Dance like everyone is watching

This weekend I went dancing. 

Which is odd, because I don't dance. Not anymore. 

When I was 3, I went to see the ballet for the first time. I fell in love. It was the nutcracker and Karen Kain was the principal ballerina. So of course I HAD to take ballet lessons. 

I loved those Saturday mornings so much. Dancing brought me so much joy. I wasn't very good. I had no talent and poor coordination. As my mom often told me. But man did I love dancing. In level one ballet (so I was about 5) I got to do my exam. I passed. Not with "exceptional". But it was a pass. 

After that I wasn't invited to take anymore exams. But I was passionate. I danced my heart out. I was allowed to take level 2 and 3 ballet classes. 

At the end of my level 3 year I was told that I hadn't passed even without the exam. I was devastated. I had to repeat level 3 while all my friends moved on to level 4. The only reason I survived was that I was a younger than my classmates, so repeating level 3 meant being with girls my own age. 

At the end of my second level 3 year I stopped taking ballet lessons. I just wasn't built for that style of dancing. My turnout wasn't wide enough. My point wasn't flexible enough. My achilles tendons weren't stretchy enough. And my ankles weren't strong enough to support myself in pointe shoes. 

Instead of ballet, I joined a jazz class with my best friend. That was mostly fun. It wasn't the same as ballet, but I still got to move to the music, to stretch my muscles, and to dance my heart out. 

When it was time for costumes though, the teacher measured our waists. In front of the class. And called out our measurements. In front of the class. I was an average sized girl. But I was convinced that I was fat because of many comments from family, because of my Mom's constant dieting, because of my Dad oinking at me when I ate. 

I was still 2 years away from developing anorexia, but I was incredibly self-conscious. And I was sure that my measurements were giant. I was so embarrassed. I quit at the end of that term. 

To replace jazz, I started taking tap classes. Tap was awesome. It didn't matter that I wasn't super flexible (even after 6 years of yoga). It didn't matter that I wasn't as graceful as my ballerina friends. In tap it was more about rhythm, technique, and bouncing. And also smiling. I loved loved loved tap dancing. 

In grade 8 I had an enormous crush on a grade 13 boy that I met. I was sure that I was madly in love with him. And that we were destined to be together (Oddly, he ended up marrying one of my good high school friends). 

This boy went to a school of the arts. So obviously I had to go there too. Even though he was graduating. 

I decided to major in Music Theatre. I prepared my audition and arrived at the school ready to sing my heart out. And more importantly, ready to fake my way through the dance portion of the audition. And fake it I did. I forgot the steps. But what I lacked in talent I made up for with enthusiasm and a big smile. 

Somehow I got in. I still don't understand why. 

For the next 5 years of my life, I learned singing and dancing and acting. I performed in several shows a year. And in all that time, I was dancing. Not well. But with gusto. And it brought me joy. Performing in musicals was fun and exciting. 

After graduation I didn't take anymore dance classes. However, I was of age. I discovered bars. Specifically the one gay bar in the town where I went to university. 

This bar was my happy place. 

My friends and I would dance all night on a packed dance floor. And my passion for dancing had found an outlet where remembering steps and performing was no longer necessary. This kind of dancing was better than all my years of lessons and performances. 

There were even nights where the dance floor was empty. And I didn't care. I would dance with abandon. It felt like freedom. Moving around that floor all alone without a care in the world. Pure happiness. 

And then something changed. 

My eating disorder evolved. My binging and purging followed by bouts of starvation caught up with me. I started to gain weight. Over a period of 5 years, I gained 90 pounds. My body was completely different than it had ever been before. 

My body didn't feel the same. It didn't move the same. I didn't recognize myself. I didn't know how to exist in this body. The more weight I gained the more symptomatic I became. My cycle of starve-binge-purge became more intense. Which only made my body worse. 

I stopped dancing. 

Bars became a place of discomfort. I felt like I was being seen and judged. Always. Fat people experience the world differently than thin people. It is assumed that we are lazy. That we only eat junk and fatty greasy foods. That we eat at fast food restaurants every day. We are judged. Commented on. Stared at. And often insulted right to our faces. 

Dancing meant being seen moving a body that I was not comfortable in. It meant people seeing this body moving. I felt like I wasn't allowed to dance. That I didn't have the right to take up space in the world, let alone on the dance floor. It felt as though my mere existence wasn't allowed.

It felt like everyone around me was thin and beautiful and graceful and perfect. 

So I haven't danced for a very long time. Years. Years of lacking the strength to be seen. Years of being self-conscious of this body that I still don't recognize. This body that I mistreat with my eating disorder cycle. 

Being in this body is a challenge. 

Being in a body that I hate makes me feel like it doesn't belong to me. So the idea of getting on a dance floor and moving while people are near me and seeing me causes great anxiety. It sends me into a panic. 

When I go out "dancing" with friends, I stand on the sidelines watching. Or I stand still on the dance floor so that I'm not alone. 

When I dance in front of people in this unrecognizable body, I feel exposed. I feel like I'm naked and fat and ugly. I feel as though everyone is watching me. 

So I don't dance. 

But ... I came up with a plan: I spent a few days painting about dancing, all leading up to Saturday night. 

I promised myself that I would dance. 

I had so much anxiety about it. So much panic. It meant having a few (or more) drinks. But I did it. I went out onto that dance floor and I danced. I mean I really danced. Like I did in my 20s. Like I did when I was thin. Like I did when my body was my body. Like I did when I wasn't afraid to take up space in the world.

I danced as if I deserved to be there. 

And it felt good. 

Be kind to yourself.

xoxo

...

Asking for support

For many years I felt alone. 

Most of my life in fact. 

I felt like I wasn't allowed to have emotions, let alone express them. So I held everything inside. 

The pain of holding in my emotions led me to self-medicate. I turned to food, and drugs, and purging, and shame. 

I was afraid to ask for help. 

When I was 13, I wanted nothing more than to die. And I told no one. I was afraid that no one could possibly understand my pain. That I would be laughed at. Scorned. That i would be punished for not being able to suck it up and to survive on my own. 

So I suffered in silence. 

As I got older, things only got worse. I had more access to drugs. I had money to spend. I had more privacy for my bingeing and purging. 

I was so afraid to ask for help. Asking for help meant that I was weak. It meant that I would be judged. It meant that I would be deserted. Abandoned. I would be even more alone. So I said nothing. 

I was afraid. 

And time continued to pass me by. I felt trapped by my own fears and sadness. I was afraid of everything. I never wanted to carry a purse because someone might steal it. I couldn't have the car windows open because someone could reach in and take what was on the front passenger seat, or worse, attack me. I couldn't walk alone because I might be raped. I was afraid of the tires falling off my car. I was afraid that I would fall down the stairs. I was afraid that my house would burn down. 

I was trapped by my anxiety. In a prison of fears. 

So I focused on solving other people's problems. I put everyone's needs ahead of my own. I joined a million committees. I took extra courses at university. I took on 3 jobs. 

And this continued into my adult life. Focusing on other people's problems. Helping everyone else. Taking on their emotions until I felt like I was being stretched in 10 directions at one time. 

And then one day, I had enough. Enough of being scared. Enough of holding in all my feelings. Enough of taking care of everyone else and not taking care of myself. I knew that if I didn't ask for help that I was going to snap. 

I needed support. 

So ... I went online and looked up therapists. I looked through profiles, reading about different modalities. But to be honest, I was mostly looking at the photos. Trying to decide who looked kind. Who looked like they wouldn't judge me. Whose eyes I could trust. 

I chose Nosy Nora. 

At first I was resistant. Asking for support was scary. It meant giving myself over to someone else. Opening up and talking about those pesky things called "feelings" and it was hard. She kept asking me about feelings. I actually had to google a list of feeling words. Write them down. Refer to them. So that I had words to choose from. 

It got easier over time. As I got to know her, I grew to trust her. And I started to learn that it was ok to share my feelings. That it was okay to ask for help. 

The more I began to ask Nosy Nora for support, the harder it became. I felt so needy. I felt like a burden. I felt like I was too much. (Sometimes I still do) But the more she supported me, the more I began to realize that it was okay to need support. She kept telling me that everyone needs each other. That no one can go through life alone. 

So slowly, I let myself be vulnerable and I began to open up to friends. I began to ask for support. And shockingly to me .... I got it. 

People were willing to listen. People were willing to be with me. No matter how messed up I was. 

Because I was able to ask for support, I was able to face my darkness. To open myself up. To share my secrets. To tell my story. To start this blog. To use my experiences to help other people. To share with the world that we are not alone. 

As Nosy Nora says, we all need each other (even if I still often struggle to accept that and feel like my need is a burden). 

The more I ask for support, the more I find it. In unexpected places. The more I share my story, the more love I receive. 

And even when I feel completely alone, I am not. 

Thank goodness for friendship. For love. For my spouse. For my colleagues. For my friends. 

Thank goodness for support. And for hugs. 

If you feel alone. Ask for help. It's okay. I promise. 

Be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...

Shame Cycle

I am caught in a vicious shame cycle. 

I start to feel good about myself. So I panic. I try to identify what is feeling good. And I try to recreate that. I haven't been eating bread. So that must be it. Obviously. 

So I don't eat any bread. And I'm feeling good. 

I can conquer the world. I'm unstoppable. And I don't eat bread. 

Which makes me want bread. But I won't cheat on myself. So I don't eat bread. Until all I can think about is eating bread. So I buy some and eat 2 slices. 

And then that's it. 

I'm a fucking idiot who has screwed up her life because obviously it was not eating bread that had been making things good. And I've already screwed it up by eating those 2 slices, so why not 2 more. And while we are at it, I'll have a few cookies. Okay maybe 5. And now I've really messed up and ruined everything. So I eat a bag of chips. Followed by 9 danishes. 

Then why stop? There's ice cream in the freezer. So let's eat that right out of the carton standing in the kitchen. 

At that point in the binge there are no thoughts. There is only numbness and the automatic muscle memory of lifting hand to mouth, chewing fast, without thinking. Swallowing. Fast. Gulping down the food. Maybe if I can make the food disappear then I can disappear with it. Or at least my feelings can. 

At some point the trance breaks and I am left with wrappers and crumbs and a very full belly and mounds of guilt and shame. 

Them comes the struggle. The tears begin. I am a disappointment. I am a loser. I am out of control. My life is shit. I'm useless. Worthless. Undeserving. 

Then the anger. How could I have done this? Why I am I so stupid? Why can't I stop myself? Why do I do this over and over again? Who is the boss of my body? How am I such an idiot? 

And there is only one way to end the physical discomfort along with the shame. I need to empty myself of these feelings that I have shoved deep down inside of me with piles of food. 

So I go up to the bathroom, close the door, put my hair in a ponytail and crouch down over the toilet. 

And then comes the release. The purging of all that is bad and rotten and dark and secretive inside of me. It all comes out and I can flush it away. 

For a few minutes. 

Then reality sets back in. The reality of being weak. The reality of being stuck in this eating disordered way of thinking. And the shame comes back. Stronger than ever. 

Because I know better. 

So I promise myself that I'm not going to do that anymore. I'm going to be "good". I'm going to take care of myself. I'm going to eat right and exercise and I am going to feel good. When I want to binge I am going to do something active instead. When I want to purge I am going to email nosy Nora and tell her all the things I am thinking and feeling. What she aptly named "word vomit". I'm going to go to therapy and talk about my feelings. So I have no reasons to binge or to purge. 

Then I start to feel good. And I panic. What is making me feel good? And what happens if I lose this shred of happiness. What am I doing different? And how can I keep doing it? 

And the cycle repeats. 

Restricting. Rebelling. Shaming. Restricting. Rebelling. Shaming. 

There must be a way to climb out of this hole. To break the cycle. To break the chains that hold me in this pattern of shame and blame. 

When I find the way out, I'll let you know. In the meanwhile, I will keep hanging on and I hope that you can too. 

Be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...

Beads

nosy nora suggested creating a ritual to acknowledge the weight that i have lost (33 lbs). i thought and thought and thought and couldn't think of anything. 

i wanted to include all the changes that i have made, not just weight loss. so i talked about it with radical t. she suggested that at sick kids hospital, the kids get beads for things like each time they have chemo. and that i could create a string of beads for my accomplishments and for things that i have overcome. 

so i went out and bought some beads and string and brought them with me when i went to see nosy nora. together we went through the list of changes, accomplishments, and things that i have overcome. and we created the string of beads in the photo above. 

here are some of the meanings behind the beads:

1-6. a bead for losing 33 lbs (one bead for each 5 lbs)

7. a bead for learning how not to binge

8. a bead for no longer purging

9. a bead for facing my addiction to nortriptyline

10. a bead for no longer abusing sedatives

11. a bead for writing a letter to some people who hurt me when i was younger, and talking it out with one of them

12. a bead for eating what i want

13. a bead for eating in front of other people

14. a bead for not sleeping my life away (not napping every day or going to bed at 8pm)

15. a bead for blogging about my experience

i decided that i want to have the beads with me all the time, so i turned them into a bracelet. when i have more beads to add, i can always restring the beads. 

it's amazing to see visually how much i have accomplished/overcome in the last few years. much of which was in the last year alone. there's a sense of pride, of gratification, and of satisfaction in seeing visually how i have changed. (thank you for your part in that nosy nora)

what will you do to recognize your accomplishments? how will you toot your own horn? 

be kind to yourself, 

xoxo

...

purging

"For me, the shame of having eaten "too much" is more than the shame of purging. Feeling empty equals feeling in control." - blog reader

i recently worked up the courage to write about bingeing ... and now i am going to write about purging. 

purging is filled with so much shame and stigma. even more so than bingeing.

“We turn skeletons into goddesses and look to them as if they might teach us how not to need.” 
― Marya Hornbacher

when i was 13 years old, i started at a new school. it was terrifying. and i was severely bullied. each morning, i would hide in the bathroom at school, sick to my stomach, and i would throw up. and as time went on, it became more of a habit than a need. 

purging is often inevitable. when you feel like you have filled your belly. especially after a binge, when you feel disgustingly full. purging is the ultimate form of control. emptying yourself of all emotions. taking your energy and emptying yourself of all your thoughts.

i started to have panic attacks when i was 26. only i didn't know what they were. i, and my doctors, thought there was something physically wrong with me. it would start with a crushing sensation around my rib cage. and i would feel a sharp pain in my shoulder blade. and the only relief from the pain would be to make myself vomit. i even had my gallbladder taken out, the doctors thinking that my gallbladder was the cause. but the crushing pains continued. i had test after test and was put on all sorts of pills - pills to make my esophagus move, pills to deal with heartburn. 

it wasn't until last year that i came to realize and understand that it was panic attacks and that i was making myself throw up to relieve the pressure.  

“If you put the wrong foods in your body, you are contaminated and dirty and your stomach swells. Then the voice says, Why did you do that? Don't you know better? Ugly and wicked, you are disgusting to me.” 
― Bethany Pierce

after a binge, one feels disgusting and disappointed. one feels ugly and fat and stupid. and feels the need to rid oneself of the food that was consumed in a passion, in oblivion ...

“Your lowest moment in life can be your best if you survive it and learn from it” 
― Brian Cuban

i learned to control my purging. i learned to write instead of purge. it took time and support. it took survival skills. 

“You know you've got problems when your head is hanging over the toilet, puking up your dinner, and what you're thinking of is your dad. And how he thinks you're not pretty.” 
― Teresa Lo

people who purge do so for so many, many reasons. some of which have to do with body image or childhood trauma. often it has to do with a sense of the need for control. and other times it has nothing to do with body image but has to do with the need to deny one's feelings. to numb oneself to the pain of the world.

“In yet another paradox, bulimia nervosa serves as both an expression of feelings and a defense against experiencing feelings, particularly shame, anger, loneliness, sadness, envy, and guilt. A person with bulimia nervosa fear, whether consciously or unconsciously, that painful feelings would be unbearable, even annihilating".” 
― Sheila M. Reindl

painful feelings .... unbearable ... annihilating ... purging is ultimately empowering. it is a way to control the uncontrollable. 

bingeing and purging often go hand in hand. it begins with a diet. a sense of control. feeling like THIS time the diet will work. this time you will be able to control everything. but then, when you feel deprived, you cheat on your diet. you then feel like a total and complete loser. so you figure, what the hell, you might as well keep eating. so you eat and eat ...

“You see, a binge is almost always inevitable when one goes withut eating for such a long period of time. It doesn't just satisfy the physical hunger that becomes you; it nourishes the psychological need to escape from your own controlling mind. In this way, the binge presents itself as the ultimate loss of control.” 
― Leanne Waters

... and after the binge i feel worse than imaginable. i wake up from the loss of control and need to get that control back. to empty myself. 

it's a cycle of shame. shame of how you look or how you feel. shame about your choices. shame about what you put into your body and shame about what you took out. 

"My whole life I’ve leaned toward all-or-nothing thinking. Black or white. Binge or restrict. Terrible day or terrific.

In my mind I was either the energizer bunny or a sloth. I was either beautiful or blah. And how could I be beautiful if I was only pretty sometimes?

If I ate too much, I’d think F that, my diet is ruined! and pile on the extra helpings. I didn’t ask myself if I really wanted more, if I genuinely wanted to enjoy extra bites. No. Instead, I was focused on the fact that tomorrow I’d need to be perfect. 

Tomorrow would be the day. The day I’d follow that diet flawlessly. And then in a week, a few weeks, when I lost some weight, I could finally start taking better care of myself. I could show my face at the gym. I could finally appreciate my body. I could feel better about myself." - http://blogs.psychcentral.com/weightless/2014/09/the-opportunity-in-every-moment/

shame.

bulimia is filled with shame. 

be kind to yourself,
xoxo
... here are some websites that are helpful:

http://sheenasplace.org/

http://susanschulherr.com/index.php

http://www.fatnutritionist.com/

http://sheenasplace.org/category/blog/

http://makepeacewithfood2day.blogspot.ca/

http://eatingdisordersblogs.com/

http://www.helpguide.org/mental/eating_disorder_treatment.htm

http://www.nedic.ca/

http://www.bulimia.com/topics/support-groups/

http://www.bellwood.ca/eating-disorders/

http://blogs.psychcentral.com/weightless/

https://www.facebook.com/sheenasplacetoronto


http://www.bulimia.com/

bulimia.supportgroups.com/



http://www.b-eat.co.uk/get-help/about-eating-disorders/overcoming-bulimia-online/