“Addiction is a canoe on
the Pacific. It may keep you afloat for a while, but at some point, you’re
bound to be overturned. And if there were a luxury cruise liner nearby,
wouldn’t you abandon ship? Wouldn’t you brave the icy waters for more secure
and better appointed passage? I don’t know about you, but I’m sinking my canoe
in favor of a bigger and better vessel. And even if I find myself resurrected
each morning in the full of that tiny boat, I’ll commit it to sinking again; I
will brave icy waters for the better boat. And perhaps again. And perhaps
again. Yes, it is a daily decision to sink the old will, a decision I’m often
too spent, too water-disoriented, to make.”
-Seth Haines, Coming Clean: A Story of Faith
Hating my body has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.
In 3rd grade I would
drink Slimfast instead of eating school lunch in effort to lose weight. In 6th grade, I was diagnosed with Type
1 diabetes, and before that, food was actually harmful to my body and made me
sick every time I ate. I was born a very
sensitive person who desperately wanted to fit into an insensitive world, one
that is invalidating to the extreme emotions I have. I found that not eating
made my emotions less intense. This tangible goal of not eating was much easier
than sorting through all that I was prone to feel.
As I mentioned above, when I was 12-years old
I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, but before I was diagnosed I was very ill
and lost a lot of weight. After my diagnosis, I gained weight and was finally
healthy, but in my little 12-year old brain I made up that insulin made me gain
weight. This began a process of not eating so that I didn’t need as much
insulin and then I would not gain weight.
One of the most
difficult parts of an eating disorder is that it makes us blind to the ways in
which we are unhealthy. Diabetes became the perfect scape goat. In my deep denial, I didn’t have an
eating disorder, I just had diabetes and wasn’t very good at managing it.
Being a sensitive soul, a
deep feeler, always wanting to lose weight (even as a young kid), having type 1
diabetes, experiencing a sexual assault in college, and not knowing how to cope
with stress- created the perfect storm for anorexia to completely take over my
entire life.
Progressively, the
eating disorder got worse and worse. In my junior year of college, I had
a melt down after eating
a can of soup. I was absolutely devastated that I couldn’t “resist the
temptation” to eat the entire can- something that at the time felt like way too
much.
I never thought that I
had an eating disorder until I saw a therapist at my University that encouraged
me to be evaluated at a local eating disorder treatment center. It is still
scary to me to remember how manipulative the eating disorder was in my head. I
would lie to my friends about not having money to go grocery shopping, and still
somehow thought that I didn’t have a problem. I cried every day before class
because I didn’t want to be seen by my peers, my self esteem and body image
were at an all time low. I also convinced myself that I was so big that my legs
(that were medically underweight) were too heavy to lift. Looking back now and
recognizing that I was in such deep denial, and so very alone with the lies in
my head, makes me the saddest of all.
After being officially diagnosed
with anorexia, and with the help of many people who love me, I entered an
intensive outpatient program the summer before my senior year of college. I
convinced myself I would be in the program for five weeks, and then I would be
well enough to go back to school to finish my degree in Music Therapy. Unfortunately,
I started to realize I had far too many events and emotions that had been swept
under the rug for so long that five weeks was too short to find health. I
fought hard with every single staff person at my treatment center. I had been
driven by the eating disorder for so long that I couldn’t listen to anyone
else’s voice.
I tried to go back to
school in the fall and do treatment at the same time and then my Vocal Professor,
who was a crucial part of my recovery, told me that she would not teach me until
I was well. At that point, the only part I still liked about myself was my
voice. I thought that she was taking away my voice by telling me to seek
further treatment. However, the reality was that the eating disorder was on its
way to take every single thing in my life away from me, including my voice. So I took a leave of absence from school, the
one thing that I thought was keeping me together, and entered into nine months
of partial hospitalization, and intensive outpatient treatment.
Those nine months were
the hardest of my life. I learned how to
eat again, actually feel emotions that had been pushed down for so long. I learned how to manage diabetes, but at the same time I was resisting those who helped me, and in constant mental battle.
At the same time treatment was occurring, I
started to sing on a worship team at a large church. The team gave
me something else to do so that I didn’t feel like a full time patient, and it was also an outlet for me to serve God. I can say, without question, that in those
times of worship I found genuine peace. I felt very strongly that I should
probably believe the words that I was singing if I was going to lead other
people to also sing them. Through serving at my church with the same body I had
tried to destroy for so long, I started to understand what “Amazing Grace”
really was. I started to believe that that grace was for me too and that it was
enough. I started to believe that as long as I had Christ inside me I had
enough love and strength and grace to do anything- including finding true
freedom from the constant lies in my head.
So many beautiful people
were so gracious, showed me tough love when I needed it, and provided words that
I needed to hear. I worked hard, fought my team of providers, while also trusting them, cried
SO MUCH, did lots of yoga, filled many journals with words of frustration and hurt,
reached out to people who love me, and worked hard to restore friendships that
had been broken because the eating disorder made me push out people that were
trying to help me.
It’s hard to describe
what recovery is like, because I haven’t experienced it as a destination at
which I’ve arrived.
I still struggle, some days more than others. I have
thoughts about the eating disorder every single day. AND I am free. I am more
joyful. I am in open, honest, life-giving relationships. I now enjoy desserts, and going out to dinner with friends. I want to take care of myself so that I
can love others the way they have loved me. I want to be healthy so that I can
continue to be a Music Therapist, and bring hope through the power of music. I
want to take care of my diabetes because I am my best self when I am truly
healthy.
I don’t know exactly
what “recovery” really means, but I DO know this:
You are worth every ounce of effort you give to find health.
Healing is real.
You are not ever alone.
Grace is truly enough.
And that same grace
makes you enough.
You. Are. Enough.
One Response to “II Weight of Glory Initiative II Alicia's Story II ”
Balling like a baby at my desk. THIS. IS. BEAUTIFUL....YOU.ARE.BEAUTIFUL, ALICIA! I
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