One Thing That Influenced...

My Wednesday video is up. This week's topic goes right along with the memoir videos I posted recently. The specific topic is: What has been the significant piece, or a significant piece of your eating disorder, or development of one, and how have you used that information to overcome it.

I talk a lot about girls and bullying.

Your Life Raft in the Waters of Criticism

It’s easy to get swept up in the swirl of the world. You go to school or work and you see and hear things that make you feel inadequate. There are a lot of things out there that influence us, whether we like it or not. And in a lot of ways, it can be a good thing. Many of us have friends we have a great time with, family we love and care about, and things we enjoy doing, watching, or reading. And that’s okay.

But when you already feel a certain way and suddenly you can feel that something around you is pulling you to feel another way, you need to stop and think for a minute. A minute is all it takes. You’ve heard the advice: “Go with your first instinct.” Well, in this case, you usually should. If something you see or hear or read makes you second guess how you FEEL about yourself, it’s best to examine it.

Don’t get me wrong—it’s great when we see or hear or read something that makes us question our thoughts or our knowledge about something. It’s good to be open to other opinions, possibilities, and viewpoints. We can learn a lot by paying attention to the world around us. Just don’t let something make you feel like less of a person if you didn’t feel that way before.

If your peers are telling you something negative (that you’re fat, ugly, etc.) or worse—if your friends (which is questionable to say the least) are saying things that make you feel bad about the way you look—don’t let them bring you down to a place where you want to change to please them. Working to please others or to make others like you is no way to live and is, frankly, a recipe for disaster. At the end of the day, all you have is YOU.

Not all criticism is constructive.

Appreciating yourself is your life raft in the waters of criticism.

For girls and women, especially, life can become a competition. You want to be pretty, you want to be smart, you want to be thin. You want to make sure you are as good as everyone around you. Sometimes it can feel hard to measure up. Sometimes the people you’re trying to measure up against TELL you that you aren’t good enough in some way. You’re not pretty enough. You’re not smart enough. You’re not thin enough. Your clothes aren’t nice enough. Your haircut isn’t cute enough. The list can be never-ending.

You’ll never be able to please everyone. And you’ll never be able to hold yourself above the water if you let other people pull you under. And drowning is a horrible way to die.

Really, it’s all about survival. You can’t let people--or things you see, hear, or read--get the better of you. If you read in a magazine that being a certain size makes you somehow less appealing to the world at large, but you felt okay about your size before you read it, listen to your first instinct—that you are fine the way you are. Don’t buy into the negative pull. If your friends, school peers, co-workers, and/or family say something that makes you feel negatively about yourself, just remember that what they say doesn’t determine what you are. And for everyone who says something that makes you feel badly, there are just as many people who see you as great in a lot ways.

If you see an ad on TV and it makes you wonder if you should try to change yourself in some way, don’t let something you see for two minutes on TV influence you into thinking you’d be better off looking different. You have your own mind; use it.

Appreciating yourself is your life raft in the waters of criticism.

You write your own story. You can change anything you want. And you can add a new chapter whenever you feel like it. You don’t need something external or someone you know telling you what and how to change. All throughout your life, people are going to offer their opinions whether you like it or not. Sometimes a person’s opinion will help you…and sometimes it will hurt you. It’s up to you to learn the difference. There are a lot of things out there that can help us…and there are just as many things that can hinder us. A minute of thought can make a world of difference when it comes to deciding whether or not to think negatively about yourself.

When it comes right down to it, no one else anywhere is YOU. You are the only you. There’s no one out there like you. So you can’t go wrong looking the way you do. You can’t go wrong being what you are. You are you and that is the way you were meant to be. It’s okay and natural to feel unsure about the way you look sometimes, but if you’re feeling good about yourself, don’t ever let anyone make you think differently. When you give in to a negative thought about yourself, you’re relinquishing a little piece of yourself. If you continue to do that, pretty soon you’ll have surrendered a lot of pieces. You’ll be weaker and more unsure than ever.

Appreciating yourself is your life raft in the waters of criticism.

It can get pretty difficult dealing with things and people around you, especially if they are undermining your confidence in yourself. But you know what? It takes a very strong person to make it through and come out on top—to come out feeling okay. To come out knowing you are great just the way you are. To come out better because you know this.

Don’t give up on yourself. You have all the power.

And you are beautiful. Just as you are.

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.