months before I found myself crying in my doctor's office about how I can't stop the starving and purging of what little I did eat.
But maybe there was some hope for me. Maybe I was being kept alive for some reason. Maybe I wasn't hopeless. It was like a light had been turned on in my head.
And now I'm saying it to you. The fact that you're still alive is because God hasn't given up on you. So don't you give up either.
Sunday, March 9, 2014
I have no idea what I'm doing, so bear with me. What I do know is that I spent so much of my life trapped in a vicious cycle of self hate that included eating disorders, cutting, drinking, and drugs. I'm happy to say that I have fourteen years recovery under my belt.
I want to help and serve others that are suffering. I don't have a fancy degree. All I have is my experience of being there on the other side and making it out alive.
I will share my story and what has helped me. I hope to be an inspiration.
I gave this blog this name because at the beginning of my recovery, not many people thought I would make it. In all honesty, I was one of them. I want everyone who is suffering from an eating disorder to know and to take to heart that you can recover and you will! You will go from impossible to I'm possible.
love and light,
kelly
I want to help and serve others that are suffering. I don't have a fancy degree. All I have is my experience of being there on the other side and making it out alive.
I will share my story and what has helped me. I hope to be an inspiration.
I gave this blog this name because at the beginning of my recovery, not many people thought I would make it. In all honesty, I was one of them. I want everyone who is suffering from an eating disorder to know and to take to heart that you can recover and you will! You will go from impossible to I'm possible.
love and light,
kelly
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