In my eating disorder group last Tuesday, one of my therapists asked me what purpose "staying in the debate" has in my recovery. She was referring to the amount of time and energy I spend thinking about whether or not I have an eating disorder and whether or not I want to "buy into" treatment - I am essentially constantly debating the process of recovery and evaluating how deeply I want to dive into all of this.
So, what good is the debate? What is it doing for me - what purpose does it serve? After yet another afternoon of debating my presence in the Kaiser eating disorder treatment program, I decided the time was ripe to pick at this question a little bit, and see what raw bone lays underneath.
Why do I "stay in the debate?" I stay here because I am convinced, still, that I do not fully qualify as eating disordered, that I am not a "good enough" anorexic to need treatment. I don't feel skinny enough or sick enough. I don't feel like I need to follow a recovery meal plan because I'm not truly eating disordered.
I stay in the debate because it allows me to waddle in the pool of treatment without being fully submerged in the water. While I debate whether or not to dive in, I avoid actually being in the water at all, and I can stay timidly on dry land. Rather than spending my energy eating, using DBT skills, or working through my disease, I argue both sides of an interminable argument. I don't actually have to do anything, and I can procrastinate treatment in an underhanded way.
But it's not that simple. I am locked in this argument and refusing to surrender to either side - even though I realize that the debate itself serves the eating disorder's control in my life. The debate feels important and symbolic because I am trying to exert independence in my life again - and isn't blind surrender of control (even to the wise Kaiser ED team) just moving my servitude from one master to another? When does this process become MINE? When do I get to make my own decisions, eat in a way that feels good to me? Without anorexia OR a team of doctors telling me what to do? When will I be able to trust my body and my instincts again? When will I get to declare that my life is MINE again, with all of the idiosyncratic patterns and eating habits that develop when a person is living fully?
I want to get better, and I know that I need to let go of control. But I want to get better in MY way. Even as I write this, I realize that my desire to do things in MY way is maladaptive - yet another tool of the eating disorder. But ED treatment is so uncomfortable, and I am so tired of being "sick." I spent an hour today on the phone with my family members justifying stopping treatment altogether - my argument was that I was tired of seeing myself as "sick" and tired of my eating disorder being the center of my life. I am ready for fullness; I want to build up other parts of my life and accentuate other neuroses and wisdom. I want to stay in my comfortable "yoga/meditation/reading" zone and push myself in ways that feel safe and non-threatening. I don't want to push at ED anymore.
I know. I know. This is exactly why I SHOULD be going to treatment. I have a poster on my wall about the "dignity of daring" by Pema Chodron. Essentially it says that true friends are those who push us past what is comfortable, the people who shove us off of familiar rafts to unfamiliar shores. Perhaps staying in treatment - for me right now - is the highest spiritual discipline. It doesn't look like anything I expect of spiritual growth - it's not yoga or meditation and it certainly involves very few moments of enlightened peace. Instead it feels like a fucking battle every second of the day; I just want a flippin' break. Can't I just stay on my yoga mat, happily chanting with my eyes shut and dreaming of lavender? Isn't that the REAL way to spiritual enlightenment?
WHY DOES MY LESSON HAVE TO SUCK SO BADLY?
And when can I stop? I want control over everything; the fact that recovery presents such a threat to my independence and autonomy is probably exactly why I need it. Damn it, Pema Chodron. Maybe ED treatment is the friend shoving me off of my little brown raft, pulling my little pink heart towards an unfamiliar shore.
Ahk. When I started writing this entry twenty minutes ago, I was set on the idea of quitting formal ED treatment. Blast. What an annoying insight. I guess I'll return again and hesitantly put another questioning toe in the water, and stay in the debate some more. Woof.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Dear Meditation
Dear Meditation,
Thank you for aligning everything in my life when a lesson needs learning. If I don't get it the first time, I am so very grateful for the incessant reminders that pop up until I finally realize what it is that You are trying to teach me. Apparently sometimes I just need a swift kick, while other times I need to be bulldozed with the message I'm meant to hear.
Thanks for the annoying evolving process of Enlightenment.
Yours,
Leah
Seriously.
I just got back from meditation, and the question I keep asking myself is, "seriously?" How is it possible that when there is something we need to hear, it comes up over and over again until we internalize it and finally start to listen? Just yesterday I had a painful awakening about my self-righteous arrogance - the belief that I am "too good" or "too different" to have an eating disorder or submit to the traditional recovery process - and ever since, I've been continuously bombarded with messages about egotism, arrogance, and letting go of the identities to which I cling so fiercely.
My daily Annie Dillard reading was about the childhood realization that we are not invincible - when we realize that we aren't going to grow up to be be a Major League pitcher or the winner of the Nobel Prize for mathematics. There is a point in our growing up when we come face to face with the truth: we are not The Best. We aren't going to shatter every world record or be outstanding in every pool we enter. In our childhood realities, we can do and be anything we desire, and I, at least, never pretended to be "average." We don't dream about being normal - we envision a world in which we are the stars, the headliners, and the centers of attention. For people like us, the rules of this world just don't apply (Hello, Gravity?).
But at some point, our internal realities come crashing into an external world with rules that do in fact apply to us, a world where we aren't always the only shining star in the sea. We get cut from the basketball team, get deemed a geek and relegated to a certain cafeteria table, and break our arms when we jump off the roof fully expecting to fly. Over time, we come to see ourselves as special, but not set apart from everyone else in some sort of distant "Different League."
Apparently, I missed the last part of this lesson. I am still hooked on the notion that I am exempt from the rules and limitations of this world; I see myself as set apart in a "Different League" where being normal is not acceptable and being average could jeopardize my club membership. I hold myself to unreasonable standards, and justify everything I do with the understanding that I am different, better, and "terminally unique." Yep. If this isn't undercover self-righteous arrogance, I don't know what is.
Enter meditation. I walked into the meditation space tonight with my head held high, after a solid day of committed recovery and spirituality. I had eaten all day, spent time reading, writing, and using treatment skills to surf through waves of self doubt and deprecation. I sat on the cushion breathing in all of the things from which I'd rather run away... and before I knew it, I had been swept into a deep visualization. I saw myself in the midst of a great crowd, with everyone dressed alike in white robes. We were indistinguishable; I was one of the crowd. It was terrible. I thought I was going to lose it - all I wanted was to be seen, to be noticed, to be identified and set apart. And yet, here I was, in this space in my meditation where I was just one of many, truly equal, beings.
I still can't shake the feeling of terror that overcame me during the sit. Who am I, if not separate and identified? How will I survive? My ego is fighting hard to survive, and in response, the Universe keeps firing all of these pieces at it to encourage me to bravely begin the process of separating my True Self from the False Identity I cling to for dear life.
And in case I missed the memo that my lesson for the week is about my arrogance and refusal to see myself as an equally lovable (no more, no less) sentient being, the Universe pounded home the message again - following the sit, our meditation leader gave her dharma talk on the ways in which we use our identities to protect and shield ourselves. She talked about how we use identity as a way to render ourselves visible in a world that has often crushed us and made us feel unlovable and invisible. When we are hurt, we react protectively - we cling to our identities and they become the life rafts to which we cling, making sense of the world by dividing ourselves into small boxes and camps where we can be safely recognized and named.
Letting go of these identities - the labels and ideas that have grown around us to protect us and make us feel like we are set apart from the millions of other beings around us - is an incredibly frightening endeavor. During our meditation leader's talk, I wandered back into the crowd of white-robe wearing equals, and found that without the shield of my distinct identity (as a Minnesotan lesbian, college graduate, anorexic...) I was lost. Without those things, I am terrified of becoming invisible - being lost in the crowd - and not having any sense of direction and purpose.
So, apparently my ego is tied to the labels and boxes in which I've found visibility, security, and comfort. What does that mean? It probably means that my process of awakening involves a deep consideration of my identity and a quest to find peace in the sea of white anonymous robes. I hate it, but I have to learn to let go of the idea that I am, somehow, too different to reach outside of myself - too good to settle for average, normal experience - too self-righteous to submit to eating disorder treatment and recovery. Maybe I am not "too special" or "too different" or "too good" for the experience of life. Maybe it is the belief that I am "too... whatever" that is preventing me from experiencing my body in this time and place in a fully wakened state.
Lesson for the week. What am I scared of in becoming "normal?" Why do I panic when I think about becoming nameless, and faceless? What is there in my arrogance that is protecting me, and shielding my ego from letting go into a state of truth and clarity? How do I even begin to put on my white robe, walk in the crowd, and find peace in my soul without being "set apart" somehow?
Until I find out, I'm sure the Universe will continue to throw messages in my direction. It's painful to get hit, but how else will I awake?
Thank you for aligning everything in my life when a lesson needs learning. If I don't get it the first time, I am so very grateful for the incessant reminders that pop up until I finally realize what it is that You are trying to teach me. Apparently sometimes I just need a swift kick, while other times I need to be bulldozed with the message I'm meant to hear.
Thanks for the annoying evolving process of Enlightenment.
Yours,
Leah
Seriously.
I just got back from meditation, and the question I keep asking myself is, "seriously?" How is it possible that when there is something we need to hear, it comes up over and over again until we internalize it and finally start to listen? Just yesterday I had a painful awakening about my self-righteous arrogance - the belief that I am "too good" or "too different" to have an eating disorder or submit to the traditional recovery process - and ever since, I've been continuously bombarded with messages about egotism, arrogance, and letting go of the identities to which I cling so fiercely.
My daily Annie Dillard reading was about the childhood realization that we are not invincible - when we realize that we aren't going to grow up to be be a Major League pitcher or the winner of the Nobel Prize for mathematics. There is a point in our growing up when we come face to face with the truth: we are not The Best. We aren't going to shatter every world record or be outstanding in every pool we enter. In our childhood realities, we can do and be anything we desire, and I, at least, never pretended to be "average." We don't dream about being normal - we envision a world in which we are the stars, the headliners, and the centers of attention. For people like us, the rules of this world just don't apply (Hello, Gravity?).
But at some point, our internal realities come crashing into an external world with rules that do in fact apply to us, a world where we aren't always the only shining star in the sea. We get cut from the basketball team, get deemed a geek and relegated to a certain cafeteria table, and break our arms when we jump off the roof fully expecting to fly. Over time, we come to see ourselves as special, but not set apart from everyone else in some sort of distant "Different League."
Apparently, I missed the last part of this lesson. I am still hooked on the notion that I am exempt from the rules and limitations of this world; I see myself as set apart in a "Different League" where being normal is not acceptable and being average could jeopardize my club membership. I hold myself to unreasonable standards, and justify everything I do with the understanding that I am different, better, and "terminally unique." Yep. If this isn't undercover self-righteous arrogance, I don't know what is.
Enter meditation. I walked into the meditation space tonight with my head held high, after a solid day of committed recovery and spirituality. I had eaten all day, spent time reading, writing, and using treatment skills to surf through waves of self doubt and deprecation. I sat on the cushion breathing in all of the things from which I'd rather run away... and before I knew it, I had been swept into a deep visualization. I saw myself in the midst of a great crowd, with everyone dressed alike in white robes. We were indistinguishable; I was one of the crowd. It was terrible. I thought I was going to lose it - all I wanted was to be seen, to be noticed, to be identified and set apart. And yet, here I was, in this space in my meditation where I was just one of many, truly equal, beings.
I still can't shake the feeling of terror that overcame me during the sit. Who am I, if not separate and identified? How will I survive? My ego is fighting hard to survive, and in response, the Universe keeps firing all of these pieces at it to encourage me to bravely begin the process of separating my True Self from the False Identity I cling to for dear life.
And in case I missed the memo that my lesson for the week is about my arrogance and refusal to see myself as an equally lovable (no more, no less) sentient being, the Universe pounded home the message again - following the sit, our meditation leader gave her dharma talk on the ways in which we use our identities to protect and shield ourselves. She talked about how we use identity as a way to render ourselves visible in a world that has often crushed us and made us feel unlovable and invisible. When we are hurt, we react protectively - we cling to our identities and they become the life rafts to which we cling, making sense of the world by dividing ourselves into small boxes and camps where we can be safely recognized and named.
Letting go of these identities - the labels and ideas that have grown around us to protect us and make us feel like we are set apart from the millions of other beings around us - is an incredibly frightening endeavor. During our meditation leader's talk, I wandered back into the crowd of white-robe wearing equals, and found that without the shield of my distinct identity (as a Minnesotan lesbian, college graduate, anorexic...) I was lost. Without those things, I am terrified of becoming invisible - being lost in the crowd - and not having any sense of direction and purpose.
So, apparently my ego is tied to the labels and boxes in which I've found visibility, security, and comfort. What does that mean? It probably means that my process of awakening involves a deep consideration of my identity and a quest to find peace in the sea of white anonymous robes. I hate it, but I have to learn to let go of the idea that I am, somehow, too different to reach outside of myself - too good to settle for average, normal experience - too self-righteous to submit to eating disorder treatment and recovery. Maybe I am not "too special" or "too different" or "too good" for the experience of life. Maybe it is the belief that I am "too... whatever" that is preventing me from experiencing my body in this time and place in a fully wakened state.
Lesson for the week. What am I scared of in becoming "normal?" Why do I panic when I think about becoming nameless, and faceless? What is there in my arrogance that is protecting me, and shielding my ego from letting go into a state of truth and clarity? How do I even begin to put on my white robe, walk in the crowd, and find peace in my soul without being "set apart" somehow?
Until I find out, I'm sure the Universe will continue to throw messages in my direction. It's painful to get hit, but how else will I awake?
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Terminal Uniqueness
I write again tonight, reaching deeply for a strong dose of humility and patience. I have been treading water in my recovery in the past month - pretending to "do the work" without being truly committed or dedicated. I go to meetings, struggle through therapy, and do a lot of thinking and talking about my eating disorder. But through all the talk, I've remained addicted to the control of anorexia and have absolutely refused to let go the reigns of control that bind me to the disorder. I haven't been eating - I've been refusing to sleep normally and the survival eating mechanism inside me has been in overdrive. My days are spent planning for the day when I finally will be "ready" to surrender to treatment, and obsessing about my body and the weight I have gained in the past months.
I just got back from an ED drop-in group, which proved to be painfully humiliating. I was trying to articulate why I'm having such a difficult time in treatment - why I still can't bring myself to fully trust the process or treatment team. I was explaining that I completely agree with their meal plans and guidelines for other people, but that I see myself as exempt somehow - I don't qualify to eat three meals a day and two snacks because I am, somehow, different. I need to eat less for some reason - I need to exercise more because of my athletic background - my body won't know how to respond to food in the same way as other people. I can think of a hundred reasons to not surrender to treatment, because I am just NOT LIKE OTHER PEOPLE.
One of my therapists heard this and bluntly said, "yep, that's common. In 12-step programs, it's called terminal uniqueness. It's this idea that your addiction is somehow MERITED because YOU are different - you have special circumstances - no one could possibly understand." Essentially, her point was that I am holding this self-righteous idea that I don't NEED the same treatment plan as everyone else because I think that I should be exempt - I am too good and too different to be "normal." I don't want to play by the normal rules, because I see myself as set apart from the group.
THIS STUNG.
The minute it came out of her mouth, I felt my defenses rise. She was right - I don't see myself as one of the group - I see myself in an entirely different league than the people for whom this treatment is designed. I see myself as needing different guidelines and standards because I have always been naturally thin, because I am a long-distance runner, because I have friends who are thinner than me (which, in my ED logic, means that I should be worried about LOSING, not GAINING, weight).
It stung because it's true.
I asked what it would take to push myself from "pretending to be in treatment" (showing up for meetings and talking about changing) to actually surrendering to the process (which would mean trusting my body, submitting to weight gain, and ACTUALLY EATING instead of just planning and thinking about it). My therapist replied with another stinging reality check: "humility."
Owwwwwww.
It hurts. I know it's true, and it sucks. I know it's true because every molecule in my body reacted... it was as if the word itself vibrated in me. I was so uncomfortable my breath caught in my chest... I HATE BEING TOLD THAT I NEED HUMILITY.
Being seen as arrogant is something that terrifies me - probably because I know that my inner self-composition is based largely on the idea that I am inherently different than (and thus, set apart from and superior to) other people. I know that I am deeply arrogant, and I hate it. It is a part of myself that I try desperately to hide - I don't even admit to myself that it is there. To have someone in a public space call me out on this great "secret" was humiliating, humbling, shame-producing, and defense-inducing.
So now, here I sit, well over an hour after hearing a therapist tell me that my eating disorder is surviving because of my arrogance... and I can't help but think, "no, that's not me. I'm different. The rules don't apply to me because of blah blah blah..."
Maybe I am terminally unique. Maybe that's why this stings so badly and why I am having such a strong reaction to it. I don't want to be normal - I want to stand out from the crowd. If I don't, how will I survive? My entire identity rests in being valuable and worthwhile by outdoing others... what happens if I am just one of many? Who will I be then?
I have to be special... we're told from our childhood that we are unique and special people. I believed it all, and then spent all of my time trying to stand out and find the spotlight by proving my exceptional "specialness." If I'm not special after all, what am I?
How do I LEARN humility? What does humility look like? How can I humble myself without degrading myself or declaring absolute self-failure? Every time I try humility, I end up undervaluing myself, my knowledge, my experience and opinions... I swing from one end of the pendulum to the other.
But I don't want to cling to terminal uniqueness forever. I don't want to continue to see myself as "exempt" from the rules of life - from the process of ED treatment - from the harrowing reality of anorexia. So where is the middle ground? And how do I go about letting go of the only identity I've ever known... the identity instilled in me from my very birth... that I am a "special" and "unique" child in the world?
I just got back from an ED drop-in group, which proved to be painfully humiliating. I was trying to articulate why I'm having such a difficult time in treatment - why I still can't bring myself to fully trust the process or treatment team. I was explaining that I completely agree with their meal plans and guidelines for other people, but that I see myself as exempt somehow - I don't qualify to eat three meals a day and two snacks because I am, somehow, different. I need to eat less for some reason - I need to exercise more because of my athletic background - my body won't know how to respond to food in the same way as other people. I can think of a hundred reasons to not surrender to treatment, because I am just NOT LIKE OTHER PEOPLE.
One of my therapists heard this and bluntly said, "yep, that's common. In 12-step programs, it's called terminal uniqueness. It's this idea that your addiction is somehow MERITED because YOU are different - you have special circumstances - no one could possibly understand." Essentially, her point was that I am holding this self-righteous idea that I don't NEED the same treatment plan as everyone else because I think that I should be exempt - I am too good and too different to be "normal." I don't want to play by the normal rules, because I see myself as set apart from the group.
THIS STUNG.
The minute it came out of her mouth, I felt my defenses rise. She was right - I don't see myself as one of the group - I see myself in an entirely different league than the people for whom this treatment is designed. I see myself as needing different guidelines and standards because I have always been naturally thin, because I am a long-distance runner, because I have friends who are thinner than me (which, in my ED logic, means that I should be worried about LOSING, not GAINING, weight).
It stung because it's true.
I asked what it would take to push myself from "pretending to be in treatment" (showing up for meetings and talking about changing) to actually surrendering to the process (which would mean trusting my body, submitting to weight gain, and ACTUALLY EATING instead of just planning and thinking about it). My therapist replied with another stinging reality check: "humility."
Owwwwwww.
It hurts. I know it's true, and it sucks. I know it's true because every molecule in my body reacted... it was as if the word itself vibrated in me. I was so uncomfortable my breath caught in my chest... I HATE BEING TOLD THAT I NEED HUMILITY.
Being seen as arrogant is something that terrifies me - probably because I know that my inner self-composition is based largely on the idea that I am inherently different than (and thus, set apart from and superior to) other people. I know that I am deeply arrogant, and I hate it. It is a part of myself that I try desperately to hide - I don't even admit to myself that it is there. To have someone in a public space call me out on this great "secret" was humiliating, humbling, shame-producing, and defense-inducing.
So now, here I sit, well over an hour after hearing a therapist tell me that my eating disorder is surviving because of my arrogance... and I can't help but think, "no, that's not me. I'm different. The rules don't apply to me because of blah blah blah..."
Maybe I am terminally unique. Maybe that's why this stings so badly and why I am having such a strong reaction to it. I don't want to be normal - I want to stand out from the crowd. If I don't, how will I survive? My entire identity rests in being valuable and worthwhile by outdoing others... what happens if I am just one of many? Who will I be then?
I have to be special... we're told from our childhood that we are unique and special people. I believed it all, and then spent all of my time trying to stand out and find the spotlight by proving my exceptional "specialness." If I'm not special after all, what am I?
How do I LEARN humility? What does humility look like? How can I humble myself without degrading myself or declaring absolute self-failure? Every time I try humility, I end up undervaluing myself, my knowledge, my experience and opinions... I swing from one end of the pendulum to the other.
But I don't want to cling to terminal uniqueness forever. I don't want to continue to see myself as "exempt" from the rules of life - from the process of ED treatment - from the harrowing reality of anorexia. So where is the middle ground? And how do I go about letting go of the only identity I've ever known... the identity instilled in me from my very birth... that I am a "special" and "unique" child in the world?
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