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

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.  

I know that there is so much more...

Outside there are choices

Colors, warmth, and giving.

If I could just get out there I'd be very good at living. 

I started writing "FULL" last October after a particularly trying day of treatment.  I was walking home and images, sounds, and lyrics filled my brain.  I fell asleep writing that night.  I don't care what higher power you ascribe to, but I know at that moment I was experiencing something divine that I never had before.  It was like ideas were pouring out of me and I couldn't move my pen or strum my ukulele fast enough.  Monday night, with the help of some of my best friends in the entire world, I was able to share my creation for the first time. 

I have been having trouble truly putting the experience I had on Monday into words, but I will say it was one of the best nights of my life so far.  The love I felt inside that room was unlike anything I have ever felt.  And that is because of all of you.  For helping me write this story, for your interest and kind words, for your support, and for your excitement...thank you will never be enough.  And the most exciting part?  This is just the beginning!!  Monday night was the first reading.  In the words of Harper: "This is not the final page, I know that there is so much more."  Yes, "FULL" is my story...but it is also everyone's story.  Everyone has a demon that they have to fight.  Everyone is the hero of their own story. 

Kelly -- Thank you for pushing me to do this.  Your support and love has been everything to me and it's because of you that I really dove into this with both feet.  I could not have done it without you...and not in a creepy Emily way, in a you are the best and a total badass way. 

Taylor, Susan, Jim, and Miriam -- The love I have in my heart for you is indescribable. I could not have asked for a better group of people to present this story!  Thank you for holding me up. So...next step Broadway?  Great. 

Matt, Eric, and Jim -- Thank you SO MUCH for letting me do this.  I am so honored to be a part of the freeFall family.  

There is no rest for the obsessive...bring on the rewrites!!! 

<333

It's the most wonderful time...

For almost five years of my life, December was a terrifying month.  Parties revolving around food, calorie laden drinks, cookies, candy, and big meals with the family.  I would always feel like all eyes were on me. Of course, this was not the case, but because of the intense anxiety brought on by this time of year, my bad habits would get out of control.

I don't claim to be 100% recovered, because frankly...who is?!  I still have bad thoughts and hear occasional whispers from Emily.  But I'm pretty darn close and now, looking back on the things I would do around the holidays, I honestly get incredibly sad that I ever thought that was okay.  Starting around this time (December 1st) I would restrict as much as I could before I went home to Lexington, because I knew once I got home it would be much harder to do so.  I would load up on fruit and salads, and cut corners where possible.  Depending on where I was geographically, I would either go to the gym once a day or take a few walks (even if it was snowing) followed by ab work in my bedroom.  I would find any excuse possible to not attend holiday parties, and if I failed at that, I would eat maybe...an apple leading up to the event and go into it cloudy and feeling slightly intoxicated.  If I knew I was going out drinking I would skip dinner and proceed to get accidentally drunk.  I would plan to get a fancy hot chocolate from Starbucks and then chicken out and get a black tea.  Even last year, when I was doing pretty well...the holiday season sent me into a relapse.

No wonder I would go into the week of Christmas completely on edge.

Because the holidays can be a very scary time for many people, here are some tips to get through it so that you don't succumb to any permutation of the bad habits I described above.

1.Remember what you are doing affects others: You might think it's none of their business, but every time you decline an invitation or snap at someone out of frustration, you are hurting them.  You dragging them through a portion of the hell you are experiencing, and no one deserves that, especially this time of year.

2. Develop healthy coping skills: One thing that used to happen a lot to me during the holidays was people's schedules not lining up with mine, which would send me into horrible anxiety attacks.  Family dinners would always be "too early" for me and I would leave the table feeling guilty.  If this happens to you, don't beat yourself up about it.  Develop coping skills to utilize after a big meal - yoga stretches to aid bloating, writing in a journal, practicing your ukulele, playing a board game with your family.  Anything to get your mind off of the guilt.

3. Be kind to yourself:  I know (I knoooow) how horrible you can feel after eating an "indulgent" holiday meal.  But guess what.  It doesn't matter.  The world will not end, you will not wake up 10 pounds heavier, and you will still need to eat the next day.  It's true!

4. Don't "make up" for what you ate: Studies show that this works 0% of the time. Don't restrict before or after a party.  Because you will inevitably be a pain to be around and no fun whatsoever.  I won't want to hang out with you, and to be honest I'm a St. Pete celeb so...your loss.

5. React to "lose that holiday weight!!!" the RIGHT way: 'Tis the season for diet tricks and tips to circumvent that pesky holiday pudge.  Guess what...that is a load of BS!!  You see, I know things now, and I know that diet culture is the most stupid thing that ever happened to humanity.  So when you see those articles telling you to hit the gym, only eat 1500 calories, and swap cookies for broccoli (ummmm...), make the decision to laugh in the face of every perfect soccer mom in yoga pants to ever grace the pages of a magazine.  THAT IS NOT REAL LIFE.

6. Pick something about yourself you love no matter what, and never forget that precious gift: December is the month of gifts, so why not focus on one that the universe has bestowed upon you?  For me, it's my voice.  Whenever I have bad body image thoughts, I remember that my voice is there no matter what (unless of course, I starve myself and lose it.  HEYOOOO).  It helps that I sing at my church every Christmas Eve, so I also have the opportunity to share my most precious gift.

So that is my December challenge to all of you.  Whether or not you have anxieties surrounding food this holiday season, take a moment to think about the thing you love most about yourself and actively share it with the people around you.  Maybe you're hilarious...go to a holiday party and get the people laughing!  Maybe you love to paint...give your family art work!  Maybe you are good with kids...offer babysitting services so that new parents can have a date night!  There are countless ways to share your gifts...because that is what this time of year is all about.  <33

Gained.

There are a lot of horrifying moments in recovery.  To count them all would be impossible.  Moments of shame and humiliation.  There are moments you wake up so hungry that you feel like a feral child and find yourself sitting in front of an open fridge eating ketchup out of a bottle.  There are moments you turn on the faucet in the bathroom so no one hears you getting the scales out of the closet.  There are moments you look down at your plate and realize that you actually ate that fear food...and now what??

The hardest moments for me happen in the morning, when I have to shower and get dressed.  Even though I know it's physically impossible, it often feels like I have SURELY gained 20 pounds overnight. Putting on pants that I haven't worn in a few weeks is like summitting a mountain. Looking at my arms is like facing a tank of poisonous snakes.  I think I could take my body filling out any day over my face, but then there are moments when I think the opposite.  Taking pictures is actually torture, and yet I feel this strange pressure to take them and LIKE THEM.  Why?!  Why do I do this to myself?!  I could very easily just not allow people to take my picture, and not take any of myself...I'm still trying to crack this mystery.

ANYWAY, I have definitely gained weight.  I don't know how much because I hid my scales after about a week in April when I was obsessively checking.  Like multiple times a day.  Numbers are my biggest OCD trigger, and so for whatever reason for a week I was weighing myself about 5 times a day.  Again, WHY?!

The thing about gaining weight in recovery is that our brains are SO used to it feeling like a failure that it is extremely hard to view it as a victory.  That is why I try to focus on other things I have gained that are definitely victories.

I have gained...

-Brain space: sometimes it amazes me how much better I am able to focus on things. True story...there are full performances of Spring Awakening that I can't remember because I was so preoccupied with disordered thoughts.  Good thing I knew the show well...

-Healthier hair: My prrrrrecious.

-Friends: I am more open to new friendships and just easier to be around.  I don't cancel plans, I make them.

-Freedom to be my true extroverted self: I am so over pretending I'm an introvert.  My disorder is an introvert. KT is an outspoken, loud, extroverted, choir kid, musical theatre fangirl who makes no apologies for loving the CRAP out of everything.

-Strength and flexibility: It's so weird, when you starve yourself your body doesn't work.

-Vocal range and power: I love belting.

I have gained so much in recovery.  Every day is a new challenge and a new battle, but I will continue to be a warrior and fight the negative voices in my head telling me that gaining happiness is somehow a failure.  That somehow I don't deserve it.  Because we ALL deserve to be happy, and we shouldn't settle for anything less. 

Once Upon a Time...

Fairy tales have been on my mind pretty much 24/7 these days.  What with "Into the Woods" playing on a constant loop in my brain and blaring so loudly in my head that I literally wake up at night singing the songs, I simply can't get the characters and morals out of my head!  During this process we have learned a lot about the importance of these tales in regards to the integration of our personalities.  Also, as someone who has spent over a year looking in the mirror and trying to convince myself that I am the hero of my own story, it is fascinating that through this process I finally feel like that is coming to fruition.  I am the hero of this story. The work is paying off and I am coming out on top.  

Once upon a time there was a girl who didn't believe she could do it.  She had been given a special quest - to use her gifts of song and friendship to bring happiness and joy to the world. She felt the pressure of this quest upon her shoulders constantly, and was terrified that she would not be able to achieve her goals.  In a moment of fear, she was visited by the Evil Queen.  

The Queen saw the girl's vulnerability, and struck a deal with the girl.  She told her that if she gave up the gifts of song and friendship, then the Queen would accomplish her task for her.  But in return, the girl would be cursed with the voice of the evil queen amplified within her brain.  The Queen's voice would control her until the task was achieved.  Little did the girl know that the Queen had no intention of fulfilling the task at hand.  The Queen had grown weak, and she only wanted the girl's gifts so that she would survive.  

The Queen's voice continued to grow stronger within the girl's mind, until she became convinced it was her own thoughts of doubt and hatred.  She descended into solitude, alone in the woods, with only the Queen's voice for company.  The words were so hateful that she was convinced that the world would be better off without her in it.  She had grown mute, the Queen using her power of song to fuel her evil power.  Many people tried to save her.  A valiant Prince came to her door, knocking and calling to her, but that only made her hide with more conviction.  She boarded up her windows and covered herself with blankets to protect her from the chilling winds in her own soul. 

One day, with the Queen's voice louder than ever, and her own voice unable to rise from her throat, the girl was visited by the Blue Fairy.  The Fairy didn't knock on the door, didn't call to her, didn't force her way into the lonely hiding place.  She only sent her a message of warmth and understanding.  A quiet hint of hope.  A reminder that she had a quest to go on.  She had a hero to become.

The girl ignored the message, unable to respond to anything that was not the Queen's voice.  And yet the Blue Fairy persisted, her power of love stronger than the Evil Queen's.  Soon the girl was completely enveloped in blue light.  Tears sprung to her eyes, and as they rolled down her cheek, and onto her throat, they allowed her voice to whisper through the silence.

"I can do this."

It was barely audible but it was there.  Day in and day out she said it.  Time passed slowly, but the whisper grew louder and stronger.  The feelings of love welled up inside of her, until she was screaming her battle cry so loudly that the Queen herself could hear it from her castle.

The girl, with her new powerful voice welling up inside her throat, stepped out of the cabin she had been hiding in for so many years.  And when she looked around, she was amazed.  Her battle cry had been heard not by some, but by many.  She was surrounded by fairies, and animals, and elves.  By royalty, and giants, and even the town baker.  Her best friends were all around her, and she realized that the Queen would never truly take her power of friendship.  

With her army of love behind her, the girl led the march to the Castle.  When she was outside the gates, she took in a deep breath and yelled with a power unlike any she had ever experienced.  She yelled at the Queen to leave.  To flee, and never come back.  She was not needed here, and never would be.  The cry was echoed by every single one of her friends, and became a beautiful song.  A song that was so full of love and support that the Queen could not bear to listen, and fled the kingdom in a rage.  

After the dust settled, and the girl realized the Queen was gone, she looked around at the incredible group around her.  It was the whole Kingdom!  Brought together by song and friendship.  Brought together by love.  They were all heroes.  Herself included. 

I Know Things Now...

It is certainly no secret that rehearsals for "Into The Woods" are in full swing at freeFall!  If there is one thing actors are good at, it is letting the world know how #blessed we are and bragging about #bookingit via social media.  I am definitely a culprit, but like...why not?!  I want the world to know how excited I am to be playing a dream role at the theatre I am #soblessed to call home!

It's also no secret that this show, like any Sondheim musical, is a doozy musically and lyrically.  I definitely feel challenged...something that excites me and terrifies me simultaneously.  It excites me because I am a Virgo/achiever/leftbrained/go-getter who LOVES to get stuff done and cross off a sensible to do list.  It terrifies me because I have a perfectionist/anxious/never-good-enough mind, and I put a lot of pressure on myself. In the words of the show though, I know that "I am not alone." 

Being in this process brings to mind feelings from another show I was in a few years ago.  I joke about it now (to hide the tears lol) but it was one of the worst and most humiliating weeks of my entire life.  At the time, I got even more upset trying to find meaning behind what happened.  The only solace I found was Mark Hardy telling me that "sometimes stuff just sucks." Yep, this life lesson has officially taken 3 years to fully comprehend. 

You guys know this story so I won't spell it out for you.  Let's just say that I put so much pressure on myself to perform this role (Beth March in "Little Women") that everything else became secondary.  Aka - It took over my whole life and I completely stopped taking care of myself. I ate even less.  I spent hours in practice rooms doing more beating myself up than actually singing.  I cried at every vocal lesson.  I was having a lot of trouble with my voice anyway, due to my restriction.  There was a complete chunk of my range that was just gone.  From about a C (above middle C) to F which is like...kind of necessary for musical theatre, especially roles that I am right for.  I would try and only air would squeak out -- Beth March literally sits right in that range.  I was absolutely terrified and panicked and was trying every Jamey Strawn trick in the book.  But nothing was working.  And then, I lost my voice.  All of it.   

I was unable to sing or speak and for the majority of the performances, Harli (who was playing Amy) sang my songs into a microphone off stage.  Talk about embarrassing.  It was the closest I've ever gotten to just throwing in the towel and screaming (figuratively, of course because I couldn't produce any sound) "I QUIT ACTING FOREVERRRRR!!" 

Last night at rehearsal we worked on "I Know Things Now."  Not only is the universe bonking me on the head with that title, but it's giving me nice little reminders that even though I am feeling anxious and worried and nervous about this challenging music, the answer is absolutely not to stop taking care of myself.  That is actually the opposite of what I need to do!  I know it seems like "duh, KT of course" but you would be surprised how right it feels at the time.  We are all guilty of it! But I am here to tell you that taking care of yourself needs to be your NUMBER ONE PRIORITY.  It's a lesson I learned the hard way.  

But you know what? I know things now.  

Eleven.

So, I obviously haven't been blogging much.  I could go through the whole rigmarole of being sorry and making excuses and talking about how I'm SOOOO busy, but here's the thing I've learned over these past 11 months: I can do whatever I want, and no one can stop me.  It's a good feeling.  A few weeks ago social media and blogging got to be a little too much, so I backed away.  It wasn't making me feel good, it was making me feel crazy, so I focused my writing on works of fiction and my time on living my life.  It's been nice.  I still will definitely blog, but I want to change the focus slightly.  I'll still talk about my recovery because it is such an intense part of who I am and an integral part of my story.  But this past month I have made many realizations and one important one was that I am not my disorder.  Near the middle of this month, I just decided to act like I was recovered.  Work from the outside in, instead of the other way around.  Easier said than done, obviously, but it's been extremely liberating. 

I'm not going to pretend like I've been having an easy time these past few days.  I feel like I'm being put through the ringer in terms of my depression, axiety, and insomnia.  And what's even more frustrating is it's all brain chemistry because for all intents and purposes, things are going great!!  I love my city, I love my friends, I love my job, and I'm so excited for so many things coming up!!  Just another reminder that no one chooses mental illness. And just another reminder that I'm a warrior who will get through this.  

Sooooo, it's September 1st!!  MY FAVORITE MONTH...and Happy 11 months to me!  That means a special post.  Here are 11 things I am grateful for, if you care to know:

1. My Mom.  I feel like I've just been a LOT lately.  Just a big ol' bundle of extreme emotions.  My Mom is my best friend and I don't know what I would do without her.  She always picks up the phone and listens to me cry for no reason.  She always lets me complain about things.  She always texts me about books or recipes or kitties.  She cracks me up. She's just...THE BEST.

2. I'm feeling exceptionally grateful for my bestie for the restie, Robyn.  Yesterday, I called her bawling my eyes out and ended up laughing so hard I was crying.  I swear to God, we are the funniest people in the world.  It's hard being away from her, but I love her so much it's absurd. 

3. I can't express enough how happy I am that I chose to move here and like...be a person here in sunny St. Pete.  Every single day I'm reminded that it was the right decision. 

4. My siblings. 

5. My friends who hold me up and keep me going every single day:  I'm looking at you Jessica, Sarah, and Jan!! 

6. My St. Pete Family, my St. Pete bestie, and my Burnt Part Boys. 

7. Angela

8. New and exciting projects coming up.

9. My tiny home!!

10. Being a part of this incredible theatre community, and being able to do what I love. 

11. These past 11 months.  Every single one of them.  They've been hard.  There have been bad days.  But I'm pretty pumped about where I am now, compared to September 1st, 2013. 

<33 

Roads to Recovery: Josie's Story

It's time for another story in "Roads to Recovery"!  I am very excited about this one.  In 2012, I packed up everything and moved to Minnesota to live and work in Lanesboro at the Commonweal Theatre Company.  Little did I know that I would find my happy place an hour south in Decorah, Iowa.  In this unassuming little town I found my favorite coffee shop, summer adventures, and a best friend!  I had countless amazing days and nights in Decorah, where I would squirrel away to when I was sick of putting on my happy face for everyone.  One of the awesome people I met in Decorah was Josie, who works at the Oneota Co-op.  She would ring me up for my Vegan Turkey Mango Madness every week and we would chat about this and that...and before we knew it, we were great friends!  Since my tenure at the Commonweal, we have remained in touch and through her amazing blog, I discovered that we have more in common than I already thought.  I was thrilled when she agreed to share her story here, because it has been an inspiration to me since my early days of recovery.  

Something that most people aren’t aware of is that I’ve struggled with an eating disorder. Primarily bulimia but at times I minimized what I ate and purged that as well. It’s something that has taken a long while for me to stop feeling shame over. Over the years I’ve heard comments about how disgusting I was or the typical “Why would anyone want to throw up?”

People looked at me like I was an unwanted fungus; no one seemed to get the concept that I had an eating disorder. It’s an addiction and has probable genetic links. Long story short, I felt very alone at times and it took me several years to finally curb my addictive behavior. However, that does not mean that my ties of ED are cut completely. Not at all. I still struggle with (on a regular basis) self-image issues that seem to completely baffle those who know me. That is one of the residual after-effects of ED and something that flares up often.

I was dealing with ED during my junior year in high school and my senior year. Eventually I cut back on my destructive habits and would periodically fall back and forth for several years until probably 2007. My relationship with food was still pretty bad, but I managed to stop purging for the most part (minus extremely stressful situations.) I’m not entirely sure why I was able to stop, but I managed to-however my main vice then turned into cigarettes.

After several years, in 2010 I decided I was tired of doing things to my body that were negative. I can’t replace one vice with another unhealthy vice and expect to have everything go away. So I quit smoking. It was easy because I for some reason was never really addicted to cigarettes; not sure why I was lucky.

It wasn’t until 2012 I decided I needed to find something to do for my physical health. I’ve never enjoyed exercise, especially if it felt like work or was too mundane. I was doing a kickboxing routine for awhile and enjoying that. Then one day I woke up and said “I’m going to buy a bicycle.” I was tired of driving to work on beautiful days, wasting the last few minutes of my life before work in a hot and stuffy car. It seemed so pointless. However, allergies and (and unknown exercise induced asthma) prevented me from wanting to walk to work. I thought a bicycle would be a great way to get me to work without too much physical exertion. However, I still had fears of car traffic and worried if I would even be a good rider.

That Friday I bought a bike. It was clunky, heavy, and homely…but I loved him. I named him Sir Richard the Ironhearted and rode him almost every day. That Monday I rode him on the Trout Run Trail, on the flat part past the Hatchery and back. I found I really enjoyed riding! It was exercise but not! I wasn’t bored and it didn’t feel mundane. My mind had found peace and that felt amazing.

My first few months of riding my bicycle were huge in terms of opening me up. The exercise helped reduce my stress and keep my depression at bay. I felt less edgy. I was becoming more confident in my handling skill. I became happier. I realized with all of these changes that more had to happen-finding out what I needed/wanted, divorce, and finding love again.

I’ve been riding regularly now since 2012 and have graduated to newer bicycles and different styles of riding. You’ll find me not only on paved surfaces, but on mountain bike trails too! This is not to say that everything is rainbows and sunshine…The very real and frustrating aspect over my mental self is continually making peace with food and my body image. Cycling has changed my body and for me, it took a long time to actually notice the changes. I’m much more muscular and toned than I used to be. The other thing about working out regularly? You need to eat more to fuel your body. That was a hard lesson for me, and still is. I have to eat food…especially if I want to keep riding or help my body recover from a hard ride. I would ride or increase the duration of my rides and find myself getting hungry much earlier than I planned or anticipated. It took time (and still requires effort some days) to accept this and allow myself to have sustenance. My personality likes to dance with the idea that inhabits my addictive personality…that I have to ride in order to eat. It is so completely not true. This is what makes the much-needed rest days difficult for me sometimes. The addictive personality that likes to hide in the dark corners of my mind says “You didn’t bike, you shouldn’t eat.” Okay, perhaps I should limit the chocolate that I intake but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t eat anything at all, that’s ridiculous!

This is one of the reasons why many people say that you never really are “cured” from an eating disorder; you manage it for the rest of your life. Riding my bicycle(s) had really helped me overcome many obstacles that have been in my way for years. It’s given me the courage to make changes in my life, to become healthier, and to do something good for myself that I long-denied. It’s one of the ways that I show my inner-person that I really do care about me and my body. It’s the only body I have and I want it to be strong.

I may never look like the models on TV with the so-called “ideal” body. No. That is something that I have been working on to accept for many years now. I’m not going to magically grow taller, have bigger breasts, longer torso, firmer stomach, or delicate ankles. Nope. I’m going to be short with broad shoulders, powerhouse legs covered in bruises, magnificent arms, and a damn fine booty.

I want a body that helps me climb the rocky hills, maneuver down sketchy turns, and pedal over the roots that lie in my path. I want the body that works hard, has “battle scars” and shows other women that they can accomplish great things on a bicycle. I want the body that eats the food it needs in order to keep on riding, because that is what it loves to do.

I can’t lie. There are days where I fight against myself, but I’ve learned to tell that inner voice of self-destructive behavior to just take a hike. I’ll rest when I need to, eat when I feel hungry, and keep working on loving myself for me.

Thank you, Josie!! You're story and passion for cycling are things that inspire me every day. You are an amazing woman! Please read Josie's blog, Life on Two Wheels and like it on Facebook! I love reading about her biking adventures and getting a peek into her life in Decorah. I can't wait to come back and visit!