I deserve to sing in the shower

A sure sign of my mood is whether or not I start singing in the shower. Today it was a show tune that I only knew the first four words of, and the rest continued with some hums and a “da, da, da” or two. Sometimes they’re those songs we used to sing in middle school choir, which are terrible, but I can’t deny that they’re pretty damn catchy. The past couple of days have certainly been shower-singing days, and though I have had these before both in and out of recovery, every time they come about I can’t help feeling a bit uneasy and tense.

Don’t get me wrong, I have come to appreciate the days when my steps feel a little lighter and I don’t scowl when someone cuts me off exiting the subway station. Today I didn’t think twice when someone did my least favorite thing on the street: shoved me with a huge shopping bag and didn’t think to say a word. But as I continued walking, underneath my slight grin I felt a tightness in my stomach, and by now I know where that feeling comes from. Quite frankly, I was wondering when everything was going to fall apart.

People often say recovery is not a linear process, and it has taken me a while to understand exactly what that means. When I got out of my first round of treatment for my eating disorder, I thought I was better because I looked different, healthier. Many people around me agreed, and they can’t be faulted for seeing a physical change as a sign of health. In many cases of illness, this is true. However, I still had many mental blocks and challenges that had yet to be faced. The past three years I have found myself weaving in and out of various types of struggles, each one a little new and unfamiliar, which can at times be terrifying.

A new struggle brings about a scary question: is this ever going to end? When I am in a dark place, sometimes it feels easier to think I’ll be stuck forever. It wasn’t that long ago that I told a therapist quite simply that things were never going to change. But today, when I am more balanced and able to think with a rational mind, I know there is a different truth. Every day I am moving forward. Nothing is perfect. I cannot stress enough that recovery to me is not the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow—sometimes it is the muddy puddle leftover after the storm. However, though there are dips, turns, and even spirals along the way, I am learning countless lessons and, dare I say it, becoming more hopeful.

I no longer question why I am consistently wondering when all will go to hell. I spent a long time on a downward path, watching the things that I care about rapidly fall away from me. But I also know this negative thinking can lead me down a dangerous path. Many people in recovery, and many people in life, have a tendency to go ahead and sabotage themselves. We fear that the worst is going to happen, so we go ahead and bring it about so at least we can control when it occurs. Or we don’t have high opinions of ourselves, and therefore we assume don’t deserve the good things when they come. This is a very difficult mindset to escape, at least for me.

There are a few ways I am working on shifting my views. For one, I am trying to take responsibility for my own journey in recovery. In many times of struggle, I would look to other people to explain what was happening in my own brain and body. I would even blame my therapist and doctor, telling them they weren’t helping me enough. It took a lot of time and self-reflection to realize that though professional and familial help is comforting and even necessary, the only person that is with me all the time is…me. That means it is my job to catch myself spiraling and pick myself back up, even when I feel sucked in beyond return.

I also am focusing on living in the here and now. I have had a tattoo that says “Be Here” on my arm since 2012, which often makes me laugh, because I never really followed that crucial advice. When things are going well, that is a time to be cherished. Appreciating how wonderful it is to go for a walk with a friend, share a laugh with my sister, or enjoy a deep conversation over a warm meal, is so important to my recovery. Remembering how good those moments feel, rather than distracting myself with thoughts of when things will go wrong, makes me want to repeat them more and more. And lately, I have found myself doing just that.

Finally, I try to take moments each day to recognize my progress, both in my recovery and in life. Yes, there are still days when I struggle in my eating disorder or let my depression get the best of me. There are times when I am not the best friend, sister or daughter that I could be. However, I am sure that I am not where I used to be. I do not struggle everyday. I am able to have honest and fruitful conversations with others. I am slowly surrounding myself with healthy people who care about me, and not allowing the opinions of those who don’t lead me down a dark road. These are all ways in which I’ve fundamentally changed, and I would never go back.

I’m hoping tomorrow that I will sing in the shower. But, maybe I won’t. Either way, I can be sure I am constantly changing, and for once I am looking forward to seeing where that takes me.

Peace and Love,

Molly

Distress and solo cups

Recovery is a word with a positive connotation, but the simple truth of it is that recovery is not always an easy or even positive experience. Being in recovery oftentimes makes me feel uneasy and stuck in the here and now.  Today I am not at my worst.  I am no longer constantly denying myself the care and self-compassion that I deserve, but today I also slip up more than I would like to.  I often find myself falling into mental traps that lead me in a dangerous direction, and one of these is the trap of comparison.

I am certain that everyone compares their own lives and accomplishments to those of others.  I have trouble avoiding comparison every time I scroll through my Instagram feed.  However, I definitely noticed myself doing this a lot more right after I started recovering from my eating disorder.  I graduated from college a semester early so that I could go to treatment, and was set free just in time to head back to school to participate in senior week: a last week of debauchery before graduating seniors entered the real world, whether they were ready to or not.  Nothing was better than seeing my friends and showing them the progress I had made, both physically and mentally.  However, the experience was also jarring.  My friends picked me up from the airport when I landed in Indiana and we promptly arrived back at school to a parking lot full of partying seniors.  Their solo cups were full and the speakers were blaring, and my stomach quickly sunk.

For the months leading up to that week, I had settled into a routine that was drastically different than how I had been living in college.  Instead of attending class, I went to therapy with other men and women who had put a pause on their lives to take care of their eating disorders.  Instead of going to the dining hall with friends, I ate with staff supervising me.  And instead of studying for finals, I wrote about my emotions in a journal.  In that moment in the parking lot, I was overwhelmed with insecurity because I felt so out of place.  In my head, I was wondering why I hadn’t been able to keep up with my classmates, and why simple things that came so easily to most people, like eating a meal, had tripped me up so profoundly.  I found myself spending that week trying to make up for lost time, and pretend like nothing about me had changed.  As a result, many of my days that week were spent recovering on my friend’s futon after staying out far later than my body was capable of handling.

Had I accepted that my body and my mind, which were still very much recovering from years of abuse, required my new structure and routine, I would have been able to spend my days reconnecting with those I had isolated from so much when I was a student.  Instead, I compared myself to a standard that did not align with my current situation.

My first couple of years in New York, I found myself falling into the same patterns.  At work, I expected perfection out of myself, comparing to those who had worked in the industry for much longer.  On the weekends, I tried to make up for the college semester I had lost, which only resulted in headaches and embarrassing text messages.  I also thought I was supposed to be in a relationship, because others my age had found people to be happy with.  These types of thoughts and behaviors only lead me to more misery, and that misery would cause me to turn back to my eating disorder time and time again.

The funny thing is, is these sorts of comparisons are pretty universal in the circles that I find myself in.  Mental illness or disorder doesn’t play any factor in the actual comparison—my friends and I all have moments when we feel we should be doing something differently.  And as a result, we end up hating ourselves a little bit.  Where’s the solace in that?

I still make comparisons every day, either to others or to some imaginary bar that I have set for myself.  However, I am also learning that if I sit in the here and now, tolerating the discomfort, I end up feeling better.  At work, I am patient with myself, because it is normal to make mistakes on occasion.  It’s also been quite a while since I’ve stayed out until four in the morning, because quite frankly, I need to be able to wake up in time to eat breakfast.  Finally, and this is the hardest one, I try not to punish myself for having to spend much of the past three years in and out of treatment.  I have to remind myself that for some reason, this is my path, and though it is taking a while, I am headed in the right way.

I in no way write this because I want to judge any type of lifestyle, or think that what I am doing is the best for anyone but me.  For instance, for some people I know, staying out until four in the morning is really fun.  For them it isn’t dangerous, and oftentimes results in hilarious stories that we all get to enjoy. This sort of enjoyment, an appreciation of where I and others are at in any given moment, is something that I strive for.  When we take away comparison, I think we take away some of the anxiety of the present.

Peace and love,

Molly