Recovered - I love it

I’m listening to a YouTube video of shamanic drumming. Oh yeah, now I’m ready to write this blog post.

It’s strange to be a writer for so many years, to have always had so much to say, and to now feel nothing. Nothing’s knocking on the door, much less beating down the door to get said or written or sung. This is a strange feeling for me.

The plain and simple truth of it is that life is good now.  I feel recovered from the eating disorders. Thoughts sometimes enter my head like, “Oh, I’m definitely going to binge tonight,” or, “God, I really want to eat a ton right now.”  I’ll even occasionally eat more than I feel comfortable with. Sometimes, I obsess about exercise more than I would like to admit. But would I classify any of this as disordered? No. I honestly think I’m recovered.

I’m interested in reading Jenni Shaefer’s book Goodbye Ed, Hello Me, where she discusses being completely recovered. How has she dealt with this transition? It’s such a strange feeling to have had these thoughts and behaviors for so many years and to, now, not experience them in the same way.  I’m not sure if time has eliminated the thoughts and the desires or if I’ve learned new ways of dealing with the thoughts that have essentially neutralized their effect on me. Okay, maybe I am sure that it’s the latter, but I’m not negating the possibility that the universe is sending fewer of these distractors my way. Whatever the case may be, it’s a fantastic feeling.

It’s scary to come out and say in a public way that I am “recovered.” Our culture constantly repeats, “Pride cometh before the fall,” and with this, implies that saying, “I’m over this,” is a form of pride.

I don’t pretend I could never fall to the eating disorder again.  I don’t even claim to be totally free of unhealthy thoughts or feelings. However, I do feel like a completely different person, and in the last year or more, I have seen dozens, if not hundreds, of situations I thought for sure would “go ED” not go anywhere at all.  Those binges I think are going to happen… don’t happen. I go without exercising, and I don’t obsess about it.  I get back to it the next day I have a chance, and I do an exercise that’s fun. I don’t restrict my food. My weight sometimes goes up, sometimes goes down, and I’m fine.  I like my body.  I don’t hate myself.

If anything, I have an aversion to anything diet- or weight loss-related. That’s the one conspicuous remnant of this disease.  But it’s helpful. I don’t need to put myself in triggering conversations.  I don’t need to start believing that diets or obsessing about my body is okay.  That’s not healthy.

I’m glad to be away from it, and I don’t see myself going back into the ED any time soon.  I still want to help others dealing with these issues, but I’ve entered a new stage of life with much less drama involved.

I will admit that a major component in my most recent “up level” in recovery has been falling in love… and remaining in steadfast, true love for, well, eight months now. I’ve reached many plateaus on this 11+ year journey of recovery, but this has been one of the most interesting and satisfying. They always sneak up on me, these places where I feel steadier, more stable, and more insightful about myself and the world around me.  Love snuck up on me the same way.

Lately, I’ve been reminded of Aimee Liu’s book Restoring Our Bodies, Reclaiming Our Lives, in which the only consistent factor in the lives of the “recovered” women she interviews seems to be that they eventually fell in love – usually with a person – but sometimes with a pursuit they love more than the eating disorder. 

It’s difficult to love anything more than an eating disorder. ED is powerful, comforting, and most of all, familiar. It takes a powerful love to transcend that. But all of these women had found something they wanted more than their EDs.

For a long time, I thought my great love would be music or writing or some kind of cause. But when I face facts, I don’t love music that much. I get lost in it.  I enjoy a state of flow when I’m in it. But no single thing was more appealing to me than sitting around and eating.  It took major life changes for me to find things I loved more than my eating disorder.  It turned out that a way of life was what I loved more than the ED.  I only made true progress when I started to see how I wanted to live my life. Once I truly defined my values and saw how much I loved life when it worked a certain way that I stopped doing behaviors that prevented me from having that kind of life.

I would slip and have tough times off and on. I probably will continue to experience these same ups and downs throughout my life. Every several months, I have to reorient myself to life so that I’m living in a truly whole way and not just according to some arbitrary routine I’ve developed.  I’ve learned to vary my schedule, change what I’m involved in, and basically live life differently very, very often. It’s when I get too mired in routine that the ED pops up. 

Of course, too much volatility in my life leads me to the ED, too.  So it’s all about finding balance. There is a level of change that stimulates but doesn’t overwhelm me.  I’m continually learning to find it.

I’ll tell you one thing, though: romantic love is the one sure-fire shakeup. You can’t count on it. You don’t know when it’s going to come. But when it comes, it makes life better.  At least, it does for me.  There are others who fall in love more easily and end up hurt by love a lot more often than I have in my life. Those people also enjoy more love-highs than I have. Meh, to each her own.

So here I am, in love – in real love – and also feeling very recovered. I’m in a good place. Before, I’ve been afraid to say out loud that I’m in a good place. I feel like it primes me for a fall. But thankfully, I now see that my psyche is not a mirror of the American consumer audience. My brain doesn’t have to behave like people who can’t wait for their favorite up-and-coming star to win a slew of major awards and then get thrown in jail for drug use or general stupidity. I don’t have to be on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop, worried that my success will be followed by an inevitable failure.

This society has blinded a lot of us to the generosity and beauty of human nature.  Many in America think human nature – or some external force in the world – wants nothing but to build people up and then tear them down. People even think life works that way– that what goes up must come down. Well, Earth may be governed by the law of gravity, but my heart and my life are different matters. I want me to succeed. I want other people to succeed.  I’ve seen people continue to climb and enjoy life more and more. I’ve seen people live beyond success and failure, beyond achievement or pursuit, beyond our definitions of what life should be. I want that. What happens when there is no “failure”? What happens when I just enjoy life as it is? What happens if I really don’t ever get sucked into the eating disorder again?

Sure, maybe I got some help from love in this latest stage of the journey. I used to think it was weak to need something like love to recover, but now I don’t care if I’m weak or strong. We all need love to be okay. We do. And frankly, it helps to have someone around when I get in a peculiar mood, someone who’s there when I might otherwise lock myself in my apartment and eat, someone who’s there to help me move on when I do eat too much or start obsessing about when I’m going to work out next. It helps to have someone I think about more than myself. When my heart opens up, I’m recovered, right then, right there.

I’ve been waiting for love. I’ve been thinking about it.  I was ready for it.  And I was a hell of a long way on my recovery journey already by the time it hit.

Honestly, I can’t even imagine what the next thing might be at this point. Like I said at the beginning of this article, I feel nothing. I feel content. I feel ambitionless.  But here’s a secret: my mind’s still trying to think of something new to do. Michelle isn’t done yet. I’m just learning to bask in contentment for a minute. Can I do it?

Change Sneaks Up

Change arrives in nature when time has ripened. There are no jagged transitions or crude discontinuities. This accounts for the sureness with which one season succeeds another. It is as though they were moving forward in a rhythm set from within a continuum.

To change is one of the great dreams of every heart – to change the limitations, the sameness, the banality, or the pain. So often we look back on patterns of behavior, the kind of decisions we make repeatedly and that have failed to serve us well, and we aim for a new and more successful path or way of living. But change is difficult for us. So often we opt to continue the old pattern, rather than risking the danger of difference. We are also often surprised by change that seems to arrive out of nowhere. We find ourselves crossing some new threshold we had never anticipated. Like spring secretly at work within the heart of winter, below the surface of our lives huge changes are in fermentation. We never suspect a thing. Then when the grip of some long-enduring winter mentality beings to loosen, we find ourselves vulnerable to a flourish of possibility and we are suddenly negotiating the challenge of a threshold.

-John O’Donohue, To Bless the Space Between Us

Change is slow and fast at the same time. I search for change, long to be different, to be better, seemingly without any real results despite all my longing and striving. Then one day, I look up, and I’m called to do something I couldn’t have done five years ago, and somehow today, it is easy. The slow, slow progress comes to fruition in a single moment.

I’m bewildered by how different my reactions and inclinations have become in the last few years. Lately, I am faced with challenges that would have baffled me in the past, but on a daily basis, I now move easily through them. Something in me that I couldn’t see was changing, changing all the time.

Maybe I am more like nature than I think. In the natural world, vegetation naturally evolves from one state to the next. Every year, plants emerge, new and somehow ready for the brand new year ahead. They don’t know what the year will bring, but somehow, the vast majority of the landscape is completely ready for its challenges, better equipped than it would have been the year before. Nature feels the earth and moves with it. Something in me is dancing this dance, too.

My relationships with people have entirely changed, along with my orientation to work, music, spiritual practice, and family. Some changes are huge, and some are small. Most are indescribable with words. All I know is that when a challenging situation arises, I’m not sent into a frenzied state. I’m able to ask for help (more of the time). I know that everything will be okay.

Maybe that’s the miracle of time. The longer I live, the more chances I get to see things go wrong – and go right. And what do I learn from observing this? That the world keeps turning, people keep loving, lives keep moving. Life is okay. Things happen, and I deal with it. People deal with life, and we go on. Seeing our collective cycles of “dealing with it” adds a sense of calm to my life.

I’m not pretending that I don’t still freak out or have emotional upheavals. That’s simply my personality. But even my mood swings don’t perturb me the way they used to. I’m accustomed to the flow of life and of my emotions. The internal swings are less frightening and subside more quickly because I no longer increase their intensity with my extreme reactions and guilt.

I feel like I have been a child, learning all the basic things about simply living in a human body for so long. And now, I may not have learned all the lessons there are to learn, but I’ve learned quite a bit – enough that I’m ready for new challenges.  That’s a good feeling.

This stage of life is new to me – this feeling that I have truly learned something, without consciously learning it. So much of my education has been driven by concerted, organized effort, but this is something different. I will enjoy this feeling, even when life cycles back around to remind me that I am and will always be a beginner.

Some thresholds can only be crossed in one direction, and I’ve crossed something like that.

I think I can live better now. I think I can love better. And I am immensely grateful.

Housesitting

Last week, I dog- and house-sat for a friend.  The dog, although he is a rambunctious and rather large puppy, was no problem.  Being away from home, however, sent me into a tailspin.  My compulsion to control hasn't felt this strong in quite some time.  I felt completely discombobulated (I love using that word!) and distant from myself. 

The space around me nurtures me and in many ways, becomes a part of me.  I have set up my life and my home in a comforting way that reflects who I am, my loves, and what I need.  It was strange to live in a place where I wasn't sure I would have everything I needed.  If my week had allowed for time to visit my apartment a few times, I might not have felt so stressed.  But the week was a particularly busy one and also packed solid with rain, which increased the time I spent going anywhere to do anything.  My desire for rest and dryness outweighed my desire to drive in the rain to soak up the Michelle-ness my apartment contains.  At least, by putting aside the desire to run home, I attempted to let go of compulsion.  Unfortunately, I never managed to fully shake the anxiety the plagued me all week.

It seems particularly strange to me how much more severe my anxiety was compared to when I go on vacation out of town.  I discovered that, on holiday, I give myself permission to let things go, set aside my usual schedule, and take longer to do things.  I prepare myself by building an awareness that things probably won't go as planned and that I may not always have everything that would make me comfortable.  I remind myself that I can get or ask for what I need.

I did no such preparation—other than to pack a bag of clothes, sundries, and my favorite foods.  It felt so frustrating to live in the same town as my comfortable space and not be in it.  Instead, I was surrounded by other people's belongings, organized in ways that confused me.  The puppy took up a lot of my time, as well as numerous social commitments, and I was constantly seeking out time to rest.  It felt as though I was walking on a treadmill, with the movie backdrop version of my life scrolling past beside me.  I was separate from my own life and couldn't find my groove.  I also realized how challenging it is for me to give myself permission to NOT be and do everything "perfect Michelle" would do.

A couple days after the job began, I recognized that my discombobulation (word of words!) could be a good thing.  Out of options and things that seemed controllable, I was letting go.  I was learning to focus on the moment and release the things I could not change—at least a little bit. The items in the house, their organization, the dog, the messiness caused by the dog, the dampness, the strange bed, the alarm that didn't work, the new route to work—all of that had to be put to the side.  I had to find strength and centeredness in myself.

Centering—that's what I said I needed all week.  I fought my conditions.  I fought the reality that I was not living in my apartment, and therefore, my schedule would not be the same.  I was having to deal with people in my life that usually aren't present, too.  An additional wrench in the works—I needed to release my time and relax in knowing that I would get my solitude eventually.  I needed to ACCEPT what was instead of wishing for what I thought would be better.

Although I almost entirely accepted the situation by the end of the week, I only half-succeeded in centering myself.  At times, times I felt completely present.  But other times, I paced, ate, screamed, and fretted.  My reaction surprised me, but it has revealed compulsions and personal characteristics I want to work on.  I discovered that I am a loving human being who will give of herself to take care of others, but it reminded me that—alongside those qualities—I am an introvert. Although I learned that I am able to release more of my personal space that I could have in the past, I still hold onto many little habits and patterns that I falsely think will help control my environment. 

I tend to want to exert complete sovereignty over the world in which I live, but that goal is impossible!  I try to set things out a certain way, do laundry at a specified time, have everything I need present, not have people around when I don’t want them around.  But with a dog, with friends, with loved ones, with traffic, with weather, with unexpected inconveniences, it just isn't possible to achieve the serene, orderly, and astonishingly sterile and empty life I try to create. 

My utopia would have to be devoid of other human beings, animals, and nature in order to exist!  Why would I want a life like that? 

This week, from the security of my own apartment, I am focusing on staying present in the moment and allowing my life to not always go as I have planned.  To have a rich life, I have to give up some of what I think it "should" be.  At the very least, I need to examine my vision for my life and see if there is anything about it that wouldn't really be fun.  Sure, a world with no unexpected messes would be great, but I'll never have a pet or houseguests that way.  And constant safety would be wonderful, but when would I get to drive my car?

In short, I am happy to report that I am a loving introvert who can handle bumps in the road of life and create beautiful things from them.  I'd just like to do less screaming, crying, bingeing, and worrying when I see the bumps coming… and especially when I'm imagining bumps that don't even exist yet. 

Things Are Going Well

I recognize that my writing has been sporadic lately. I haven’t had many pivotal insights of an impersonal quality lately. There’s nothing I could write at this moment that wouldn’t amount to bearing my soul more than I care to at this point. Suffice it to say that I highly recommend looking at the deepest roots of any issues you may have.  It may be painful, but it is worth it.

Over the past few weeks, I have been yelled at.  I have been protected.  I have been loved.  I have been scrutinized.  I have drawn closer to some people than I ever imagined, and I have found myself at a distance from people who once traveled very near to my heart.

It’s like waking up one day and realizing that I am a woman—an adult woman, not just a girl.  And more than that, I have grown into a woman I like—not a perfect woman or anyone I thought I’d be, but someone I enjoy.  There is no need to hate myself.  There is every reason to be patient. All women are still little girls in part.

If I could admonish you to anything, it would be to embrace love and to do the thing that scares you.  Those are the only two things I have found helpful in guiding my recent decision making: love and facing fear. 

Always face the fear.  You may have to cry the entire time, but face it and walk through it.  Love keeps you alive. 

The Battle Is On

Well, I'm at it again.  If I said I was reminiscing about my time bingeing in college, I would be misrepresenting the current state of affairs. For the past two (possibly more) weeks, the binge has been all sorts of ON.  I am not bingeing every day, nor am I eating all the time.  However, most days, I cross the line.  At least three times, I've completely gorged myself—and not on the low-cal fruit and veggie fare that has become a staple over the last couple of years.  I'm veering more in the direction of my fantasies, the ones I never fulfilled during college—the boxes of cookies, assorted desserts, whole loaves of bread, and more. 

I am completely aware of what I am doing as I do it. I know I'm eating too much, and I usually embark on the binge when not particularly hungry. I know that I am using food for the following reasons:

• Reduce anxiety
• Feel comfort
• Gain a sense of liberation from rules and restrictions

It’s a distraction from the overwhelming amount of things going on in my life.  The vast majority of my life is positive and good.  I feel empowered.  Sure, I feel frustrated with my day job, longing to live without the time constraint of a 40 hour work week. But I am taking conscious steps to one day move into full time writing and music making.  I struggle to remain patient as opportunities spring up around me and as I grow and mature in new ways.  Doors are opening, new people are entering my world, and I am uncovering untapped emotional worlds to investigate and unknot. 

These are all positive movements, but movement requires energy. And if I don’t know where I’m moving, it entails fear.  It’s difficult for me to book gigs, which requires facing rejection and dealing with unpredictable (and often unreliable) human beings.  As I deepen my relationships with others, I trust and am let down multiple times.  I wonder if I really am strong enough to continue to speak my truth and be myself out in the world.  Will people like my music?  Will people be annoyed by me?  Can I ask for the time I need at work?  Will I have enough money to live on?

I eat not only to distract myself and feel numb or slightly comforted.  I eat because I’m afraid.

Food is safe.  Food has been with me in good times and in bad.  Now, as I chart new territory, can I leave it behind? I think that, in a way, the food obsession itself is afraid of me letting go of it. 

I will let go; I will move into my new quarters. Until then, though, I seem to be inching my way along, with the food as a crutch to get me through this initial fear and pain. 

Examining old scars, working to make new connections, and walking through doors is scary but necessary. I do not want to stunt my growth any further with an eating disorder. It’s time to say goodbye.

My first instinct in the midst of turmoil is to redirect, to change course, to figure out what I’m doing wrong and fix it.  I used to think (and still often do), “What is wrong with me that is causing me to binge?”  This time, I’m not changing course.  This time, I believe that the bingeing is not an indication that I am on the wrong track.  It’s a sign that I am on the right one… and that I am afraid.

Authentic Discomfort

Sitting down to write this blog entry, two ideas come to mind:

1. What is most comfortable is not always what is most authentic.
2. We must push our limits to figure out what is best for us.

I’ll start with number one.  Just because something comes easily does not mean it accurately represents who we are.  There are many things I do, not because they are true self expressions, but because I’ve learned that they are means to be accepted and get rewards.  It basically amounts to rerouting my desires to please other people. 

Society teaches us that to be successful, we must adhere to certain social mores or participate in particular activities so that others will accept and promote us.  Because of this, many of us have trained ourselves—since childhood usually—to say what we think others will like rather than what we truly feel.  Even if we don’t want to do X activity, if someone says we must and that it won’t hurt anyone, we do it. 

Over time, these alternate responses overshadow our natural inclinations.  For people with eating disorders, this can mean always choosing the “good” food rather than what we are really craving.  Often, the decision to select the “good” food or the “healthiest” food on the menu is so engrained that we don’t even think we want anything else.  Many anorexics (including myself) say quite honestly, “But I don’t LIKE cookies,” or, “I don’t LIKE cheese,” or any other kind of food that might be frightening. They may not realize that fear is fueling these responses.  The anorexic may actually like cookies, but she doesn’t like the anxiety that comes along with eating them. 

It takes time to decipher which foods we honestly don’t like from those that we have simply decided, at some point, are not an option for us.  It’s okay to genuinely dislike cookies, but I suggest testing the assumption of dislike first.

For me, I had to try all kinds of foods I thought I hated, consequently discovering that I actually enjoyed many of them.  I had to face those fears.  Now, I can choose foods I truly like, even if it might be food that scares me a little.  I can usually tell now when I want something but am simply afraid.  That’s an opportunity to push my boundaries.

And so I come to number two.  We have to push our limits to know what we are truly comfortable with.  Sometimes, the most authentic thing we can do is test our own boundaries.  Even as children, we intuitively know that when it’s time to grow, it’s time to push things.  Kids eat too many cookies and learn what is enough for them.  Kids act out emotionally in public and wait for responses to tell them if it was appropriate or not. 

Kids try to climb things they’ve never scaled. They wear impractical outfits and find out later why their mother tried to make them wear layers.  Kids run as far and as fast as they can, eventually learning just how much they can push those limits so that the next time, they can run a little farther and a little faster.

We have to do the same thing.  Again, I’ve demonstrated this with food.  To know what full feels like, I had to eat beyond it.  Of course, when overeating becomes habitual, something is off-kilter, but to reach fullness, a person has to know what it feels like.  Only then can a person appreciate all the different levels of satiation that feel good to her.

To learn to eat new foods, I have to actually try them. To learn what I feel comfortable wearing in public, I have to purchase and put on different clothing.  To refine new songs, I have to play them in public. To learn how to trust, I have to open up to trusted friends.  These actions all feel uncomfortable at first.

Discomfort isn’t always a signal that something is wrong.  It’s a signal that something is happening that we don’t know what to do with yet.  Sometimes, we need to pull back and reach a more comfortable spot.  Other times, we need to try that new thing, sit in the discomfort, and see if we find peace instead.

I know it’s time to push my limits when a little urge inside of me crops up repeatedly, asking me to try something new.  Often, that urge scares me in the beginning.  But if it stays with me, I know I have to try it.  With the eating disorder, the urge may have been to eat a brownie fudge sundae.  In other areas of my life, it was to try a new singing style, to reach a new level of honesty, or to visit a place where I’d never been.

So many things in life are uncomfortable.  That discomfort doesn’t mean that what we’re doing is wrong or doesn’t express our true selves.  Going beyond boundaries is how we find out whether those boundaries are safety guards or prison walls.  Sure, I may eat too much now and then.  Sure, I may say things I regret.  Sure, I may end up going to places where I am utterly bored and disappointed.  But after those experiences, I know how much is enough, what is truly me, and where I feel most alive.  I can also learn to ask forgiveness when my tests infringe on someone else. 

When it’s time to grow, it’s time to get honest, ask ourselves if we are really being authentic, and live in different that reflect our true selves a little better. Stretch yourselves, people!  I’ll be right there with you.

Giving Up

I never give up. And I give up all the time. This is one of life’s great paradoxes.

Most people shun the idea of giving in. I often hear my own voice saying things like, “You can’t let go of this one. You can’t give in. Just a little farther. You’ve come this far; don’t give up now. Keep stretching. You can do this. There is enough. You can make it.”

But how many times, for the sake of sanity and happiness, do I also hear, “You can let this one go. Release. Surrender. Loose your grip. Take it easy. Rest now. You are not in control of outcomes; just let go. Give it up. Just give a little.”?

The same phrase, moved into a different context, reframes life and the way I live it. People claim it takes more strength to refuse to relent, to march onward despite aches and pains. For me, however, the endless march comes fairly naturally. Of course, I have plenty of moments when passivity and inaction take hold. But here, I’m focusing on the many, many times when I commit so fully to a task or ideal that I may never release it. I will hold onto it until I see completion.

Certain projects or ways of thinking evolve into monolithic dedications. I devote undue time and resources (internal and external) to “high priority” ideas that seem to have been labeled “high priority” without any cause.

I may decide that, to save money or reduce stress, I will take time every night to make lunch for work the next day. A task that serves as a sort of self-caring convenience can become a monotonous task that my obsessive-compulsive side refuses to relinquish. I will make the lunch every night because I have committed to doing so, even if it’s one in the morning before I get home. Over time, I’m exhausted and resentful of the activity. I want nothing more than to go to bed. But I might continue just because the act provides me safety and the illusion of self-care.

In the past, I also stayed true to certain spiritual ideas for years simply because I had decided at some point that they were true—based on no evidence whatsoever. To realize that I retained beliefs simply because they had been taught to me over and over again stung to the core. I couldn’t imagine life without those beliefs. It took a long time to lay them down and walk forward, even though they caused unfounded guilt, stagnation, confusion, and more. When I finally moved on, I discovered more glorious realities and ideas that I ever could imagine. It takes great faith to leave a kind of faith sometimes.

This same notion applies to former ideas I’ve had about food (good/bad, scary/safe), about what it meant to be a good employee or person, and about all sorts of tasks I’ve had assigned to me on the job or given to me in everyday life.

Oftentimes, when I feel worn down or bored, I discover that I have been striving for perfection in some area of my life. That eternally fruitless quest for an ideal always leads to never-ending projects, feelings, and beliefs that harm me and keep me from doing things I enjoy. Endless pursuits distract me and prevent the growth I truly want.

In those instances, I have to give up. I have to stop fighting the uncomfortable feelings. I have to give up trying to change an unchangeable situation. I have to let go of ideas that bring me supposed comfort but end in pain.

This means I may end up crying for hours in my apartment. I may have to take deep breaths to make it through a tedious or triggering meeting. I may have to admit that I don’t believe what I used to. All of these actions place me square in the middle of a liminal space—a space between, where I have left something behind but have not yet found the new.

For instance, I finally stop moving long enough to feel sad or disgruntled, and then I have to piece together exactly what provoked that emotion. I may even have to formulate an action to satisfy the feelings. I may be just need to accept my tears.

Breathing deeply during a meeting may open up space for me to examine exactly what is making me so uncomfortable. Do I need to say something? Not say something? Work on resentments toward another person? Is it simply that my body needs food or a pit stop?

Leaving old beliefs behind may mean uncertainty about what I believe. To live in that space is to live without explanations, without reasons. This can be hard for know-it-alls like me who appreciate pat statements and decisiveness.

In all of these situations, I give in. I give up something. I let go. I surrender.

However, in all of these situations, I don’t give in. I keep walking. I keep investigating. I keep living.

I give up an old way of living but do not give up living altogether. That is my truth for the day.

Goals

At certain times in life, we devote ourselves to a particular goal. Applying for universities, training for a competition, completing a work project, and dealing with family crises require single-minded determination and commitment. I thrive on that kind of direction. As a task-oriented person, I appreciate anything that requires the outlining of steps and a systematic, wholehearted approach. No distractions. Priorities are clear. The actions that are best rise easily and promptly to the surface.

At other times, however, I feel as though I’m wandering aimlessly. I’m not trying to get into school; I’m not recovering from a trauma of any sort. I’m not called upon to help anyone or join an activist movement. I try to think of goals. I meditate and ask for direction, for desire, for guidance toward an area of focus, but I receive nothing.

I don’t necessarily dislike these times. As long as I feel content, goals mean nothing. I do crave a sense of accomplishment and achievement, and that desire eventually leads me to the adoption of a certain goal. I kind of prefer the quiet happiness of a life well lived. In the last few years, I’ve come face to face with how little “success” really matters.

Despite my semi-“enlightened” viewpoint, I can’t shake the feeling that the world looks down upon such aimlessness. Everyone (including a little part of me) expects me to have a purpose, or at least be striving toward the discovery of that purpose. This gets tough, especially now, as I look back upon many months, months that have turned into years, rather sparsely decorated with goal achievement of any kind.

Then again, I do see some of the goals I reached. To my ego’s dismay, most of those goals have been quite personal and internal, like overcoming fears, learning to love, appreciating the gifts of depression, and many times, just getting through the day. No one sees those. I don’t get paid any money or get many pats on the back for those things. It’s hard to build up that sense of accomplishment with intangibles (no matter how valuable they may be).

Now, I’m 27 years old. I’m considering returning to graduate school, but I don’t know what I want to study. Art history? Curatorial/museum studies? Comparative religion? Anthropology? I’m not sure. Do I want to move? Where? Do I want to change careers? How much effort do I want to put into music? Do I want to pursue it passionately? Do I need to complete the building of my own web site? Do I want to do more freelance editing and writing? How much time should I put into dance? What about my spiritual activities? What do I want to do?

With such a mountain of choices, I can’t think. I can’t pick one. Or rather, I don’t pick one. Instead, I slip in and out of each interest, knowing that if I commit to one, it would flourish. But I feel stymied in the face of decision “Just choose!” I tell myself – yes, in a very demanding tone. Unfortunately, that kind of pressure only makes it more difficult.

How do I escape the pressure from the world and within to strive after a particular goal? If the pressure were released, I have no doubt that my most authentic desires would take hold, and I could pursue something in a directed way.

How?

Focus on now, and focus on the goals I know I have: I want to love as best I can and accept love with grace. I want to bring my true self to the fore in all areas of life and remain honest in a kind way. I want to enjoy each moment to the fullest and share that joy with others. I want to walk through fear.

Those goals feel a little vague to me. Perhaps they need some refining to help me direct my energy. I’ll do that… probably. In the meantime, I see that if I can focus on those credos, I can have a happy life. I can feel accomplished. I can bring light to the world. It’s about affirming to myself that no yardstick that would dare measure me provides any kind of accurate estimate of my worth. It’s enough to simply love and enjoy life.

Still, that desire for accomplishment lingers. Can I trust that focusing on my more eternal goals will lead me toward authentic choices and a satisfying life path? I’m not sure if I even like the idea of a path! With me, the questions never end.

Nonetheless, I advocate choosing. Just choose. I still want to pick something to pursue. I want to love something enough that I’m willing to commit to my choice for more than a day. This skipping around between goals is wearing me down.

Maybe I need to bring my broader life goals back more firmly into consciousness. Maybe instead of asking for direction and looking for an answer in my quiet hours, I can meditate on the goals I already know I have, the truly important goals.

Ah, that sounds satisfying. That sounds like new way I haven’t tried yet. The key always seems to be perspective. Look at the issue in a new way, and the doors can fly open. We shall see. For now, I’m still learning to value the meandering trajectory as much as the beeline.

Inspiration Overload

I have inspiration overload. I took a weekend getaway to retreat and to participate in a recovery workshop led by Anita Johnston, an eating disorder specialist who uses (and teaches others to use) myth and metaphor to “decode” eating disorders and other issues. Sitting in circles of women all weekend, all of whom had come together from various places in diverse settings to seek a higher guidance truly invigorated and enlivened me. My heart sings even now!

I learned a great deal and am longing to share it with you all, but I honestly feel completely stymied. It’s time to sit back and take it all in, letting it soak through my skin and into my heart. Once I have fully felt all that I have learned, it can pour through me and be useful to others.

I do, however, feel compelled to recommend Nia movement classes and Anita Johnston’s book Eating in the Light of the Moon. Through free, judgment-free movement and reflection on the symbolic elements of our thoughts and lives, our soul, mind, and body unite in effective communication. The mind can serve the soul as a helper in navigating the logistics of the world we live in. The mind doesn’t have to rule us or make all our decisions. Our soul is who we are, and it speaks through our bodies.

By getting in touch with our bodies, we can access truth about our souls that our minds sometimes cover up with pesky worries, thoughts, and, at times, logic. We need our bodies and metaphor to puzzle through things that our mind can’t explain.

This weekend, I stayed at The Crossings in Austin, a wonderful spiritual retreat location that I recommend to anyone needing reflective time in nature. It provided the perfect mix of the natural world and a cozy room to sleep in at night. The wellness center, complete with all sorts of amazing services for body and spirit (from massages and facials to chakra alignment and spiritual guidance sessions), certainly helped as well. It was the ideal atmosphere (at least for someone like me) for quiet reflection and total permission to explore and examine in safety. I could choose to take classes, socialize, or spend time alone. And the atmosphere encouraged me to stretch the boundaries of what I could do to open my heart and move forward (or inward) in my journey.

All that said, I entered the weekend with some expectation of rest. However, it did not turn out that way at all. Once on my way to Austin, I felt drawn to participate in so many things. Time escaped me, and I found myself learning and going and moving and doing so much that I can still hardly keep it all straight. In an attempt to align my thoughts, I made a list of all the things I want to pursue now that I’m home. It’s long. Long.

Okay, so I did not receive the kind of clarity I wanted. The trip even extended my already lengthy list of aspirations. Perhaps I gained more questions than answers, but that could be a good thing. I like to think that I have gained a greater variety of questions to ask, and that’s a crucial step. Now, I can embark upon the task of exercising my mind in new areas as I answer them. It’s time to slow down, here in my everyday world. I may even take days off of work in the near future and NOT go somewhere so that I can allow the truths that have been imparted to rise to the surface.

Although I may not have returned equipped with a more straightforward list of to-dos, I do feel a greater sense of overall purpose. I see that I could lead groups of women in growth, even as imperfect as I am. I want to use my gifts with others. I see my skills as a friend-maker and as a thoughtful introvert. I see my strengths more clearly, and I see how I can use them. Now, the task is getting all this knowledge out into the world.

Do I start speaking at events tomorrow? Do I work more deliberately on a book? Do I put more effort into the support group I’m trying to form here in Houston? Do I initiate regular gatherings of my female friends? What do I do!?

For today, I answer, “Rest, Michelle.” As much as I ever do, I will let it all sink in. Part of what I see is my reluctance to rest. During the moments when I was expressly given permission to drop everything and lie down (physically or figuratively) this weekend, I noted the power of sitting still and simply allowing thoughts to come. Once worry about the next move is removed, space is created for the growth of truly actionable ideas or a greater sense of self that will walk alongside me after I have broken the stillness and returned to the busyness of life.

Of course, I can’t leave off without mentioning nature… Oh, glorious nature! I had many memories of hiking with my grandfather this weekend. It felt so similar, and I was able to access regions of myself I hadn’t in a long time, regions that also happen to be connected with food and the way I currently prioritize my time. Right now, I am considering nature and its connection to my personal nature.

In any case, I can end there. Consider this post permission to sit back, relax, and let whatever you’ve been learning lately to permeate your soul. Once you’ve soaked it all up, you’ll be able to stand and walk into the world, the new discoveries oozing out of you without any effort—even without making a list of all the things you want to do with those discoveries! Enlightenment cannot help but spread.

Transplantation

We bid a fond farewell today to our dear friend the narcissus plant. It taught me many valuable lessons, but as its little red pot proved insufficient for long-term growth, its flowers faded. I considered finding a place to transplant it outside but could never locate a prime spot. Plus, I’m not a big fan of dirt in general. Mud in between my toes—yes. Dirt in the typical gardening sense—no.

Part of the joy was seeing it every day, thriving in my apartment, in its bed of rocks. Therefore, I am now considering creating a larger rock garden. If I can avoid the nuisance of soil, I can do it. But we shall see.

The narcissus plant simply got too big for its container. It was time to move on, and that’s exactly the way I feel personally. There are patterns of behavior I’ve been involved with for a while that I no longer find attractive. I’m ready to let go and allow myself to experience fullness and rest while also going out a little more than I have been. I’m moving on. I don’t have to force it. It’s just time, and I will do the little things I can to live differently each day. Time for me to find a bigger container for all the lessons I’ve been learning.

The big life. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time. Every time I think I’ve reached it, I discover that I can go somewhere even more expansive.

Right now, though, I will confess some anxiety over my financial situation and my physical situation. It’s time to get enough food and rest but also make sure ends meet. I’m handing this over to a higher power for now, trusting that everything is okay right now, I’m doing the best I can to ensure relative stability, and the future will be okay, too.

I know that many of you are also feeling the crunch of tough economic times, and I want you to know that I’m with you. Others are in the midst of eating disorders and addictions with no out in sight. Believe me, I have come face-to-face with the reality of how much I still struggle with food, exercise, and body size. These things need to be dealt with, no matter how strongly I feel I should have said goodbye to them long ago.

Don’t let pride stop you from asking for help in areas where you may need it. Areas I like to think I can totally control are the most difficult to expose. I hope that if I need assistance, I will be able to admit it. For me, just writing that I have fears in the financial and eating disorder areas counts as a major step.

Like I said, I’m moving on to a bigger container, one that can hold my anxiety, my basic eating disorder-related fears, all that I am learning, and all the new experiences and relationships that lie ahead. I may be frightened now, but part of me is also courageous and ready for anything. Life has always worked out in the past, and it will work out now—better than I could dream. That’s true for you, too!

Still Growing

To expand upon my previous post and the numerous metaphors that can be drawn from my experience with the narcissus plant, I would like to draw your attention to the rocks. You can plant narcissus bulbs in a garden or in your lawn, and they spring as daffodils or one of their many varieties (mine are paperwhites). But they can and will grow in ROCKS.

So – no matter if it looks like circumstances would make it impossible for you to grow or succeed, you can. You can grow in the rocks. Beauty can spring up from the hard places, and that beauty is no less valuable than the kind that grows in perfectly manicured gardens. Let some miracles happen today!

Grow, Plant, Grow!

A few weeks ago, some lovely friends gave me a narcissus bulb. I smiled and accepted my parting gift, feeling a combination of uncertainty, burden, and dread. Did I want to attempt to grow this plant? Never before had I tried to grow a living thing within my own home. I’d cared for cut flowers and watered roommates’ and employers’ ferns and ivy, but I had never in my adult life planted a flower and seen if it would grow. For whatever reason, I always had a sneaking suspicion that plants and Michelle did not make for a pleasant combination. “Surely nothing in my care could grow and flourish!” I thought.

Well, I kept the bulb in its paper sack on my kitchen counter for a while, eventually taking the little strip of growing instructions out and reading them. Hmmm, I’d need a pot, some rocks/pebbles, and some water. No pot, no pebbles, but water I had… Considering that this job would not require anything as messy as soil, I began opening up to the idea of nurturing this thing to life.

Then, one night at the store, I opted to go by the gardening section, where I picked out a smart red pot. For a few days, this sat beside the bulb on the kitchen counter. Eventually, the bulb made it into the pot along with some water. (I started worrying that the bulb would die if I didn’t do SOMETHING with it.) And I stared at it, wondering if I really wanted to do this thing.

That weekend, I ventured into a flower shop where I bought, yes with money, a bag of rocks. To my surprise, at this point, regular rocks I could find just wouldn’t do. I wanted smooth, round, multi-colored stone for my dear narcissus bulb. I had grown attached to the idea of this plant and the possibility that it could be something other than the brown, onion-like creature languishing on my countertop. Perhaps it wouldn’t rot from too much water and lack of early care if it liked its surroundings.

That very day, I arranged the rocks, bulb, and water in the pot as instructed, feeling doubtful that the bulb would still be in the mood to take root and grow after having been put off for so long. And it seemed highly unlikely that anything could grow with nothing more than a small pot and some pebbles. I mean, I don’t know many things that grow in rocks except for moss and other, less appealing creepy crawlies.

Despite my misgivings, a few days later, I walked past the bulb, and it was opening. A funny, little sprout poked through the top of the shell. I was shocked. Completely shocked. I don’t know how long I examined that first hint of life or how many other times I revisited the plant that day, but I was obsessed with the fact that something could grow with the relatively minimal effort I put into it.

As the days have passed, I confess that it is the delight of my day to pass by that plant in the morning and evening. Every time I see it, I marvel at how tall and elegant it is becoming. It seems to shoot up another two inches or sprout another bunch of leaves every twelve hours. I am mesmerized.

I ask myself, “How am I growing this?” And suddenly, a surprising answer returns. I’m not growing anything. I helped. I did a couple of things that were within my power to do; I bought a pot and some rocks and put it all together. Sure, I talk to the plant and change its water, but I’m not growing it. Growing is just what it does.

And so it is with me. Growing and maturing is just what I do. I go through life; I do things and don’t do things. I make choices and may even do a few self-help-type activities along the way. But I’m not making myself grow. I’m not making myself age or acquire knowledge. It’s just what I do.

That’s a load off. I can relax and enjoy life a little more, knowing that somehow, I am like my gorgeous narcissus plant. I am taller and more vibrant than anyone could imagine. The universe looks at me and marvels at my progress and the beauty that I am. And the universe understands that that’s just what I do, like every other person, equally engaging, equally surprising, ever-evolving, and growing into creations nothing could have imagined before now.

It also comforts me to know that all the things I think I need to work so hard to preserve can be left alone for a time. They will grow or decrease and change on their own. I can rest, knowing that I can contribute and take credit for giving of myself to things, but it’s a stretch to say that I alone made something evolve into whatever it has become.

Bottom line, we are all powerful beings, so powerful that by merely existing, we create and are miracles. Take the effort to put some rocks and water together, and you might experience more than you could ever have dreamed.

Team in Training Memories

Ah, Team in Training... Let's return to the spring of 2003, when I had just moved back to Texas from an internship in Florida, and one of my two new roommates, Jenny, talked me into training with her for the Capital of Texas Triathlon in Austin, TX. At the time, I bingeing heavily and regularly; however, I had just switched my major to English and felt more positive about completing college than ever. I was beginning to make decisions based on my own interests, a novel thing for me as I was only then starting to differentiate between my true interests and the things I was "supposed" to be interested in for whatever reason.

What's more, I had proved through my full-time working internship that I could, in fact, complete difficult tasks and structure my own life somewhat. I was a functional ED sufferer on a VERY bumpy path to recovery. In fact, I did not believe in recovery at that point. I didn't believe in very much at all. But for some reason, I said yes to Jenny and decided to train.

Finishing was my only goal. I knew I could no longer put up the blistering running times I had in high school, and somehow, I had reached a point of acceptance. It must be said, for this is no small factor for me and the way I view fitness, body size, and recovery, that I was considerably heavier at the time of this training and racing than I am now. My weight stayed fairly consistent at this point; I suppose my body had learned my regular starvation/binge cycle. Nonetheless, I knew I was larger than our society's ideal. But after only a few weeks of training, I learned to love my body again. Only at age 20 did I truly begin to explore and appreciate my body, just as it was.

Even at my heightened weight, I raced faster than most people on our team. I knew it and harbored a special pride in it. I can affirm without hesitation that, despite the undeniable insanity of the bingeing, I was in the best shape of my life, aside from high school. Because of this experience, I am certain that body size does not directly indicate a person's fitness level or athletic ability. One of many, many lessons in not judging a book by its cover.

As for other lessons, Team in Training sustained me socially. Even though I made no close friends on the team, I at least gained surface-level friends. TnT events and training meetings provided me a place to go when I might otherwise have been bingeing or sinking into isolation. I didn't realize the importance of this structure at the time, but looking back, I can see how the training and fundraising gave me motivation beyond myself, kept me going to class, and offered structure to the chaos that was my existence.

As I wrote fundraising letters and people responded, I realized how many people in my life truly cared, not just about fighting blood cancer, but about me. I also received numerous personal stories from people who had survived or suffered with or knew someone who had cancer and met many who had participated in similar programs. I felt a positive connection to the world, a world that I otherwise classified as bleak, selfish, and unfeeling. I didn't recognize the window that was being opened at the time. Caring about others and feeling good about myself = a MAJOR breakthrough.

My first Team in Training experience came at a crucial juncture. I was making choices to finish school, to be responsible, to be honest, to have relationships with others, to go to class, to be involved in life at least somewhat. My living quarters were no longer a disaster area. I could face myself and learned to love myself just as I was. Even in a funk, I could get up and go to a fundraising event. I learned about my body and what felt good and what felt bad.

In any case, I hope this next Team in Training experience will prove even more impactful. I hope to be more mindful than last time of all the fabulous benefits involvement with this program affords. I can't wait to meet the honored hero I will be racing for, to start raising money, and to spread the word.

Significant Reflections ~

Back in 2003, having a fundraising website was almost unheard of. Now, it's a requisite! Feel free to visit mine at http://pages.teamintraining.org/txg/lstri09/mcowan to read more or donate funds. Believe me, even a couple of bucks helps!

Let's hope I swallow less drainage water during the swim. Jenny and I both thought we were going to die, not of exhaustion, but of some kind of poisoning, after the last race. The combo of rain runoff and Powerbar gels just doesn't work with post-triathlon fajitas... Ugh... I'll know better this time.

I also recall the severe cottonmouth experience during a 3.5-hour bicycle road ride just south of Lubbock. Instead of mixing Gatorade with water, I had the brilliant idea to buy Propel Fitness Water. Never again! Not as much energy as the Gatorade/water mix and twenty times the stuffy mouth. I couldn't even talk afterward! Craziness. Absolute craziness.

I'll never forget my long swims in the University pool with its convenient removable top or the incredible rides in Ransom Canyon. The triathlon also spurred consistent riding around the Canyon Lakes for the rest of my college career. I'll never forget riding my regular Canyon Lake trail through the Windmill museum and beside the Joyland Amusement Park, taking pictures the week of my college graduation. Patterns and structure I set for myself while participating in Team in Training stuck with me throughout school and into the recovery I experienced in 2005.

There are deep reasons why I love physical activity. I love the meditative mood it puts me in, the removal from all else going on in my life. I adore being outside and flowing somehow with nature or taking control and tackling tough obstacles and hills on my bike. And there are the memories, the memories that bubble up to join me each time I get on the road or take to the pool. Today, I get to create more.

Yes, I'm racing to find a cure, I'm racing for those suffering with blood cancers, but I'm also racing for myself and anyone else who is trying to find his or her way out of other illnesses and disorders...or disorder in general. I truly love that girl who raced her heart out in Austin in 2003. She didn't know she'd be here in five years; she didn't believe life could be this happy. I'm glad I proved her wrong.