A Cup of Joe and a Teaspoon of Jibber-Jabber

Greetings All!!

My morning started out practically the same as every morning starts. I got up, took my two golden retrievers, Jack and Emma, out to do their business, and then headed to Starbucks, conveniently located less than 5 minutes from my house, for my usual coffee order--a Venti half-caf Pike's Place coffee with 4 pumps of gingerbread syrup (sugar-free cinnamon dolce when it's not the holiday season).

After I got my coffee, put in a shot of cream, as well as an insane amount of Equal (the number isn't relevant), I decided that I wanted to pay the equally insane $5.35 for the NY Times today. So back in line I went.

To preface, it should be noted that random people--anywhere I go--talk to me. I guess that's why I'm meant to be a therapist.

So...In line now for the second time, I find myself sandwiched between two men. The man behind me, a white-haired, pony-tail-sporting (is that really necessary?) sixty-something looks at this toddler, then turns to me and says, "Ah, isn't that a cute dress?"

I don't know if it's because I'm a social worker, but my automatic thought is, possible sexual predator. Five seconds after his comment, the man in front of me, another blue-collar sixty-something, reaches into his back pocket for his wallet, then turns to me and flashes an out-of-focus picture of his granddaughter.

"What a hit she was last night when grandma and me took her out for a showing at another coffee shop!" he says.

"Oh, what a cute girl she is." This was the only response I could muster. She wasn't cute. I couldn't even tell she was a girl.

Just when I thought our conversation had ended, he decides to speak again.

"Yeah, I'm just a Southern Baptist boy from the Bayou. I work in Tampa and Detroit in the automotive business, have two houses, and teach at the college in Detroit."

"Oh, you teach?"

"Yes, automotive class at the two highest levels."

Just as I'm thinking about asking him if he knows the definition of narcissism, he continues.

"Yeah, my wife gets so mad at me. She says,'I hate you! You do everything right!' Yep, I not only have one master-technician degree, but I'm a double master-technician. I excel at everything I do."

Clearly, he isn't aware of the definition of, or his own, narcissism.

After I stopped thinking about how it was too early in the morning for this type of insignificant discourse, and after I stopped wondering if the possible sexual predator behind me thought as I did, or was I just a rude bitch, a realization came to mind.

I'm not much different than the braggart from the Bayou. I, too, want to tell everyone what I've accomplished and how special I am. While my MO may be less overt than Bayou Boy, I have my ways of getting people to ask about my accomplishments. Of course,I hate when I do this. I guess that I, and perhaps Bayou Boy, need to hear the reinforcements so that maybe one day we won't need to hear how great we are from others. Internally, we will know it ourselves.

Cliche for the day: To know, is to believe.

The Grateful Graduate

Last Saturday, I graduated with my Bachelor of Social Work from the University of South Florida! Initially, I wasn't going to "walk," as I hate ceremonies of any kind. It's like, just give me my damn diploma already--a diploma which you don't even receive at the commencement anyway. Moreover, I still have to complete my MSW and possibly my Doctorate, which, to me, are the big accomplishments. I mean, the Bachelor-level degree is about as valuable as a VCR.

Feeling as though I might have future regrets if I didn't attend, I decided to go. The most satisfying part of graduating, besides hearing my name read aloud in front of the other 858 graduates, was knowing that I was able to accomplish my BSW in RECOVERY--that is HUGE.

I never thought I could sit through a boring event like graduation without the comfort of food. Prior to recovery, I would've probably binged and purged before the ceremony, and if I didn't say, "fuck it, I'm not going," then I'd be obsessing on which fast food joints I was going to make a bee line for following the ceremony.

Bottom line: It's nice to be present for life today.

Cliche for the day: The past is history. The future is a mystery. The present is a gift.

Weathering the Season of Triggers

As the holiday season nears, I can think of a multitude of reasons why I LOVE this time of year: the leaves changing color, the cooler weather (yes, even in Florida), the holiday decorations adorning street lights and store fronts, the holidays and the gratitude and cheer, family gatherings, getting to wear scarves and warm fuzzy socks, etc.

These, however, are the same reasons I dread this time of year. During this season, my eating disorder, even in recovery, loves to remind me where I can find emotional "support" if the craving for comfort comes my way.

Here's how my eating disorder works: As grateful as I am NOT to be bingeing and purging anymore, I couldn't help but get entranced by a certain package of cookies at the grocery store the other evening. The setup, and it was a setup, albeit self-inflicted,came on the first cool evening in Florida. I was home by myself, I needed to go to the grocery store, and I was longing for that feeling of coziness. As I made my way through the grocery store and down the cracker aisle, which happens to share space with the cookie aisle (how rude!), I got hung up on this sinfully sweet package I used to binge on. I have to admit, I romanticized the idea of such a treat seducing my palette, and I even went as far as entertaining myself by looking at the efficacy in indulging in a serving or two.

As it turns out, the benefits (instant gratification and temporary emotional fulfillment) did not outweigh the costs (guilt and "feeling" fat). Also, because I don't have "good" foods and "bad" foods, I can eat anything; however, two conditions apply. I can't eat X by myself and I can't eat X when I have strong cravings.

What is so insidious about my eating disorder, and I'd bet there are others who share this experience, is that all it takes is a weather change or a euphoric recollection of a former binge food to send my mind into food fantasyland. Sometimes I can remain unaffected. Other times, like at the grocery store, I marinate on the potentially disastrous possibilities for a few minutes until I snap myself out of denial and back to reality.

While I occasionally still get caught up in imagining ingesting boxes, not servings, of X food, as long as I can get honest with myself and reach out for support, then it works in my favor.

Cliche for the Day: Self-honesty is the best policy.

Body Image...Creeping towards sanity

Hello,

It has been a long time since my last post! Between my final semester of college and social work internship, it's hard to squeeze in entries. I've made a new commitment to myself and to my blog, so here goes...

Throughout my recovery, I have been waiting for the day when the insane body image buster voice in my head can be squashed indefinitely.

Enter cognitive distortion number one. Body image does not magically disappear just because I have solid recovery time!!

So during my group therapy the other day, you can imagine how proud I was to announce to the group, "I can't believe it. Every time I've looked in the mirror this week, I actually accepted what I saw, imperfections and all!" I couldn't believe it. I had arrived. I could now accept my body.

Enter cognitive disortion number two. For me, body image acceptance isn't a terminal state of mind.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I stand in front of the mirror to mentally solidify this ground-breaking level of acceptance. With my backside facing the mirror and my head cocked, becoming owl-like, I begin monitoring the level of toneness of my back for any post-body-image-acceptance changes. I leaned to the side in a way I had never leaned before...and there it was. My head went into shock as I looked at my newfound fat roll, and suddenly, it all became clear. What was I thinking before??? I must have been in a delusional, recovery blur to think that my body was imperfectly perfect!

So the next week at group therapy, I inform the group of the transitory state of my body image acceptance. After hearing me rant about how I had never leaned that way and how my acceptance was a big fat recovery ruse, my therapist had a simple solution for me..."Next time you're looking in the mirror, DON'T LEAN THAT WAY."

I now know why my therapist gets paid the big bucks!

The point to all of this is that recovery and all the coexisting insanity is a cyclical process. At least for me, I don't think that I will ever arrive at this utopian, blissful state of mind with my body image, but it does get easier. For today, I like (I admit that quietly) my body.

Cliche for the day: The pain is in the resistance.

Bulimia Death Pic

I want to bring attention to this GRAPHIC photograph of a bulimic who died after a gastric rupture. A friend of mine who is in an ongoing battle with bulimia now carries this photograph with her wherever she goes as a reminder that EATING DISORDERS KILL. Since then, she has remained purge-free. Hopefully this can help someone else too.

DISCLAIMER: GRAPHIC MATERIAL
Here is the link. http://www.crazycaterpillar.com/forums/showthread.php?t=740

Daily Reminders

While I have been free from bingeing and purging for some time now, my eating disorder still tries to lure me into playing its dangerous games. Almost daily, it's as if I hear a voice that says, "Hello? Remember me? I have some new games for you when you're ready to play."

Sorry, I don't play those types of games anymore. On occasion, however, I find myself gambling on the Russian Roulette of abstinence to see how far chance, luck, and strategy will take me without falling into the red zone.

For instance, the other night as I drove home from work, I felt thirsty, so I thought I'd make a pit stop and get a Diet Coke. It was after ten at night and I don't live in the safest of neighborhoods, so instead of getting out of my car, I decide, brilliantly, to cruise through the drive-thru at McDonald's. To people who aren't addicted to food, this may seem like a viable, innocent option. Although I can eat anything abstinently, for a person like me, who used to have McDonald's bags adorning the front and back seats of my car, quenching my thirst at a fast food chain is never a smart option.

Of course, I already knew this, but did it anyway.

A few seconds after I tentatively inch my way up to the drive-thru, a familiar phrase comes blaring through the raspy speaker.
"Welcome to McDonald's, would you like to try an Extra Value Meal today?" Would I? Of course. Will I? Of course not.
"Just a second," I reply. "I'm not quite ready." I should have been ready. After all, I knew what I came for--one Diet Coke, nothing more.
Enticed by the entertaining pictures of fast food that scream at me--"Pick me, pick me!"--my mind begins to flounder.
"Are you ready to order?" the voice asks. Feeling like I've already wasted at least three minutes of her time, I decide that it would be rude to order just a Diet Coke. Pressure corrupts my head as I deliberate my options.
"Yes, I'll have a medium Diet Coke...and an Apple Pie."

Seconds after leaving the drive-thru, I take a bite of the pie. It tasted delicious, but I knew if I ate another bite, then I'd spend the rest of the evening feeling guilty and performing fat checks to see if I any evidence of apple pie clung to my stomach. With that, I put the pie down.

The reality is that I am capable of eating anything from any menu without resorting to bingeing and purging--but that doesn't mean that I should. I know that bingeing and purging is absolutely not an option--which means that whatever I choose to eat, I have to live with the consequences.

The difference between me now and when I engaged in bulimia is that today I believe that 1.) eating one bite will not physically change my body, and 2.) what's is becoming more important to me is eating things that won't produce guilt. At times, as in the above scenario, I tend to deny and forget certain truths for myself, which is why I still get into sticky situations.

Cliche for the day: Progress, not perfection.

Amuse Bouche!

So, here I am...starting a blog. Why blog? Well, food affects all of us to some extent. As our societal waistbands stretch and shrink from obesity to anorexia and everything in between, it is obvious that food's intended role--to provide sustenance--has been beefed up to provide much more.

Having struggled with bulimia for, oh, seventeen years, food became my security blanket, my protector, my best friend, my family, and mostly, my enemy. Whenever I felt afraid, sad, angry, excited, happy--any emotion will suffice--I turned to food.

Today, I no longer spend my days looking back at my reflection through the bacteria-infested water in the toilet, running for miles to burn off the saltines and carrots I ate for lunch, or shunning social gatherings because I'd rather cuddle up to a gallon of ice cream than face my social anxiety or feel fat in my dress...but I still have a powerful relationship with food.

Whether one is an extreme dieter who obsesses over calories and exercise or a full fledge food addict, whittling down the attitudes, values, and thoughts that guide our behaviors around food is a process--and I'm here to share my process with you!

I'd love to hear any comments, questions, or concerns about anyone's process with making peace with food.
[amuse bouche!]