Day #10: Only Words?

The first 5 words that come to mind when I think back to my eating disorder are:

fear
alone
thin
people
empty

As a child, I went from being fearless to being full of fear. I began to second-guess myself, my every move. Certain people would undermine my confidence and I just didn't have enough to draw from when that happened. I also let fear stop me from being who I really was inside. I played the "what if" game constantly. What if this happens, but what if that happens, etc. I was afraid of what other people would think of me. I was afraid to make a wrong move. I was afraid of being hurt. I was afraid to mess up. I was afraid to see what else I could be besides the thinnest girl that everyone knew. I was afraid to live.

I felt so alone. I was bullied by other girls in middle school and that terrible, awful "alone" feeling began then. I was shunned, left to myself. Hurt. I went home crying every day. I had no one. Actually, that's not true. I had one dear friend who kept herself close to me regardless of what others said and did...and for that I will be forever grateful. But I was miserable beyond words and even when the bullying ended and the hell subsided, I felt damaged and cautious. And the fear I described above was ever-present. (Being bullied is part of why I'm so fascinated about the "mean girls" phenomenon and why I am so passionate about helping girls - or anyone! - who are bullied. The link to development of an eating disorder also intrigues me, and if you were one of the 491 participants in the graduate research study I conducted - and even if you weren't - you'll get to hear about my findings at some point this summer.)

I was always the thin girl, often the thinnest girl that anyone knew. It was so much a part of my identity that I was afraid to lose it. I thought that if I stopped being the thinnest girl that I would somehow cease to be ME. There was always so much emphasis on how thin I was - and I felt I had no choice but to feel a sense of pride about it, simply because that was what people focused on so often. Even though my eating disorder was about so much more than weight and appearance, I was obsessed with being thin and staying thin. Mostly because of fear. Partially because I wanted to make myself less, and uglier - to take the focus off my looks. I wanted so badly to be more than just a pretty face, to be seen as the smart, kind, creative person I knew I was - but it was always my appearance that was remarked upon the most. Being thin, staying thin, and getting thinner was a way to detract from that - or so I hoped. It was no way to live and it was dangerous. I was very ill, especially in my first 2 years of college.

And while I had a lot to work on personally, within myself, so much of what fueled my eating disorder had to do with other people. I was a self-proclaimed people pleaser extraordinaire. It goes back to the fear I explained above - being afraid of what they might think about me. But it went further too. I wanted to please my mom, my dad, my teachers. Make them proud. And berate myself if I felt I didn't. I didn't want to do something or be something that would make everyone suddenly shun me again and leave me in the cold, the way it happened in middle school. I tried to please everyone, which is impossible. It took me a long time to learn that, but an even longer time to end the people pleasing, even after I realized the conundrum. I was also shy. I let people take charge, convinced I couldn't be as good at it. I held back, reverting into a scared little girl.

And I was empty. So empty. I was lost. Depleted. All of my energy was gone, all of my hopes and dreams seemed like they were down a deep well and I simply didn't have the strength to pull them up.

***But recovery, now THAT is a splendid thing, my friends. And recovered feels even better. :-) The first 5 words that come to mind when I think of recovery and life now are:

love
child
woman
leader
free

In leaving my eating disorder behind, I was able to learn to love myself. I was able to see and appreciate what I could do and be. I was able to understand myself and give myself permission to feel and falter and move on. I was also able to love everything else. There was so much more time in my every day for LOVING THINGS! I didn't have to waste energy or brain space or time on counting calories, or burning calories, or trying not to think about how hungry I really was, or obsessing over how I looked, or coming up with mean things to say to myself as punishment.

Part of the love came from the fact that I was finally getting back to my authentic self - the self I was as a child. When I was little, I was free and happy. I wasn't shy, I wasn't afraid, I wasn't worried or obsessed. I used to love life and the more I recovered, the more I realized that it had been a long, long time since I had been ME. After age 10, I just kicked the real Arielle to the curb. But I got her back. I got that precious, creative, lit-up, helpful, engaging, ready child BACK. And guess what...

...She was also a woman. I found that all the good parts of me, the REAL parts of me that I loved and longed for had nothing to do with me being a child, even though that was the last time I remembered being my real self. Being a woman was just as good as being a child - but better. I know this is going to sound strange, but I think Women’s Studies helped me be able to accept my body in a big way. I was an English major in college, but I also ended up leaving with a degree in Women’s Studies as well as English. I dabbled at first, taking a Women’s Studies class here and there, ended up making it my minor, and then took the plunge and added a second major to my workload. I liked it that much... and what's more, it made me feel good about myself. While I sat in a lot of my Women’s Studies classes, I began to GROW a deep appreciation for my female body. I was super proud to be a woman, and I realized that a body came with that. I also was able to delve into a lot of eating disorder issues via books, films, discussions, and courses, so I could explore my own feelings, experiences, and better help myself and others. In short, being a Women’s Studies major helped me to like myself. I don’t by any means think that the answer to accepting your body is Women’s Studies. It just happened to be a big part of the equation for me. I found my voice in those classes. I found some of the spirit I felt I had lost. I became less shy, less self-hating, and I discovered things about myself I didn’t even know. Plus, the feeling of...sisterhood, for lack of a better word... made me feel comforted and at ease. I liked feeling like a part of something and that something happened to be womanhood... a piece of the human race... which allowed me to express myself, accept myself and my body, and understand that all women are incredibly different and beautiful.

And all of that stuff helped me to become a leader. In all recovery, and especially as recovery progresses to "recovered," I think we are all leaders. For me, becoming a leader in various aspects filled my heart with purpose. I always say that I'm a woman who wears many hats. I'm an eating disorder recovery blogger (5 years this October!), a soon to be mental health professional (will be an L.M.S.W. this time next year - FINALLY), a wife, a Caseworker, an ANAD eating disorder support group leader (4 years!), ANAD resource person, new eating disorder researcher apparently(!), proud member of EDAN (Eating Disorder Activist Network), contributing blogger to We Are the Real Deal (a fantastically informative and renowned site), weekly video host of the WeRFreEDomFighters channel, and eating disorder speaker.

Now, and for the past several years, I'm free. I've used the word free a lot in regards to recovery and what it feels like to be recovered. I know that for some, using the word "recovered" can feel impossible. For others, it feels like they're jinxing themselves to say something so definitive. For me, I am confident when I use that word and I don't use it lightly. But the word I most prefer - the word that "recovered" really means - is FREE. A few months ago, I created and posted a video called "Arielle's Timeline to Freedom." I had never made a personal timeline to share, simply because that's not what this site is about and too often, people want to see the "triggering" stuff, the shock value glamorization of anorexia. But people are forever asking about my story, and I can appreciate the humanization and closeness that kind of sharing can create, so I concocted my own Arielle-esque idea - a completely different kind of timeline than you've ever seen, complete with resources built in. If you haven't seen it, you can find Arielle's Timeline to Freedom here:



Fight on, so YOUR second set of 5 words can be great ones!

Messages Girls DO Need to Hear

I know a bunch of you have watched my most recent video called "Tell Her," which I posted earlier this week. Interestingly enough, this week's Wednesday video is:

Messages Girls DO Need to Hear

Check it out!

To the Girl

This is to the girl who lost her friends,

Became a loner or made amends.

This is to the girl who learned to cope

With strange devices, minus hope.

This is to the girl who cried all night

And wished someone could hold her tight.

This is to the girl.

This is to the girl who finds her way,

Year by year and day by day.

This is to the girl who’s growing up

And wondering, “Am I enough?”

This is to the girl who falls apart

Because there’s pain inside her heart.

This is to the girl.

This is to the girl who gives away

All her power without a say.

This is to the girl who starves, or cuts,

Or binges hard and then throws up.

This is to the girl who drowns her pain

In alcohol or self-disdain.

This is to the girl.

This is to the girl who cries afresh

Each time she sees her own real flesh.

This is to the girl who loses sleep

Because anxiety is steep.

This is to the girl who longs for eyes

That see her as the perfect size.

This is to the girl.

This is to the girl who wakes up sad

And lives her whole life feeling bad.

This is to the girl who needs a hand

But thinks no one will understand.

This is to the girl who wants escape

From food, or numbers, fear, or rape.

This is to the girl.

This is to the girl in all of us,

Struggling still to be enough.

This is to the girl—this is to you,

From another girl who was there too.

This is to the girl.

This is to the girl who’s in my heart,

Who’s in my head at each day’s start.

This is to the girl—this is to you,

From another girl who was there too.

This is to the girl.

© Arielle Lee Becker 2008

I know you’re out there. And I’m right here. For you, I’m here anytime: arielle.becker@gmail.com

Reach out.

Refreshing Reinforcement

Glamour magazine has a segment each issue called "glamour list." It is typically a list of 12 things of a particular nature...you know, 12 things it's okay to do, etc. In the most recent issue, the segment is entitled: "12 things in life never to take for granted."


I liked a lot of the items they had on the list, but #4 stood out and made me happy:


Just wanted to share that with all of you. It's good to see a women's magazine give some positive reinforcement, however small.

***

Along those lines, there was a page in the same Glamour issue entitled: "The 7 best (and worst) things you can say to a girl." There is a photo of a little girl playing dress up and laughing. The sub-heading reads: "What you say does make an impression. Make sure it's a good one."


The first column is NEVER SAY...

"I feel fat." (After a second helping of stuffing, sure you do. But beware! If she sees you hating your body, she may learn to loathe hers, says Courtney E. Martin, author of Perfect Girls, Starving Daughters.

"You're young. You'll get over it." Yes, she'll survive being blown off my her so-called friend. But that doesn't make it sting less right now. Ask how you can help.

"Men suck." Bashing just feeds an us-versus-them mentality, says psychologist Rita Haley, Ph.D.

"Sure you want to eat that?" Eating a honking slab of pie is much less damaging got her than the feeling that everything she puts in her mouth is fodder for scrutiny.
"Paris is such a slut." Whatever you think of Ms. Hilton, trashing women teaches girls to be mean, says psychologist Sharon Lamb. Bring up Nancy Pelosi instead.
"Guys won't like you if you..." It's never good to change to "get" a guy. Tell her the right one will like every crazy, quirky thing about her.

The ALWAYS SAY... column was wonderful too, but one particular ALWAYS SAY stood out for me.

"Yum!!!!" Teach her to enjoy her food, not battle it.

This definitely made me feel positive today! What do you think about this?

Arielle

A Letter To the Past

This is something I wrote when I was 21, after talking with my counselor about a specific year in middle school when I was "shunned" by some girl friends. We discussed how detrimental it was for me and that at age 11, when I was in a crucial stage of development, my eating disorder really began. Perhaps it was only a seed, but that seed learned to grow and I can see that very clearly now as an adult. I had never really allowed myself to be angry and forthright with these girls, so I did so in this letter. Finally, a decade after that year in middle school, I was able to say what I had always felt, and add in some of my adult thoughts as well.

Dear girls,
You are not really "dear" to me. Nor are you labeled mere "girls" in my mind. You are "mean girls" who have been detrimental in my development. Why did you do what you did to me? I think I know the so-called real reason, but it still doesn't make your behavior natural or acceptable. You did it really because you were jealous. Because you didn't understand why I had developed physically before you. Because you didn't like that I got lots of positive attention from teachers and boys because I was "pretty". Because, in your little girl minds, you wanted to break me down. You wanted to "show me". You wanted me to feel pain. You wanted me to be un-popular, un-wanted, un-loved, forgotten, shunned, snubbed, and alone.

You were all nice once. You were my friends. But in the name of something I still find difficult to understand, you backed each other up. Ganged up on me. Ignored me. Mocked me. Wrote hateful notes to me because you were all too ashamed or afraid to tell me hurtful words to my face. Why? One thing that hurts a lot is that I know you fully realized you were being mean--and yet you continued. And the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, and soon, a year of my childhood--and a crucial year at that--was gone. Drowned in tears of misery and loneliness.

Ten years have now passed. 11 to 21. And I keep thinking...if only you knew how much what you did to me affected me. If only you knew how "outgoing" changed to "reserved", how "opinionated" became "accommodating", how "present" became "hidden", how "vivacious" became "subdued", how "filled" became "starved". I don't fully blame you. I don't push my issues onto your conscience. But you had something to do with the way I am today. You played a part in molding me. You helped shape me--not by gently caressing me, but by hammering me...banging me down until I was less.

Why?

You made me cry. You made me retreat into myself. You made me a prisoner of suffering. And now suffering is so familiar that I cling to it, use it to cope, use it to keep myself in check.

You manipulated me, girls. You followed, girls, instead of being leaders, instead of standing up for what was right. You tormented, girls. You ripped me apart. You broke me down...then pretended it had never happened. But I did not forget...even though I forgave...so quickly...because I was so hungry for friendship again. Ravenous.

I went home one day--pale, wan, lonely--and I sat down on the toilet seat in the bathroom, brought my knees up to my face, and I bawled. Sobbed. "They told me I'm conceited," I cried to my mother, probably the least nasty thing you girls actually said, but something that hurt the most because I had done nothing. "They're jealous," she said. But I was not comforted...because I was still alone. The reason did not matter.

Why, girls, why? Do you remember the things you wrote to me? I think my mother still has those horrid notes in a box somewhere. She took them from me, upset, and called your mothers to inform them what was going on--what you were doing to me. Your mothers did not approve either...but you did not stop. And I was still alone.

In 6th grade Social Studies, Mr. Moyer set the class to work on an assignment, then he asked me out in the hall. "Are you okay?" he asked me, as I twisted a yellow scrunchie on my wrist. "Is everything all right?" I know I named two names--the two that hurt the most because they'd been my best friends since age 5; "_____ and ______ aren't speaking to me," I said, lightening the situation by choosing those words instead of harsher ones. He told me he was worried about me. He told me to come to him if I needed to. But there was nothing he could do. Furthermore, can a man really even understand what girls can do?

Skinny. Sickly. Sad. Me. Lonely. Listless. Lost. Me.

The germ named Anorexia grew. It might have stayed small, unknown...but it grew. Then. That's when it started. The beginning of it all. It might not have begun...but it did. Why did you do it to me, girls? Why?

Arielle, age 21.