I listen to a podcast called We Can Do Hard Things. It is my favorite podcast.
Listening is an expensive activity for my brain, so I often replay some episodes. One episode I listened to multiple times this week is the one on March 30th, where one of the hosts discussed her eating disorder recovery. She provided an update on her recovery. It is more than an update, more like medicine to me. I was fed.
She’s anorexic. So am I. Many people use anorexia as a way to find a sense of control. The outside is too messy to control. Let me protect myself by controlling my body so I don’t feel so crazy that I want to crawl out of my skin into this crazier world. It is about survival.
Overtime, anorexia becomes one’s life. What I mean by that is, I become an expert at starving myself without causing any suspicion. You might be familiar with monthly experiments that became a hype at one point where people try on monthly challenges to change their habitual ways of being.
I discovered that I am great at any experiments that involve restriction of any kind. I am not particularly good at moderation or relaxation. No one who is anorexic would be. What do you mean by reading a couple of pages of a book and putting it away for tomorrow? What do you mean by eating a piece of chocolate and saving some for the future? I do things in one sitting. I either do not read for months or I read nonstop. I either don’t eat chocolate or I am eating the whole box.
Burnout is a natural side effect of my anorexia. Being so fearful constantly is exhausting. So, what to do? I am told to establish a regular routine, to find safe people, to try and let myself be what I am. Will that keep me safe? Will I be okay when I become healthier? Will the ache inside stop? I already know the answer. I am told that I will get better at handling being a human, perhaps that means I will know how to rest, how to love/beloved, and how to fight. Glorious isn’t it? When can I tick this accomplishment off and mark it as done and never to be bothered again?
