Don’t they all look so perfect and slender? Their taut tummies stretched in a sexy arch. Their chests heaving forward demanding your attention. And, their thighs! You can actually see daylight between their thighs! I don’t think any outdoor breeze on earth has graced the skin between my thighs. And, I don’t have really large thighs! And, I also don’t spend my time on the beach posing. I spend it writing to help others who might be slipping toward a terribly debilitating eating disorder as I did, and this topic has been burning on my mind.
Can we talk about posers for a minute? Continue reading “Can We Talk about Posers?”
When the image first came to me, I couldn’t un-see it. It was there. Imprinted. Emblazoned on my mind. I was Sisyphus. Or had been at least. There was no other way to put it. But, I was no longer. And, now, a recovered eating disorder victim committed to helping others avoid that treacherous mind-altering path, I hope I can help you see it, too. Continue reading “Sisyphus”
Back in my eating disorder heyday, I would often get caught in what I called a “food jam.” A forced meal. A real dilemma. For me, lunch was always the most common. When I was a highly-functional bulimic I would often starve through the day, drinking only coffee for breakfast.
“Why blow through so many calories so early? When I’m not even desperately starving yet?” Continue reading “A Food Jam”
“The minute you can start to laugh about it …” I had always heard people say, but I did not grasp the power of that statement until it finally dawned on me. That is when you start to heal. Humor. Laughter. That is where it all started for me. It was my strength all along, but I just didn’t realize it.
Clearly, I am an eating disorder survivor. It is the entire reason for this platform and blog, and the reason I feel compelled (energized really!) to write all of these mini revelations down and share them with you, because they empowered me. Maybe you are just looking for a better diet, trying to build a better relationship with exercise and food, or whether you (I hope not, but perhaps like me) went that far and messed yourself up when it comes to eating that much. No judgment here. I did it. But I want to give you one tool that helped me mend my approach to food: Continue reading “Humor Heals”
For me, it started with a Polaroid. A lampshade. A stocky topless girl. And a Polaroid. Then, later, a traumatic Tanya Harding whack to the knees of my confidence that briefly shattered me. That was just the pinnacle moment that triggered what had already been brewing in my mind and what would continue to roar like a furnace long after I could even recall what Tanya’s club felt like. Many things had been leading up to it. Continue reading “Your Fat and Unlovable Photo”
“My boyfriend thinks I’m fat!” We can all relate to that phrase. You imagine a silly girl in the restaurant who throws her fork and shrieks this out when the waiter asks her if she would like dessert.
What a snivelly little weakling. “I could crush her,” you might be thinking.
But, if you were anything like me when I was suffering from a raging eating disorder, I have admit that I was actually far weaker than her. Rather than letting some emotions out in public where they might be aired out, exposed, and cleared, I took mine home with me. I swallowed them and hid them. Fed them and grew them. I locked the door and hugged them like a toilet. Continue reading “The Worst Kind of Addiction”
I’ll be honest; I have no idea what it is. Is it gas moving around? My intestines shrinking? (Or rolling or wrapping around on themselves?) Is it a gerbil trying to get out? That’s sometimes what it sounds like. But, we’ve all had it happen. Often at work, during a painfully-silent meeting where your tummy has decided to take center-stage.
The first time it happens, often no one will comment. I mean, it’s a normal thing. Like a cough or a sneeze. Not a big deal. By the second gurgle, a co-worker might say “Man, did you miss breakfast?” or something to that effect. But by the third or fourth or fifth, it just starts to get awkward, and people start handing you muffins. Continue reading “Gurgle: A Little Rumble on Breakfast”