effortlessly perfect











{November 29, 2011}   too tired to type

Last night was rough. I am hurting today. Too tired to type. Maybe tomorrow.

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{November 28, 2011}   the pictures that haunt

I normally try to stay away from thinspiration, but today I find myself completely mesmerized by it…

   



{November 28, 2011}  

Skinny Is A Lie

There’s a lie that will fight you. It acts like it loves you. It might seem like a good thing. You might feel like you have control. It might feel like you’re finally getting everything right. But watch out, because skinny will lie to you. She doesn’t love you. She’s not trying to make you beautiful. You may not see it now, but if you follow skinny all the way through, she will make you sick, and she will make you skinny, but you’ll never know it. She will tell you aren’t every time. More people have the mentality of an eating disorder, who couldn’t be diagnosed because of their weight. You don’t have to be dying of starvation to have been abused by the lies of skinny. If you’ve ever felt that you’re too big to be loved, you eat too much to be pure, that you aren’t beautiful…

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{November 28, 2011}   fight for me

Growing up, and honestly still today, my family worked hard to suppress their emotions. They’ll show love and gratitude… you know, the “pretty” emotions… but everything else was off limits. We didn’t yell. We didn’t cry. We didn’t fight. We (the kids) didn’t express displeasure. We didn’t say we were disappointed, let down, or sad. Not only did this atmosphere do a number on my ability to express emotions, it also hurt me by not having people show those emotions toward me.

While I know there are tons of children out there who had “worse” childhoods than I did, it’s not like mine wasn’t filled with events or situations to illicit those messy or negative emotions. I had my fair share of heartache and loss, along with just those normal struggles while growing up. But the pressure and expectation to not react, to not fall apart, to not cry, or even be sad…. that pressure might have hurt me the most.

So, what this has left me with is the deep desire for someone to fight. For me. For life. For what they believe it. I want someone to care so much about me that they do get mad. I want to care so deeply for someone else that I can’t help but cry. People hurt each other. People are broken, messy individuals. I want someone to care enough to yell or be hurt. I want to see that passion… toward me… and in me. I’m tired of sweeping things under the rug. Not being vulnerable. Being too afraid to do anything because it might get messy.

I remember sitting in church a couple years ago and seeing a little girl get fussy. Her dad was getting frustrated and took her out in the hallway. I remember thinking that I wish I had a dad like that. I wish I had a dad who cared enough to take us to church… or join us when the family attended together. I wish I had a dad who cared enough to get mad or frustrated. And even through his frustration, handle the situation with love and patience. I wish I had that. Someone who was there. Someone who loved me, even when I wasn’t acting or doing as I should. Someone who loves me for me… no matter how cliche that sounds.

I have a friend who has two teenagers.  I watch him get mad. I watch him get so frustrated, pissed, and hurt that he can’t even see straight.  When one of his kids got in serious trouble he was so mad he couldn’t focus on anything else until he had talked with his son. Gotten him straighten out and back on track. He cares, even when his son does something completely stupid and ridiculous.  I want that. I want to know that I can do something completely stupid and ridiculous and still be loved.

I grew up in the big, gorgeous, spotless house with the quiet, flawless, and respected family… who never yelled or fought… but never really learned how to love or live either.  I grew up thinking that in order to even begin to be loved that I had to be perfect.  Not only could I not break a rule, but I couldn’t be anything less than impressive.

You see, my father was in politics. An elected official in our state. He was always in a state of having to impress or sell himself… to win elections, to pass the next big bill, to move further in his career. I remember feeling an overwhelming amount of pressure to help (or not screw up) his career and elections.  I knew that if I was the perfect little girl, he could talk about me in his campaign speeches… his wonderful daughter, so strong academically, with a bright future.  And as the speeches, campaigns, and brochures continued, the pressure grew.

I remember thinking how much trouble I would get in if I ever got caught drinking before I was 21.  Or being at a party that I shouldn’t have been in. I remember thinking about the article in the newspaper… about this elected officials daughter getting in trouble. My fears weren’t about me… getting in trouble, getting thrown in jail, getting suspended from school… none of that mattered… what happened to me didn’t matter.  What mattered is that my mother (a prominent person in our school corporation) and my father (the elected official) would be embarassed by me… their careers, images, and ability to portray this perfect family, would be damaged. I couldn’t do that to them.  I had to be perfect. I had to be something (not even someone) to be proud of.

The shitty part about all of this is that I don’t know what to do about any of it. It hurts. I feel empty. I feel as if no one cares enough to truly fight. I want someone to grab on to me and not let go, no matter how hard I try to get away. I want someone to look me in the eyes and say that they will always love me no matter how much of a mess I am. No matter how broken I become. That they will love me no matter what.



{November 20, 2011}   question of the day – 11.20.11

What role does faith play in your recovery or addiction?  Are there things you struggle with when it comes to God and your eating disorder or addiction?  Have you found that a relationship with Christ has helped or been a positive force in your recovery?  Has your faith been strengthened or weakened throughout your addiction or disorder eating journey?



{November 20, 2011}   french toast guilt

This morning I went to breakfast with my husband and another couple. Normally we all order similar things, but today was different. After everyone got their food I realized that I hadn’t ever eaten the things that they had ordered… corn beef hash, sausage gravy, fried potatoes, french toast. I sat with my feta and spinach omelet and wheat toast, looking at their food. I wondered what it tasted like. I wondered why those things had never crossed my plate. I wondered what, if anything, my food growing up has to do with my eating disorder.

I started to realize that maybe I was never shown how to enjoy food. To allow myself to eat for pleasure or enjoy it. That if something tasted too good, it was wrong. Gluttonous, selfish, indulgent… wrong. Looking at the plate of french toast, with powdered sugar and syrup, I felt guilty. I wasn’t even eating it, but I felt guilty just looking at it. I felt guilty just wanting it.  My lusting after the french toast made me realize that I do this with everything in my life. I deprive myself of things that I enjoy, feeling guilty that I want something… that I want anything. So I never indulge. I never eat french toast. I never pick what movie we go to. I never do things purely for myself.  For my happiness. For my pleasure.

I was chatting with my therapist a couple weeks ago and he commented that I don’t care about myself. He said that I care about being productive, being successful, being someone that people are proud of, and making others happy. He said that deep down, I don’t care about me… my thoughts, my feelings, my needs, my desires, my happiness. And while his comments hit me hard, it made sense. I had never thought about it that cut and dry. That at the end of the day, I didn’t care about myself. It’s not that I don’t agree with him… I mean, it’s hard to deny. It’s just that sometimes the truth is hard to take. So, how do I start to care? Or at least act like I do? Maybe I’ll have french toast for dinner. 🙂



{November 18, 2011}   question of the day – 11.18.11

What are your thoughts on addiction transfer?  Do you believe it is a valid concern for addiction recovery?  For those with experience with eating disorders, do you think it relates?  Thoughts or experiences on ways to avoid or prevent it?  Or is it “once an addict, always an addict?”

Please share your thoughts, feelings, opinions, and experiences below…



{November 18, 2011}   i wonder…

Do I have to wait until my life falls apart completely before I decide to make a change?  Can I stop myself from hitting rock bottom or is it inevitable?  Is becoming so broken that you can’t fix yourself a necessary part of the process of asking for help?  I wonder what rock bottom feels like and looks like.  I wonder how I will respond.



{November 16, 2011}   what went wrong?

Have you ever stopped and thought “what went wrong?”  What happened to me? What happened to my life?  How on earth did I get here? To this place of pain, dysfunction, and self-destruction?  This isn’t how it was supposed to be. I was supposed to have a good life. I was supposed to achieve something. I was supposed to enjoy getting up each day and making a difference in the world. I was supposed to have children and a wonderful family. I was supposed to be someone I could be proud of. Someone who made good choices. Someone who people could look up to. Someone who lived a happy, healthy, vibrant life. Someone who could work through issues, overcome obstacles, and handle the pain of life. 

So, how did I get here?  How did I get to a place where I am constantly looking for ways to numb myself?  Where I can’t deal with my life?  Where I can’t speak up, stand up, or have a voice?  Where I don’t value myself, my thoughts, or my feelings?  Where I don’t feel like I deserve to have a voice? Where I question everything and second guess who I am or what I should be doing?

Why can’t I just live my life the way I want to instead of running to the instant gratification of disordered eating and addiction? I hate it, but can’t stop. I don’t want to be this way, but feel like I don’t have a choice. It’s consuming. It’s obsessive. It’s automatic. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that was the goal. Maybe that’s why it works.

It’s like I’m watching a horrible Lifetime movie where I’m the main character. You know it’s not going to end well. You know it’s going to be ridiculous and dramatic and she’s going to make stupid decisions. But yet you watch. Not knowing the exact ending, but knowing that it’s going no where good. The creepy part is that I’m aware of it and yet still doing it. Still making the decisions… like I have control, but really don’t.  So for now I just sit back on my comfy couch and watch the crazy lady ruin her life.



{November 14, 2011}   Romans 7:19, 24

“I can will what is right, but I cannot do it. For I do not do the good I want, But the evil I do not want is what I do. Wretched man that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”

 -Romans 7:19, 24



et cetera