Guess who's pregnant?

Take a wild guess as to who has fallen pregnant?  Yes, I have!  I'm ecstatic and very grateful! 

I'm quite ill and nauseous, but I know this babe will be worth it all.  All the weight gain, all the struggle, all the pain, all the victory.   

Thank you all for celebrating with me and cheering me on.  I'm just glad my body finally let me keep enough weight on! 

Walk a Mile in My Shoes

I was successful at my attempt to gain weight.  It's been hard to gain and maintain, because my body naturally has a kick-ass metabolism, but I did it.

Yay!  I guess. 

No, it is a good thing because I would like another child.

It's an awkward thing, trying to gain weight as a woman.  No one understands and most people are bitterly jealous.

You can't share that you are trying to gain weight with many other women, or they will hate you.  You can't even tell you best friend, or she will hate you. 

In some ways it's similar to an eating disorder.  There are those that can't stand you, are repulsed by you and hate you because of your eating disorder.  You want to yell at them, "You stupid shithead!  You can have this, I don't want it!  It hurts and frustrates me.  Please don't judge.  You need to walk a mile in my shoes." 

I guess that's sort of how it goes when your body doesn't want to keep weight on, no matter how healthy you are.  You want to yell at the people who hate you, who despise you, who are so jealous, "I have a price to pay, this isn't easy.  I want to be normal, I wish it was easy to meet your standards.  Please don't judge me.  Instead, walk a mile in my shoes."

Either way, it's a good reminder that you or I or anyone shouldn't judge or be envious of someone else's state.

Instead, let's walk a mile in each other's shoes.

You are not invisible

I heard a song today and it brought back intense memories.  So intense and vivid that I could imagine my old anorexic self listening to this song on repeat and crying, begging, pleading for a way out.  Crying for help. 
The song is called 'Invisible' by Skylar Grey.

To all those that listen to this song and feel invisible right now, you're not.  Someone sees you.  Someone knows you.  Someone loves you. 

JUST AS YOU ARE - your flaws and your beauty.

There is so much hope for you!  How do I know? 

My body is covered in scars from cutting, my teeth are rotten from purging, my head sometimes spins with thoughts of starving myself, but yet, those are things really are in the past.  They are pieces of my past which seemed impossible to ever overcome. 

But yet, I did overcome.  I do overcome.

So can you.

Progress Update

It's been over 3 weeks since I begged for help gaining weight, counted calories in defeat and a little over 2 weeks since I vowed to quit smoking.

I'm happy to report that both have been successful!

I've sat around quite a bit and have ate and ate and ate and gained about 5 pounds!  Woohoo! 

I also have been mostly smoke-free (except when I went out with some girlfriends a week ago - which is fine, I just can't buy them or have them in my possession) and I'm sure that has helped a bit with my weight gain. 

I've purposely sat and read instead of clean or made an extra dessert or two and made sure to have at least dinners nightly. 

I'm not sure I've ever had so much butter my entire life!

I'm still working very hard to keep it on, but I think I'm headed the right direction.

Now, it's time to get pregnant!

I'm quitting.

It's time to quit, to give it up, to let it go, to move on.  Whatever you want to call it.

I quit smoking. 

I quit about 36 hours ago, but about 24 hours ago I was going kind of crazy and had to just have a smoke.  Gross.  The great thing about it was after not smoking for about 12 hours, I got a buzz off the cigarette and felt nasty afterwards. 

That's a good thing because it means that my body isn't as addicted...I think.

It's quite ironic that I smoke because I'm a singer and make some pretty decent income from that....

Calorie Counting & Defeat

After my post of frustration, in which I detailed that I've been unable to gain weight, I had some thoughts that went something like this: 

What if I'm really not eating that much and in some warped way, my mind is convincing my body that I'm full when in all actuality, I'm starving myself?

I decided to do something I haven't allowed myself to do for a while: count calories for an entire day.

I'm glad I did it, because now I know I'm not crazy, my mind isn't tricking my body and I really am eating an insane amount of food.

My calorie total for the day was around.....

I need to gain weight!!! Help!

I'm getting really frustrated. 

I absolutely cannot gain weight right now.  I know for most of you reading this, it sounds like a dream come true.  Puh-lease don't hate me.  For a part of me, it sounds like an easy entrance back into anorexia.

The truth is, I want to gain weight so I can get pregnant again.  I'm getting my periods but I'm not ovulating.   I just just keep losing weight.  Damn.

I hadn't weighed myself for a couple of days, but this morning, the scale said I've lost 2.5 pounds in the last 2 days.  I'm * * this close to losing my period. 

This is a familiar story for me.  About 8 months after I recovered from anorexia, I got my period back.  It was hit and miss for awhile. It took about 20 months for ovulation to start again and here is why....

I think I want a baby

I do, I think I do!  I think I want another child.  Lovebug is one and I'd like another cutie. :-)

I had been in recovery from anorexia for over a year and a half when I got pregnant with Lovebug.  It wasn't an easy task, as my period was very irregular after having full blown amennorrhea and therefore my cycles were super long, making me annovulatory or at the very least, it was nearly impossible to track ovulation.

In order to get pregnant with Lovebug, I had to change some things.  I realized (thanks to a great natural doctor) that although my weight and BMI were healthy, my body fat percentage was still low. 

I have a pretty muscular build and when I run and/or work out regularly, I get even more muscular. 

So in order to conceive Lovebug, I completely stopped all physical exercise (a very, very difficult thing for me to do) in order to gain more body fat and my period came back.  After it came back, I gained a few pounds, ate healthy fat foods and got pregnant the next month!  

26 weeks pregnant with Lovebug

I'm actually at a lower weight than I was when I began the journey to conceive Lovebug, but it's not intentional.  I keep losing 2-3 pounds a month. :-/

I just cannot keep the weight on right now with breastfeeding. 

Normally at this weight when I'm working out regularly (which I'm not right now), I lose my period.  I know I'm close to losing it, so I know I must gain 5 pounds or so....and most of it fat.

But I just can't. 

I physcially can't and I don't think I emotionally can either.

What to do, what to do?

Fantabulous Weekend

I had a most excellent weekend! 

My festivities included a waterpark (in which I actually wore my bikini and didn't wear something over it to cover up!), many barbeques, s'mores, manning a family rummage sale (and making some nice cash), going tubing down the river with my girls (which included way too much drinking, smoking, laughing, and sunburn), eating pizza at a restaurant right on the lake, getting ice cream, church, a wedding, more food, tubing behind a boat, kayaking, swimming, and going on an airplane ride in my dad's float plane. 

It was great, even though I had a major party/weekend hangover.

Many times this weekend, I was reminded of summer's past, when I wouldn't let anyone see me in a bikini, or when I didn't eat regular ice cream but fat free frozen yogurt instead, or refused a s'more, or restricted water on hot days for fear of weight gain.    

It feels so good to be free and not worrying about all that!  I totally gained weight this weekend, but I'm confident that my body will self-regulate now that I'm sort of back into my regular routine!

While I was reminiscing this weekend, I was thinking about our nation's freedom, which spurred thoughts on the cost of freedom.  That thought resonated within me.....

my freedom from anorexia has cost a lot, but this is the better life! 

I hope you all had a fantabulous holiday weekend!

Ice cream social

It seems that multiple times per day I'm reminded of some way that I've recently experienced victory.  Victory that I never thought would be mine.

This weekend, after much partying while tubing down the river, my friends and I stopped by a little neighboring town for ice cream.  As I was browsing the flavors in this cute little candy and ice cream shop, I had a flashback to one of the many times I visited this shop when I was anorexic.

I remembered in years past, gazing at the flavors, knowing all were so laden with calories and feeling anxious and nervous and angry and scared all at the same time.  I finally found a low calorie, frozen yogurt.  But being an anorexic, that's not good enough. 

You always want less. You feel like anything is too much. 

I then remembered selecting the option of putting my frozen yogurt in a cup.  A hand made waffle cone was out of the question and apparently so was the 20 calorie regular cone.

In spite of all my cautiousness that day, it still triggered a purging episode.

This weekend was different.  I ordered a double scoop cone, in a plain cone (yes, I was a little afraid of calories) one scoop with full fat white raspberry cheesecake ice cream and one scoop with full fat Monster cookie ice cream to be exact.  Yes, I know those flavors don't match but I might have been a little tipsy at the time and thought that sounded good.  And yes it was good.

It was delicious.

To be able to eat ALL of my cone and feel very little guilt, was such an amazing feeling!

Victory!

Of all things, don't falsely accuse me

I am livid right now.  Absolutely fuming.

When my husband got home from work today, we started talking about what we will have for supper. 

He said: I'm really hungry. 
I said: Me too, I've eaten nothing but junk food all day.  

I proceeded to tell him about the crap I ate - two Twix bars, a bag of coconut m&ms, a Milky Way, three pieces of string cheese, alcohol, etc.  He scolded me a bit, so I ate half a bowl of oatmeal and then loaded some graham crackers with peanut butter for a good protein boost.  After all it was 7pm and we still hadn't eaten supper, so I didn't want to overdue it.

It wasn't my intention to eat poorly today.  I just got caught up in the day's activities.

We decided to go on a walk, and as we started I was complaining about my pants being too big because I can't keep weight on right now....and he started grilling me. 

You know why your pants won't stay on?  It's because you're not eating right.  What did you eat today?  How far did you run today?  Why are you doing this?  Are you slipping back into that again?  Don't you think about our child?  You have a baby to take care of!

I retorted back with: NO! No, I'm not!  And when I was anorexic did I EVER eat 2 Twix bars and loads of peanut butter on graham crackers?  No. Obviously not....

And he cut me off.  And still accused me of falling and wouldn't let me explain myself.  My calm, gentle husband who rarely argues got passionate at that moment and wouldn't let me talk.  I'm the fiery one between us, well, OK, we are both pretty passionate about some things, but between the two of us, it's normally me who is blabbing on and won't let him talk.

So, I turned around and left him on the walk by himself. 

I'm not going to spend the whole damn walk listening to you tell me how I'm too thin or not eating enough or making me feel guilty. 

I've always been honest with him in regards to my eating disorder!

While I was walking home, I started have really triggering thoughts, mostly because I was so upset that he didn't believe me.  I identified that I want to control what he believes about me, and in some perverted way, I wanted to restrict myself at that moment.  Or run or something.

Of all things, don't fucking falsely accuse me. 

Don't.  I've worked hard to get here, and I don't ever want to be clumped back in to the mess I was in.

EDITED: Obviously, I was really pissed when I wrote this.  It should be said that my amazing husband came home after the walk, apologized to me and asked me to explain myself.  Then he explained that he was just worried and perhaps overreacted. 

Seriously, I love that man. 

Almost.

I almost purged last night.

Almost.

I went on a date with my husband, ate a lot of yummy food and saw a lame movie.

As we were coming home, we got in a little fight.  It was ridiculous.  I can't even remember what started our disagreement, but soon we were one hundred topics in, digging deep to insult.  I'm sure most couples can relate.  You don't really know how or why you got there, but you're in a mess suddenly.

When we got home I was upset and stressed and my tummy was full.

In order to have control over a situation in which I felt I had no or very little control, I thought long and hard about purging. 

My thoughts went round and round for two hours in this repeptitive cycle:

I don't like feeling overly full.
I don't like fighting.
I don't like our date night being a fail.
I don't like feeling out of control.
I don't like being so fat.
What can I do to remedy this?
I have to deal with this.
I have to get rid of what started all this.
I must purge.
I hate purging.
I can't go back to that.

But I hate being so full... Repeat cycle.


Thank God, I didn't do it.   It's been 15 months since I've purged.

I was fasting

Last week I was part of a group that had decided to take a day and fast.  I knew this day was coming but I was undecided as to if I would participate in the fast.

The day before the fast, I decided I would do it.  My intentions were mixed.  I knew I'd see a smaller number on the scale, I knew I'd like the feeling of being empty, but I also knew I wanted to join in this group effort of prayer and fasting.

By 11am, I had broke my fast. 

It's not that I was too weak or that I couldn't do it. 

I could do it. 

And that's what scared me.

I found myself irritable, crabby and battling thoughts of the past. 

"You should go on a walk to burn more calories", "keep moving to burn more calories", "you could do this for days", "empty feels so good".

What good is it to fast, for a specific spiritual purpose, when the only thought that consumes you is weight loss? 

That's why I ate a large bagel, smothered in strawberry cream cheese. 

I prayed about it and felt at peace.  I continued to pray throughout the day with the group of people I was with, even though I didn't tell them the real reason I was no longer fasting.  I said it was because I'm breastfeeding, which was partly the truth. 

You know what though?  The number on my scale stayed the same, the old thoughts were gone, and I felt like I accomplished something really big: I said no.

The Pull

I think the pull may always be there.  To feel more bones, to see a smaller number, to skip a meal, to run a little more, to fit into smaller pants.

But with that pull comes coldness, shame, embarrassment, sickness, pain, discomfort, loss of control, loss of friendship...

...loss of life.

It's a choice that has to be made everyday, every hour, every minute in recovery as we go with the ebb and flow of life.

What are you choosing today?

Running Road

I've been running quite a bit lately preparing for a 5k.  No big deal, but I've been thinking about why I like to run, and how when I was exercising compulsively, I didn't always enjoy running.  I did it because I felt compelled.  Now I can't wait to go run. 

My husband is gone a lot, so it's really hard to find time to run AND someone to watch our baby.  Sometimes I'm discouraged and it seems like getting my baby and me ready is more work than it's worth.

But all I have to think about is my love for running, and I'm motivated.

I love the adrenaline rush, the drive to keep going, the refreshed body, the many paths I take, the chance to clear my mind or fill it full of dreams, my ipod's driving beat that blasts Eminem as loud as I want, the sense of accomplishment, a little less time & a little further distance, the sweat, the reward of cold water at the end, stretching, no baby, no husband, no phone, no pressure except my destination, my body doing it's work, me as bare as can be in public. 

I am free. 

I used to run for mostly one reason while anorexic: weight control. 


Not now. 

I am free.

An Appointment for Victory

Today I saw my midwife for the last time as she is venturing onto a new path in life. It was just a routine physical, with a few additional questions for her. Nothing major.

She is one of the only medical professionals who knows the current status of my eating disorder. All the other counselors, doctors, phychologists and psychiatrists that I've seen have been out of my life for over four years now. No, I wasn't recovered when I quit seeing them all, I had just lost hope. I don't know if they would really care to know about how I am doing now. After all, I was just a part of their job.

It always scares me to talk about my anorexia and the past. I don't know what goes through peoples' minds, so in most cases, I remain silent and even sometimes join in on joking about bulimia or the super skinny chick. 

I feel bad about it. 

I just don't know what to say.

"Uhh, hey guys, that offends me, because I used to have an eating disorder".   Yeah, awkward.  I suppose a strong person would say that, but I still hide the fact that anorexia stole years of my life.

Many people know I was anorexic, yes. Not by my own admission, but either by their own deductions or vicious rumors.   It's a wickedly public illness. But more people don't know that I had an eating disorder because they either didn't know me at that time, or I lied to them to get them off my ass. 

Since my recovery three years ago, I've told three people that I was anorexic.

Three. 

My midwife, and two girls that I mentor.  

I have a group of girls that I play volleyball and run with (and maybe drink and smoke with) and we talk about everything.  We're all super close.  But they don't know about it.

Even one of my best friends, who I became very close with right before I started to recover has never heard from me that I was anorexic. She's never asked, and I've never had the courage to say it. 

I keep it that private. 

When I chose to reveal that bit of personal information, it is a big, big deal to me.  I consider it privileged information, something that the masses don't need to know.  In over ten years of dealing with some form of disordered eating, I've learned that most people don't get it, and their ignorance can cause great pain.

I only tell people that:
    1.) I love and trust or
    2.) could possibly be helped in a positive direction

I know some people say anorexia is all about being noticed and receiving attention, but I am horribly embarrassed by my anorexia, and that is why I write anonymously, hidden miles away in cyberspace. Some day, I will share more, but the core of me is not strong enough yet. My roots are still capable of being easily uprooted. All good work could quickly be lost.

Yet I still want to recognize my accomplishments and it feels good to be praised positively. 

Since very few have ever been officially told that Yes, the reason why I wore leggings and two pairs of jeans everyday was because I was anorexic, I don't get to hear encouragement very often in that arena.

At my appointment, it felt good to describe to my midwife the victory I am experiencing, while simultaneously being somewhat honest about the thoughts that still rage and tempt. 

She told me she was proud of me.

I cannot tell you how good that felt. 

I don't know if she was sincere or not, I think she really was, but either way, sometimes it just feels good to be told that you're doing a good job.

She never knew me as an anorexic, so it's not like she had a standard of comparison.

It was at my second prenatal appointment that, with my husband supportively sitting next to me, that I hemmed and hawed and said something like, "I, um, have, like, struggled with eating issues and stuff in the past".

It took a lot of courage and took a lot out of me physically. I was shaking for hours before and after admitting that I had an eating disorder. 

I've faced a lot of mean comments and eyes that judge and speak louder and more callously than words ever can. I knew at that moment she could either dismiss that information as petty and something to be ignored, harshly criticize me for being pregnant and in such a mentally fragile state, or tread carefully with gentleness.

Thankfully, she did the latter. 

I don't know what I would've done if I would've felt judgment from her.  It probably wouldn't have been good because in the following months, as I gained over 55 pounds, I saw numbers on the scale that I swore I would never weigh.

And that's why I shared with her not only today, but at many other appointments. Whenever she asked, I answered as honestly as I could.  

In the past when people have asked about my weight out of loving concern, I've been honest.  When people make comments like "Why the hell are you so skinny?  You aren't one of those people who throw up, are you?", I respond with a joke.  What I really wanted to say, "Fuck yes, it's awesome.  Now tell me, how in the hell are you so fat"?

I trusted my midwife, and liked her immensely. Not only because she was kind about my eating disorder, but because I love how she works and believes in the realm of natural childbirth.

As I recapitulated my appointment to my husband later that day- the joy I felt, the sense of accomplishment, the recognition, and the sense of sadness that I won't have another child under her watch - he held my hand. 

When I was finished, I thought he had zoned out (which sometimes happens as I can be lengthy), but he looked at me and said,

"I am so proud of you. Almost every meal that you sit down and eat with me, I think about it. I don't say it often enough, I don't encourage you as much as I should, but I am so happy.  I never thought this day would come".

Neither did I, my love. Neither did I.

Awkward Double Standard

I had just got done having dinner and some drinks with the girls I run with and play on the same volleyball team.  We were all standing around in the the parking lot, talking about which restaurant we were going to go to next to have some dessert and wine, when one of my friends said:  "What size jeans are those?" 


Caught off guard, I said:  What? 
She said: What size are your jeans?
I said: Um, I don't know...Why?
My friend, who doesn't BS at all, said:  I have some jeans that don't fit me any longer, so, look.


I fumbled to the backside of my jeans, while another friend started looking for the tag.


"Size 2!"  Said another friend as she saw the tag.


Another friend just rolled her eyes in jealousy.


I said:  Um, I guess size 2.


Lots of comments started flying about how long it had been since they wore a size 2 and another friend said she never wore a size 2.


VERY embarrassing.


I started saying:  These jeans are really stretchy, and that's not the usual size I wear and ..... but it was too late.


No one was listening, all they could talk about was the 'Size 2'. 

It was very triggering for me.  I felt embarrassed and had thoughts of purging the meal I had just ate.

Why is OK for someone to ask me what size I wear, or grab my jeans (that I'm wearing) to look?


I would never do that to someone else.  It wouldn't be acceptable for me to ask a bigger girl what size she wears. 


Why the double standard? 

Spring

Spring means summer.

Summer means shorts.
Summer means tank tops.
Summer means t-shirts.
Summer means bikinis.

Summer means I need to watch myself.  I don't want to fall back into the trap of the ED.

No matter how loudly it calls, "run an extra mile", "skip the ice cream", "exercise while you watch TV", "don't forget about the bikini"....

I have to turn away, because I know the ED lies. 

Another doggone holiday

To all my ladies and fellas out there who are in for another holiday this weekend...

...the dread
...the stares
...the salad
...the expectation
...the temptation
...the questions
...the distraction techniques
...the explanation
...the meat
...the weight gain
...the desire to find a bathroom
...the looks after your bathroom trip
...the carbs
...the disgust you feel after eating
...the guilt
...the dessert
...the compensation
...the frustration

I understand. It wasn't that long ago that I was in your shoes. Butterflies filled my tummy several days before as I artfully planned to wear my 'fattest' clothes, ignore comments, and avoid food.

I understand. You aren't alone.

I am here supporting you and praying for you.

Can't keep the weight on

Since having my baby, I'm having a hard time keeping weight on.  And to think, I was worried about losing all the baby weight!

I'm breastfeeding, which has made the weight melt right off, but it's getting to the point where it's almost triggering.  I'm almost at the weight that I was when I got pregnant (which I gained to in order to have a period), but I've tried hard to stay 5 pounds heavier than that.  But my body just isn't letting me.

I know this isn't my usual weight, but I just can't help it.  I've always had a kick ass metabolism, but this is unreal.  I eat all day long, and fatty foods too.  Spoonfuls of peanut or almond butter, cream on my cereal and coffee, coconut oil or butter on everything, tons of carbs and proteins.  I never imagined I would eat this way. 

But don't be fooled.  It's still a choice every time I am hungry.  I know that I could lessen my calories and lose weight, but it would be in the wrong heart.

For now, I will enjoy and keep fighting!

3 years of recovery

Today is a very special day for me. Today marks 3 years in recovery! I couldn't be more proud of myself right now.

To celebrate this morning, I had a piece of cake and coffee with lots of cream and sugar, and no guilt. That was the best.

Life is good. I didn't know if it was possible for anyone to be in recovery for 3 years, let alone me.

I am living proof.

I guess I am different

A couple of years ago, when my anorexia was at it worst, I spent some time participating in research studies for which I was compensated.

This research has kept my information on hand, and will periodically ask me to participate in another study.

They don't take just anyone who says thay have an ED in this study. First, you can to pass the initial phone interview. If you pass that, you meet with a counselor and asnwer questions. You then have a physical with a medical doctor, deeming you sick. After that, you have to go through a long physcological evaluation, in which your results are analyzed. Then, they contact you and let you know if you "made it".

I've never been denied participation in a study. They only take a select few.

A few weeks ago, they called again. This one was for people who are low weight and purging.

They proceeded with the phone screen, and after they asked all the questions, they told me I didn't qualify.

Ouch.

I know that is a good thing. But at that moment, I didn't feel that good. They told me I'm not qualified because I don't purge.

I guess I am really different now.

Everything changes

I'm coming up on my three year recovery anniversary. I am excited and at a pretty good place in life. Do I struggle some days? Yes. Am I still in recovery? Yes.

I am doing the best I've done in about 6 years.

That's amazing.

I haven't purged in about 10 months. Something I once thought was impossible.

I love my new life and have hope that others can live in victory, right alongside me.