Pigeonholed

There are so many roles that I play. So many categories that I fit into. Among them are the following:

-Recovering anorexic/bulimic.

-Recovering self-injurer.

-Periodic depressive.

-Sexual abuse survivor.

There are also these identities:

-Wife

-Mother

-Daughter

-Sister

-Friend

And then there are these:

-Volunteer

-Student

-Church-goer

-All-around cheerful person.

There are many, many more. Too many to list, perhaps. And everyone has their own list. So many people in just one person. How do you choose, then, which of them is your primary Self? Or is the very definition of "Self" a combination of attributes, experiences, personality traits, and memories that form one cohesive individual?

Maybe when people ask me who I am, I'll just say "Cassie," and that will be enough.

"Fat Is Not A Feeling."

I don't know how many times I've heard the treatment-ism "Fat is not a feeling." I also don't know how many times I've uttered the words, "I feel fat." I still do.

In fact, I was getting dressed just yesterday, and in my utter exasperation, I declared to my husband, "I feel fat!" Being a man, and a well-adjusted one at that, he replied, "What does 'fat' feel like, exactly? Because you certainly don't LOOK fat." I was unsure how to respond. "I don't know. It feels... big. Wrong. Overflowing. Excessive." He raised an eyebrow and resumed his morning routine.

I started analyzing the feelings, in true recovery fashion. Just what am I experiencing when I "feel fat?" Sure, sometimes I just don't like the way my pants fit. More often, though, it's a lot more complicated than that. Perhaps it's a response to my own confusion. Maybe "fat" isn't fat, exactly, but more like fear. Instead of "I feel fat," maybe the truth is more like, "I feel afraid."

That's okay, too. It's okay to feel afraid. It's okay to feel uncomfortable. It's okay to feel like things aren't quite right. As long as you can keep yourself from turning your emotions into negative behaviors, you're still on the right track. I know I am.

One Day at a Time

Very interesting sermon in church today about the phrase, "lead us not into temptation." The basic gist was that in order to truly overcome temptation, you have to subit to a higher power. Give up your feigned image of self-control and accept that you need guidance, absolution.

Relevant, wouldn't you say? The pastor made many references to AA, and I sat there thinking how similar alcoholics are to people with anorexia and bulimia. I thought about some other AA sayings that relate to our recovery experiences:

"It's easy to talk the talk, harder to walk the walk."

"Fake it til you make it."

"F.E.A.R. - Face Everything And Recover!"

"Try it for 90 days, and if you don't like it, we'll refund your misery."

"We have a disease that tells us we don't have a disease."

"There's no gain without pain."

"If you don't want to slip, stay away from slippery places."

"Progress, not perfection."

And finally, my favorite of all - "Change happens when the pain of holding on is greater than the fear of letting go."

Lonely

Sometimes recovery is very lonely. The people around you have deemed you "recovered," and no longer look upon you as a person with needs. The thing is, we're all needy sometimes. Every once in awhile it would be great to say to someone close to you, "I'm feeling down. I need to talk." But it's out of the question; once "well," you forsake the right to admit vulnerability. Any indication of negative emotion leads people to believe you've slid back, relapsed.

I haven't relapsed. I'm as healthy as ever, and my life truly is great. But sometimes I feel alone. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a weird sort of limbo... better, but not quite 100%. Unable to express my loneliness for fear that some red flag will be raised. I do not want to attract any scrutiny. I do not want to be eyeballed at every meal. I simply want a chance to act like a human being once in awhile. Fragile, imperfect, fallible.

I am a human being, after all.

Life Story

I just finished writing my "life story," with an emphasis on the events that led to my eating disorder. In the beginning, it was really hard. It's not fun to revisit all of the traumatic events that warped your psyche. It's not fun to write the words on paper that you rarely ever speak out loud. It's not fun to remember.

However, when I got into the meat of my illness, my attitude towards the project changed. As I detailed the extremely disturbing behaviors of a very sick person, I started to feel better. Not because the memories were pleasant; they were anything but. Rather, sometimes it's nice to be reminded of how far you've come.

Sure, I still struggle with my share of unhealthy thoughts. But I'm lightyears away from being the girl who threw up into garbage bags and hid the bags in the closet. I'm not the perfect picture of recovery, but I'm not sick anymore, and that's enough for now.

The Bathing Suit Paradox

The other day, I was at the pool with my kids. I was naturally feeling very self-conscious, my concerns threefold: 1- That I looked like a beached whale, 2- That my bathing suit was somehow inappropriate for and offensive to the uber-conservative community pool, and 3- That my scars, over 80 of which are visible when I'm in swimwear, would call even more attention to me. My boys floated around on their own, not giving their old mom any mind whatsoever. My baby girl, all 26 lbs. of blonde hair and joy, was splashing at my side. Instead of relishing in the sweet heat of Summer, I was rehashing my pool worries, my brow furrowed.

Then I saw her. Across the pool was a tall woman of about 30, backstroking in the sun. She had on a black bikini, mature but stylish. She was at least four dress sizes bigger than me, but she looked stunning. I was caught completely off guard. How, when thinness is coveted and revered, could this woman look so gorgeous at her size? And in a bathing suit, no less? I couldn't help but stare. The black material hugged her body close, carressing her skin. Instead of angles, to which I have always aspired, she was full of curves. It occurred to me that maybe, just maybe, it was her attitude that was even more beautiful than her body. She was relaxed. She was confident. She was enjoying herself. In a swimsuit. How profound.

There I was, all thin and petrified, missing out on my children's fun. There she was, all full and wonderful, soaking up life. I learned something that day, and I hope I don't forget it.

Break it down, Sylvia Plath style

I stumbled upon this Sylvia Plath poem, "In Plaster," when I was in high school. I think it sums up the dichotomy of eating disorders very well. Here is the last stanza; I like to think this is the point I'm at in my own recovery. Read the entire poem sometime, if you get the chance. I wish Ms. Plath had stuck around to see what a difference her words made in other people's lives.

"I used to think we might make a go of it together -
After all, it was a kind of marriage, being so close.
Now I see it must be one or the other of us.
She may be a saint, and I may be ugly and hairy,
but she'll soon find out that that doesn't matter a bit.
I'm collecting my strength; one day I shall manage without her,
and she'll perish with emptiness then, and begin to miss me."