Everything's different, nothing has changed...

Every year I try to make some sort of post about the holidays, because I know how hard it can be to go to parties, see loved ones, and come home.  No matter who you are, the holiday season can be stressful.  There's an expectation of happiness and cheer and more often than not, it doesn't play out the way we want.  The holidays can be especially hard if you are struggling with food or body issues, and for me, December used to be my worst month.  For 5+ years, this time of year terrified me.  There are still some deeply ingrained, visceral moments of panic that I experience, even to this day, but luckily I am able to deal with them and realize they are irrational.  But it wasn't always that easy!!  

Having this perspective on the holiday season has been interesting to say the least.  Even before I was technically sick, this time of year was hard for me.  I lost my father when I was 12, and every Christmas after that was super tough.  My dad was such a big part of Christmas for me - dragging him out of his bed on Christmas morning, watching him intently as he opened his gift from me, staying in our PJ's all day.  Without him, nothing seemed right.  I would cry when I decorated the house because I knew no matter how hard I tried to perfectly place every ornament on the tree, nothing would be the same.  

I think that's a thing a lot of us suffer from this time of year - the high expectation and the rose colored memories of holidays past.  I know I always will.  That's a tough thing to let go of, and I think a lot of times that feeling bleeds over into how we treat ourselves and our bodies during this time of year.   So here are some more tips to get through this crazy time.  I know how hard it is.  

1. Traditions are cool, but they're not the most important part of the holiday.  As someone who literally has a disorder that makes me need to do things or else I'll have panic attacks (it's called OCD and it's somethin' else, people) I understand that this can be incredibly difficult to comprehend.  But, if you have to forgo some part of your holiday routine, you'll live.  Maybe you don't have the money to travel this year, or you don't have the time to bake cookies.  And that's okay!  Be kind to yourself.  It's a stressful time of year, and we can only do so much. 

2. Find a new thing to be excited for THIS year.  It might be Hanson's new Christmas CD or it might be new friends to celebrate with.  OR it might be a Christmas card exchange.  Travelling to a new place.  Decorating the house a different way.  It can be little or big, just so long as it brings you happiness.  Nothing will ever be the same as it was, because that is how life and time works.  So instead of bending over backwards to recreate a holiday that probably wasn't that perfect anyway, put your energy into finding new ways to cultivate joy. 

3. You DO NOT HAVE TO MAKE UP (or feel bad) FOR WHAT YOU ATE. I know I've given this tip before but it astounds me how every year I'll make some kind of post about this very thing, literally HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE will like/love/comment, and then those very same people are the ones making their own posts about feeling guilty about the cookies/drinks/whatever.  Food. and. guilt. don't. belong. in. the. same. sentence.  I don't care what you ate yesterday.  I DON'T CARE.  You're still a good person with good intentions and you're still my friend.  It's not a hard concept to grasp.  Look society in the face and put the cookie in your mouth and realize that you don't have to feel BAD ABOUT IT, JEEZ.  

4. If you need to take a break, that is okay!  If you're overwhelmed by everything going on, or your family is driving you crazy, or you're behind on shopping and feeling panicked, or you just feel bad thoughts creeping in, take a breather.  Use those healthy coping skills I suggested you develop and carve out an hour (just an hour!  you can still get everything done, I promise!)  to do some stretches, or work on your crocheting, or color in your adult coloring book, or play your ukulele.  

5. Share those beautiful gifts. Again, this is a repeat, but I think it's worth repeating.  Pick the thing the universe has given you that has nothing to do with your body or how you look or how much space you take up.  And it doesn't have to be some incredible talent, it can just be the fact that you can make people smile, or make someone feel good about themselves, or that you're a good listener.  Those are all amazing gifts.  You don't need to recreate anything that has happened before.  This moment is all we have, so use this moment to share your incredible capabilities with the world around you.  

I hope everyone has an amazing month!!  Be kind to yourselves, and remember...no one cares if you eat the cookie. 

Literally.  Not one single person.

I love you.

Peace, Love, and Rock n' Roll til New Years Night,

KT 

How a gym class helped my recovery...

“You've gotta remind your brain who’s in charge.”

I have a strange relationship with The Gym.  We fell in love during my freshman year of college, when suddenly I had unlimited, free access to the campus gym at NKU.  I have this funny little disorder that makes me obsess and fixate on certain things, and since I was in the middle of a department that was already fixated on image, it was an easy thing to get into.  At first I really enjoyed it!  I would go every few days with Robyn or Seth, sweat for half an hour, and trudge back to the commons for dinner.  But before I knew it, I was addicted.  I would go every day, for an hour or two.  I would see how long I could stay on the elliptical until my vision would start to blur.  My longest was two hours.  TWO. HOURS.  That is literally so long, I have no idea how that even worked.  

One of the reasons I loved the gym during those days was the scale in the weight room.  I would go take my shoes off, step on the scale, and watch the number get lower and lower with every passing day.  It was like a drug.  

When I hit my lowest weight, I broke up with the gym.  Whenever I would go, I would see people look at me in horror (I know why now, but back then I felt like I was being bullied) and whisper.  Sometimes they wouldn’t even try to be quiet, they would just say stuff like “Jesus CHRIST she’s skeletal,” full voice.  Furthermore, it was getting harder and harder for me to get my heart rate up.  So I stopped going, opting for long walks.  I would disappear for hours, just walking around, trying to get a “work out” in.  This was a habit I kept up until I started treatment.

It was a while before I got myself back in a gym.  It was equal parts triggering and depressing for me to be inside of one.  First of all, there are mirrors everywhere.  Second of all, when you’re on a machine, you’re alone with your thoughts - bad self talk and all.  I joined a gym in St. Pete and the first few times I went were torture.  I thought about cancelling my membership, but I pushed through it.  I closed my eyes everytime I passed by a mirror.  I figured out how to do it without hating myself, and working out felt good.  And then in July, on a complete whim, I started going to a group class.

I had never done anything like that before.  The gym was always alone time for me, special time where I could tune in to my disorder and push myself.  But before I knew it, I was smiling and laughing along with the people in the class.  I was listening to my instructor, instead of the voice in my head who doesn’t really know...anything.  I wasn’t spending hours on an elliptical, just trying to burn as many calories as possible.  Instead, I was doing all sorts of movements, punching, kicking, working muscles I didn’t even know I had.  I was watching myself in the mirror and not grimacing.  Furthermore, the class is only 30 minutes, three times a week.  It keeps me accountable so that my gym time doesn’t get out of hand.   I have no idea if I have lost any weight since I started going (I don’t do the scale thing anymore) but the crazy thing is that I don’t care.  I go because it’s fun. I go because it’s not a chore; I genuinely enjoy doing the workouts Jamarcus creates for us. I go because it has worked wonders for my aggression.  I go because I’ve made friends there.  I go because it’s 30 minutes where all I have to think about is the music and the movement.  

So what is the point of this post?  Well, I say it all the time, but this is a story about how recovery doesn’t end!  I had made peace with the fact that I would never do a group class, that I would never watch myself in a mirror, that I would never just throw on a sports bra and walk around in it.  And I was okay with all of those things.  But then...suddenly...I was able to do all of those things, and more. It’s a reminder to be kind to yourself, but never stop challenging yourself.  If you are currently IN TREATMENT: LISTEN TO YOUR TREATMENT TEAM.  Please don’t go hit the gym because of this post.  I was fully restored and in good health before I started going again.  I took a very long break from it, and that was the best thing for me.  Do what is right for you!!  Exercise addiction is a very real thing and should not be normalized.  Please reach out to me if you feel like it’s something you’re struggling with!

I don’t think that going to a gym class has to be a part of everyone’s story.  But I’m glad it’s (finally) a part of mine.

Peace, Love, and Punching Bags,

KT  

4 Years

It doesn't seem that long ago that I was counting my recovery timeline in months instead of years.   Every month that passed seemed like such a milestone; thirty days of challenges and victories and slip-ups and lessons.  And now it's been four years since I first decided to really buckle down and get better.  It was the day I moved to New York with the goal of turning over a new leaf and starting the rest of my life as someone who was not defined by anorexia.  It was the day I started calling treatment centers and scheduling appointments. It was terrifying and overwhelming and difficult. But...FOUR YEARS.  That's...nothing to scoff at.  That's 1,460 days of choosing recovery (okay, I didn't choose it every single day, but I'm human, right?).  So, I figured it's as good a time as any to do a little reflection.

THE BIG FOUR - The four biggest lessons I have learned in these four years

1. Recovery doesn't end
I'll say it again and again and again and again.  You choose recovery every. single. day. of. your. life.  Some days are harder than others.  Some days you barely even have to think about it because hopefully it becomes second nature.  But you keep having to choose it.  Hopefully, somewhere along the line, the choice becomes an easy one.  A no-brainer.  But it's still a choice.  There are some days where I legitimately miss my disorder, but the fact of the matter is it tried to kill me.  It took me a really long time to figure this lesson out.  Like...years.  You have to keep choosing it.  You never stop playing an active role in your own recovery. 

2. Do what you love and f*** the rest
Do the things you love, listen to the music that saved you, travel where your heart leads you, read the books that make you smile, watch the TV shows that make you laugh.  Go to a coffee shop and read in the sunshine and sip a latte and don't care if people might think you're basic.  Go rollerblading because the breeze in your hair makes you feel good.  Travel across the country for a band.  See the same musical an obscene amount of times because nothing will ever make your heart feel that full.  Just find the things that make you feel alive.  Because you need to stay alive.  Trust me.

3. Everything takes longer than you think it will 
Literally everything.  Everything.  Be patient.

4. "Take your broken heart, make it into art" 
I never want to know the person I would be if I didn't go through all of this.  Without recovery I wouldn't have Full.  I wouldn't have my insatiable desire to write.  I wouldn't have the hundreds of songs I have written since October 1st, 2013.  I wouldn't have this blog.  I wouldn't have my story, and I wouldn't be the hero of it.

And hasn't that been the point all along?

Peace, Love, and colors all around,
KT

A Practice in Apathy

Even if you just follow me on social media, you have probably gleaned the fact that I am anything but apathetic.  I’m not a casual friend, or a casual fan, and I think that level of passion for people and things that I love is important and makes me who I am. It’s something I really pride myself in.  So when I was in the throes of recovery and my therapist told me to do a practice in apathy, my entire being bristled.  I’m not apathetic!  Apathy is everything I hate about the world!  I’m in it to win it!!

But, as everything in recovery proved to be, it was not as simple as that.  This was a kind of indifference I would learn to accept, and frankly would change the entire game for me.  It is still something that I practice, because without it, I probably would have just quit.

But...I’m not a quitter.

Everything changed for me when I began being apathetic about the way I looked.  A lot of you reading this have probably known me for a while.  You know that I don’t wear make up and I don’t brush my hair and I still wear clothes from the little boy’s section in Target.  You know that in high school I was never well dressed or put together.  You know that in college I wore dance clothes all day or a hoodie and jeans.  You probably know that I HATE the idea of someone else straightening my hair or doing my make up...the list goes on and on.  So even I sometimes look back at the disorder that held me in it’s clutches, one that is usually associated with looks, and am confused as to how I got to where I was.  But then of course I remember that that is not what anorexia is about in the first place, and even I am falling victim to society’s perception of the thing I know better than most people.  

Because I am the passionate, go-getter individual that I am, when I started recovery I set a very high goal for myself.  I remember saying the words out loud to my therapist.  “I am going to love my whole self, 100% of the time.”  She laughed at me.  She literally laughed, and said, “that’s an impossible goal, Katie.  I’m not letting you set that.”   I was angry at her for doubting me.  Hey, you barely even know me!!  You don’t know what I’m capable of!  But it’s true...I would be disappointed every single day when I woke up and looked at myself in the mirror and didn’t fall in love with the broken, changing girl in front of me.  She was trying so hard.  

But then, I decided to practice apathy.  What if I didn’t set out everyday to love my entire self?   What if I set out, instead, to just not care?  I wasn’t put on this earth to be skinny.  I wasn’t put on this earth to be beautiful.  So what if...what if I just didn’t care?  And in that moment, something clicked.  It was like I was finally seeing the whole point of recovery, and body positivity, and self love.  It’s not about saying “I’m beautiful the way I am.”   It’s about saying “I exist.  I am here, and that’s an amazing thing.  I’m allowed. No matter what.”  

This practice bled over to other aspects of my life.  I started not caring about people’s perception of me as a whole, not just my looks.  I started not caring about loving things out loud.  I started not caring if people didn’t like the things I liked, or made fun of the music I listen to.  I started not caring that I took up space, that my laugh literally echoes off of buildings because it’s so loud, that my hair is never neat, and that sometimes I take stuff to the extreme.  These may all seem like very elementary lessons, but you’d be surprised how hard they are to fully embrace.  I still have trouble  But there just comes a point where you can’t care anymore.  Life is too short, and way too wonderful. I could very easily get wrapped up in the fact that I am literally twice the size I used to be, or that I don’t get cast anymore, or that I don’t get complimented on my looks very often, because that’s what this weirdo society wants me to focus on.  But instead...I just don’t really care anymore.  I exist.  I’m allowed.  No matter what.

I don’t expect you to wake up one day and be like “wow, KT was right.  I don’t care anymore!  I’m free!!” because that’s not how life works.  I also don't expect this to fix all your problems. It's one very small puzzle piece in the whole picture. It’s a practice, not a performance.  I still have trouble with it, because I’m human, and so are all of you.  It’s not easy.  It’s work!  But, it really does make a difference, little by little.   And if you’re struggling with where to start, message me, or text me, or comment on this post and I will tell you all the things I love about you that have nothing to do with how you look.  I’m sure there are at least a hundred.  

You exist.  You’re allowed. No matter what.

Peace, Love, and Orange Juice,

KT

When to Use a Meal Plan

Happy Wednesday, everyone!  I'm certainly excited that it's already hump day.  It's been a while since I've done a #Recovery post but I've been meaning to write this blog post for about a week now. So I guess I'll just dive right in!

My name is KT and I don't have a completely healthy relationship with food.  I think we all know this, at this point.  I'm very open about my disorder and my recovery, and I love talking about it.  Talking about it and opening up is ultimately what healed me.  A common misconception is that recovery is a thing that happens and then you're done with it.  I've learned the hard way that that is absolutely not the case.  ED is like any addiction.  You have to deal with it for the rest of your life.  It gets easier.  You get better at it.  But some days  are harder than others.

Recently, I had a huge schedule shift.  For those of you who don't know, my disorder was centered largely around meal times.  I had a very intense schedule.  Breakfast couldn't be before 10am.  Lunch couldn't be before or after 2pm.  Dinner couldn't be before 8pm, and the later the better (the best was not eating at all).  If I had to eat any of these meals before the set times, I would either have a panic attack or not be able to stop thinking about it for the rest of the day (and often beyond).  I have so many memories of not eating with friends or family because our "schedules" didn't line up.  I wanted to eat with them. I just...couldn't. 

This isn't something I struggle with anymore, but when there is big change in my life (whether it's good or bad) I can feel the tug of my disorder.  It's small, but it's there, and I know that if left to my own devices, I will not make smart food choices.  I just won't.  I will use the schedule change as an excuse to skip meals, or not fuel myself properly.  And so, enter THE MEAL PLAN.

I don't think meal plans are always helpful.  Let me make this VERY clear...NEVER USE A MEAL PLAN AS A WAY TO RESTRICT.  RESTRICTION IS BAD IN ALL ITS FORMS.  But, there are those of us who, without a meal plan, will restrict.  So, when I know a big change is coming, I try to set one up.  I usually only need a week or so in order to get into a rhythm.  I've already dropped the one I was using at the beginning of the summer because I got used to the meal times and sizes and feel like I can do it without a written guide anymore.  But if I feel myself slipping, I'll definitely be using it again!

IMPORTANT -- I don't believe in counting calories, so none of my meal plans ever have ANY numbers.  Numbers are a trigger for me!!  I don't count, measure, or weigh myself or my food.  Meal plans are NOT DIET PLANS.  Meal plans are for those of us who don't necessarily have a good relationship with food and might need some guidance in order to be properly fueled so that we can continue to LIVE!!

Why I don't post body transformation pictures.

The other day I was mindlessly scrolling through my "On This Day" feature on Facebook and I came across pictures of me at my very lowest weight.  I actually remember weighing myself that day and I remember the number.  There's a lot during that time of my life that I do not remember, but my weight (and the caloric value of all of my safe foods) is something that is branded into my memory.  Sometimes when I come across these shocking photographs, I make a little transformation picture to keep in my phone just for myself and for people I trust to look at and share the sense of pride I feel when I see the two pictures next to each other.  I never post body transformation pictures because, while I think it's good for me to see the transformation and LOVE the "after" picture way more than the "before", I don't think showing the world the bag of bones I was 4 years ago is productive in any way.

My "after", in the words of Sean Ryan Paris - "Sunshine and Happy and Hanson!" 

I will happily post transformation pictures of my hair, or my hands, or even my face.  But my body is off limits.  One of my worst fears is for someone out there will somehow get a hold of a sick picture and yearn for that body.  That terrifies me.  I would rather someone see the fact that my hair grew back or that my cheeks filled out and I got the life back in my eyes. I would rather someone ask me what the main difference is and see happy tears fill my eyes while I say "well number one I didn't die" (still not really sure how I survived it) "but beyond that I don't have an ever present chill in my bones and I don't have hair growing on my lower back in my body's last ditch effort to stay alive."  I don't need to remind the world how much my body has changed. You learn so much when you recover...definitely more than I ever expected to.  One thing you learn is that beauty has nothing to do with it. Nothing to do with it at all. 

Peace, love, and in an Mmmbop they're gone,

KT <33

Restoration

I am 40 lbs up from my lowest weight.  I am a person that has gained 40 lbs (which also means I am a person that at one time lost around 40 lbs, which is even crazier to me).  I am not particularly happy or sad about this, but I think being virtually emotionless is actually the best place I could be.  I’m not jumping for joy because who would, but I’m also not wanting to kill myself over the fact that I weigh more than I ever had.  Far from it.  I’m actually the happiest I’ve ever been. 

When I started this journey to recovery, I thought the day I became restored would be my undoing.  I couldn’t fathom a life in which I wasn’t the small little sack of bones I had grown so accustomed to.  But honestly, now that I’m restored (and then some…my doctor said this is normal and I will most likely taper) here I am, living.  And I think the main reason why I am able to accept this body right now is the fact that this disorder was NEVER ABOUT WEIGHT.  I never set out to lose weight.  That was never a thing.  It started happening and then I couldn’t stop. I was never overweight and I am still not.  Which just means I was frighteningly UNDER weight at my lowest, which makes me want to go back in time and cradle myself and tell myself it’s all going to be okay. 

Do I LOVE my body?  No.  I still feel like it’s completely foreign to me.  I look in the mirror ready to see the person I was even a year ago. Growing out of clothes fucking sucks.   The fact that I put on more than half of what I weighed in 2013 is actually overwhelming, and it’s something that I’m still getting used to.  But now I look at pictures of myself at that time and I am flabbergasted at the fact that it got that bad.  I was so incredibly sick.  I don’t know how I did it.  I don’t know how I functioned.  When I was at my low weight for whatever reason pictures of me from high school (when I was my natural, set point) embarrassed me.  I guess I just didn’t want people to compare the past and present and realize that there was something VERY wrong going on.  Yesterday I looked at a bunch of pictures from then (thank you, day off boredom) and I started tearing up because I looked so happy, so free, so uninhibited, and frankly I found myself commenting in my head about how beautiful I looked.  Me.  Saying that about myself??  Something that has never happened.  I went through high school not focused on my appearance but I would NEVER have said I was pretty.  

I’m proud of myself for a few things.  I’m proud that I gained the weight.  It had to happen.  As hard as it was and still is, it had to happen. I’m proud that I was able to do it over an extended period of time so that I didn’t suffer any health risks.  While drawing it out was a challenge mentally, it was better in the long run.  I’m proud that things don’t scare me anymore.  When I started recovery, restoration was my number one fear.  And here I am.