I create space to fill my summer with joy

One of my favorite sobriety practices is a sunrise walk with my dog. Teddy and I live in a touristy town, and last night was the final firework show of the Dog Bowl Festival. Thousands of people and their furry friends gather for competitive events, hot air balloons, live music, and food trucks. As a dog lover, I anticipate this kick-off to summer every year.

However, today on our sunrise walk downtown, Ted and I found more than a dozen semi-full beer cans and mini wine bottles left behind from the night before. Our sacred morning (walking) meditation spot was trashed. I was struck by the urge to chug a few and catch a buzz before my coffee. No one would see me. Feeling triggered as hell, I cried the entire fifteen minute walk home.

Summer, for me, triggers more glorified drinking memories than any other season. Everything we love about summer — weddings, graduation, barbecues, slowpitch softball, boating, bonfires, festivals, concerts — are all accessorized with a red solo cup.

My post-festival morning walk was a reminder that this will be my first attempt at an alcohol-free summer in over a decade. I could feel some serious FOMO surfacing. Sometimes not drinking makes me feel like an outsider.

But, since ditching alcohol several months ago, I can see my hard work paying off. In an effort to fill my summer without wine, I built a cozy twinkle-light-lit balcony garden and have become a devoted plant mom. I am brewing my own fancy iced teas. Ted and I have discovered three new walking trails. My brain is less foggy. And as a special sobriety gift, I splurged on the new Taylor Swift vinyl for my record player.

The point is, by removing alcohol, I have created space to fill my life with things that I love. Drinking alcohol causes us to miss out. Not the other way around.

I am bringing my voice along for the ride

Over the past eight days, my job, city, and closest relationship have been flipped upside down. I am ending one chapter, and opening new doors. This is the space where paralyzing anxiety lives, and dreams are born. While packing my things, I’ve been given time to reflect on the apartment that brought me into sobriety and the lessons I’d like to bring from this place to the next.

When I first moved here for a new job, it only took about three weeks before I was drinking prior to clocking in. After one of my worst episodes, I woke up to find a hole I had ragingly punched through my bedroom door.

Those incidents led me to find a therapist. Together, we uncovered the main reason I have used eating disordered behaviors and binge drinking to cope, is because I didn’t feel like I could use my voice. I felt like I had to physically prove my struggle to the world. For more than a decade, I thought if I got thin or sick enough, someone would come to my rescue. But that never happened.

Before I moved here, I was still using my body and blackout drinking to tell my story. I was physically abusing myself because I never learned to speak up while experiencing pain.

After nearly 15 years of this self-made abuse, I am slowly relearning the importance of kindness. A type of kindness that, for me, is only experienced while using my own voice. When I take the time to honor and heal myself, my ability to show up and speak up multiplies.

It is impossible to say what the future holds. All I know for sure is, the upcoming weeks will be difficult and messy. Moving sucks. This is a massive change. I will have triggers and probably cry twice a day. However, one comforting promise I can make myself is to bring my voice, rather than the abuse, along for the ride.

I have the power to rewrite my story

A few years ago while finishing school, I took an adolescent psychology class. I almost fell out of my chair while reading about a theory stating that kids develop an ideal self and a feared self. I took a screenshot of it on my phone:

“The ideal self is the person an adolescent would like to be (for example: an adolescent may have an ideal of becoming highly popular with peers or highly successful in athletics or music). The feared self is the person the adolescent imagines it is possible to become but dreads becoming (for example: an adolescent might fear becoming an alcoholic, or fear becoming like a disgraced friend or relative).” 

At that time I was showing up to morning classes hungover and bringing a tumbler filled with Pinot Grigio to evening classes. I kept telling myself I’d get my shit together at the end of the semester. And there it was written in scholarly black and white; proof I became the person children fear. 

A few months later, after spending an entire semester drunk, I went to rehab for the first time. Then, five days after being discharged, and on my way home from an AA meeting, I got my second DUI. Now my criminal record was filled with more black and white proof I should be feared. 

For a very long time it felt like the universe was saying there was something wrong with me. I was the one who needed to be sent away and monitored 24/7. I was the one who could not handle life. 

My relationship with alcohol didn’t change until I realized I have the power to rewrite that, “Hi my name is Kelsi, and I should be feared” story. That story is what kept me entangled in addictive patterns for over a decade. It helped to welcome all parts of myself, rather than emphasizing my perceived weakness.

Now, after months of filling my life with Tempest material and brightly colored pens, I have rewritten the story in my head. It goes like this:

“My name is Kelsi and I am not afraid of myself. Sure, I’m awkward, emotional, quiet, and often overstimulated, but I’m also kind, creative, intelligent, and loved. I am someone who courageously and imperfectly challenges society’s view of what it means to struggle with alcohol.”

I have the power to rewrite my story.

I am free to bloom

 Whenever I woke up from a drinking black out, usually around 4 a.m., I would think, “I wish I could crawl into a hole and die.” A few hours later, I would force myself out of bed for a cigarette and shower in the dark. That was my morning ritual for years. 

Maybe I did crawl into that hole for a while. I tried to make it my permanent address because that felt way easier than being with myself through the pain. Eventually, though, I wanted out. 

Years before my sobriety began to stick, I attempted different routines and planted various seeds to aid my recovery. I tried rehab, meetings, halfway houses, several antidepressants and vivitrol, drinking herbal tea, getting a dog, studying Brene, Glennon, and Oprah, writing my own blog, and countless therapists. 

One ritual that really stuck was reading a book of poetry before bed called All Along You Were Blooming by Morgan Harper Nichols. Here is one of my favorite pieces: 

"The sight of old photographs 

sends a sharp pain up your spine. 

The days are not going to look the same 

from this day forward, 

but you will move forward, 

for all you have endured, 

you have blossomed. 

Which was possible only by the rain. 

And perhaps this is your becoming, 

your unfolding into a grace-filled bloom."

Her words reminded me that I was free to bloom, even while buried in that hole I had created. I was still free to dig myself out of the dirt and grow with the sunrise. Now, after a few months of hangover-free mornings and witnessing the perennials fill my life with vibrant color after a long winter, I can feel myself blooming, too.

 Things got dark.

That’s okay. 

 I am free to bloom.

Fifth Time's A Charm

Today was the first day of my last semester of undergrad. For most people that is a pretty exciting day as they wrap up their four year degree and think about finding a full time job or continuing onto graduate school. It's a relatively straight line from point A to point B; graduate high school, pick a four year university, follow a schedule, and graduate. For me, the final semester of my undergrad is a serious milestone. It has been the farthest thing from a straight line. It has been messy, and sometimes cruel.

#firstdayselfie #nerdstatus

My college road map has looked something like this:

I graduated high school in 2006 and went to Central Michigan University without a clue what I wanted to study. Everyone else was going to college, so I thought it made sense to follow suit. Maybe it was the pressure to succeed or the fear of not knowing what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, but these were the years when my eating disorder really took hold of my life. So, naturally, for my first attempt at college, I decided on dietetics as a major because I thought it could "fix" my messed up relationship with food. 

Didn't work. Imagine that.

After two semesters I was placed on academic probation for poor grades and after three I had officially failed out. I didn't tell anyone about this at the time, but I remember finding an empty parking lot and sitting in my car for hours because I was too paralyzed with anxiety to go to class. I was living with my parents at the time and didn't want them to get suspicious about my lack of attendance. 

The next semester I worked a part time job and did not go to school. In fall of 2008, I went back to school for the second time and took two classes at a local community college. I don't think I passed either one. School didn't seem important to me. All it did was cripple me with anxiety and make me feel dumb.

On a whim in 2009, I decided to apply to culinary school and got in. It didn't feel like I had any other choice. No other schools would accept my failing status. To make things worse, my eating disorder had made me so obsessed with food that in my sick mind it made sense to study it. This was now the thrid time I attempted school. Somehow I managed to make some really good friends, do quite well in my classes, landed a dream internship in Aspen, CO, and had a full time job right after graduation. The future seemed bright.

However, a bright future can only last so long when your entire life is engulfed in eating disorder behaviors and now drinking alcohol excessively. In 2012 I got my first DUI, was admitted to a psych ward, and spent four months in a residential eating disorder facility in Ohio. Apparently culinary school was not the best fit for me. 

After gaining fifty pounds, sobering up, and getting my life on track, I went back to school for the fourth time in 2013. This time I decided social work would be a better fit. I was on schedule to graduate in 2016, but ended up getting my second DUI and going to three different rehab facilities during my senior year instead. I was so caught up in making other people happy and adhering to the stereotype life had given me, that I had completely lost myself in the process. My shame was so heavy that it kept me from thinking clearly.

Last fall (2017), for the fifth and final time, I landed back in school with a plan to switch my major to sociology and graduate in the spring of 2018. And here we are. I told you it has been a complicated journey. I can't even count how many times I thought college just wasn't meant for me; that I wasn't smart or capable enough. That other people must not experience this same anxiety or fear of the future.

Today people ask what my post-graduation plans are, and after twelve years I remain unsure. The difference between this fifth attempt at school and the previous four, is that I have finally accepted that it is okay to not know. It is okay to feel lost and afraid of the future. It's okay to not fit the "social norm." My anxiety and shame are still there, but I don't feel the need to run away from it or cover it up with unhealthy behaviors. I have the opportunity to face it every single time I decide to show up for class, and each time it gets a little easier.

Most importantly, I have finally realized I am not the only one who feels this way. In fact, there might be more of us who struggle with this than not. I don't know about you, but anytime life gives me five chances to get something right I feel pretty damn lucky. Opportunities will always present themselves, we just have to be brave enough to reach out and grab them.

Progress.

Boating, BBQ, and Beer

Back to reality this week after a long holiday weekend. For many of you, getting up early and getting back into the routine is the last thing you want to do after a weekend of boating, BBQ, and beer. For me, however, I could not be more thrilled to finally be done with this weekend of boating, BBQ, and beer. Holiday weekends in recovery, especially early recovery, can be brutal. Mind you, this is the first major holiday I have been home, and out of treatment for, since 4th of July 2015. You would think that would mean I would have the best time ever and be nothing but grateful; sadly however, that wasn't the case. At all.

Every time I logged onto social media I saw posts like this:

For someone who is in the early stages of both eating disorder recovery and sobriety, this holiday feels like a constant reminder of all the things I can no longer do. To be brutally honest, I missed drinking all weekend long. My mom and I went kayaking on the river behind our house and during the 90 minute float, we came across three other groups of people; they all had some form of alcohol in their boats. I'm not saying there is anything wrong with people enjoying an adult beverage; I'm just saying I was green with envy.

It's difficult for me to understand how I can spend nine months in treatment, lose almost everything, and logically know alcohol leads me down a black hole of shame and self-hatred, yet I still long for that temporary fix drinking provides. I crave doing what everyone else is doing. I crave that good time. I crave that (false) sense of belonging and fitting in. I think back to fourth of July's past, and wish I could relive them. It was so much easier to eat BBQ, drink, and be merry, than to feel completely alone with these persistent messages showing me what I can no longer have. This weekend was a constant battle inside my head, rather than a celebration.

Last Thursday, before the big holiday weekend, I sat down with my therapist and discussed the potential challenges ahead of me. She told me if the only two things I do are follow my meal plan and remain sober, then it would be considered a raging success. So I guess in her eyes, today, now that the weekend is over, I should be looking in the mirror and feel nothing but pride; nothing but that raging success she talked about. How do I actually feel? I feel like sleeping the day away because my mind is so exhausted. I feel guilty for not feeling gratitude for my sobriety. I feel like I missed out on all the boating, BBQ, and beer the weekend had to offer.

My therapist and I also came up with a list of all the things I COULD do over the weekend to help cheer me up. The list included things like follow social media accounts celebrating sobriety and eating disorder recovery, find fun activities to look forward to (kayaking), work on my tan, read a book, challenge those negative cognitive distortions, and take a moment each morning over coffee to acknowledge how good it feels to wake up without a hangover or regrets. Again, if we are being completely honest, I didn't follow all of these suggestions. It felt easier to to throw my own pity party and wallow in my envious fit of anger than to seek out reasons to be grateful. At this point, all I can do is learn from it and better prepare myself for the next big holiday centered around food and alcohol.

In the midst of my mini tantrum, I did come across some great pro-recovery social media sites that are worth sharing. My favorite is the #AerieREAL campaign. It is a swimwear line that celebrates women of all shapes and sizes. They are all about promoting healthy body image and have even done some work with NEDA in the eating disorder world creating the Strong, Beautiful, ME Project. Aerie's instagram page includes messages like this:

In order to help with my sobriety and those pesky "I miss drinking" thoughts, I found a blog called Hip Recovery. It's my new favorite place to spend time when I am feeling the anxiety, stress, depression, and shame involved with relentless alcohol cravings. The writer struggled with both alcohol and bingeing/purging tendencies. The website includes her blog, a weekly newsletter, and a podcast. I'm obsessed. Also, there are social media sites out there posting about sobriety and they include messages like this:

Another important thing for me to remember is, holidays might be tough for awhile and that's OKAY. In fact, that is part of the process and it cannot be avoided. Struggling through weekends filled with triggers is nothing to beat myself up over or be ashamed of. I can see where it would be more worrisome if I went through the weekend feeling 100% confident in myself and not acknowledging my feelings, because chances are I would be putting on a happy face mask and bottling up (ready to burst at any moment) those negative emotions.

Maybe my therapist was right, after all. Maybe simply getting through the weekend is something to be proud of. Being my first holiday out of treatment, I knew I would have to begin facing this stuff eventually. Hopefully each holiday after this will get a tiny bit easier as I continue to grieve my go-to coping mechanisms and learn to take credit for my successes.

Progress.

Don't Shrink

 "We need people who don’t ask us to become different for their own acceptance and terms of approval. We need people, and we need to be the people who give others the permission to sit in their own skins and not be afraid. That’s the best gift you are ever going to give someone— 

the permission to feel safe in their own skin.

To feel worthy.

To feel like they are enough."

-Hannah Brencher

Recently I had a situation that pushed my buttons a little (or a lot), and wasn't sure if I should share it until now. 

The past few weeks I have spent most of my time job hunting. During one particular phone interview, a potential employer asked me if there was anything in my past he should be aware of before hiring me. Without much hesitation I told him there is a DUI on my record and I have struggled with an eating disorder. To which he respond with, "I know. I looked you up online and see that you do some recovery writing." At first I responded with pride and a little excitement, until he said, "the eating disorder is one thing and not that big of a deal, but if you ever want to be employed in the future you should remove any public knowledge regarding your struggle with alcohol." He continued to say it made him a little uncomfortable and it isn't something to be proud of.

Completely taken off guard, I simply agreed with him and awkwardly carried on with the conversation. After the phone call was over, however, I found myself humiliated and crying on my bedroom floor. Deep down, I know there is some truth in what was said. A struggle with addiction of any kind does make employment more difficult in certain fields. Writing about my past and sharing it with the internet world may not appeal to everyone. I am able to take what he said as constructive criticism and realize he might not be the only one who feels that way.

However, and more importantly, I refuse to shrink parts of myself and hide the details of my past in order to make others feel more comfortable. My writing might not please everyone or be the safe route, but it does start a conversation. This man's words made me feel like it was okay to publicly talk about my history with an eating disorder, but being an alcoholic is something to be ashamed of and needed to be kept hidden away. It made me feel like he was already judging me and placing me into the unworthy box without ever meeting me.

 

I have reached my breaking point.

I am tired.

My story matters.

My voice matters.

I am sick of living in a society that punishes,

and continues to push me down,

for having the disease of addiction.

It is not my job to change who I am

in order to make someone else feel better. 

Sadly, without question, this happens all the time. Even my parents agreed it's more socially acceptable to be open about a struggle with an eating disorder than it is with addiction. But here's the thing - I have spent most of my life attempting to keep this part of me a secret, hoping to remain small in order to avoid conflict or pain. At this time in my life, I have reached a point where it is not only important, it is also detrimental, for me to speak my truth in order to heal.

Progress.

Judgments

Thinking back as far as I can remember, dating back to my early childhood sitting in church with my super cool older cousins, I have placed judgments on people based on nothing but their appearance. Not that there is anything wrong with it, but I grew up in a family that placed an emphasis on being somewhat clean-cut and that first impression. Or at least that's the conclusion I came to believe. I can remember bragging to my middle school friends that I had clothes from American Eagle and had blonde highlights in my hair just like my older cousins. First impressions and appearance have been a big deal for as long as I can remember.

Here I am, 28 years old, and still find myself subconscioulsy placing those first impression judgments on the people around me.

What are you wearing?

How does your hair look?

What kind of shoes are you wearing?

Are they brand name?
Did you get off public transportation?

Or did you drive to work in your Audi?

Do you have tattoos or piercings?

How much do you weigh?

Do you appear to be in shape?

Are you alone or with people?

Are you good looking?

Are you smoking? (Heaven forbid)

Does your style match mine?

Or appear to be different?

Why is your hair blue or purple?

There are a million questions that run through my head when I first meet someone. And, thanks to my upbringing, it can be difficult to interact with people. Not only do I develop a fear of those who look different than I do, I also develop a fear that I didn't measure up and people around me will instantly be judgmental of me, too. Exactly the way I do to them in return.

Being a person in recovery, as you can imagine, this has made my life unnecessarily difficult. Not only do I place judgments on the people around me, I also find myself judging myself and the person I have become. Without fault, the questions begin -

Is what I'm wearing too preppy?

Do the people around me relate to me based on their first impression of me?

Am I too shy to interact?

Will they think I'm stuck up because I'm shy 

and afraid of what they might think of me?

Do I relate to you?

Are you safe?

Do you understand me?

Am I good enough to be your friend and fit in with you?

Do you like what I am wearing?

Do I look like someone who could be your friend?

If you couldn't tell already, my mind races like this 24/7.

It is exhausting.

It keeps me sick.

Over the past 9 months I have lived in six different recovery environments and here's what I learned - 

Addiction does not discriminate.

Eating disorders come in all different shapes and sizes.

The label on my t-shirt means nothing.

How much money I make is irrelevant.

The family I grew up in,

no matter how perfect they might be,

can't fix my issues.

Alcoholics don't always live on the streets.

Or drink out of a brown paper bag.

Heroine addicts are some of the most beautiful people I will ever meet.

Criminals deserve love and belonging.

Age is just a number.

Felons are just like me;

trying to find their place in this world.

Trauma and abuse during childhood often leads to addiction;

But not always.

I am living proof and evidence of this.

I am a child of privilege and I'm still a person in recovery.

Every single day, multiple times a day, judgments happen. Let's be real. When was the last time you walked into a public environment or looked yourself in the mirror and didn't place a judgment? It's a difficult pill to swallow. 

Subconsciously, throughout my life and recovery I have been placing these judgments. The reality is, however, they have gotten me nowhere. Here's a challenge -

Try to relate to the next person you meet without that first impression. 

Try to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow when you get ready for work 

or the day and not judge your waistline in those pants. 

If you are my family, try not to judge that kid based on his baseball knowledge. 

After a simple conversation with my favorite dad today, I realized just how much I placed those judgments. This morning at an AA meeting I had a girl sit next to me who could have easily placed judgments on me, but decided to be welcoming instead. People are people. Not everyday is a good hair day or a best first impression. Sometimes stepping back and removing myself from judgments is hard work. But, sometimes, it is beyond worth it and I am surprised beyond belief.

Let's take a moment to really go beyond that judgment

and see people for who they are.

Let's take a moment to step outside ourselves

and understand not everyone has the same upbringing.

Let's be okay in our own skin

and be the person who we are meant to be,

addiction/eating disorder and all.

Progress.

Self-Sabotage

self  [self]

noun

1.  a person or thing referred to with respect to complete individuality: one's own self.

sab·o·tage  [sab-uh-tahzh, sab-uh-tahzh]

 noun

1.  the act of destroying or damaging something deliberately so that it does not work correctly.

One of the most difficult themes to tackle in my recovery has been this idea of self-sabotage. On a daily basis, and sometimes multiple times throughout the day, I find myself stuck in patterns and behaviors that are not beneficial to my overall well-being. Most of the time I am not even conscious of what I am doing. Some of the more obvious self-sabotaging behaviors I act on include restricting calories and drinking; however, there is an endless list of not-so-obvious behaviors I will be working on for most of my life.

 

About two months ago I wrote this as a part of an e-journal to my therapist:

"My list of self-sabotaging behaviors include -

Social media distractions

Ditching calories

Procrastination

Being passive

Avoidance

Unhealthy relationships/boys

Judgments 

Picking out the differences rather than the similarities

Not reaching out when I need help

Drinking, obviously

Changing up my meal plan

Overspending

Trying on clothing that no longer fits

Setting super high expectations for myself 

Comparing myself to others

Reliance on external items for self-worth

Minimization, denial, justification 

Wearing a mask

Poor sleep habits - NAPS

People pleasing

Not making friends

Isolation

Dwelling on the past and things I can't change

Sneaky behaviors 

Obsessive thinking

Indecisiveness

Attempting to control the future 

Playing the victim

Relying on my parents for money

Making assumptions and not looking at the facts

What do I do in my life that isn't self sabotaging? I'm all about instant gratification and distractions. This list makes me feel overwhelmed. Some things have gotten better. It's definitely a start. Self-sabotage is a defense mechanism for me. It keeps me sick and I'm afraid of what it means for me to be healthy. Yuck. And it's scary that there are so many different ways for me to get away with it. Basically if I'm not being 100% transparent then I'm engaging in self sabotaging behaviors."

That's some deep stuff for a week night e-journal entry.  

I continue to engage in these behaviors because they act as a distraction from my reality. In a moment of discomfort, taking a good look at myself and becoming vulnerable is much less appealing than avoidance, people pleasing, and engaging in my old, sneaky, and comfortable nature. I am a huge fan of instant gratification; therefore, self-sabotage usually feels right and holds a significant purpose in my daily life, making it feel impossible to completely remove it forever.

I like to think of self-sabotage as the conflict between my healthy mind and my addictive/sick/disordered mind. Most of the time I like to think of myself as an intelligent young woman, even though I participate in these not-so-helpful behaviors. For me recovery is much deeper than following my meal plan and remaining sober. Recovery is about doing something that makes me incredibly uncomfortable on a daily basis because self-sabotage begs me to remain stuck, but comfortable.

  Addicts, myself included, are people who, at some point, lost a part of themselves, and now have a hole they have to fill with anything that eases the constant feeling of emptiness.

This is where self-sabotage swoops in to save the day.

Learning to step outside of my comfort zone and act against destructive patterns can feel overwhelming at times. However, I like to think of it as a new beginning; a new shot at finding joy. Letting go of self-sabotage means not being afraid to embrace new surroundings, new energy, new people, new opportunities. It means accepting my body the way it is and being gentle with myself during this process. It means filling that void with self-compassion, rather than self-sabotage.

Progress.

Relapse Part II

A little over three years ago I wrote a post on relapse. At the time, it was difficult for me to accept the common phrase, "relapse is a part of recovery." By thinking I was allowed to relapse, that meant I was setting myself up for failure. Now that I am a few years down the road I feel a little silly and naive thinking I would never relapse. It was a good thought at the time, but sadly, the majority of us are unable to flawlessly make our way through our first attempt at recovery. My younger self was expecting and hoping for perfection; yet I am human and the furthest thing from perfect. 

To pinpoint an exact moment when my relapse began is impossible. However, there were several red flags that I chose to ignore. Looking back, the list of relapse red flags is quite extensive:

I stopped seeing my therapist.
I bought a bathroom scale and was weighing myself regularly.
I began drinking regularly and in secret.
I became codependent in a relationship.
I was constantly wearing a happy-face mask while longing for true connection on the inside.
I was comparing myself to my peers.

Sneaky, manipulative, and perfectionistic behaviors returned.

I began relying on external things for self-acceptance.
I became numb to my emotions.

The list goes on and on.

Before I knew it I was slightly below my weight range and was either drunk or hung over every single day. Although my weight was not drastically below where it needed to be, I began relying on calories from alcohol rather than food to maintain my weight. I thought if I painted a perfectly put together picture on the outside, nobody would catch onto my inner demons. It worked for a short period of time and honestly, I never thought I would fall back into old habits. However, not only did I fall back, I fell into a deeper hole than ever before. I had completely lost myself.

Relapse became a part of my recovery.

Luckily, however, I can now view relapse as the biggest teacher in my recovery. I like to think of relapse as a seed; it has planted a lesson within me and I can use that lesson to grow greater than ever before. The truth is, sometimes we lose battles as often as we succeed. The key though, win or lose, is to never stop fighting. 

Usually if something hurts, it is a teacher. Pain has been a consistent trend during the past twelve months of my life. But I think I have finally reached a point where I can use those feelings of sorrow, fear, shame, regret, and anxiety as fuel. If I allow myself to be teachable, these past twelve months could easily transform from the most agonizing to the most significant and empowering months of my life.

Relapse can be a part of recovery.

And today I am learning to not only to be okay with it, but more importantly, use it to come back stronger than ever. 

Progress.

Everything But My Name

During the past eight months I have...

Called 4 different treatment facilities home.

Shared a room with 17 other women.

Lived with approximately 65 other people.

Lost and regained almost 50 pounds.

Spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and my birthday in treatment.

If you would have told me eight months ago this is what I traded my senior year field work in for I probably would have bought a plane ticket and left the country. At the time, I thought my first 21 day treatment stay was the end of the world. I remember begging the program director to let me leave early because I didn't think I needed to be there (haha).

One of the women I lived with in my second treatment facility said, "Recovery means changing everything but your name." She was right. Sometimes I get impatient with myself thinking I should have this figured out by now; that one treatment center should've been enough. However, when I allow myself to think about it, changing everything but my name is a process and would take any normal person an extended period of time. Not to mention, I was super resistant to any kind of change during the first four or five months (and still am at times). Looking back, when I first began this process last September, I honestly didn't think I had a problem or needed treatment. That statement is comical now. As my cognitive and emotional health slowly returned, I was able to see the seriousness and life-threatening consequences my actions could have easily caused. Not an easy thing to face. Staying in denial was easier than facing my truth, which is why I remained in a state of oblivion for so long.

This morning I spent a couple hours reading through old journal entries from the past eight months. I think it's safe to say I went a little crazy at times. It hasn't been an easy road. Some of the journal entries gave me a good laugh. Some of them had me reaching for a box of tissues. I found this quote in one of my journals...

"The length of your recovery is determined by the extent of your injuries.

And it’s not always successful.

No matter how hard we work at it, some wounds might never fully heal.

You might have to adjust to a whole new way of living.

Things may have changed too radically to ever go back to what they were.

You might not even recognize yourself.

It’s like you haven’t recovered anything at all.

You’re a whole new person with a whole new life."

-Erin Brown

These past eight months have had their ups and downs. My recovery has been far from perfect and I've had to learn a few lessons the hard way. Sometimes I get so angry and impatient with myself because I have this disease. Sometimes it feels easier to crawl back into bed rather than face the day. Sometimes I curse normal people out for a walk with their loved ones because there were times when I couldn't even go outside without permission. 

But sometimes, I feel grateful for all of the people I have met along the way and people who can relate to my daily struggle. Sometimes I realize how important it has been for me to heal in a safe environment. Sometimes I look back and think of the lifelong friends I have made. It's horrifying to think about where I might be without this experience. I know I have a long road ahead of me and I am far from where I would like to be, but I am no longer in treatment. Today I have the opportunity to make decisions for myself and to practice what I have learned from four different treatment centers. Today is the next step toward changing everything but my name. Today I can say I survived the hardest part.

Progress.