Disclaimer: This post contains potentially triggering content, including details about my stupid eating disorder thoughts. Read at your own discretion.
I’ve made so incredibly much progress. I restored my weight. I learned to eat every few hours. I learned to stop weighing myself. I learned to be less upset by my hands-down biggest trigger: GI distress. I learned 2000 calories a day is not enough for me. I got used to eating many foods I would have once rejected. I got my period back.
That should be it, right?
I got to the farmers’ market on Saturday at about 9:30 a.m. hungry, despite having eaten a usual-sized breakfast of pb&j toast, fruit and an egg. A woman at a gluten-free baked goods stand was selling cinnamon rolls, so I got myself one. Fresh cinnamon rolls at the farmers market were I special treat I remember my mom and I getting a few times when I was a kid. ?
It wasn’t so much the particular food. More than anything else it was the timing–knowing how much I’d eaten in a fairly short period of time. Like I have in my head–okay, my “normal” is much more food than it used to be, and it’s okay to deviate from my “normal,” too, and also it’s okay to have any food. I’m comfortable with all those things. But then I have these weird caveats floating around in there like “A great big cinnamon roll two hours after breakfast is too much food!!!!!!”
The timing of my meals were thrown off for the rest of the day, but I did keep eating when I was hungry and stopping when I was full. But I also probably said to my boyfriend like 18 billion times “I think I ate too much” to which he very patiently responded “no” every. single. time.
I’m in a good place recovery-wise. I really am. But it never ceases to amaze me, after all this time, how I think of myself as completely recovered and then, out of nowhere, have these moments.
In truth, I don’t really like to share these moments on the blog. I get so ashamed; ashamed that there’s this part of me that’s still so invested in what I eat. I’m ashamed to think of myself as someone who needs support when I want to think of myself as someone who supports others. I’m ashamed because I fear that people who have never dealt with an eating disorder will associate me with stereotypes about anorexia (shallow, only cares about her appearance, etc.) and I’m ashamed because I fear that people who have been through an eating disorder and recovered will think I’m not trying hard enough. I’m ashamed that I had the eating disorder in the first place, and ashamed that I’ve built this blog to share that fact with the world.
I almost didn’t share the cinnamon roll story on my blog, no matter how relevant it might be to my readers, because I didn’t want to admit to having this level of anxiety over an effing cinnamon roll!
These are my bad moments, of course. In my good moments, I’m very proud of this blog and all the amazing people it’s allowed me to meet.
But I wonder: is this an feeling others have experienced?
Do you ever feel that way–ashamed by what you’ve been through or where you are in the process? And if so, how do you cope? What do you do if and when that shame bubbles up? Bloggers–what motivates you to keep blogging?
Interested to hear your thoughts on this one.
Sorry for such a downer post. I’ll have a Caterpillar Crawl for y’all on Thursday!