Out with the Old, In with the New

Get rid of the stuff that's holding you back.

What have you outgrown (not in a physical sense, unless that's somehow relevant)? Think on it. You are still allowed to MISS what you've outgrown, but that doesn't change the fact that you've outgrown it.

On that note, what DON'T you miss? Use that as a force to push you in a better, more positive direction. We all have memories of days, months, and even years we'd rather forget. Perhaps you'd like to wash away some recollection of pain or misery? The thing is, in NOT forgetting about it, we become stronger people. So, don't erase. Instead, remember. And then ask yourself, "Why don't I miss that?" And use it like a tool to propel yourself forward.

What aren't you quite ready for? Be honest with yourself. It's okay to realize you're not exactly ready for everything all at once. Not many of us are. It can still be a tangible goal, whatever it is you're not quite ready for--because you just have to tell yourself: I'm not ready for it YET.

And finally, when all these questions have been asked and perhaps re-asked, ask the most important question of all: What are you looking forward to?

What are you waiting for? I can't answer that FOR you! :)

Detecting and Reflecting

I think it’s important to take the time to reflect. To reflect on where you’ve been, who you are, and how you became what you are currently. No matter how busy you are, no matter how crazy your life is, no matter what pressing issues are at hand, it is always important to take the time to reflect. It doesn’t have to be an hour. It doesn’t have to be half an hour. It just has to be time. To think. To reflect on YOU. To remember. To understand.

Sometimes it’s painful to remember what you’d rather forget. Other times, it’s angering. Often it is surreal, as though the past represented a different human being than the one you are today. It makes no difference what reflection provokes, because no matter what, what is created is real emotion. You don’t want to deny yourself real emotion, however intense or painful. It presents itself for a reason and you owe it to yourself to listen to it, to experience it, and to acknowledge it.

Sometimes, when the reflection is done, you’ll feel a little lighter, a little better, and even like you’ve gone another step farther.

It gets easier the more you do it. By hiding the past, by covering it up, smiling about where you’re at now, and moving on, you are setting yourself up for problems in the future. By forgetting your struggle you are not erasing the pain, you are smoothing cement over it—and it will always grow through the cracks in cement again, even if it takes years.

Be aware. Don’t wallow in the past, of course! But don’t cover it up as though it never happened. If you had a child who died, you would be in pain, but you wouldn’t pretend your child never existed to make yourself feel better. You would remember, and slowly go through the grieving process, and manage to live again. Even if you did pretend the child never existed, it would be only a temporary solution. Something, at some time, would inevitably remind you of the child who passed away, or of the pain you felt.

You have to work with pain. It’s an ugly lump of clay. Work with it. Make it into something good.

In the spirit of reflection, I’ll openly reflect here.

I just got married. I feel on top of the world and very comforted. I am content. It strikes me as quite a contrast to what I used to be a few years ago. My mind inevitably dips back to college, recalls friends and fun and wonderful nights of laughter and love. Then I remember that despite all the great times, I was miserable. Below the surface, below the unforgettable college days, below the fond memories and sweet times with friends, I was miserable.

Some knew it, some didn’t. Some saw the mask of carefree happiness slip over my face of mental pain. For all the happy college memories I have, I also have as many terrible ones. Furthermore, a wonderful day of friends and fun, though undeniably good, never negated the inner turmoil I was feeling.

I was always looking for something more. Something to help me. Something to get inside of me and make me bloom, make me fly away from the feelings I had. I was desperate, seeking, sad, searching, and above all, unsatisfied.

I reflect on this girl when I realize how happy I am now.

She keeps me going in the right direction every day. She keeps me from faltering. She keeps my head in the right place. She helps me remember the pain and be thankful for the way things are today.

I’m lucky. I broke out of it all somehow to slowly make my way to happiness. It was a long road with lots of potholes and rocks and slippery spots. But I was successful.

One important thing remains: Without reflecting on the past, on where I’ve been, who I am, and how I became what I am currently, I would not be successful. Reflection is somehow as vital to the recovery process as eating when you are hungry.

Fighting, Facing--and Finally Embracing--Food

Let me take a moment here to talk about food. Yes, that’s right: food.

In the wild ride that is life, some of us seek to find control in food. We use it to make ourselves feel better or worse. We restrict. We binge. We purge. We deprive. We use. Why food? Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? It’s just like anything else—some people use alcohol. Some use drugs. Some use exercise. Some use video games.

Addictions. Vices. Habits. Whatever they are—whatever you want to call them—they can be self-destructive. It takes time, patience, effort, and desire, but we can learn to co-exist with the very things that make us crazy or take us on a downward spiral into pain and emptiness.

There were times in my life I fasted for days, consuming nothing but water or diet Coke. There were days when I’d allow myself a mere granola bar to get my body moving for an entire morning, afternoon, and evening. I had moments of ravenous hunger where I’d eat a salad or a bowl of soup with such ferocity that I was afraid people would notice. Sometimes, as I went between wanting to recover and wanting to wallow in my disease, I’d eat one meal a day—dinner—which was not nearly enough to satisfy my deprived body and mind. I remember summers of living on rice cakes at night after a 12 hour day of work.

I did not have a good relationship with food.

When I taught at the Boys and Girls Club and supervised the kids at lunch time, I would eat my packed lunch with a dedication I’d never experienced before (and it was rough), because I didn’t want to set a bad example for the little girls who were sitting there with me. I wanted to be good and real and helpful. I ate for them.

I remember pretending to go out for food on my dinner break when I worked at the mall and coming back with just a Sprite. I remember obvious habits that caused my parents to scream at me, cry for me, and feel helpless. I used to have a lifestyle that made my room mate crazy with worry. I was obsessively worried about eating in public. I would stand near a counter of muffins, deciding for ten minutes which one I would choose, changing my mind back and forth. I was, in short, a mess.

I came to a crossroads. I really wanted to recover. Really wanted to be all right. Really really wanted it. Wasn’t just wishing, wasn’t just hoping—I was willing to do something about it. I was willing to work, to learn, to try.

I got good at just saying “No.” That’s right: “No.” When I’d feel that familiar grip of anorexia, I’d say, “No.” Figuratively, literally, whatever it took. I was bold with myself—with my disease. I did not take shit. When I was feeling low, I’d do something good to pick myself up. I learned to cope without using food. When I felt myself slipping, I’d say, “No.” I’d push the disorder away, say I didn’t want it, and I’d say, “NO.” Sounds simple, and it is. But you can’t just go about it half-assed. You have to scream it, mean it, use it like a weapon. You’re better than all the crap bringing you down. Remember that and just say “NO” when you feel you’re being pulled in the wrong direction. It takes a lot of willpower. More willpower than it takes to starve.

I wrote. Oh, I wrote. Daily. I used my writing to help me, to save me, to direct me. I stopped using food to control and to deprive. I stopped using food as something mental. I tried to embrace it. It was difficult. I didn’t like it.

Then, I forgot about food. I focused on my eating disorder for what it was without the elements of food. There was so much more to my problems other than food. I mean, come on, food doesn’t have the ability to destroy.

I learned about myself, sought to love myself, wrote about my pain and my feelings, wrote about my struggles. I began to feel better. I began to stop counting. This was tough—to forget about sizes, forget about calories, forget about a number on a scale. I didn’t weigh myself. I had no scale. I did this purposely. It was weird and it was hard. I wanted to weigh myself. But I didn’t have a scale. I kept wanting to weigh myself. It went on, but I had no scale. And eventually, I stopped wanting to weigh myself. It didn’t matter. An inkling of curiosity wasn’t the same as an aching need.

I still don’t weigh myself.

I don’t care now.

You can get to that point—to that point where it doesn’t matter—but you have to work at it. You have to be strong and not allow yourself to give in. And in time you will be okay. You won’t be a slave to a device that conquers your mood and your sense of well-being. And let me tell you, without a number to dictate your daily mood, you begin to listen to yourself and to how you feel without that number. You know yourself as you never knew her before. You feel good. You feel free. You begin to finally see that you feel so good that there is no way you’d ever want to go back to that dark, horrible place you were before. You want out with a passion when before you just wanted out with a desperation.

I was eating. And I was trying not to think about it much. It was necessary, but not enjoyable. I was okay with it as long as I didn’t think on it too long. I had moments of worry and panic, moments of stress and distaste, but I got through. I just plodded through. Food and I were still not friends. But we were no longer enemies.

I trudged on, doing well, but worrying that I might relapse into old ways. I gained weight, but instead of being horrified by the way I looked, I appreciated the curves that were slowly showing themselves. The mirror was—strangely, I thought—more of a friend to me when I had put on some pounds than it was when I was sickly thin and longing to be thinner. I felt good, so I looked good. I was learning to love my body. It was fascinating, liberating, and astounding. I felt like a different person.

I surrounded myself with the right people, I tried to stop worrying about what others would think. This was a big one. I still have to remind myself not to concern myself with what others think. It’s not easy. But it’s possible. If I couldn’t stop myself from worrying what they might think, I tried at least not to spend too much time on it. As I grew to be happy with myself as a person and as a woman, I found that I was content to cook food and eat it. More than that—I enjoyed cooking. And I enjoyed eating what I’d taken the time to make. It took me a while to get over the shock of this.

It remains the same. I like to cook and I like to eat. Yes, you heard me correctly: I like to eat. I eat when I’m hungry. I stop when I’m full. I enjoy letting myself enjoy. I cook for my fiancé (husband in one more month!) and he loves it and appreciates it, which is so nice. He cooks for me. We eat together. We nourish. We’re healthy.

So how can a girl/woman who suffered from anorexia and had such an unbearable relationship with food come to love it and live with it? Well, I just told you. But words on a page are not actions, and the actions are much harder to accomplish than writing the words. And don’t forget that it doesn’t happen overnight. It can take years.

You have to try it for yourself…when you’re ready…but I can tell you one thing: It’s worth it.

Arielle

Winds Are Blowing

Winds are blowing; I am here.
I stand, unchanged, in the midst
Of whipping air and blinding cold.
Long walks in a wealth of winds
Has aided me in my quest for strength.
Winds are blowing; I am here.
I stand, unwavering, in the center
Of close currents and closer chill.
Winds are blowing; I am here.

(c) Arielle Lee Becker 2008

"I invite you to live."

The world is waiting for you. It's waiting with open arms and a smile. All you have to do is live.

Though this attempt to live can be the single greatest thing you ever do, it is in fact probably the most difficult thing you will ever do. You may even think you are living right now. And perhaps you are. But I can tell you, if you do not feel "alive," you are not living. If you are not nourishing your body and your soul, you are not living. If you are not being honest with yourself, you are not living. If you are hating yourself, you are not living. If you are not breathing, you are not living. If you are weighed down by a variety of things, you are not living. If only one of these things is true, you are not living.

This is not to say that "living" requires complete happiness every moment of every day. Living life means experiencing the bad with the good, but when the bad consistently and greatly outweighs the good, you are not living. You may be trying to live, but you are not living.

Do not confuse existing with living. The two are very different indeed.

Somehow, we forget to live. Really live. It's difficult to even pinpoint exactly how this happens, but it does. All too often. And before we know it, we are lost in the crowd, lost in the troubles, lost in the pain, lost in the life we think is a life simply because it is a reality. Maybe no one ever told you this, but...

You can change your reality.

I invite you to live.

-Arielle