This is a part of my story that I do not share often. Or at least, not in detail. That’s because it isn’t an easy part of my life to remember, and I was ashamed of it for so long. I've learned let go of that shame now, and I want to share it. We all have messy parts of our lives. So here it is, friends:
I struggled with a severe eating disorder for a few years of my life. I have found over the years, that eating disorders are more common than I ever imagined. That is a sad fact. I’d be willing to guess that someone you know: a sister, cousin, friend, or coworker has struggled with one. For most, the disorder is a psychological issue. It isn’t about looking like a model on a magazine, or an effort to lose those “last five pounds”. For many, it’s a coping mechanism. A (false) way to maintain control. That’s exactly what it was for me. Sometimes the memories get a little fuzzy, and I think that is because I avoided processing it for so long. I think it truly began when I was 15. I am a self-proclaimed control freak at times, and something about working out/dieting fed into that need for control. Around this time in my life things were beginning to spin out of control. That is a whole other part of my story, but my family was hit with something that changed us forever. My youngest brother was diagnosed with a very severe medical problem. Everything about our lives was different and it tossed every belief I had about how life was “supposed to go” right out the window. It was at this time that the disorder began to truly take over. Nothing in my life felt predictable, and I had never felt less in control. So I turned to controlling my movement and food intake. Working out was my escape, where I could tune everything out. Food quickly became a source of fear. I developed many "food rules" and forbid myself from eating what I labeled as "bad foods". It was like a competition with myself to see how little I could eat. The more I was consumed with these eating disorder thoughts, the less I had to feel the intense emotions about what my family was going through. It was a vicious cycle. Weight quickly dropped off me, and everyone around me noticed. My clothes no longer fit, my hair was getting thinner by the month, and I was constantly exhausted. I was not myself. My personality changed so much. I think the best way to describe it is that I was a shell of a person. I’ve learned that this is common for people in the midst of their eating disorder. Your body is literally living in starvation mode. It is hard to maintain a personality, humor, excitement, etc. when your body is focused solely on survival. My brother passed away when I was 17, four months before I graduated high school. My eating disorder was the most severe in the months leading to his death. There are no words to adequately describe what it was (and still is) like to lose someone, especially a child, that close to you. At the time, I was so incredibly numb that I did not even cry. It was like the weight of it all was so much, my mind simply could not accept it. Nothing felt real. To this day, I remember next to nothing about his funeral. In the weeks following, I lived in a state of complete numbness. I couldn’t cry, I couldn’t get angry, I couldn’t feel, I just existed. If you have experienced tragedy or loss, I'm sure you know what that is like. About a month after his death, I was introduced to an amazing treatment center. Prior to beginning treatment, I went to a few doctors. This was a huge wake up call for me and my family. At these doctors, I learned that I was developing Osteopenia, the precursor to Osteoporosis. I had starved my body for so long that my bones were beginning to weaken. My heart was healthy, but my doctor frankly explained to me the immense stress that an eating disorder places on the heart. My hair was thinning. My hormones were a mess. My skin was incredibly dry from malnutrition. I was cold all the time. A deep, deep cold that I felt to my bones. Eating disorders are horrible things, let me tell you. That treatment center changed everything. It was an outpatient center, so I went there about three days a week for various types of therapy. I had to completely give up exercise and start a meal plan with a nutritionist. It was hard and scary. I had to learn how to fight the lies in my head and cover myself in truth. Being still forced me to feel alllll the feelings. My body resting meant my thoughts could run. Eating enough allowed my body to let go of living in survival mode. And slowly the numbness started to fade away. I no longer had food restriction and exercise to distract me. I no longer felt in control. This was terrifying to me for a while. My walls and my safety nets were being torn away. But I needed them to be torn away in order to see how false and toxic they were. I needed them to be torn away so that I could find the freedom that was waiting for me. I worked with an individual therapist who made a huge impact on me. She was a crucial part of my recovery. I have the utmost respect for all of the counselors and dieticians out there. They do amazing work, and they help change lives. It was after leaving her office one day, a couple of months into therapy, that I cried for the first time since my brother died. It was a flood. The kind of crying where your shoulders shake and you gasp for breath. I felt all the pain, the loss, the sorrow, the anger, and the confusion that I hadn’t let myself feel for so very long. It was messy, but it was a beautiful thing. My guard was coming down. Crying isn’t shameful like I believed for so long. It’s an outward expression of very real feelings, and it's healing. Cry when you need to. Let it out. I think it’s good for the heart. Some years have gone by now, and I am abundantly grateful for recovery. My body is much different now than it was then, and that is okay. The biggest change happened on the inside. I am so grateful for learning to accept and love my body. To respect it and take care of it. I’m grateful that I can enjoy food again. I'm thankful that I can enjoy spontaneous dinner plans without being consumed with anxiety over calories. I'm thankful that I can let my body rest when I know that it needs to. I’m grateful for being able to feel excited about life in a way that I didn’t for so long. I’m grateful for freedom. My experience at that treatment center allowed me to meet countless amazing people, all going through their own unique struggle and pain. Hearing their stories humbled me. The Lord taught me so much about compassion over those months. I learned the beauty of vulnerability. I learned that emotions are powerful. I learned that I cannot do it all on my own, and that needing help is not a sign of weakness. I learned that everyone we meet has a story. I’m a mess sometimes (ok a lot of the time). I freely admit it. I’ve got burdens and scars. I make mistakes. Sometimes I feel like I’m too much, and other times I don’t think I’m enough. But there are things I know to be true. Things I have learned from some hard times and amazing people. And they are things that I want you to know too: Your story matters. Your feelings matter. Your struggle, your thoughts, your tears, your heart. It all matters. It's significant. Needing help does not make you weak. We were not created to live isolated and handle everything alone. Letting others in takes strength. You are not weak. You are not alone. No matter how alone you feel. You are beautiful. Your body is beautiful. Right now, exactly how it is. It is working hard in so many ways to keep you alive and it is strong. Recovery is possible. Whatever it is you may need to recover from. You are able and it is possible. Difficult, but possible. And so worth it. Recovery and healing sometimes happen in baby steps. But every one of those steps is brave. Keep on taking them, friend. There is beauty in vulnerability. There is joy to be found, even in brokenness. There is grace for you. Abundant grace. You were created for a purpose. You are loved by a good, good God. His love is so big. Even when you may not feel worthy of it, it is unending. You are covered in it. He is faithful, forgiving, constant, and so worthy of trust. You are loved. So very loved. Your story matters.
1 Comment
Em Miller
2/27/2018 07:19:29 pm
you are so so strong and I love you forever
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Hey there, I'm Courtney.
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