“I’m an MD/RHN/RN, here’s what I eat in a day”

I call this bullshit.

In a world already so disconnected from ourselves, these tempting motives to “solve our own routine conundrum” serve as confusing AF.  It’s like stevia: sweet, but the body is like “well shit, can I eat more now because that was calorie-free?” (you know? How many times have you tried to “trick” your body into thinking it’s satiated, and then the #headinfridge nighttime syndrome hits? And, sweetheart, when you say “I couldn’t help it”, that is OK.  It’s not lack of willpower.  It’s physiology, and it’s OK.)

Confusion.  Tempting at first, but also like the Finnish education system: it works for them, but you can’t take Des Linden’s stride, put her in a pool, and expect a Phelps #nahmean?

This is why I think “diets” in their very essence are dangerous to fall into.  Rules, rules rules rules, stress me out, and also calm parts of me.  It is so nice to think of a specific way of doing things that leads to health and is relatively simple to emulate.  But that’s the easy way out.  The way that calms the overwhelmed and fearful parts of us that are at a loss of what to do, and then just doesn’t serve the soul part that is all like “but listen to me, I know what’s best for Me!”

Like, side-note.  Is it just me, or is Intermittent Fasting the way of like 90% of Tinder dates right now?

Intermittent Fasting: can certainly serve some people, at some times.  But I’m fearful of the idea that it enables addiction.

I feel like I am straight up addicted to sensation from controlling all aspects of nourishment from food.  I’m using Food control and restriction and “allowing” bits of treats as a way to fuel my nourishment needs that I’m lacking in other aspects of my life.

Similarly, like Maslow’s Hierarchy of needs, I am keeping myself stuck in the lower pyramid

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This blah blah blah goes back to me not feeling “safe” in the world so I’m keeping myself “safe” #traumashit through physiological preoccupation.

Blah blah blah.

On this level, it’s simply a way to keep myself outside of myself.  Which is why it’s so tempting to look more outside of Me at what other people are doing, what helps them, the scared parts of myself think “Let’s do that!”  While inspiration is great, what if by listening in, checking in, the answers come to me.  What if by creating pathways of outer-dependency, I disconnect myself from the umbilical cord that’s like the cup-string telephone to the soul, (remember?)

Image result for cup string phone

Image result for cup string phone

Now back to the really somehow fascinating phenomenon that is looking at what people are eating on social media.  Enter hashtags:

#WIAW
#Paleo
#Keto
#IF
#cleaneats
#cheatday
#ifitfitsmymacros

ETCETCETC.

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#amiright?  What about “Fear of Finished Meal Syndrome”?  Do the RHN’s, RN’s, RD’s, MD’s get this, too?  (Do hooman’s breathe?)

Maybe we think that the hidden mind’s of these people are pristine such that they have not the pains we have?  Maybe they poop better?  Like,

“hey, she’s got toned-ass arms, her diet must be soooo perfect!! I will get arms and poops clean as hers if I eat exactly what she eats!”

Bullshit.

But also,  compassionate bullshit.  I hear this, I also feel this.  But I know my soul is calling out this human ego temptation because #slowcarb #fatfree #LCHF #vegan etcetcetc seems easy, but doesn’t work.  It only worked for me to get me more aware of the need to connect with myself more deeply.  So in this way, and in celebrating the idea that “the only way out is through”, I’m grateful.

I’ve been on a ride through Anorexia Nervosa, Bulimia (no blaming here, but the “cheat day” from Tim Ferriss’s (sexiest bald man I know) #4HourBody fuckkked me up hard), Vegetarianism, Paleo, Anxiety, and has truly winded my path around like a rollercoaster.  Right now, my gut is speaking to me.  The powerful, resilient body perseveres through all the confusion, which is so damn beautiful.  Throughout all the ignoring, all the pain, all the anxiety, the body is here.  Not without scars, inside and outside, but it’s here.  It’s always here.  That’s what we’re born with.  We’re actually born with exactly all we need to thrive on this earth.

Similar to plants in nature, they use whatever is available near them at the time, in order to survive.  Each plant uses its own individual programming to absorb from the Earth what it possibly can to life the longest and most robust life.  Maybe a plant is healthier in different soils, but the internal ability for it to hear its needs are just that: internal.  So, an onion will need different things than it’s tomato neighbour.  Likewise, one onion might need different things than the onion beside it, that is closer to the cuke which changes its constituency.

So fuck, please, be wary of outside noise.  Just because an MD eats avo-toast erryday, doesn’t mean it’ll give you better poops.  I mean, it may; that shit’s great.  But listen in.  Get inspired, and then take the language outside and translate it into your own Mother Tongue for your individually resplendent body.  And also, listen to the whispers coming from your SOUL!

Fuck, it’s beautiful (thank you).

Love,
Mel

A “Human” Professional

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Hi, my name is Melanie, and I’m a recovered Bulimic, and recovering Anorexia Nervosa monkey-minded human being.
I’ve sat with crippling depression, anxiety, and taken laxatives while scared shitless of the idea of imperfection.
I’ve run trails in a healthy state, and I’ve also gone to morning swim practice in Uni while probs still drunk from the bar having come home a couple hours before.
I’ve aced papers, and I’ve also retaken courses.
I’ve googled ways to purge, tried many, and I’ve searched the shit out of the internet about how to heal.
I’ve gone to India to become a certified Yoga instructor, and I’ve pranayama’d the shit out of datstuff.
I’ve traveled across the world to New Zealand and am now a certified Holistic Nutritionist.
I’ve been a vegetarian, I’ve done Paleo, I’ve hashtagged #lchf like it’s going out of style, and I’ve been a devout “I Quit Sugar” spokesperson.
I’ve gone from eating full tubs of sugar-free/fat-free yogurts with 8 packets of TwinSugar in one sitting, to beef jerky.
I’ve found that food isn’t as important as the emotions behind it, and that sugar is OK.
My beliefs have changed more times than pugs fart (and they fart a lot….#teamantipugs).
I’ve learned that you can’t hate yourself into a version of yourself you can love, and that you can’t find yourself in New Zealand, or anywhere other than inside yourself, for that matter.
I’ve learned that happiness has no correlation to your pants size, bra size, or bathing suit size.
I’ve learned that being present is the most important part of life, and that awareness brings solace in darkest of times.
I’ve observed myself self-numbing, escaping, and also sitting right with pain; a bloated belly post-binge, an emotional smack in the face after a sexual abuse, a stress fracture from literally running away from myself.
I’ve honoured and dishonoured myself, and I’ve fluxed the shit out of life.
And through it all, I am exactly where I am today, flawed as ever, and loving myself anyways and always.

No one is perfect, and no one will ever be a “certified perfect professional”, in my humble opinion.

I’m certainly not, and this by no means takes away from the ability for someone to have a gift to help, myself, or anyone else.  In fact, the warriors with battle wounds, healed and healing are the ones I connect with and trust the most.

I’ve been afraid of sharing my story lately, uncensored, because of the stigma of mental health shame, and the thought of being unhirable in flaw.

Fuck.
That.
Shit.

This is me, there’s you, let’s do this shift.

How to sit with a Binge

(starting this post with shameless self-promotion for my emotional eating workshop where Deanne and I will be sharing our insights and human honesty with our binge and emotional eating journeys)

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Was that a binge?

I’m letting myself eat.  I’m listening to my needs.  I’m realizing that even when there’s some kind of feeling telling me to nourish, even when I’m not in a state of being famished, I follow it.

Ever have what my friend once explained as “itchy teeth”?  She called it the feeling where you feel like munching on something but aren’t necessarily hungry.

It’s times like these where I have to tune into my gut, ask myself what I need.

What am I hungry for?

  • Connection?
  • Love?
  • Self-care?
  • Rest?
  • Creative expression?
  • Meaningful work?

Today, I finished lunch very aware of my craving for connection.

BUT: there are times, especially during this re-feeding, where I am actually physically needing nourishment, and in spite of my mind saying “You’ve had enough!”, body’s actually asking for nourishment.

My dear friend expressed herself after feeling like she’d overeaten, I asked her what part of her felt full, or like she’d binged.  She said her tummy wasn’t bloated, it felt comfortable and sated.  Her mind, on the other hand, didn’t want to believe that her body required that much food.

That’s the shit though, eh?  I’m hearing both voices, the mind and the soul when I eat.  I often feel like I can have an extra spoonful of peanut baetter, hummus, extra handful of nuts.  

And then, I’m full.

It’s a new feeling.

Sometimes I’m in shock at how much I am eating, and it fucking terrifies me.

My mind wants to flee, to distract, to numb.  I want to busy myself and get back to that feeling of being “in control” of how much I’ve eaten, or of how much I’ve decided my body needs.

How silly is that though!?  As IF my mind has enough say over how much nourishment my wise-ass body needs.

And so, fuck man, if I overdo it a bit, or if I’ve err’d on the side of a little too much, so what?  I’m not perfect!

The fear is in old ways of void-filling with overeating; bingeing and purging.  But my soul has found its own wisdom there to overcome that.  I’m tuning into all parts of myself; mind, body, soul.  I won’t dishonour my needs anymore.  Nor should you!

If you eat a piece of cake, or three, OK: it’s always OK–the key is to be so damn present and aware of the fact that you’re coping, that in your presence, you can be with yourself.  The whole way.  Man, that’s fucking powerful!

In the evenings, generally this is when my body speaks about if I’ve undernourished or not in the daytime.  This is when rules go out the window.  This is the scary time!  

You can’t trick your body into fake nourishment!

AMiRIGHT?!

There’s a reason for the fridge light…and nighttime #humancondition in form of binges.  This is when the body is like:  bitch please

“I’m still LE HUNGRY!”

This is when the body tries to play “catch up” with the under-nourishment, lack of nutrients, fasting.

So, it’s not willpower we lack.  It’s the idea that we can fool ourselves into in-authenticity, into being something we’re not.

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And the first things we try to do after feeling like we’ve overeaten, or if we have overeaten, or goddamn under-eaten for that matter – is run, is escape, is distract, numb: sex, self-pleasing, cigs, alcohol, work-addiction, drugs, even distracting with mindless media scrolling, which is fucked because of all the images of sculpted abs and the impossible flat tummy post-meal…we don’t want to face what our body is speaking to us.

BUT

This IS the pivotal moment to connect and to stop the binge cycle in the future!

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From Michelle Yandle Health

I’m sitting with it when I do it, I’m breathing, in lotus pose bc itsbetterfortheburps….I’m journalling.  I’m asking myself:

  • “was that too much?”
  • “Did I under-eat during the day? or even yesterday?”
  • “Did I turn away from another part of myself I needed?”
  • “Was I trying to fill a void?”

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And, after this reflection, know this:

This too shall pass.

It always does.  May we be wiser for next time.  Tune into our needs periodically so we don’t get hit with the headinthefridgesyndrome.

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An Open Letter of Apology

This is for myself, for you, for my parents, bro, friends.

Kelly Boaz, an Eating Disorder warrior now providing Holistic Nutrition counselling for those struggling, once told me that post-recovery (from any form of addiction or coping), comes a reintroduction of the real self to all- to the world.

I’m coming back.

(Also sorry for the camera angle…iunno…”YOLO”?)

Shit…I’m Becoming one of those “self-love” People…


I feel myself turning into one of those “self-love” people…terrifying bc:

1. ummm…because “those self-love-people”…#refertohomeboyJPSears

2. There are so many out there already. Like Danielle Laporte.

3. It’s not that Danielle Laporte’s not cool…but my shit’s just more John Blaze then that…

4. They use terms like: love-warrior…”divine”, “goddess”, “radical”(in the non-hippie-dude-way), “blissful”(oops), “sanctuary”…iunnoyouknow?

In other important news, a guest blog post is coming today from a Bulimia and Anorexia survivor I had the pleasure of meeting. This feels so cool to share and feel the awareness spread that once again, I (nor you) am never damn alone, as often as I feel it, shit, that’s false as hell!

The Universal Root of Addiction

Holy shit.

I am a little bit of “holy shit”, and I say that amicably.  Yesterday, I approached a gentleman smoking at a cafe and bluntly invited him to punch me in the neck via nosily asking him why he smokes.

You see, I’m fascinated about the nature of addiction, (even The Man, Gabor Mate expresses in that vid that he has a hard time stopping a meal…and experiences “fear of end of meal”-syndrome, #nahmean?) and I offered amicable banter via an inquiry about his attraction to smoking, when he knows it’s not good for him. ( I was clear about my intentions being directly reflecting my own addictions with food.)

We chatted, my neck was spared, (thanks, man) and he was a rad warrior of a human being.  His story was great, having battled addiction in life.  He said he was aware of the dangers of smoking, just as I am aware of the dangers of restriction.  He is enlisted to quit, and he damn sure will.  He said that his battles of addiction stem from an avoidance of pain. (long story short bc aintnobodygottimeforlongblogposts…similar to when looking for a recipe online…and the “prologue” to the ingredients is a novel….bloggers who have the “skip to recipe” button are angels).

My blog post about wanting to feel my pain was big emotionally, and now after speaking with him, I’ve realized what Bulimia served, and what Anorexia is serving for me now: as much as my being is craving to feel my pain, there is a part of me that is equally as resistant to feeling it.  Man, Anorexia is serving to keep me out of presence for the exact reason of avoiding pain.

Honestly, I can’t believe that this is hitting me now as awareness.  I’ve read about this so many times, but it totally just clicked yesterday, not too dissimilar from how you “just click” when you learn how to find your stroke in swimming. You just click that “downward dog” is the pose that dogs really do….maybe that was just me….took me a while…or that dogs are in a permanent push-up position…Life’s so strange that way, that we can read things so many times, but when they “click” it’s like a veil is lifted, it’s like a good poop.

And so, I called a good friend last night as I finished dinner still hungry.

I realized that when I restrict, it’s because I’m pretty damn good at controlling so that I’m just undernourished enough to be able to plan my next meal, to routinize and “time-fill” because if I am sated and present, fuck, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself.  There’s almost this non-reality of living in a haze when I’m still hungry, and it’s total numbing.  It’s non-rational thinking because my cells are in survival mode.  It’s a way of living under intoxication.

I don’t feel like I know myself, and I’m learning to love myself.  I am so scared to sit with a full belly, probably bloated (because eating disorders fuck with your gut- and no amount of kraut will heal that shit…it’s gotta come from inside, the seat of self-love, where I’ll no longer self-sabotage), knowing that I’ll be gaining weight, and in spite of it not being about the physical appearance, it’s the act of being in a state of treating myself well while respecting my needs.

I am scared to not punish myself.  I am scared to accept that I deserve to be healthy.  Omg, I’ve grown up my whole life feeling like a loser and I’m terrified to defy that belief.  I’m scared to sit with satiety and fight the inner voice that says I’m: gross, ugly, unworthy, useless…never good enough.

whoa

So today, I had a private swim training client, and it felt fucking good to be in my element like when I coached out in Vancouver.  I really “get” the swim technique, and I love helping other people.  She was so lovely, and it felt really good to be authentically in a healthy state of helping.  I’ve realized that I’ve been walking on eggshells in Anorexia and Bulimia, not living.  I’ve been waiting for life. I’ve been passing time in a numb state to Life, and that’s why my efforts to find my passion or a fucking job are useless because the initiatives aren’t authentic – they’re literally just a distraction until my next meal.  I haven’t been in a healthy state in so damn long, and the universebelike:

bitch please

Glennon Doyle Melton: huge.  If you want to learn more, these two videos were epic in my moments of realization yesterday.  If you have interest in these, watch them.  Please, for yourself.

Thank you Claire, and Deanne for passing them along and for the fucking amazing universe for this.

Sitting with fullness is going to fucking suck.  But you know what sucks more?  The idea of living this half-ass-one-cheeked-bony-bummed life for the rest of my existence.

And so to that life, I say, “Bitch please!”

Also: Sonya, my god, you made my day.  And a continued thank you for all the love, it’s mind-blowing.  Thank you for helping me fight, from my whole heart!

I guess I’ve stopped giving two shits

Literally and figuratively.

I sprained my ankle running last Wednesday.  That sucked. It’s still paining, I’m hobbling, can’t do the grocery store trek for my orders….can’t (literally and figuratively) run away from myself anymore.

Yesterday, I had a godawful bout of food poisoning.  I forgot how shitty puking feels.  Puking, while feeling like someone’s taking a bat to your head, and then sitting you on a roller-coaster ride.  Thank god my mum came and helped me.  I was all “no way, Sanjay”, but she came and I’m so grateful for her passing me my “Ginger-Aid” Kombucha etcetcetc.

It was from this, relatively non-threatening shapeshifter culprit (chicken soup, rosowek, thanks Babcia, ja cocham ciebie) that I took to Algonquin to camp, frozen, after taking some time to eat it (half a jar), then having it thaw, re-freezing it at home…thawing it in commuting, and now eating it fuck yuck.  I honestly am so grateful to have combatted bulimia because that shit sucks.

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So I spent all yesterday in fetal position in the bathroom.  Ate nothing.  Pooped once (that’s TWO TIMES ALREADY less than the usual…).  Felt not good.

And then, mum was beside me helping me.

I think that my strong ass determined mind has clouded my intuition in this way: I believed that my sugar-addiction days coming from a restriction-binge-purge cycle in uni led me to intense fear of carbs, paired with my knowledge of carbohydrate-and sugar-burner addictions.  I went to school for Holistic Nutrition and learned about ketogenic fuelling off fats.  I grew terrified and demonized carbs, despite my school condoning the principle of “carbohydrate appropriate” vs no carb. 

 I totally lost trust in my intuition.

Via support from Cliff, the school’s founder (who I akin to Tim Ferriss as the New Zealand-version related to his sheer brilliance and charisma) who has been cheering me on and checking in on my recovery, he expressed the concept that we don’t as anatomical beings need CHO, but his course runs on the philosophy of “high performance” in terms of holistically prescribing the nutrients, and lifestyle to thrive as humans.  This being said, carbs are a wicked tool to use in relation to needs.  These needs vary from person to person.

Yesterday, in my pain, I was pretty damn desperate.  It popped (always somehow have to autocorrect myself from typing pooped….) into my awareness to 

use food as a way to heal myself.  

Holy shit, right?

So bitch felt.

I tuned in, I accepted my feelings, I aksed my body what it needed right then, to feel better.

(that’s not unintentional, aks, gotta do things for your own pleasure sometimes…right Lo?!)

Maybe it took feeling like absolute fucking hell to realize that I don’t want to feel like fucking hell anymore.  Self-inflicted hell, no need.

So I aksed mum to get me things that called to me, the only things I could bare to think I’d be able to stomach, because I was hungry, and nauseated, and confused, but also solid in my intuition: I wanted deez tingz:

  • Granola (got grain-free, but hey)
  • Crackers (got Paleo, but HEY)
  • Corn on the cob (organic? non-GMO? don’t know, don’t care atm–butprobswillcaremorewhenimoutofsurvivalmodebcGMOisrubbish)
  • BENNA’S BAKERY AND DELI SEED BREAD (it’s been frozen in my freezer for ages, and I’ve had inklings to try it for just as long)
  • Lebanon Express dal soup (have been eyeing this damn soup for months….)
  • Kombucha (nobigdealanymore)

FullSizeRender (9)My god, I was solid in my needs.  I ate the soup to start, even when my ED was saying to pick at little things….nibble in non-satiating foods (which is where my bulimic tendencies stemmed…so grateful for my awareness in my post about tools helping me overcome Bulimia and knowing that nibbling doesn’t work…I had to COMMIT to nourishment, so I had the soup).  The soup was first food I ate all day, and had to go slow from nausea, but it felt really nourishing.  I dozed a bit then (was like 7pm then).  Then, round 8, my bod was hungry.  I put my hand on my heart, another on my tum, and felt what I needed: a piece of Benna’s seed bread with GHEE babis, an egg, the granola with cashew milk, and PBaetter.  Honestly, I was pretty shaky, and I remember the feeling of being “out of control” in my binge purge days.  So I swore no phone, no distractions, to mindfully feel my needs and be present.  I listened, I listened to my sweet inner voice that so desperately needs compassion and honouring.  Man it felt so odd.  And so right. (that’swhatshesaid).

I finished, I finished and washed up for bed.  I felt so good.  I turned my phone away, I did bloat myself, I want to heal my gut, be free, help myself, help others, be in nature, run with the wind!

I journalled, I watched Joe Wong, I “prayed”, and went to bed.

This morn, I swam, oh I swam respectfully and slowly.  I ate eggs for breakfast, it was aight…it was aight…it was cool..butmyshitsmorejohnblazethanthat.  Then, I allowed myself to feel hunger.  I never do this.  I suppress hunger till I let myself eat.

Not today.

I came home from the pool, and ATE!  I ate a bowl of the granola, flax seeds, collagen, milk.  It was so liberating!

IMG_8291HUGE!  Man, I can’t describe how huge this feels.

I genuinely think it’s coming from both myself, and being catalyzed from you blessed souls reaching out and cheering me on.  Honestly, fuck, man, the call from Claire, from warrior and swim (AND LIFE) Olympian Coach Ken, love from John Salt, messages in my inbox, Marta, the squeeze from Nicola this morn from way back at Towhee, the honest cheerleaders around me, Jenn at Reunion Island here and now as I blog-post snack (would NEVER be able to do this even last week!  I am free! I don’t need to eat at certain times, man it’s time!).

Yesterday, my roommate expressed how perspective is so key: deaths and illnesses are all around us, and life’s fleeting, everything is fleeting:

This too shall pass

So goddamn it, I listen to my body.  I’ll help you listen to yours, soon.

My life’s beginning to have colour.

Thank you all, thank you Mum, my god you’re beautiful.

You too

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Tools that helped me beat Bulimia

I’m resting today.  My ankle hurts.  I have a new private catering client, and I love this.  I love helping and sharing my food and living philosophy; that of self-love and kindness.  That of healing an unhappy gut, of facing feelings, of raw, real emotions, all of them.

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This morning, I pitter-patter in and out of the ego-rubbish dialogue with my inner wisdom.

“Rest is earned, food is earned…” I ate a great breakfast.  I hobbled to do laundry, I’m sitting at Reunion Island and blogging.  I can’t walk lots, and I’m looking gratefully at it.  Maybe this is the space I need to fill my website, to organize myself as a developing practitioner in holistic healing.  I want to be the change.  I had some wine last night, to calm my nerves, and passed out at 8pm.  I woke up at midnight hungry, so ate a snack.  Good stuff.

This morning, I’m sitting and craving an outlet, so I write.  I have an extra cup of coffee, and I breathe.  I am sharing what helped me beat Bulimia.  I am looking at the shit I’ve overcome, instead of where I still have to further my journey.  I am looking at my “full” vs my “lack”.  Maybe the universe will listen to this positivity, and like attracts like.  Oh how I see mountains.

Here’s some stuff (wanted to submit to Tiny Buddha, but submissions full….anyone know any platforms that would be good for sharing this story?)

Tools that helped me beat Bulimia:

 

Bulimia is a bitch. It’s a cycle of restriction, then “giving in” to a purge. I put that in quotations because it represents the voice of failure, of ‘lack’, of weakness.

Here’s how it manifested in my life.

I had all the prereq’s for it: perfectionist, two best friends who were dubbed “gifted” against who I was always comparing myself, an athletic body type throughout elementary school, controlling parents, and a terribly low self esteem paired with timidness.

So come High school, when my body started changing, and my sense of self remained vague, unhealthy friend-dynamics, a really bad first experience of sex, and strange attraction to assholes for male partners, I was ravenous for control. I was unhappy, confused, and seeking to be seen, heard, respected. I was involved in sports, and remember having the feeling of being idle when I had free time. In this time, I was unable to cope, I felt uneasy and turned to food to control. I remember using food in a fear-form. I remember the summers when Competitive swimming would take a break, and I felt so isolated and alone, and would fill my time eating “Oatmeal to go” bars and watching TV with my brother, while I imagined all my friends at overnight summer camp having so much fun. I had maaaaaad FOMO. So, when school came back around, and my weight was slow to catch up, my parents latched on to control. I was monitored for my weight and how much exercise I could do. That year was hell. Grade 10. I was struggling hard, and by the summer, I ended up being admitted into North York General’s eating disorder day program.

North York’s day hospital for Eating Disorder recovery was a 9am-5pm gig, meals monitored strictly, as was bathroom use. Group, individual, and family therapy consisted most of the day, along with shit like…knitting and other “non-movement” types of things. No sitting up straight at the table because that “burned too many calories”…I was struggling hard. I remember one day, crying so much that the nurses were actually hard pressed to get me to stop (having it been a good few hours) being concerned for my energy expenditure. Days of coping revolved around spiting the program, hating the food, fear, and extreme distain for control. Long story short, I ended up running away one day, to fight it on my own. [That sentence entails more than expressed, but for the sake of a shorter post, I’ll leave it there (and also to spare myself the pain of rehashing…).]

I spent that summer at my cottage with my grandma, and it was the best, most empowering summer of my life. I remember the focus not being on weight, although I did gain weight to a healthy weight, on my own. I guess I let my body be, I let it find where it needed to be. I was so happy that summer. There was freedom, a boy, a job, swimming, I also ran! I fell in love with running, then.

This was all before bulimia. I went back to high school in grade 11, and come grade 12, I had issues arise for self-esteem and stress over university. I was so adamant about not being controlled, that it grew to be insecurity-based. I returned in Grade 11 with a chip on my shoulder, no longer willing to be subordinate, no longer willing to be unseen, unheard; I felt like the pain I’d endured has “earned me” the right to deserve respect.

I went to university, and fell into the mainstream image-oriented stereotypical Western ideal. I went to University of Western Ontario, where long legs and blonde hair were revered. I nit-picked at myself hard. I worked out. I was known as the athlete in my residence.

Then, I fell into restriction. I would restrict, and I remember my first binge on my roommate’s Pringles. There was also the alluring residence caf, brimming with sugar-laden temptations, a candy-bar, and all available with the swipe of your pre-pair residence eatery card.

My first purge was in my dorm room, in a garbage bag, using the back of a toothbrush (Google said that’s how it was done)…While my roommate was at cheerleading practice. I followed it with a session at the gym, late at night.

This was the beginning of hell. It lasted from first year uni, to fourth year. Fourth year university, I went cold turkey. The last episode I ever had was Thanksgiving 2013, the day of my Grandma’s funeral. I stopped. I don’t know how exactly, but it was the same way I stopped using fake sugar (I was known to make a meal out of a tub of sugar-and -fat-free yogurt with 8 packets of TwinSugar and sugar free jam…with coffee whitener).

I lived in a house in year 2-3 uni of 7 girls. This was tough. I am now saying how much I felt like an outsider, I felt so wrong and bad all the time. I isolated myself. I lived in fear. I am sorry for the way my coping mechanisms took hold; for all the peanut butter I sneaked from my roommates, the cinnamon toast crunch, the dishonesty with them, with myself. The pain was horrendous.

Then I found Wayne Dyer and Timothy Ferriss: two things here were the beginning of the end of Bulimia:

  1. Self-love
  2. Slow-carb diet

One side-note: Tim Ferriss’s “Four-Hour Body” book, and the idea of one day a week having a “cheat-day” is NOT conducive to healing from an Eating Disorder…but you know what, his philosophy of real food was a big one for me in facilitating change.

So here are some ways that I healed:

  1. I left that house, I broke my foot running away from a peeping tom in my house at Western, and waved the white flag. I surrendered to taking 2 months off of school (to be finished online in BC that summer in my wicked stint out West—see you soon, mntn friends).
  2. I learned to commit to my meals. I stopped the idea of “only a snack”. This idea of “willpower” or lack there of, pitter-pattered out of my life. I trusted that I had to commit to meals. I had to fuel. A friend of mine, a fellow ED warrior actually implemented this idea to me. I remember her transformation to a fit and sculpted body, and I approached her one day at the gym to ask her how she did it. I was so sad in my body, and so unhappy in my binge-purge cycle. Her answer: “I finally started to eat!” THIS IS TRUE, FRIENDS!

My grazing idolization failed time and time again. I would think that I could “have a small snack” and it’d suffice me throughout the day. No. I implemented a meal plan of fuelling; imperatively around workouts (I was training as a triathlete here), as well as a proper breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  1. I began saying affirmations and understanding from Wayne’s teachings (His book “Your Erroneous Zones” was huge for me in a catalyst for healing) that self-love came first, then the body would acclimatize to the happy set-point. I lived in such pain, my body was heavier, and I was so mean in my self-talk. I started being kinder to myself, and honestly, this is when I balanced out my weight.
  2. I grew into a healthier identity for myself after spending a summer at camp with mature adults, camp Towhee, a camp for kids with learning disabilities. Coming from superficial UWO-this was a breath of fresh air, with wholesome adults who were nurturing support for my soul. I distanced myself from people who made me feel like shit about myself, and learned that I no longer would tolerate my own self-talk in meanness, nor the talk from others with that hue of non-compassion.

 

Note: where I lacked was in healing the mind-aspect, the reason behind my coping through food. Once I regulated my needs for physical nourishment, I no longer had binge tendencies. But, I grew over-controlling with routine. I have yet to nourish my soul.

 

But, these are the ways I beat Bulimia, and I am very proud of this. Bulimia was a dark and painful experience. I am recovered from Bulimia (damn, that feels good to say)!

Tummy

I am bloated. I ate frozen and thawed and refrozen and rethawed food yesterday…Oops. Paired with stress, anxiety, feels, food, gas, life, digesting, I’m bloated.

Yesterday after dinner when I expressed this poop to my roommate she said it’s so damn normal. Everyone’s tum goes out after food, gas forms, and that’s how food moves through the body for processing. 

But also, the gut is the second brain. I know mine’s been abused, and I’m learning to love it. I’m using the “Ed” voice thing (which I equate to “id”/”ego”- bc the whole “ed” thing doesn’t sit right w me making me feel like I’m externally blaming shit instead of believing in my own prowess to heal, bc this “ed” thing- although I differentiate my soul-speak from it- it is a part of me. But it’s a part of me like my mind akin to my soul, and I don’t have to listen to it’s verbatim and lack of humour…it’s like dry humour to my hilarious puns and memes🤸🏼‍♂️)…

So. Tum’s talking via bloat- it’s relative always and it doesn’t look like much in the pic but dis bitch uncomfy.  I’m posting bc I’m vulnerable here. I’m generally uncomfy with the tum, and especially with bloating bc it makes me feel bigger than I am. Bloating confuses hunger signals. It’s not nice. I am eating dinner anyways. I think back when I had bulimia, I would suppress the feelings of hunger with bloat- and restrict till starvation hit and then boom i was in binge mode. I am mechanically eating now bc there’s some feelings inside me telling me it’s time to eat. Can’t explain in words and don’t have to. I am learning to trust myself and my inner intuition. I’m trusting that as I refuel and retrain my body how to eat, it’ll get better.

So I’m going now to eat blood sausage.

✌🏻 

Presence

I have an accountability deal with my neighbour: we text each other when we are doing our daily 10 min meditation (where we sit and focus on breath…that’s it).  It’s great, I recommend it highly.

Today, I had no energy to do my workout.  I was so close to taking a walk through High Park instead.  And it was scary AS, but I also viewed that I didn’t need to escape.  I didn’t wake up famished.  I wasn’t in survival mode.  It was a heavenly peaceful insight; giving myself the space to be aware.  Man, I deserve rest.  I want to run and race and have fun, cry, date, play, swim…..And it’s balance, nah?  I am in a state though where rest is scary, it’s foreign.  willmeditateonthisdon’tlikethinkingaboutit

I went to the gym and did my helliptical workout.  It was OK, I had such mindgames throughout the “ride”: basically deciding over and over again each minute that “that’s it”, I’ve had enough and will stop….I finished it, but definitely not as hard as able.  Probably as hard as I could, granted my body’s state.

I’m glad I went because I connected with the humanity of the gym goers afterwards when I overheard Jamie, an experienced older runner, mention how some days are just “get it done days”, and I felt like that big time today.  (rest would’ve been more body-beneficial though)…so we all exchanged expressions about rest, injury, healing etc.  That connection was worth it.  I am sick of living in isolation.

I have also had real unsettled gut.  I get so frustrated.  I know I eat too many veg and the fiber overload isn’t what my body’s asking for.  I am confused about the intuitive voice of my body.  I realized that I’m scared of bingeing deep down, although my soul knows that I’m not in that danger zone of such self-hatred any longer.  I’ve upped the level of self love, but still am scared to let go and fully trust.

It’s easier to control my body through suppression and using “safe foods” as fillers.  But then I get bloated, uncomfortable, and confused about hunger cues bc I hold in my tum and man it’s hard when you’re full of bulk to distinguish hunger, let alone what would best suit your body to eat.

Check this out though: my google search of “how to hear hunger cravings and choose what to eat”

How fucked is that?  The emphasis is so much on suppression.

“How to Outsmart A Craving”

Jesus, it’s scary aye?  We’re primed to believe that our intuition is wrong.  I understand the challenge, the confounding cycle of our body’s trying to survive the stress we undergo in the Western world of crunched lunches, scarfed snacks of sugar, alcohol, cigs, stimulants, NSAID’s, pain coping, escapism.  We don’t stop to breathe, meditate, feel, damnit.  So we crave sugars because our body’s are hurting for an insulin spike due to high cortisol, and the reliance on easy fast foods for survival.

Are we living in survival mode?

 

When do we stop to tune into ourselves?

How is your gut?  Mine’s giving me info, hard to tell what it means.  Maybe to rest, breathe, work on myself.  The space is scary.  What to fill it with.  I’m blogging, sharing my story, and deciding each moment to choose to save myself.

So here’s an ode to awareness and to making space for feelings.  To trusting intuition.  To look at hunger cravings and ask what the body is looking for, before acting on it.  Craving sugar means some things, lots.  But only each individual person can find that answer out for themselves.  I am so confused by cravings since I’ve shut them off, and listening is scary.  I pretty much have zero sugar cravings, when in uni, under so much social pressure, stress, bullying, I gorged on Splenda and Twin Sugar, never eating real food: meals could be a tub of sugar free yog, with 8 packets of fake sugar crap, and sugar free jam.  Followed by coffee whitener, and then saying “fuck it” and raiding my roommates pantiries for “forbidden” foods like cinnamon toast crunch and skippy PB.  Stuffing myself with cookies.

Then puking it all up.

That’ sucked hard.  It’s been 7 years since my experience of Bulimia, and my god, I am blessed to be through that part of my healing journey.

And now, so scared to face that, I truck on.  I know I need to heal deep.  The source of the pain is the same, the coping, differs.  But the healing is in truly honouring my body and it’s voice.  There is no fear in presence.  I totally was disconnected with that voice throughout High School and uni.  I’m finding it again.  And learning to embrace myself, man, ya;

I am beautiful.

Thanks Christina, now that song’s stuck in my head.

Fucking consciousness, eh?

OM.

Looking forward to meditating today.

Bless