*WARNING: This post may contain certain "triggers." Therefore, if you have a history of an eating disorder, and are easily triggered, please read with caution.*
You see, today's post is about failure.
Specifically, failure in relation to my body image.
(I warned you. Not necessarily the fun and uplifting post you are used to!)
But don't go just yet...why don't you stay and read a while? Maybe, just maybe, my ramblings on failure will mean something to you. Maybe not. In any case, why not take a chance and read on?!
I struggled with an eating disorder, in some form or another, from 1999-2009. ED (my not so endearing term for my eating disorder) originally manifested in the form of bulimia. Then he took a vacation for a while, and when he returned he was stronger, smarter, and in the form of anorexia. I am 5'6" tall, and at rock-bottom I weighed 103 pounds.
So why didn't I break up with ED sooner?
Because, the truth is, my relationship with ED had nothing to do with weight, and everything to do with control and self-worth.
So here I am, three years into my recovery, the strongest I've been in my entire life (thanks to yoga), the healthiest I've been since age 14 (both physically and emotionally), 137 pounds (WOW - did I really just type that?!), not completely in love with my feminine shape; and as I was driving to teach a yoga class a couple of days ago I had a realization.
I feel like a failure.
Not all the time. Not in relation to my job. Certainly not in relation to my marriage. But undoubtedly - in more moments that I would care to admit - in relationship to my body.
And then I feel even more like a failure because I can't seem to win.
And then the competitive perfectionist steps in and tries to tell me that I've given up too easily (Have I?). That the only reason that I have the body that I do is because I am too lazy to buckle down and change it (Really?). That I know what to do, I just need to stop making all these "healthy" excuses and do it!
And countless others.
Who, every day, in their own special ways, tell me/call me/remind me/look me straight in the eyes and say that:
I. am. perfect.
I. am. enough.
I. am. loved.
And that makes me want to cry, because the truth is, three years into recovery, I still don't believe it. I believe it about others. I can love others unconditionally until the cows come home. But for some unfortunate and insane reason I still haven't gotten it through my thick skull that:
I. am. worthy.
- I am three years into my recovery.
- I wake up, every day, and I decide to be healthy.
- I walk onto my yoga mat and I consciously work on accepting myself, so that I can better accept others.
- I eat three, healthy, well-balanced, nutritionally-rich meals every day.
- I tell my husband he is loved at least once a day...and then I try to tell myself the same thing.
- I am fighting.
- I won't give up.
And finally, even though he is the constant, unwelcome, solicitor in my life,
I will not open the door to ED ever again.
And if for nothing else, for that I am not a failure.
For that I am a champion.
Next up - we return to the wonderful world of recipes! Summer vegetable soup anyone?!
Question of the Day:
Do you ever feel like a failure? If so, what do you do to remind yourself that you are a champion?!
Ally and Bo