I have heard that there are people out there who know OF me more than they know ME. I have heard that they know I've been to "rehab." They most likely don't know that means I went to inpatient eating disorder treatment; I assume that by "rehab" they think drugs or alcohol. Maybe they regard me with suspicion. Perhaps they believe I can't be trusted, because "once an addict, always an addict."
I want to address this on a couple fronts. First, no matter the kind of problem - eating disorder, chemical dependency, trauma, whatever - the definition of rehabilitation is this: to restore or bring to a condition of health or useful and constructive activity. Who among us can't use a little restoration? Who among us hasn't, at one point or another, experienced a decrease in our health, usefulness, or constructive activity? That's called life. Sometimes things go wrong, we get hurt, and it takes awhile to dust ourselves off. Isn't it incredibly brave that we can acknowledge our struggles and take the necessary steps to heal? Why the stigma?
Which leads me to my second point. Why the shame? Not only the shame those of us who have walked the road of recovery have felt, but the shame some onlookers place upon us? So I went to rehab. What's that say about me? That I couldn't hack it on my own? That I'm too weak to man up and deal with my life? That there's something wrong with me, that I'm broken? Nope, that's a fallacy. I am NOT broken. I am NOT weak. And while yes, I couldn't do it on my own, who can? No man is an island, after all. I needed help, and I sought it out. I was hurting, and I found some peace.
Maybe the media plays a role in the misunderstanding, as it so often does. (I grew up in New Jersey, and not one of my friends or family members bears any resemblence to Snookie.) There's Amy Winehouse's (now-ironic) hit song, "Rehab." People laughed when that song hit the airwaves. "Look at the silly drunk, what a joke." A few people took notice and said, "Hey, wait, maybe she's really sick," but they were the minority. There's a show on MTV or VH1 (you know, where they used to talk about music) called "Celebrity Rehab with Dr. Drew," in which several formerly-famous people with addictions find their diseases exploited and ridiculed. They act in an outrageous fashion and the viewer at home can say, "What an idiot. Drug addicts are losers," and feel better about his own life. This is not only grossly untrue, its effects are devastating. I wonder sometimes how many lives have been lost because sick people were too ashamed to reach out for help, too afraid of being labeled.
Here's what I know for sure. The people I have met in rehab and in 12-step meetings are some of the most intelligent, kind, motivated, strong, honest, wonderful folks I have ever encountered. We had some cards stacked against us, perhaps: genetics, trauma, etc. We fell hard, got scraped up pretty badly. Fell again and again, in a lot of cases. But we were hopeful enough, brave enough, to get the help we needed. BRAVE. Because that's what rehab requires: bravery, trust, hope, accountability, and a willingness to change the things that lead us away from God's path. We admit that we have lost control, admit that this Thing (for me, anorexia and bulimia, for others, drugs, alcohol, sex, gambling, and on an on) has taken over and we don't know how to stop it. We acknowledge all the things we have done wrong, all the people we have hurt, while we were astray. We say aloud, to each other, that we want something better, know that with God's help and the support of one another, we can and will get better. We will be rehabilitated.
I challenge you, if you have not been in rehab, to take stock of your opinions of those of us who have. What do you believe about us? Are those beliefs fair, compassionate?
And to my companions on the journey of recovery, I challenge you to this: Tell someone new about your experience. Share your experience, strength, and hope. Do your part to change the misconception. Help show the world that rehab is not a four-letter word.
