That which does not serve you...

Let go of that which does not serve you. 

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!

August Self Care Challenge

August has been treating me pretty well so far.  I moved into my new tiny home, I went to opening night of an amazing show, I was visited by dear friends, and every day I am actually (but like actually) happier and happier that I decided to make the permanent move to St. Pete. 

I have 2 really bad habits that I am constantly working on, and they go hand in hand.  I am very hard on myself, but at the same time I put on a front that I am constantly happy.  I have made humongous strides with both of these things.  In every place I have lived prior to St. Pete, anyone would assume I was the "happiest girl in the world" (direct quote), and there were times where I was incredibly happy!!  But there were also times where I was in my head verbally abusing myself, and then dealing with it by posting super positive statuses for the world to see.  I look back on that time with confusion and sadness, but I know I'm not the only one who does this.  Even my therapist chuckled heartily when I said one of my goals for treatment was "100% self love." To which she replied, "You're even a perfectionist in therapy...no one in the entire world loves themselves 100% of the time.  We do what we can, and when we can't, we figure out how to get through it. Stop being so hard on yourself." 

In order to take care of myself, I have to be able to be surrounded by people I love, being able to do what I love, in a community that I love.  Check, check, and check!  

The main reason I chose to come here and then stay here happens to be exactly what I wanted to post about: self care.  I obviously don't have a good track record for it, and once I realized how many of my behaviors were actually self harm, I honestly got quite overwhelmed.  I would never treat another person like that, so why am I treating myself like that?!  I loved being in New York, but I couldn't take care of myself.  The place I went for treatment was amazing, but I was constantly exhausted, had to work all the time in order to make rent and pay for therapy, was walking everywhere (not ideal when you're supposed to NOT EXERCISE), and just wanted to quit.  Quite frankly, I was getting worse.  I knew I couldn't sustain it, so I left.  It felt a whole lot like giving up at the time, but looking back, I was making the smart decision.  

I'm a very goal oriented person, so I decided that this month my personal goal would be self care.  I found this challenge on tumblr which gives you an incredibly easy task to do.  I've been doing well on it, and I'm excited that today's goal is something I do every day anyway (YOGA!!  I hate going a day without spending time on my mat).  I hope some of you all will join me in this challenge...whether you follow this particular list, or make your own.  In society, self love is often viewed as self indulgence, when really you're just taking care of the most important person in the world - YOU. 

Happy August! 

Ten.

With the start of each new month, I celebrate how far I've come, and how far I still have to go. Some might see that as self indulgent and excessive, but I have learned how important it is to celebrate every single victory, no matter how small. I also believe that maybe in doing so, I will inspire others to realize that living with whatever mental health issue you have is just not worth it.  It has now been 10 months since the day I first began extracting my disorder from my life, bit by bit.  That day in October I looked inside myself and whispered "please leave." It was timid, unsure, and quiet.  It was muttered in between sobs.  It was forced, because I wanted more than anything to stay curled up under my security blanket of lies and disassociation. I remember spending the majority of the previous day crying, and waking up that morning feeling as though a mack truck had run over me, thinking "well...here we go...the rest of my life."

I will never sugar coat recovery.  I will never tell you that I woke up, having decided to eliminate anorexia from my life, ate some pancakes, and it was all uphill from there.  I will never idealize this process.  I will, however, say that it is the best thing I have ever done.

I have lost a lot in these 10 months, I have gone through serious withdrawals, and serious grief.  I have lost Emily - that constant friend who was always by my side, who claimed to know me better than anyone, but in reality was suffocating me.  I have lost coping mechanisms that allowed me to detach myself from truly feeling.  I have lost the body I had grown accustomed to.  I have lost the sick pleasure I got in having people stare and whisper about me.

And yet, there is so much more I have gained...

10 - Strength

9- Flexibility (both physically and mentally) 

8 - Brain Space 

7 - Self Love

6 - Hope 

5 - Honesty

4 - Energy

3 - Courage

2 - Joy

1 - A Future (because if we are completely honest, without recovery my options were death, or being hooked up to a feeding tube in a hospital, which is not living)

This morning I woke up to 10,000 views on this blog, which is completely overwhelming and amazing.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.  This blog has become something that saves my life daily, and I can't express how much it means to me to have people read my story as it unfolds.  You ALL are part of this journey.  I couldn't do it without you.  <33 

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)!!

Fear

The other day in treatment, my therapist asked me "what are you afraid of?"

It was interesting, because I wasn't prepared for the question or my immediate response.  As soon as she finished speaking, a week of holding in emotions started pouring out of me, in the form of unstoppable tears.  I think crying is really important, and I have never been afraid to cry, but for whatever reason I had been holding it in for the past few days when really I needed to let it out.  Because frankly, I was terrified.  I am terrified.

Recovery is a scary time.  Being in your twenties is a scary time.  Moving to a new city is a scary time.  Being an actor in between shows is a scary time.  And that really is the word I would describe how I'm generally feeling lately.  Scared.

What am I afraid of?
Failing.
Running out of money. 
Making bad choices. 
Being an adult. 
Not finding a job that allows me to live comfortably. 
Having to go back to Lexington for whatever reason.
My body changing.
Not being able to fit into clothes (hey, just being honest here).
Not being able to stop eating on extreme hunger days (loss of control is terrifying).
Being a hypocrite. 
My face filling out. 
Not feeling comfortable in my own skin.
Unhealthy thoughts. 
Losing my friends. 
Losing my family. 
Losing my voice. 

So like any sensible person who is feeling scared and unsure about the future, I signed a lease on an apartment.  I've always been a person that has to force herself out of fear.  No one can do it for me.  Oh, you're scared that you're going to be stuck in Lexington at home forever?  I guess I'll go sublet an apartment in New York for a few months!  Oh, you're terrified of becoming an adult?  I guess I'll move to St. Pete and get an apartment!  I often question my tactics but whatever, I'm just being me.

Looking at the list above is interesting, because I know a year ago how I would deal with every single one of those fears.  I would lose my appetite and restrict.  I would go to the gym to "let off some steam."  I would take 2 hour walks to "clear my head."  I would allow every sense to get wrapped in cotton wool and descend into my beloved brain buzz. Not feeling is sometimes quite nice.  It really is a high, and for a while you feel wonderfully intoxicated. But hiding from the things that scare you only make them scarier later on.  And now, the healthy part of my brain looks at that list and says "Duh, KT.  There's one thing that will make all of those things easier to deal with...not having an eating disorder."

I'm proud of myself for getting an apartment, and you better believe it's going to be the cutest apartment in the beautiful city of San Pedro.  I mean, look at the door!  I decided on this for my inspiration image and color palette:

And here are some more images from my apartment pinterest board (yep, I'm that person).  I seriously live for this kind of stuff.

The future is scary...but it's pretty exciting, if you ask me.

So, You Wanna Restrict...

After deciding to really and truly fight my disorder on October 1st, 2013, I have had my fair share of relapse moments.  I've had countless days lost to doubt, numerous times where I've thought "just this once...", and a myriad of bad or unhealthy thoughts traipse through my head.  I would say I have had two MAJOR, full fledged relapses: one right around new years day and another in early April after I was wrongfully fired from my dinky little Lexington job. Both of those times were definitely just...THE WORST, so you would THINK I would learn my lesson.  Unfortunately, mental health doesn't really work like that.  So after my April relapse, with the help of my therapist, I composed a letter to myself that I can read whenever I feel the pull of my disorder.  I still look at it, and it really helps me to ground myself in reality and realize my thoughts are irrational and unhealthy.  While it still is a tool I use, it is quite astounding to read it now and realize how far I have come.  It's full of tough love and real talk because sometimes, that's what you need. I hope that it can help you, too. 

Dear KT,

So...you want to restrict.  That's cute.  Here is what I have learned during my periods of relapse when I have strayed a bit too close to the edge...or just fallen off the cliff completely.

You just love flirting with danger.  There's something so tantalizing about using bad or destructive behaviors. Telling yourself just this once.  It's never just once.  EVER. When you don't eat your minimums, you usually sleep pretty badly.  Use your brain, girl.  You're hungry.  You're not sleeping as well as you used to because your body is healing itself and wants you to fuel it properly.  Just...go get dessert, weirdo.

The less you fuel yourself, the more obsessive thoughts you will have.  Haven't you noticed that on days you've had a little less or done a little more you find yourself wanting to look at food blogs?  That you find yourself planning meals and times and portions for the coming days, and you start getting anxious if someone suggests a deviation from the plan?  Again...use your brain.  When you are hungry/restricting you are a PAIN to be around.  You are so impatient and so sassy.  I honestly have no time for that. And neither does anyone else.

The anxious thoughts send you into a manic mindset, which inevitably leads to a depressive state. I don't know which version of you is more obnoxious.  Just...don't. Because bad behaviors are bad behaviors.  While I thought weighing myself at home (as opposed to the doctor or nutritionist for a weekly weigh in) just to help me "get over it" was a great idea...SHOCKER, it was not.  You realize your capacity for obsessive behaviors right?  You have OCD.  You let it spiral out of control until you were weighing yourself numerous times throughout the day, something you had never done before.  Don't let that happen again.  It was excessive and ridiculous.

I repeat bad behaviors are bad behaviors.  So you don't poop for a day...don't you DARE freak out on me because I can't have you fucking up my system more than you already have.  Don't do anything stupid. If your stomach hurts in that specific way (you know what I'm talking about) you're fucking hungry so go get a snack and gulp down some water please for the love of GOD. And another thing: restricting makes you incredibly indecisive and whiny.  If you can't choose whether you "should" eat or not and you're getting emotional about it...you need to eat.  That's just a hunger cue manifesting itself in a weird, annoying way.  Restricting will also inevitably make you feel like everyone who even mentions food is trying to attack you which actually...makes no fucking sense.

I know it feels counterproductive because somewhere along the line in your 23 years of existence you became obsessed with needing/having/wanting less, but punching Emily in the throat really does feel good and makes you feel like a recovery warrior.  Restricting just makes you tired. The more you give into bad behaviors, the worse Emily makes you feel about every aspect of yourself.  That's STUPID.  The more you love and care for yourself the better you feel.  That's SMART.

So, future me.  I hope this letter from KT who just got done relapsing and never wants to deal with it ever again has smacked some sense into your brain.  You're really smart, you Summa Cum Laude graduate, you.  Let's use that beautiful brain!  You can do this.  You are addicted to control, but you know what?  Taking control of this healing process is a high unlike any brain buzz Emily ever allowed me.  I just want you to remember that because if you're referencing this, I'm guessing you're feeling pretty low and vulnerable.  Take a moment to breathe deeply, cry if you need to, and remember...RELAPSES END BADLY 100% OF THE TIME. 

It is not worth it. Ever. 

I am so proud of you....now go eat a brownie. 
Love, KT.