Warning Flags

Warning Flags

  I took my shirt off to sit sport’s bra-ed in the sun today and that little eating disorder voice in the back of my head came out of hibernation. “Your tummy looks fat,” he said. I felt my heart sink with the weight. Maybe he was right.   I danced in the empty hostel until the my back sweat through my shirt and my cheeks were flushed with tears. Expression moving through my strong body; I let go as emotion oozed from the movement.   I realized that the ED voice was a warning-flag as I turned off the music and breathed: endings are hard. Finishing up a month working my dream job in the mountains won’t be easy.   But I’m not fat; I just have feelings....
Pinning a Wave Upon the Sand

Pinning a Wave Upon the Sand

Pinning a Wave Upon the Sand   It was like trying to pin a wave upon the sand; I knew there was something wrong but I couldn’t quite grasp the answer. I could feel the wax and wane of unsettling awareness of a problem present just below the surface of my life. Yet, each time I almost had understanding clasped within my fingers it would slip away once more.   What was wrong? What was wrong? What was wrong?   Hints of an answer came in journal entries about obsessive secret weigh-ins and food restriction, in my sibling’s teasing and my friend’s concerned comments of “you’re so skinny!”, in my pants slipping off my bony hips and my shrunken breasts no longer filling my bras, in the early morning waking full of hunger and shivering with body-fatless numbing cold, in the runs I did not want to go on when I would almost faint, and in the moments when my striving smile faltered to let through the inner empty desperation. In those many months of denial before I realized I had an eating disorder I clawed at these hints hoping to catch an answer to the undercurrent of depression I could feel (but chose to deny). I chased after these waves of comprehension only half-heartedly, wishing with my whole heart to fix the “problem” whose form alluded me while also avoiding it at all costs.   Dissonance.   Dissonance. Two notes played close together on a piano so that their sound waves rub together discordantly—the vibrations don’t fit with one another causing discomfort to roll up my spine. It’s...
Let’s Celebrate Dia de la Recuperacion!

Let’s Celebrate Dia de la Recuperacion!

Una merienda de Celebración: Día de la Recuperación!   (Scroll down for English!)   Ayer tenia la oportunidad celebrar cinco anos de recuperación de anorexia nervosa con una merienda con amigos, vulnerabilidad, y mucha torta.   Aunque estaba nerviosa antes de que leyera lo que había escrito para la ocasión toda la experiencia—hablando de mi experiencia, promesando públicamente respetar mi misma para siempre, escuchando a otros hablando de las cosas que hicieron por lo cuales están orgullosas, tomando un momento de silencio, y apreciando comida rica con una sonrisa grande—lleno mi corazón y mi alma. Me hizo acordar que todo es posible!   Aca esta lo que lei ayer:   Por qué estamos aca: Mi historia   Hace 5 años sali de una negación profunda cuando me di cuenta de que tuve anorexia nervosa. Aunque no era consciente de eso, me había metido en un trastorno alimenticio por casi un año. Estaba muy preocupada por mi peso y la comida. Ejercitaba demasiado. No comia y no sentía hambre. Menti a mis amigas, a mi familia, y a mi misma para no comer. Pensaba que era muy saludable. Sin embargo, también me odiaba mi misma, no podía sentir emociones, no quería hacer las cosas que antes habían llenado mi vida con alegría, no tenia energía para la vida…en fin no era yo.   Mi nombre significa vida en griego. Mientras tuve anorexia la vida—la Zoe—de mi ser estaba achicando. Hoy quiero recordar y perdonar esa chica…estaba equivocada, tenia mucho para aprender, pero la perdono y la amo totalmente.   Hace cinco años (casi exactamente) empezaba una aventura que me iba...
What I will never do again…

What I will never do again…

  April 2011   “And…I’m going to ask you to not weigh yourself anymore.” My nutritionist throws out the comment nonchalantly and I cringe. So far the meal plan that helps me know that I’m getting the nutrients my underweight body needs and even the possible weight gain she’s proposed haven’t scared me that much. But, not weigh myself?! What?   The concept is unfortunately foreign to me. Leave behind my weekly self-worth measurement? Leave behind my trepidation leading up to my private Thursday morning weigh-ins when I eat less, drink less, and always pee before stepping onto the scale? Leave behind taking the dark digital numbers seared into my mind the moment the scale flashes my weight and scribbling them into my day planner for progress measurement?   I know I should not depend so much on a scale and a number. I don’t want to. However, the reality is that not knowing…the reality of stepping onto the scale backwards in the nutritionist office every week instead of stepping onto my mother’s bathroom scale naked and in secret…is terrifying. And yet, for some reason I do not understand at the time, I nod my head in agreement. “Ok, I promise. I won’t weigh myself.” ~~~~   April 2011 was the last time I weighed myself. I still find it incredible that since that afternoon five years ago I have not set foot on a scale. At first I did it because I promised my nutritionist I wouldn’t. However, now I do it for me. It’s a conscious choice. A couple years ago when my new housemate moved a...