One Day at a Time

There is no shame in admitting that you need help.

One of the hardest things I have ever done was finally admitting that I had a problem and that I needed help with it.  We attach shame and stigma to this... something that in all actuality takes great strength.

It's been just over a month since I finally reached out for help.

Thirty-three days in recovery.

Thirty-three long, emotionally-draining, overwhelming days.  Thirty-three days of an uphill climb... sometimes one step forward followed by two steps back.

I'm happy to say that today looks brighter than this day a month ago.  That I can now begin to feel my emotions again, feel a desire to be around people, and actually smile and laugh for real and not just because I'm faking it.  That I now have energy each day when I wake up.  Sure, some days looks better than others, and that's not to say there haven't been some low ones as well.  But at one time most of my days looked dark, and now there seem to be more light ones than dark ones.

So I will keep on keeping on.  One day at a time.

What I wish People Knew

I overheard a conversation recently between co-workers.

It centered around depression.  This particular person, co-worker number 1, was expressing that there was a possibility that he was, in fact, depressed.  So number 2 responded with a sudden, "Research has shown that really, there is no proof that antidepressants work and that the myth of a "happy pill" is just that-- a myth."  Co-worker number 1 begins to make light of people with depression.

Of course, here I was sitting there listening and feeling shame deep down.  Here I had just that very morning taken my very first dose of an antidepressant medication.  A huge, difficult step for me in this journey.

Happy pill?

I have spent the last year and a half solidly depressed.

I have felt insignificant, alone, and worthless.

I have looked in the mirror every day for months and not recognized the face looking back at me.

I have very few things that I actually enjoy doing anymore... in fact, I'm not even sure what I consider to be "fun" anymore.

I have abused my body with extremes of bingeing, starving, over-exercising, restricting, and starting all over again... and literally being unable to stop.

I have spent six months with no energy, no spark, feeling stuck in a hole so, so deep I could see no way out.  

I have lived with insomnia that could drive a person crazy.

And you think it's about a happy pill?

I could have screamed in that moment.  Because I'm not looking for a happy pill to fix my problems. I have been hanging onto whatever hope I have left to get through this-- hoping against all hope that along with therapy, perhaps an antidepressant might just help me have a little bit of light in my eyes again... a little bit of energy to spend with friends... a little bit of "me" back again.

As I have mentioned frequently, I have been struggling with an eating disorder.  Would you look at me and guess that?  No.  Because I'm not super thin, nor am I really even overweight, I slide by as someone who just really, really loves food but also really, really loves health and fitness.

The truth is, both of those things have become something I am enslaved to.

I haven't been officially diagnosed with an eating disorder, but I will be working with an eating disorder center starting in a few weeks for help with this to determine what exactly is going on.  I think there are varying aspects to my eating disorder but I'm not really sure what they are, but I've most closely narrowed it down to binge eating as far as I can tell.  Binge eating disorder is characterized by (source: nationaleatingdisorders.org):

• Recurrent episodes of binge eating. An episode of binge eating is characterized by both of the following: 
• Eating, in a discrete period of time (e.g., within any 2-hour period), an amount of food that is definitely larger than what most people would eat in a similar period of time under similar circumstances.
• A sense of lack of control over eating during the episode (e.g., a feeling that one cannot stop eating or control what or how much one is eating).
• The binge eating episodes are associated with three (or more) of the following: 
• Eating much more rapidly than normal.
• Eating until feeling uncomfortably full.
• Eating large amounts of food when not feeling physically hungry.
• Eating alone because of feeling embarrassed by how much one is eating.
• Feeling disgusted with oneself, depressed, or very guilty afterward.
• Marked distress regarding binge eating is present.
• The binge eating occurs, on average, at least once a week for 3 months.
• The binge eating is not associated with the recurrent use of inappropriate compensatory behaviors (e.g., purging) as in bulimia nervosa and does not occur exclusively during the course of bulimia nervosa or anorexia nervosa

I am not sure exactly when I can pinpoint that this actually began.  Looking back over my life, I seem to have had periodic episodes from anorexia, to extreme restriction, to bingeing and overexercising, and body dysmorphia.  Eating has never really been... normal.  At least not since I was fifteen years old.  I have begun reading through old journals and found some pretty heartbreaking entries in relation to my dieting, exercising, and body image mentality.  I didn't realize just how deep a lot of this goes.

It's difficult, because I know that at times when I've opened up to people about this, they don't take it seriously.  I look healthy enough.  I don't ever gain more than 10 or 15 pounds.  Never mind that my weight has fluctuated up and down nonstop for the past several years.  It's kind of the attitude of, "Oh. You struggle with overeating. Join the club."  Cue the eye roll.

God I wish it was that simple.  I wish that was all it was.

Right now, I don't see a way out of my struggle in that particular area.  It has been a vicious cycle for too long now.  I'll think I'm in the clear, think I've overcome it... only to crash and burn in the worst way and be starting from scratch all over again.  That's why I'm reaching out for help specifically in that area.  It's hard being almost thirty years old and this STILL being an issue.  It's embarrassing.  But I don't want to be forty, of fifty, or sixty and STILL be dealing with this so severely.  I've seen what that looks like.  Seen the life that eating disorders steal from people.  And I want my life back.

Depression.

Yes, depression.  Writing that and acknowledging it feels so strange to me.

I realized today that possibly one reason I haven't acknowledged this fact is that I'm not exactly... sad.  Mostly I feel nothing.  Nothing but tired, fatigued, and zero energy 95% of the time.  My mind feels muddled and struggles to concentrate.... which has made everyday tasks seem insurmountable at times.  My insomnia hangs on, which only exacerbates things.

From the outside looking in, my life looks awesome.  It really does.  I have received comments about all the exciting and amazing things I do.  And it's hard because what people don't see is that most of the time when I'm NOT doing those things (which are actually extremely far and few between... and honestly, are only ever half-enjoyed), I spend most of my time home.  Alone.  Unable to reach out to anyone.  Sometimes I go for a run or to the gym.  Most of the time I am simply laying around not doing much of anything but watching Netflix.  Sadly, the Office and Parks and Rec are my friends these days.

How do you explain to people what you're really going through?  I kept it hidden from even my closest friends and family for so long.  Even the ones that knew bits and pieces weren't getting it all, because who wants to keep listening to the same crap over and over?

That's why I finally reached out and am getting into therapy.  It's been a long time coming.  And I can finally admit that I NEED HELP.

And even though I still feel like I'm barely keeping my head above water, I finally have a small flicker of hope.  Hope to overcome.  Hope to live fully.  Hope for healing relationships and re-building bridges.  I know tomorrow may not feel quite this bright, but for today I am thankful for the small light that just might be at the end of this tunnel.

It's Time.

Life, man...

Do you ever just wish you could get a do-over?

I have been struggling.  STRUGGLING.  And for the first time in my life, I finally have had the courage to reach out for help.

I haven't been there for people in my life because of what I've been going through... I know how to self-sabotage, push people away, be hurtful, and keep myself away from the world because of this.  My mind has been in a very dark, sad place for too long.  It is time for me to recognize my problems as what they are-- I am struggling with mental health problems and I can't do it alone anymore.

I need prayer, because right now I simply can't pray.  My prayers come in the form of tears and pleas these days, and silence is my answer.

I know this sounds like I'm in an acute crisis and I'm not... I am not suicidal so please don't interpret this as a call for help in that way.  I simply want to shed light on where I'm at and where I've been.  Maybe it's tacky and strange to post this on a blog, but honestly I don't really care.  I want to be heard, and even if putting this out on a blog post that won't be read by many can alleviate some of that, then it's worth it to me.

Thirty.  Thirty is a milestone.  I want thirty to kick depression and binge eating disorder in the balls.  I want to overcome this and I want to live fully again.  I am tired.

Thoughts, Thoughts, and More Thoughts

Well, I can't seem to figure out a good way to keep this blog going.  I guess we will just go back to the tried-and- true, write when I have time and inspiration to post.  And that's ok!

I shared recently some of my struggles over the fall and winter with eating disorders, anxiety, and depression.  The weight gain that came with it, that seemed to perpetuate the cycle even more.  Binge, gain weight, feel depressed about gained weight.  Anxiety attack, then another binge, and so on and so forth.  It.Was.Miserable.  It was happening probably 2-4 times per week by the time November rolled around.  It was really hard.

I'm in a much better place now, although yes there are still days it can be a struggle.  Because I look at how others live their lives, seemingly unaffected by the choices they make from one meal to the next, and I feel like that is a struggle I may never get over.

I know I have never been obese.  Overweight, yes.  But obese, no.  I realize I don't understand what it's like to be a fat person in our society.  But I know what it's like to feel trapped in your body, trapped in your mind, and unable to break free of the cycle of hating your body-- and both hating and loving food because of what it does to and for you.  This thing that I literally rely on for survival is also my greatest enemy.  Drug addictions may be worse in other ways, but food addiction?  You can never get away from your addiction, not really.  You can't "not eat."  Before you say food addiction is not real, tread carefully.  Because there are people who literally think about food night and day, and constantly have to fight the urge to eat and eat and eat.  Looking at me you wouldn't think I've been there, but what you see on the surface isn't always what it looks like.

So while I try and love my body as it is, to appreciate what it is able to do, deep down I still hold tight to the ideal "perfect body" that I want to attain.  I do still feel that I won't be truly happy until I have that.  The thing is, I know that isn't true, but it is still somehow the way I feel.  And I've realized recently how much this has hindered me in life.  At times I think, would I be married if I hadn't ever had this struggle?  I always seem to go for guys who value fitness above all else.  Perhaps because I myself am shallow in that way, but then I put those same expectations on myself as well to be perfect.  So instead of finding someone who really, truly thinks I am perfect as I am... well, I find the ones who seem to value perfect bodies above all.  *sigh*

Catch my drift?  I'm kind of a mess to be honest.  I'm 29 years old and still trying to figure it all out.  Maybe there's a reason for it, I don't know.  The thing is, I don't want my 30s to be defined by this.  I feel that my 20s has been plagued by constant hatred of myself and who I am, what I look like.  And while I'm entering my 30s much more confident than I was 10 years ago (thank goodness!) I still feel as though... I don't know.  I feel like I should be much farther along in that area.  While my friends are all mostly married, and raising their children and going about their happy suburban lives, I feel stuck in this phase of my life like I am never going to get out of it.  And when I think I'm close, I just fall back into the same cycle again and again.

This has been probably the most disorganized post ever, but somehow it feels good to write this down and put it out there.  Maybe someone else knows how I feel right now.  Or maybe you're just reading this thinking, "Get a grip, Natalie, there are more important things to worry about!"  Well, you are not walking in my shoes, and I'm not walking in yours.  This is my journey and I'm just doing the best I can right now.

"I Don't Remember"

I don't remember being sure.  Sure of my faith, that is.

I have long spent my life wondering what is truth.  You see, I know all the "answers,"and try as I might, I often had a hard time with belief.

It kept me up at night, even as a very little girl.

I'm not sure I've ever doubted God's existence, although there have been times I've wondered.  However I look around and I only see evidence of His existence.  I know we can't be here by accident.  I know there is some sort of purpose, some reason we are placed on this earth.  My belief about God is probably different than the one in which I was raised in, however.  

I felt guilty having these doubts and questions, and I never talked about them.  It's taboo in most Christian circles I've ever been apart of.  It only recently occurred to me that they aren't a mystery to God.  He knows they're there, whether I outwardly express them or not.  I have lately been in a period of doubt and questioning, of letting myself express those doubts and questions.  I don't remember not having them.

I don't know what answers those questions will lead me to.  I trust God has a purpose in letting me go through this, but I also wish He would just grant me faith to never question and to always believe.  That just seems so much simpler to me.  I think my biggest question lately has been, is there more than one path that leads to Him?  Even just voicing that scares me.

Anyway, there is one thing I do know, and that is my belief that God is good.

PS

Anyone seen The Shack yet? I saw it last night and it gave me pause to think about these things.

"I Remember When"

In an effort to write more, I am using writing prompts from Ann Dee Ellis, in which I am given a topic and 8 minutes to write unedited.

I remember when life was simple.

I viewed it through rose-colored glasses.  I was raised in a conservative, Christian household and was homeschooled.  I forget often just how good and simple those days were.

When they ran together one into the next.  When life revolved around my favorite events each week-- Sunday night Pioneer Clubs, Wednesday afternoon choir, and Friday morning co-op.  Because I was homeschooled, I lived for those moments when I could see my friends.  And the icing on the cake was going to McDonald's on Fridays.  Oh, those simple pleasures.

And then in the summers, when the days were long and we would play outside all day long.  Riding our bikes, making up games in the backyard, my favorite being "Underground" in which my sisters and I discovered an entire world beneath us. 

I remember when trips to Grandma and Grandpa's in the summer, but most especially at Christmas time, were magical.  I mean that when I say magical, because there was nothing like it.  I think those are my best memories from my childhood.  My grandparents knew how to make those visits so special.  I don't know if it was because in my family we didn't really do a whole lot "as a family."  For some reason, when we went to Grandma and Grandpa's, it really felt like I was home.  I miss those times more than I can even express.

I remember when that curtain between my childhood and reality became slowly lifted.  Is it bad?  No, but I do miss the simplicity of those days.  I don't think of them often, but when I do the nostalgia almost overcomes me.  I dream of one day having a family of my own, because I want to give that to my children.  I want to live those memories again with them.  I want them to remember happy, simple times.  Sure, there are things I will do differently than my parents did, because they didn't do everything right (does anyone?) but I want my children to have a happy childhood in the same way I did.

2016 has been an odd year.  One I won't be too sorry to leave behind, and I hate that I feel that way.  To look at an entire year and paint it with one broad brush of "Terrible" or "Amazing."

The truth is, 2016 has been lots of things.  Not just bad.  A lot of good things happened this year.  But I come to the end of this year feeling beaten down, weary, and ready for some sort of new beginning.

I suppose what it comes down to is I worked really hard and reached many goals this year.  And I stop and wonder, for what?  Sure, marking things off a bucket list feels good.  But to what end?  I have done nothing for my fellow man.  Nothing to help others.  Granted, I realize my career does help others, but even that has ceased to fulfill me in the way it once did.  I have lived selfishly and not cared for those around me.  I have invested very little into cultivating friendship and community.  I have simply existed, going from one day to the next.

I am looking for ways that I can look outside of myself and help others.  Make new friends, cultivate real and authentic relationships with people.  Isolation simply begets more depression and anxiety, which leads to more isolation.  I am done with that life, and I want to learn how to get beyond it.

"And when the peace turns to danger; the nights are longer than days.  And every friend has a stranger's face... Then deep within the dungeon cell you have to make a choice.  Rejoice"

-Andrew Peterson

I don't even know where to begin, honestly.

I've shared bits and pieces very vaguely about what a struggle these recent months have been.

I have felt... well, to be quite honest, I have felt nothing for a long time.

Only in these last few weeks by the grace of God placing people in my life, have I begun to feel a small glimmer of hope.

The brief moments of reprieve came here and there, but it was never long before I had to retreat back into my cave, away from the very things I needed: friendships, community.  I stopped being able to handle even very basic things like cleaning or cooking a simple meal.  Taking care of myself became a struggle.

I can't even place into words what is going on in my heart tonight.  It has been so long since I have really felt anything, and these last few weeks of whatever this is (softening?) have slowly opened me up to friendships and vulnerability and letting people see just how raw and ugly my soul is.  I have wanted people to think I am ok, and from the outside nobody could have known what a struggle was going on.  I have been going through a period of depression and extreme anxiety, and on top of that an eating disorder.

By no means am I "on the other side."  That isn't going to happen overnight.  I know that I need help for where I am.  And I am finally in a place where I can seek that help.

This has been one shit hole of a year.  I am not going to even try to sugarcoat that.  It's looked like a great year from the outside looking in, what with all the trips and races and whatnot.

If you ask me why or what has caused this, I don't know.

All I know is I can't do it alone.  And I'm not alone anymore.

I want to share more of my journey with you here, and I plan on doing just that.

Marathon: Finished!

26.2

That's how many miles I ran yesterday!  I can finally, officially say I am a marathon finisher!  My final time was 04:41:57.  While I was hoping to break 4:30, I am still happy and proud of my race!

It was a beautiful course in Leavenworth, Washington.  There were many times I found myself wishing I was able to just stop and take in the view and the beautiful fall colors.  On top of that, there are all sorts of trails in the area and I was just too sore to even think about hiking any of them today!

It was a hard race, for sure.  I always heard about "the wall" from everyone who has done a marathon.  That inevitable point when your glycogen stores are completely depleted, and all logical thinking goes out the window as all you want to do is stop running.  Many people say this often happens at mile 18.  And I did hit it then, losing my pace and realizing I still had eight miles to go.  But after a couple of miles I was somehow able to rally and pick up the pace once again.

Of course, I was still exhausted and tired and ready to be done.  But I knew I was still doing ok.  Then mile 24 hit.  Everything hurt.  I was slowing down and I couldn't bring my pace up at all.  I started finding myself fighting back tears.  I wanted to walk.  I knew if I walked I would not start running again.  I started trying to think of anything and everything to distract myself and nothing worked.  My body was screaming at me to stop.  The only thing that kept me going anymore was knowing that I would be so pissed at myself, after all my training, if I gave up then and there.

That finish line was a beautiful and most welcome sight.  I wanted to cry, although I didn't.  My friends were there to celebrate for a short while, but one of them wasn't feeling well so they left pretty quickly.  Races are often anticlimactic, but I was ok with it.  I trained for this marathon by myself, and I was happy with the satisfaction of finishing what I started.  Even when I reached burn-out while training, dealt with fatigue, worked long hours... I didn't give up.

Of course, we all went out later on for Oktoberfest in Leavenworth, and that was celebration enough!

I read recently an athlete who said always, always give it 100%.  And be ok with the fact that sometimes today's 100% is maybe not as strong as what 100% was a week ago, or a month ago or a year ago.  I gave yesterday my 100%.  I am happy and proud of the work I put in.

And I am ready for a training break... for a little while, at least!  :)

I've gained weight.

It's a fact and... It's ok.  A couple of months ago the thought made me cry.  Every bad thing I thought about myself came rushing to the surface because of the simple fact that I have put on a few pounds.

To me, the weight gain screamed to the world what a failure I was.  How out of shape I was, despite actually being in great shape-- just perhaps not aesthetically so.  How could I hate myself so much after talking so much about learning to love my body in all its flaws?

And all of that was true, of course.  But in a way, it is a little easier to love your body when your weight is a good 20 pounds below where you once were.  It's much harder when your body is slowly creeping its way back to where it once was.  Especially when that comes as a result of depression and loneliness.  Not necessarily unhappiness... because really... I can't say I'm completely unhappy in my life, even though I'm struggling with depression.  Does that make any sense??

Sometimes it is almost the thought of how others perceive me now that I'm here that has kept me down.  Before I went to Florida a few weeks ago, I felt absolutely mortified to think of my friends and family seeing me like this.  I actually attempted several times to lose weight before my trip, which only backfired on me.  How could I show my face, after finishing a 70.3 triathlon and running all summer to train for a marathon, and be heavier than I was the last time they had seen me?  Honestly, I felt embarrassed.

I don't feel embarrassed anymore.  I don't feel ashamed of it.  Can I say I love it?  Hell no.  But yesterday I did something in the arena of "self care:" I bought myself some nice, cute, and yes-- expensive (to me) clothes that fit.  I bought jewelry and new sunglasses.  No more hiding in t-shirts and workout clothes, because that's what I've been doing.  I'm tired of it.  I once had a wardrobe full of beautiful, flattering outfits.  When I lost weight I gave it all away.  As I've slowly rebuilt my wardrobe, I never really thought about the fact that staying at that weight might be a struggle, and one that wasn't really worth it.  And so I'm not going to be hiding myself in outfits that I don't even like, while I work hard to fit back into outfits that might fit me for a month or two.

If I'm able to once again fit into those clothes, so be it.  But the truth is, I'm exhausted.  I am close to complete burn-out with my training and I don't want to get there.  I want to keep loving fitness.  I want to enjoy food once again without guilt and without worrying about what it will do to my waistline.  I want to go for a run and not care about how slow or fast I was or how many miles I got in that day.  I want to just be.