Being sober from food is tricky. There are so many variations of what it looks like to be in recovery from an eating disorder, and those disorders are as varied as there are people. Two years ago on June 18, 2019, I celebrated 2 years free from bulimia and an abusive relationship with both my body and food.
What does this really look like? It means 2 years of not purging – not throwing up in a toilet, nor exercising the calories “off”. It means 2 years of not changing what I eat in a day based on how I feel or think I look in the mirror. It means 2 years of no late night grocery store runs to aisle 7. It means 2 years of no “all or nothing” eating, no matter what. It means 2 years of no refined sugar in my daily food plan because once I start, I can’t stop. It means 2 years of no all-out binges.
It means 2 years of learning that emotions show up on me physically – when I am vulnerable or feeling insecure, that translates to “fat”. It means 2 years of wearing a bikini even though I want to cut parts off of my body and hide – I must act my way and so I take the clothes off and pretend. It means 2 years of eating more on hard training days and during workouts regardless of whether or not it registers as “hard” to me. It means 2 years of praying to God to relieve me of myself, to free me from this bondage and to help me be of service to others … and to stop fucking thinking about my stomach and cellulite long enough to help somebody else.
It means 2 years of working on my eyes and what they’ve been trained to see their entire life. It means 2 years of questioning the thoughts as they come, instead of lying down in submission that they are true. It means 2 years of packing a lot of my meals, a lot of the time. It means 2 years of playing with different modalities of eating and measured food plans and learning to respect myself and what works for me. It means 2 years of asking for help from professionals to fuel me correctly, instead of trying to guess on my own. It means 2 years of risking being a burden and annoying because I still need a lot of validation and permission.
It means 2 years of being more open about what it’s like to have to eat every day, and not destroy yourself. It means 2 years of writing and processing why I resort to the body and the food, and not the emotion driving the behavior. It means 2 years of letting people into my life, vulnerable and afraid. It means 2 years of risking emotional safety to try and help just one more person battle this shit that is so hard. It means 2 years of starting to break the stigma that is recovery from addiction. It means 2 years of feeling like an idiot when I make public posts about what it’s like to do this, one day at a time. It means 2 years of breaking my own anonymity and shedding the isolation that is this disease.
It means 2 years of an entire new world. It means allowing myself to cry for the little girl I still don’t take care of all the time. I cry for the way I think I show up in front of the mirror, and how a lot of days it’s still not good enough for me. I cry because food is non-negotiable – I can’t avoid it. I cry because as willing as I am to continue down this path, I wish I got a break sometimes. I cry because most people do not get it – we don’t get a day off just because it’s your birthday. We don’t get a pass because it’s Christmas and Grandma baked cookies. I cry because many do. I cry because it is so easy to fall prey to thinking that there is another way, that if only I tried harder. I cry because it’s still hard.
2 years sober from punishing and torturing behavior does not mean perfect. There are days when I still want the food to make me feel better, and so I eat more of it. There are days when I fantasize about being smaller and leaner and different. There are days when I don’t feel like measuring my food, saying “no” to going out to eat because I am trying to take care of myself, and stay safe and comfortable. There are days when I feel so ashamed for having an eating disorder and a broken view of Alison’s body, that I can’t bring to words what it means to know people really do care.
2 years is not a long time when you’ve spent your life time making left turns instead of right. 2 years isn’t a long time when the demons call, daily. 2 years isn’t a long time when you have repeated the same story to yourself about yourself, over and over, for your entire life. 2 years isn’t a long time when society surrounds you with people celebrating and punishing with food, rewarding and depriving based on numbers. 2 years isn’t a long time when most people don’t come forward and say “me too”. 2 years isn’t a long time when you spent your life trying to be someone you’re not.
But 2 years also is a long time when you eat 4-6 meals a day, every day. 2 years is a long time when you wake up in the same skin with the same bathroom mirror. 2 years is a long time when you rode the coaster up and straight down for 32. 2 years is a long time when you are conflicted by messaging around you about what it means to take care for yourself. 2 years is a long time to learn flexibility and compassion, when people near you think one bite too much is a relapse. 2 years is a long time to respect yourself and your truth and honor it, and to respect that it is only my responsibility to do so. Because at the end of the day. 2 years is all the holidays twice, a lot of parties and celebrations, a new career, a book with an editor, the best relationship you’ve ever had, several vacations, a lot of work trips, many adventures, a lot of tears, a lot of sweat, and a lot of faith.
Never did I think I’d get even one night’s reprieve when it was bad. Never did I think I’d ever be free from the late-night cravings and the sleepless desires for squelching the curb that is life on life’s terms sometimes. Never did I think I’d be open and willing to letting go of what I think my body should look like, long enough to get her healthy and trusting that I’d take care of her. Never did I envision going out to eat and not eating the worst thing on the menu, or nothing at all. Never did I envision endless opportunities to do it differently, so long as I stay open to the process.
The process is changing again for me as I navigate higher levels of performance and wants for myself physically. So long as they don’t disrupt the emotional freedom I’ve worked so hard to have, I am on board. So long as I know God oversees what this body shall be, look like and do – I am on board. So long as my food and my body don’t remove me from being of usefulness and maximum presence – I am on board. So long as I can be present in all my affairs – I am on board.
Because being stuck in the idea that I am somebody I am not – a normal eater – is never on board. Food may not be your leveling point, but I’ve yet to meet someone who didn’t have one. Do you know yours? Acceptance is the key to the kingdom. Acceptance of who we are and embracing all that it is. I am not broken because I can’t eat like you. I am not worthless because I can’t have off days or hall passes on Holidays. It took me many years to trust this. I am who I am and there is a solution for me. Now that I know that, I can move forward.
And you can too.
wow! so powerful! thanks for sharing
Thank you for sharing, too!