Hello Bee and hello insomnia,
Hello late night cookies. Hello fatigue. Hello lovely readers of mine.
I downloaded one of those calorie counting apps two weeks ago. I know. I KNOW. This is terrible to do in eating disorder recovery. I know. I KNOW. And yet, there is a strange comfort in tracking, in quantifying, in numerical data, and in precise, black-and-white readings. When everything else feels unpredictable and chaotic, I have my macros and my calories.
God. That sounds disordered. That sounds so absolutely disordered.
I want to sit here and rationalize. It’s good for my health. It’s just to keep me on track. It’s just this, it’s just that…
That’s not me rationalizing. Please. We all know who’s the one that’s rationalizing. We all know what happens when I start counting…anything. But it happens when I stop counting, too. The slips happen. They tell me something; they give me meaning, but yes, they happen.
Maybe, I’ll delete it. I’m not sure. It’s made me more mindful of my food choices. It’s hard when you struggle with both, with the bingeing and the restricting. But I like when the seesaw is on the restrictive side. It’s pure. It’s dainty. It’s discipline. Bingeing is the beast, the monster.
I’m seeing so many clients now. I’m running groups. I’m helping so many people. Every issue and pain under the sun. I am blessed. I am doing my best to avoid burnout. I go with my clinical intuition. I help as much as I can. I use metaphors and stories and am unconventional. I care so much about these people. Most of my clients like it. Well, they must. Because they keep coming back. That’s surely a good sign. I doubt my own competence often, but I keep pressing. I know I’m good at what I do, and I know I’m willing to continue learning.
I miss my own therapist. I miss a lot of things. I keep changing everyday. The boyfriend and I have been together nine months now. That’s insane. Remember when we first met? Where has time flown? We are still solid. He’s amazing.
Food is hardly at the forefront of my life anymore. It’s there, yes, but it’s not the only thing that’s there. The recovery is more of an integration into my life. No, I’m not actively doing much to maintain recovery. I’m not going to therapy nor am I attending support group meetings nor am I even writing on here very often. But, I am taking care of myself in other ways. I’m meditating. I’m practicing mindfulness. I’m letting go of “food rules,” even though tonight, I ate about 750 calories worth of cookies. I’m not beating myself up for that. I’m exercising, a lot of yoga, because that feels good for my body. Hiking, getting out in the world, that feels good, too. I’m reading. I’m spending time with people I love. I have a brighter energy that transcends my soul.
I am different. I am changing. I like that about myself.
I have moved away from this diagnostic nightmare, from this stigmatized label, and morphed into a more whole and complete person. I am shining, through the struggles, through the strife, through the constant inconsistency, through the predictable unpredictability. That is how life just works. I have surrendered.
Yes, I still binge here and there. Yes, I’m counting calories here and there. Yes, I’m definitely “in recovery.” No, I’m not perfect, and no, I don’t pretend to be.
I’m a crazy, flawed human who makes mistakes, who falls on her face, who bruises and who stumbles…but I’m a warrior. I’m a fighter. I wouldn’t love myself any other way.
It’s not about self-actualization. It’s not about the destination. It’s not even about reaching happiness.
It’s about all the steps and all the journeys it takes to get there.