Why you can't judge a book by its cover

A teacher. A principal dancer at the New York City Ballet. The 9-year old son of two NYU professors. A pianist. A police officer. A high school wrestler. A Christian grandmother. A small business owner. A nurse. An obstetrician. A museum curator. A fashion designer. A nanny. An accountant. An artist. A politician's daughter. A dietician. A mother of four. A geologist. A therapist. A journalist. A college student. A professional athlete. An environmental lawyer.

All people with whom I have spent time in eating disorder treatment. Some recovered. Some died. Some, like myself, continue their struggle every day. There are dozens more I know, millions more I don't. All people with stories, some tragic and some decidedly normal. Many of whom would never fit into the stereotypical "adolescent fashion model" perception of anorexia or bulimia.

My 9-year old son asked me today why there hasn't been a female president. He asked with a tone of injustice, with a note of, "I don't get it, it's just not fair." I did my best to be diplomatic; I explained that women haven't had the right to vote for all that long, much less run for public office. He didn't understand. To him, in his childish innocence, everyone ought to have an equal shot at life. To him, we're all the same.

We are all the same, for better or for worse. Just like race, gender, religion, sexual orientation, or economic background shouldn't prohibit anyone from aspiring to the highest calling in the land, those things don't discriminate when it comes to the crippling grip of an eating disorder either.

You never know, really. When you see that super thin mom wrangling her gaggle of kids in the mall and think, "God, I wish I could look like that," you don't know that she may not have eaten since Tuesday. You simply can't know. We all have our crosses to bear. The most successful among us, the lowliest of us, we all have our burdens.

The real penalty of judgement is that it separates us from one another. Life becomes an endless cycle of "us versus them." We are so quick to lay the hammer down on other people, but why? So we can feel better about our own inadequacies? "Well, I may be bad, but at least I'm not THAT bad." How sad that is. We have no way of knowing the trials of others, even those closest to us. Some of the most broken people put on the most impressive masks. That dancer in the NYC Ballet? She died at age 37. The therapist, who helped countless clients battle their own demons? Gone at 43.

We just don't know. We hurt, and since we're human, we have to acknowledge that other humans hurt too. Regardless of their status in the world. Pain is the great equalizer. Instead of lashing out, maybe we ought to reach out. You never know who may be going through just the thing that's hurting you.

Enough is Enough

"I'm not smart enough. I'm not pretty enough. I'm not well-read enough. I'm not educated enough. I'm not accomplished enough. I'm not a good enough wife. My kids aren't well-behaved enough. My house isn't clean enough. I'm not charitable enough. I'm not witty enough. I'm not active enough in my community. I'm not thin enough. I'm not compassionate enough. I'm not a good enough mother."

These are all thoughts I've had in the last 48 or so hours. Distill them down and the core belief is, "I am not enough." I grew up understanding that I am only as good as the good that I do. My worth is dependent entirely upon what I have to offer the world.

I am in the midst of an internal struggle. Part of my recovery process is acknowledging my limitations. In the interest of health and self-preservation, I must learn to say no. I must give myself time to rest when my body and soul require it. I don't take to this notion easily. While I sit back on my laurels, opportunities to prove my worthiness slip by. How can I prove (to whom? to God? to my family? to the people around me?) that I am a decent human being when all I'm doing is seeing to it that my own needs are met? There is such suffering in the world, such glaring urgency. Who am I to tend to my own selfish demands when there is a bigger, more pressing universal obligation? The guilt presses in, crushing the small voice inside crying out, "You can't help anyone if you don't help yourself."

Why do we do this to ourselves? Why do we choose to exist in this pressure cooker of a belief system that tells us we are only as valuable as our actions? I would be crushed if one of my children thought that his worth was contingent upon some measure of performance. That's wrong. My children are worthy of love, affection, and acceptance simply because they exist. They are valuable because they are here, because their souls occupy space in this world. Regardless of their successes or failures, regardless of their accomplishments or disappointments, they are inherently important.

So too am I. So too are WE. If you need to pass on an opportunity to serve because you are simply spent, do it. If you need to decline an invitation to help out a friend because you're feeling very anxious and need some time to decompress, do it. If you need to leave those dishes in the sink because you're hurting, do it. There will be another opportunity to serve. There will be another chance to help out a friend. The dishes will be in the sink tomorrow. What may not be there in the future is the ability to care for yourself, to preserve your well-being.

Today I choose to release the shame of not being "enough" in the world's eyes. I choose to believe that I am enough simply because I AM. I hope you'll do the same.