*Currently listening to: Michael Franti & Spearhead – Hey Hey Hey*
I have this tendency to write with a specific “flavor of the week” song on repeat (I try headphones so my partner doesn’t feel like he’s being sound-waterboarded lolz.)
Thought I’d start noting them in the case that you have interest in listening to my beats – or relate to the music.
This song’s got me in one of those evening shines.
“You gotta live for the one that you love you know
You gotta love for the life that you live you know”
Oh Michael Franti, you’re a babe. Going to see him June 1st at Red Rocks, which is the most magical music pavilion in all the USA land.
Anyway, I digress.
Last week, NEDA published a letter I wrote to kick off Eating Recovery Center’s #MyRecoveryLetter campaign for Eating Recovery Day. (More details on the campaign here…. also, how many times can I use the word ‘recovery’ in two sentences?)
It reminded me: sometimes, I think one of the only reasons I’ve remained so dedicated to writing is the accountability it forces me to maintain.
I’ve mentioned in a couple social media posts recently that I’m going through one of my lil “bouts” of exercise addiction, so it was interesting to write these words of “inspiration” for ERC while also knowing that I haven’t been following them.
I’m not mad about it ultimately, lemme be clear. But, I’m not profound towards it either. It just is.
After 10 years of dealing with this eating disorder, you kinda get matter-of-fact about the whole thing.
And frankly, I truly believe that the more power you give these “lapses,” the longer they stick.
So, I refuse to give this one the power I could.
Truth is: the biggest bullshit we tell ourselves about recovery is that we don’t “miss” our eating disorders.
Anything you put that much time and effort into – you miss.
Frankly, I love my eating disorder. Of course I do.
It kinda becomes the thing you “know” what to expect. Like a love affair with a predictable ending. But, you keep going back.
And frankly, I’m 4 years into recovery road – and I still love the adrenaline rush of losing weight.
I akin it to heroin. My boyfriend doesn’t know what to say when I do.
At the end of the day, I love it because it is a physical representation and symbol of some other emotional hoop-la-la I’m going through.
I love it because people worry.
I love it because I feel powerful.
I love it because I enjoy clothes more. I enjoy putting my hands on my hips.
I love being less full than full.
Relapse is a deranged mother effer.
It’s a set of conditioned beliefs that I now am now very aware of – but still sometimes choose to indulge.
Doesn’t make it right or wrong – just is.
I posted a question on my Instagram last night “What’s the biggest lie you tell yourself when you’re in eating disorder brain?”
If you read this blog, I beg you to read these responses.
They’re so relatable.
Duh, of course they are.
But, I mean it. Stop thinking your eating disorder is original. It isn’t.
We all typically derive from the same culture that forces this type of ED-mentality onto us.
And if ever I need a way to remember that my ED thoughts/beliefs are, in fact, not unique: it’s posting questions to y’all and watching your perspectives roll in and remind me that I’m not any different and I’m kidding myself if I truly think “I have to work out to eat,” or “be beautiful” or worthy of a successful, career-driven life.
Thank you for your comments here, and on IG. Relate to each other. Relate to me. It’s the only way we ever move on – choosing what to read, how to think, when to question – and how to think about all of it afterwards.
Ultimately, I truly believe we have to connect with each other as women, as people – not compare.
Sitting here tonight in a restaurant in the pouring rain, mad gobbling sushi – with my laptop open, my partner at frisbee (yes, in the rain. What a loon.)
I’m thankful I have this community – and that I ever started writing.
Our eating disorders are so often conditioned by a culture we had no say in – a world we were born into. And a lot of us are women who have been pushed around, kneed into boxes, forced to dress how culture tells us to “succeed” in careers or online dating or whatever the hell. And brainwashed into thin idealism because a few old fashionistas set the standard.
We’re tired. I am tired.
And it’s our choice – at the end of the day – to fight like hell to both nurture this culture (because it’s ours and all we have) – and fight it as ever diligently as we can.
Relating to each other – and finding a different solution, maintaining compassion.
The world doesn’t revolve around your pain, it doesn’t revolve around anyone. But, man how we can relate and move forward through it.