No More ED Body, No More ED Brain

There just wasn't a picture good enough to go with this post.

I'm kind of in awe.

Of myself.

Here's the thing: Even with all the physical, emotional, spiritual work I've done...there was a part (a big part) of me that thought I'd never get here. And even though one of my "specialties" with my clients is working with people with eating disorder and body image issues...I never thought I could love my body like I was trying to teach them to love theirs.

But something amazing happened. Sometime in the last few months, I learned to love my body. I think it even happened more rapidly than that. It's as if I finally got to the point where I was just sick and tired of hating my body.

It's so easy (and so subtle and insidious) to pick yourself apart. How many times have you looked in the mirror at yourself and narrowed your focus on to that one little part (or more than one little part) that you just can't stand. You poke it and prod it and look at it from all different angles, just sending hate-rays at your own flesh. I caught myself doing that about a month and a half ago...and I paused. I asked myself "what the hell are you doing?" It wasn't a mean or angry question. I asked it with an air of love, actually. So much the same way that I lifted myself from eating disorder by telling myself that I didn't have to believe that any more, I turned my body-hate around by changing the language I used with myself.

But that sounds so ridiculously simple! If I had heard that a year or two ago, I would have shrugged it off with a "yeah, I know I know". So what was the edge? What was the hinge? What was the button or the spark or the whatever whatever that suddenly made a difference? I wish I knew!

I think time was a huge factor. Timing and time. At the right time, and not rushed. I also think I finally hit my "what will it take" moment. I got to that point where I just wasn't willing to take it any more. All of me was ready for it.

I hope I can find a way to share this with my clients. But they have to be ready for it.

HBO Is A Mirror Too

The other day I watched this HBO special on women recovering from eating disorder. They were all staying at Renfrew, a hardcore recovery center. Whoo boy. None of the women profiled in the special were successful. You know how they do those "this is Shelly three months later" thing? All of them relapsed. All of them. They even showed one puking the very night she got released.

I could so relate.

It was a strange position to be in. I was watching the insanity--knowing it was insanity--but also knowing, somehow, that it made sense too. A mind that has never been in the obsessive loop of eating disorder must hear the gook spewing from those girls and...just...NOT relate in any way. I know it sounds wack-a-doodle. But I get it.

And even though I'm not in that "place" any more, boy was that triggering. It made me wonder if I could ever relapse. In every or any capacity. I wonder if I could ever go back to eating the way I ate long ago or to being as unhealthy as I was in so very many ways. I used to think it was impossible to return to such behavior, because now I just "know too much". But I don't know. I think there's always a chance. That does scare me. I don't ever want to be that person again. I hope that if it comes to that--if I am tempted or find myself falling into the old patterns--I hope that I will turn to my newer tools; that I will open my bag of tricks and choose something different.

Yet

I'm in love.

He makes me laugh. We can talk for hours about nothing. I feel like I've known him forever but he still surprises me almost every day. He listens to my fears and insecurities with a loving heart. He doesn't try to soothe me with platitudes; but he doesn't dismiss my anxieties either. He's supportive without being indulgent. Sometimes he pisses me off when he challenges me or holds up a loving critical mirror, but ultimately I'm appreciative.

When I see him in the morning or when I walk with him down the street, I feel I am with a man, not a boy or even a "guy". I don't have to be his teacher. He's not mine, either, but we both show each other things we never knew before. He's got some hobbies I don't enjoy, and he's not that keen on some of mine, but we have friends for that.

I love spending quiet time at home together, just curled up on the couch like an interlocking puzzle. I love going out with him, too. I'm proud to be seen with him. He introduces me to everyone, too. He wants to integrate me into his life.

Sometimes he is such a dork. But he's a dork in that cool un-self-conscious type of way that just makes me want to grab and kiss him.

We kiss a lot. We do that a lot too.

Here's the thing, though: I don't know his name. Yet. I haven't met him. Yet.

But it's not like I feel that this is a description of the person I'm looking for. I really feel like he's there. We have this connection...it already exists. We're just not in contact at the moment.

Yet.

I Hugged

I hugged Krishna Das. I hugged Krishna Das. I hugged Krishna Das.

It was a big, heart hitting, firm-armed, squeezy, long, nourishing hug.

He'll probably never know that listening to his voice those years ago was my first realization and desire for true spirituality. Not religion. Spiritual. Meaningful. Soul-feeding.

It had been a long time since I had last shed tears of joy. Walking home was like floating down the street.

Blah Blah Me Me Me

Hmm...some update-y thingies:

So my granma's out of the loony bin. I asked my mom if she was lucid and sane now and she answered "as much as she ever was". Hee.

I was blessed with a free ticket to a Krishna Das private concert. Freaking awesome. And kinda coolio that last weekend was a Guns N' Roses concert and this week it's kirtans. Neat-o.

My phone is going bonkers coo-coo cocopuffs. A couple weeks ago it erased my calendar. The other day it erased all my contact numbers. Now it is having trouble syncing at all. Mercury goes out of retrograde November 17th. November 17th.......

Surge-urge-ury is coming up. I'm excited and scared and nervous and happy and sad and curious and lots of stuff. I'm not good at asking for help and I'm going to need a lot of it. I know my friends love me and will do what they can, but I also know I'm going to have to rely on them more than I think they realize. I'm not going to be able to vacuum or do laundry or change the litter box or pack my suitcase for Christmas or anyfing. I'm afraid that I'm going to be left to my own devices too much. It's a very "alone" feeling. Not lonely exactly. Alone. That's what happens when you go through something major like this and don't have family around or a mate. Since I was teeny tiny I've always said "All by mine self". Well, I can't do this by mine self. Hardly at all. There's also this thing that because this is an elective surgery and not a "have to", I feel almost like I don't have a right to ask for help. Like, if it were open heart surgery or something I had to had to had to have, then I could ask for help. But because it is what it is and it isn't necessary for survival, then I can't.

Then there is the matter of Thanksgiving. And my lack of plans. Something always turns up, but this time it hasn't. Kind of strange. I hope I'm okay if nothing occurs. I mean, I think I will be, but I don't want to start feeling sorry for myself or something stoopidly lame like that. That whole "feeling sorry for myself" thing is boring. Bo-ring.

I've been signing a handful of new clients lately which is cool cool cool. Makes me quite aware that I need to continue doing workshops and teleclasses and such. Perhaps more frequently. Maybe while I'm recovering I'll do some planning/prep on that front. I'll have to fill my time with something, right? More than Netflix, that is.

Alrighty. Tha's that for now.

Goo Goo Grandma

This is really tough. My Grandma is in a psych ward. Her surgery a few weeks ago did not go well and her mind has somewhat snapped.

I spoke with her a couple days ago. At least this time she (sort of) knew who I was. But it was her 80th birthday, and she was complaining that she doesn't like where she is now because they only have stuff for "old people". Ain't that a kicker? But the reason I got off the phone was that she kept talking about wanting to jump out the window and die. I just can't (won't) listen to that.

If only this were unusual for her. It's just her normal personality...a little "enhanced".

Am I upset for her? For myself? For my mom? Unknown.

Working Woman...Wow!

Okay, seriously? This is lame, but I have to brag. Yes, brag. It is 11 pm on a Saturday night and I have spent the last six hours...working! For work. Like, on my computer. But not at a cafe, which is usually the case (I'm hopelessly distracted at home). I've been working! Yay me!

I know for most, this isn't such a humongous accomplishment. And, sure, I do plenty of work without the need to report it. But it's Saturday. And I hadn't planned or scheduled to work. Usually when I don't consciously set the time aside, it just don't happen.

So. Is this lame because I'm working on a Saturday night? Or is it lame because I'm so darned proud of it? Mmm...probably both. It's a little super-lame. I don't care.

Know what's not lame? I was interviewed to be written about in a book. A whole article plus a bio with contacts. That's not lame. Know what else isn't lame? I was contacted by a publishing editor to do some freelance writing for industry magazines. Also not lame.

My friends are excelling, too. I'm SO proud and happy for them. New jobs, new school, new opportunities, new ventures, new outlooks. So lovely...