Red Strings.

When I was quite a bit younger, I remember hearing the story of the "red string of fate."  It's a Chinese myth which explains how we come to know the important people in our lives.  According to this legend, the gods tie red strings around the ankles of all of those we are destined to meet, and our lives are just the red strings getting shorter and shorter.  I don't remember exactly when I first heard this story, but it has stuck with me ever since.  I love the image of it, and it's something I think about a lot.

As you know, I am a professional actress and I am incredibly lucky to have been quite successful in the years since graduating from college.  I love being able to do what I love and am passionate about for a living (and true, I still need a survival job for in between gigs, but  I love my job and the people I work with so I am not complaining).  But if we're being honest, the hardest part of this career is not the periods of unemployment or staring into the abyss of "ok the show is over NOW WHAT DO I EVEN DO?" It's the falling so deeply in love with so many people and then having to say goodbye over and over again.  This has been on my mind lately because Into the Woods has come to an end and the fact that the holidays are coming up. This year will be the 4th Thanksgiving I have been in a completely different place (Lexington, Lanesboro, New York City, and now St. Pete).  I also have 4 of the best friends in the world who all live in different cities (Chicago, Decorah, Lexington, Tampa). That's tough, ya know?  But the idea of having strong red strings attatched to all of the incredible people I have met in my life makes it so much easier.

I could totally let myself get down in the dumps about the fact that I feel like everyone is always leaving me/I'm always leaving everyone else.  It's probably the number one trigger for my depression.  But instead of focusing on that, I imagine the red strings that are now spread not only all across the country, but all across the world!  I wouldn't trade my career for anything.  I have always felt like a bit of a gypsy (thank you, Mom and Dad, for forcing me to move to Austria when I was five...I've never looked back since), so moving around a lot in order to do theatre has never felt wrong. What feels wrong is how deeply connected I get to people only to say goodbye a month later, but because of this unnatural lifestyle, I could pretty much go anywhere and feel like I'm home because of a friendly face smiling back at me.  The world is so big and so small at the same time, and we are all connected by those incredible red strings of fate.  

I talk about how much my friends mean to me all the time but it's true.  I am obsessed with each and every one of you.  I love you with a fierceness that I will NOT apologize for.  You keep me going, no matter how far away from eachother we are.

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!

Roads to Recovery: Anna's Story

Welcome to a new feature on my blog: Roads to Recovery!  Every one to two weeks I am going to feature a story that is NOT my own about different people's personal recovery journeys.  And that is the important part...it is a journey.  I hope to be able to share stories from all different points of recovery, not just the end of the road (is there really an end of the road?  I'll get back to you on that one).  I am SO excited to have the first guest blogger for this new feature be my beautiful friend, Anna.  Anna and I met back in 2002 when my family and I were living in Ireland.  We spent 1st year of secondary school nearly inseparable, and leaving her friendship was incredibly difficult for me.  Luckily, thanks to the handy dandy internet, we have been able to stay in touch!  What's more, she has been such a huge inspiration to me throughout this whole process, and you are about to see why...

First off, thanks so much to Katie for letting me feature in her fantastic blog! My story is a bit rambling, but there is a point to it, so I hope ,you manage to stay awake through it! The seeds of my anorexia were sown over 8 years ago now; at least 7 of the years since have been filled with varying levels of anxiety, guilt and torment. When I think back on that time now, I wonder whether it was my inability to trust that kept me trapped for so long; or simply a lack of information – probably a combination of both.

I should have been one of the lucky ones; I was diagnosed quickly and received inpatient treatment in Dublin, Ireland just over a year after my symptoms began in December 2007. Unfortunately, the treatment I received served only to further entrench my disordered beliefs, so that the following June – less than three months after being discharged – I presented in a significantly worse state (both physically and mentally) than I had on my initial admission. I can’t remember my exact thoughts at this time, but I do recall a determination to make an effort this time; to fight against the anorexia rather than collude with it.

Over the next year, I worked with the clinic staff as an outpatient; I followed my prescribed meal plan and gained enough weight to keep my BMI lay just out of the anorexic range. I certainly looked and felt better than I had a year previously; I went to university, made new friends, had relationships – all the standard stuff. My illness still pervaded my consciousness; body image was a big issue; meals (although nutritionally balanced) were strictly calorie counted and regimented – eating spontaneously at a friend’s house was a no-no; and stressful events were almost bound to lead to a reduction in intake. Yet I carried on eating; kept my weight (mostly) stable; and was able to lead a relatively normal life.

This is a ‘recovery’ story in itself. It’s one that you come across quite regularly in magazine articles about anorexia; and it’s one that I myself recounted to various Irish media outlets in an attempt to spread a message of hope. It’s what I genuinely believed recovery meant; no one had told me any different. So I stumbled along blindly, unconsciously waiting for something to trip me up. This didn’t outwardly manifest until my final year of university in 2011/12, but things had been bubbling under the surface for quite a while beforehand.

Gradually the rituals began to take told, even more strong than before; my thoughts turned to food 24/7 and my relationship with my loved ones eroded. I was in total denial about what was happening to me. I think I was terrified of admitting the truth. I successfully wangled my way out of a myriad of medical appointments by packing my bags and moving to London the moment university was over. The anorexia took on a life of its own, so that by the time a family member managed to convince me to visit my GP, I was unable to walk for five minutes without toppling over. It wasn’t until I was threatened with sectioning under the Mental Health Act that I was ready to admit that yes, anorexia was still very much a problem.

Thankfully, the section wasn’t necessary, and I agreed to a voluntary admission at an NHS facility in London. I was all set to make this admission something similar to my last – A.K.A get discharged at a low BMI and carry on living a pseudo-anorexic life. Thankfully, the incredible clinic staff persuaded me to change my mind. Over the year that followed, they provided me with information which I had been sorely lacking; that it is possible to make a FULL recovery from anorexia (no counting, no checking, no disordered behaviour whatsoever); that this can only happen when you reach a healthy weight (a weight that is healthy for YOU, rather than the lowest acceptable point on the BMI scale); that your brain chemistry will adjust and this won’t actually seem like the worst thing imaginable.

Of course, the information wasn’t enough to thwart the anorexia alone; I had to learn to trust. Probably one of my most frequently uttered phrases when in treatment was ‘but I haven’t trusted ANYONE before; how am I supposed to trust you?’ In retrospect, they made it easy for me. I remember in one of my earlier family therapy sessions, the therapist said ‘I believe I can get you to think about things other than food and weight’. Both my parents and I were sceptical – I had thought of little else for the past 6 years. But he was so confident. Looking back, he had every right to be – it didn’t happen overnight, but gradually other things began to take precedence.

Now, almost a year from discharge, I hardly recognise the person I became throughout my illness. I still don’t class myself as fully recovered, but I’m heading in the right direction. My weight is within a healthy range, I eat normally (as in properly normally, impromptu cupcakes on the way home from work included!) and I don’t take my emotions out on food – instead, I actually express them.

I don’t expect you to trust me implicitly by simply reading this blog post, but I hope I’ve demonstrated that there is something more than the ‘recovery’ we so often see portrayed. sometimes (with me anyway) there is a fear that looking ‘normal’ and letting go of those awful, yet strangely comforting rituals will fail to mark you out as special. Let me just say, having tried both, that ‘normal’ (despite the bad moments) beats anorexia’s ‘special’ hands down.

Thank you, Anna!! Your story has and will continue to inspire me and countless others. I am so happy that we have remained friends through the years, and I hope to visit you soon (or vice versa)!!