two Christmas trees...

Last night, we decorated my Christmas tree.My mum wanted to take a photo of me putting the angel on the top, and my immediate internal reaction was that I definitely didn't want photographic documentation of how 'healthy/well [fat]' I now am again... Then I reminded myself that it wasn't about that - it was about me being with my family, decorating the Christmas tree: I let her take it. Then immediately compared it to last year's similar picture; picked myself apart and did a lot of thinking while lying on my bed with a huge cup of tea...

As I look back across this year of growth – both literal and figurative – it hasn’t been linear. It has been messy and painful; with wobbles and backslides and momentarily ending up somehow worse than when I started at points of deepest despair. It has forced me to be real with my imperfection and vulnerability and led me to discover a fragile new ability to be more honest about how I feel.

Even now, I know I’m not recovered because I see the year in terms of numbers and weight and calories. January-when-I-was-skinny-and-miserable and May-when-I-was-heavier-but-happier and then the dreaded August-and-September-when-being-tiny-again-took-me-to-rock-bottom… In my mind, my weight and my life are so intertwined – however much I dig to the logical part of my mind and convince myself that my body is just the thing I live from and that its size is irrelevant, it still colours my days and my perception of myself.

My Christmas holidays last year are fuzzy now, but the general memories are of my daily choices being completely dictated by myfitnesspal’s calorie count and sitting parked on random streets in my cold, dark car in order to avoid meals (having conveniently made plans for 6:30pm to fit with my lies and avoidance). Of sitting against the radiator in all my clothes and still shivering;  avoiding seeing friends who would pull me up on my weight loss and sipping herbal tea that I didn’t even like because ‘normal tea has too many calories because of the (skimmed) milk’. I may now gaze a little longingly at pictures of my smaller legs and teeny waist from those weeks, but I know passionately that I wasn’t present in my life last Christmas: I might have been thin, but I was too caught up in my illness to properly be me; to love the people I love and celebrate life and opportunities.

I am incredibly stubborn. This has, in the past, been hijacked by my eating disorder: ‘I will get to this weight by this date. I will not eat more than X calories per day.’; but it is also an important tool in terms of positive actions. If I decide I’m going to recover, I’m going to make damn sure that I recover. I’m better at that side: the gritty, determined, painful slog of meal and snack and milk to top up calories and keeping away from bathrooms and locking up the trainers and scales. The aspect of recovery that remains a mystery to me still is the ‘self compassion’ bit: the way in which therapists want me to think in order to recover – not just by brute force with myself, but through loving my body and loving myself and deciding that I’m just as worthy of food and happiness as everyone else and oh  look how beautiful I am at a healthy weight. I’m under no illusion that my cynicism isn’t blindingly obvious in that sentence. Like almost everyone I’ve ever met with an eating disorder, I see myself as the exception. I wholeheartedly advocate for others’ worth and beauty, but I’m somehow 'different'. I force myself to eat and gain weight but hate myself even more when I'm alone and undistracted; I nearly cry every morning while getting dressed because I feel so disgusting. I have a long way to go; but I'm more determined than ever to continue to make progress. 

This Christmas season, I've already enjoyed (yes, enjoyed: not tolerated or survived or panicked through, but enjoyed) two Christmas dinners with two different sets of friends who are more like family. I've had multiple glasses of mulled wine without freaking out about the calories. I might be bigger than last year, but already I'm more present. I choose presence in my own life over being thin any day... 

I am reminded of the quote I used at the end of the Christmas message I gave last year at December's IMPACT! event:

 "God loves us enough to meet us exactly as we are; but too much to leave us that way"

This year hasn't been easy, by any means, but it is certainly full of evidence of this faithfulness shown by my loving, powerful God. I am so blessed.

'choose your hard'

I've been very absent on this blog lately - for many reasons. Partially because term became ridiculously busy and I was throwing myself into being a medical student; partially because this blog was implicated in real life situations of people worrying about me so much that they took serious action and I was left bruised and feeling vulnerable. I've also been so stretched out living and recovering and pushing myself through exams that I haven't really had the time or energy to invest in looking inwards and reflecting...

So much has changed that I won't be able to properly explain it. Things are incredibly different now to when I last posted - and I am  so very grateful for that.


1) I've moved house.
As of 18th November, I'm living with a wonderful family from church. Long story as to why my last house didn't work out; mostly due to my eating disorder and the ways in which people cope with it. Moving out was my decision and I felt like it was so important to me to make a fresh start.

It was definitely a good decision. It's going amazingly... I haven't made myself sick in weeks; I'm not counting calories or consciously restricting. I wake up every morning to the most beautiful 16 month old, who just wants my 'duddles'. I've always felt that, when I'm with babies and toddlers, I'm infinitely more free than usual from my eating disordered thoughts - maternal instincts take over and I focus on looking after the beautiful children as opposed to my thighs. Living in that situation does wonders for me...

 While I was revising I had a rough day (probably mostly to do with the fact that there was noone else in the house all day, and I'd got behind on my meds!) and backslid  to a bit of duvet hiding, sobbing over my weight gain, running away from food and generally being unproductive and unkind to myself. I was feeling so awful by the time the others were due home that I nearly went out to hide from them, but then little Ellie came in all upset and, while her mum sorted everything out, I held her and rocked her to sleep and rubbed her back while she wailed the way I wanted to. By the time she was snuggled asleep on my lap, I was peaceful, grounded and calm. Incredible.

2) I've finished term. 
Having actually even survived this term is, to be honest, a huge achievement given the way it began. In that first week, I honestly would never have believed I'd make it through the time of term - let alone actually complete the term itself. It's been the most incredible turn around; God is so so good.

I had my KT (exam) last Friday, and it went incredibly well! It was a hard paper but I was very prepared, well-fueled, well-revised and fully engaged with the topics. Neuro and psychiatry turned out to be completely absorbing once I had the concentration to properly involve myself in them: this has been by far my favourite term in terms of the material covered.

I remember thinking at the start of term a particular low weight I'd like to be by Winter Ball. It didn't happen, but the completion of the term and (hopefully) passing of the exam and survival and thriving and getting my smile back did.


3) I actually feel alive again
I feel like I've got myself back... I'm back to crazy Anna, who has crazy fits of laughter and throws myself into the things I love. It's not easy and I still have a lot of work to do, but I'm so much better than I was. Infinitely better than I was. I'm so incredibly thankful for fun and not just praying for the days to end but actually appreciating life.

I'm thankful for the wonderful people I get to spend my days with. I want to show them how much I love them every day instead of devoting my energy to destroying my own body in pursuit of an empty goal.

I feel like I've said this so many times before, but I really am so determined to continue to take back my life from anorexia. It's hard but worth it.

one week

Today marks a week of change. A week since I slightly hopelessly (admittedly, I doubted myself completely) wrote out my new commitment to really genuinely try not to use ED behaviours and actually give myself a chance to move forward. And I, a cynic when it comes to myself relating to these situations, am amazed to see myself typing this: I cannot believe the vastness of the differences that have occurred over the course of a week!

• I can get out of bed in the mornings again - don't have to roll onto the floor and crawl up; I actually wake up feeling like the sleep has refreshed me slightly.
• mornings aren't 4:30am wake ups - I've been sleeping until 6am most days this week.
• this whole 'training to be a doctor' thing is actually back on my radar - GP placement on Tuesday reminded me that I am capable; I am competent and I have the capacity to really help people in the future with this path.
• my singing voice has power and strength again
• I can worship without feeling like a hypocrite
• I can drink tea and actually enjoy it, instead of downing it to fill myself up
• I'm not scared to see the people I love (most of the time)
• I had my first week back at football last night,  and I remembered how much I love it
• I'm leading worship at the uni CU meeting on Monday night - and I'm excited
•  I actually feel like I want to live again

This has shown me that I am far less helpless than I thought; nothing has changed with my situation in terms of professional help etc, but I made a decision and followed it through by God's grace, and all this has changed. I'm proud of myself; that's hard to say because there's still a huge part of me that's screaming 'noo, you were doing so well, why are you letting the control go, you're going to be fat etc etc' but that's eating disordered lies. That isn't Anna and that certainly isn't God, and those - particularly the latter - are who I want in control of my life.

As I journalled yesterday 'this is the bit of recovery that's hard and real. Not the breakthroughs and the dramatic progress moments, but waking up each morning and feeling huge and eating breakfast through the panic and sitting with the feelings in tears. Crouching alone on your bed in the dark and desperately convincing yourself that this is right when it just feels wrong. It's easier choosing recovery once but it has to be chosen every second of every minute of every day and that's painful and exhausting. It takes everything you have and more because the energy does run out and you give everything to find it's not quite enough. But that's why recovery isn't something that can be done solo. That's why I fight against pride and overindependence and say 'Lord please, I need Your strength more than ever'. That's why, this morning, I choose to lift my eyes.'

Of course, this is very much still the beginning. I'm still underweight and I'm still not eating enough or enough variety and I can see disordered behaviours all around. I'm scared and I know I will need huge amounts of help to keep moving forward - but a beginning is enough. This time, I'm determined to use last week's rock bottom as my 'enough is enough' - to hand over my ashes and let it get messy.

'There is nothing that God cannot turn around to glorify His name - nothing' 

Today, I'm clinging to that truth. 

new term; new commitment?

It's safe to say that my first week back at uni was something of a disaster...predictable by most people around me - and even me - I didn't cope so well with going back. The Monday started off horrendously when I tried to increase my breakfast and completely panicked/spent a couple of hours in tears then pulled it together to go to uni only to have the most horrible day of beyond confusing lectures and friendship dramas and lots of stress. Then I was up all night and missed Tuesday; asked fairly desperately for help from the ED clinic after group on Wednesday only to hear the same story that this elusive new key worker will apparently call me that week (surprise surprise, they didn't) and then missed my timetabled Wednesday as well. Wednesday was an afternoon of complete hopelessness and considering giving up completely and Thursday was the resulting emergency GP appt, where I agreed to start medication to see if that helped and was given numbers to call. Finally made it in on Friday to some pointless lectures and a tutorial that I didn't understand, having missed the previous lectures and the dissection session for the week, and thus ended the first week of year 2, term 1. It probably could have gone better...

On Saturday morning I decided it was time to make a new agreement. Clearly, this relapse thing isn't making me feel better. Clearly the voice that says 'just a couple more kg, then you're allowed to properly recover again' is complete lies and it's just making things spiral; it's making me lose everything and ultimately it could ruin my whole life if I let it. So I wrote out a commitment - to myself and God. I prayed over it and stuck it on my window, behind the curtain so it's subtle but I see it every morning when I open the curtain.

I'm proud to say that I've stuck to this agreement ever since. Despite much opposition: particularly on Monday when I had a very dramatic situation with a parked car's handbrake failing, causing it to crash into mine and stay on top of it until I managed to do some manouvering with bricks with the help of a nice garage man. And my bank card breaking at the worst possible time and other everyday mishaps that would usually cause me to fall into cycles of blame and guilt and self punishment using food (or lack thereof) and exercise.

 Despite the messiness and struggles, there has clearly been a lot of 'on my side' activity going on as well: even in the worst of last week, I had the most lovely date night. I can hardly believe that, on potentially the most hopeless day I’d ever experienced, I spent the evening falling about laughing at pictures of dogs that looked like people we knew, and proving my strength by doing high school gymnastics lifts on Jacob. I’m so thankful for this man and how he loves me – how he cries with me yet makes me cry with laughter and brings out my silly side. He later told me that he’d prayed for the sanctuary of this date night – to be a place away from everything else that was going on – and wow, did it deliver.

I'm thankful for friends who hop in my car with cups of tea and moments of hilarity in dissection with Ellie when we mishear an anatomy demonstrator and genuinely think he's 'going to get the dog' (just a note, this turned out to be door...apparently pets and cadavers are combination that is generally frowned upon...). I'm thankful for snuggling Naomi's pets when I visit her house; for a sweet pea scented candle; for care packages of tea and a cuddly snake from Shereen and the fact that I'm going to see Maddy the weekend after next. For study sessions on the kitchen table with my lovely housemates, when we drink tea and guiltily share moments of being distracted by our phones.

My new morning routine of 'breakfasting with God' has also helped the days start better. Combined with actually concentrating in lectures (with a little help from more brain fuel and a bit of hope) and realising that this term's neuroscience and behaviour topic really fascinates me, this week is going better so far. At my appt this morning, I was blind weighed for the first time ever (I'm always too curious even though I know it's ALWAYS unhelpful for me to see) and I probably gained from the last few days. But actually, I gained more than weight - I gained knowledge and a little bit of control over my own life back. I feel huge and disgusting and ambivalent and out of control and completely and utterly terrified, but of course I do. Of course I will. That's what recovery is all about.

I'm trusting, as ever, in the One who always was in control. Who forsaw this mess even before I did and constantly surrounds me. I'm trying to speak His name into the situations I face with the faith that He genuinely can change them...but also combine that with the knowledge that I have to fight with all that I have and do my bit too...

On which note, I should do my bit towards actually moving on with my degree by writing up some lecture notes. Until next time xxxxx

beauty for ashes

Yesterday, I rediscovered a talk I wrote around Christmas time. I remember being on a family car journey and sitting in the back window-gazing, daydreaming and listening to worship then having a sudden realisation: 'wow. we expect God to give us the beauty without us giving Him our ashes...'

I knew there was a verse about ashes being replaced with a beautiful crown that I loved, so had a dig around my Bible and, with the help of google (oh modern Christian life), realised I was thinking of Isaiah 61:3,

"to all who are mourning in Israel, He will give beauty for ashes, joy instead of mourning, praise instead of despair. For the Lord has planted them like strong and graceful oaks for His own glory..."

I started to mull and scribble, and Bible verses were flying around my head like they do when I'm 'in the zone' with talk-writing (a rare but lovely and special occurrence). I love to sit and dig deep in that situation; to challenge myself intellectually while learning from and about God .

I wanted to know how, in a practical sense, we can receive these promised blessings...

1) "beauty for ashes"

it sounds obvious - but in order to get the beauty, we have to give God the ashes - we have to surrender our lives; our mess. It's one of the hardest things to do; it has to be a daily (or even multiple times daily) decision. We have to live out Romans 12:1 by becoming living sacrifices - and while we are in this world, that requires us to sacrifice ourselves, all of the time. Of course we fail, but His grace is sufficient - we just have to surrender all that we can. We have to pray the prayer of Psalm 31:5: 'I entrust my spirit into your hand. Rescue me, Lord, for You  are a faithful God.'  We have to trust that God won't reject our brokenness.

2 Corinthians 4:8 'we are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed and broken...'. There is always hope; we are never too broken to be useful. We need to recognise that we are worth saving - for God's purposes. We have a future. Ezekiel 37 talks about the valley of dry bones that God brings to life. Those are the ashes that we need to commit to Him, over and over again.
By nature, ashes are done. Finished. I know that we can feel like that too. But that doesn't mean we're too broken; it doesn't mean that we're beyond help or not worth saving. It just means that it really is time to surrender the ashes.

When we feel broken; prayer is hard. But the Holy Spirit is already constantly advocating for us (Romans 8:26); we just have to join in, in any we can, with what is already going on on our behalf. It helps to start small; a morning prayer of 'Lord I want to glorify You today. Help me to give You all that I can. Help me to be honest with You and let You work in me and through me in this day you've blessed me with. Amen.' Then just at little intervals, check in with God. 'Lord I'm struggling. Thank you that You are all-sufficient. Please could you help me now. Amen'. God knows our hearts; we don't need to explain all the details of the situations all the time: we just need to acknowledge that He is Lord and He loves us.

2) Similarly (this talk definitely didn't end up brief - it became a full-on sermon! - so I'll summarise the other two points on this blog), to receive "joy instead of mourning", we need to acknowledge the hurt and recognise that there is a season for everything (Ecclesiastes 3:4). We can't run away from any season so we need to be real with God about where we are and allow Him to help us in that.

3) for "praise instead of despair" we need to look up. When we truly open our eyes to who God is, we can't help but praise! Despair is being desperate. 2 Samuel 24:14 "this is a desperate situation...but let us fall into the hands of the Lord, for His mercy is great". When we take our eyes off of the despair in the situation we might be in, and fix our gaze on Him; when we replace 'I can't do this' with a recognition of who God is and that He is -by definition- able to do anything, we will be changed.

Today, I hope to live out some of what I've written; not all of it - and not perfectly. But today, I will do all that I can to surrender my own ashes...

enough is enough

I remember the first time I ever hit rock bottom. 12thAugust 2011. I remember thinking I didn’t want to live anymore; that I was just done and exhausted with life. It was so scary, and that experience initiated small but certain changes – opening up to God; admitting I wasn’t okay.

I seem to have those situations far more frequently lately. The lovely wedding where I simply couldn’t cope with the people and pressure and buffet at the reception so left in tears in the early evening.  Last night when I sat crying on my kitchen floor because I was too dizzy not to eat but too terrified to even open the fridge then, after a while, couldn’t cope with being trapped inside and lay on the beach at midnight and prayed again that I couldn’t do this - I just couldn’t.

It scares me that these moments should all be a turning point. Each time, I try to make them so.
  But the next morning I wake up still trapped and go on as I had the day before. I desperately need a genuinely turning point but, equally, I’m learning that maybe it just doesn’t work that way.  I wonder what it would take to make me finally say 'enough is enough' with a certainty and strength stronger than what keeps me stuck. I need it to happen, but equally I just don't know how.

Instead, I am trying to improve my perspective in the small things: in trying to be more present in my daily life moments that contain so much beauty. Beautiful views of Torquay where I spent a week with my lovely Ellie and her family; celebrating the wedding of one of my closest home friends (yay Mary!) and the return of Mads to civilisation and phone signal! I've missed her hilarity (and everything else about her!) so much...

 I’m now fully settled into my new house, and delighting in the way that the sunshine streams through my bedroom window to land on the bed in the late afternoon – optimum situation for a 4pm nap.  

I have a GP appt. tomorrow that I cannot find words to express how much I'm dreading. But it's necessary. If not for me; then for the people who love me who I'm hurting by hurting myself. I need desperately to make changes and I think I've reached the end of my ability to do so. 

 

 Yet again, I'm trying to surrender this to the One who knows far more than I do. He is beautiful and whole and I love Him.

Soul '13

I've recently returned from Soul Survivor week B '13!

It was honestly so amazing to see my young people again! They truly are an incredible group, and spending time with them makes me into a better version of myself. I forgot how positively I feed off their energy: how happy it makes me when the lads rugby tackle me and throw me up in the air or the girls ask to go for a coffee and a pray. It was really special this week to be able to reawaken that ‘youth work’ side of myself that I’ve missed while I’ve been at uni.

In terms of the sessions etc, I found it all very hard.

In the worship, I was able to fully connect and worship during the ‘looking up’ sections – singing about God’s beauty and majesty; but as soon as songs or lyrics about freedom and how we’re now living in fullness etc came on, the guilt started taking over. We did communion on the final morning and I was lost in a horrible mental cycle of ‘bread and wine argh…did I really just think about calories when remembering how Jesus went through the ultimate in pain and separation from God for me?!...I’m an awful Christian, selfish, disgusting…I’m fat…argh calories in bread and wine *cycle begins again*’. Guilt acrobatics are never nice. 

I’m very thankful to my lovely Laura, who is just completely and utterly wonderful. She was at Soul Survivor on first aid team and we managed to get some time together on her breaks/through me sneaking to the first aid post in the big top to have a hug. I texted her in communion like ‘argh what do I do?!’ and she told me to come to her, got stood down and prayed and cried with me. That’s real friendship…

I didn’t have a ‘breakthrough moment’ in the standard Christian festival respond-to-a-call-and-go-up-for-prayer-and-cry-and-shake-and-pass-out-in-the-Holy-Spirit way, and actually I’m pleased about that. That, more than anything, shows me that God knows my heart. He knows that I approach His throne best in the quiet stillness of an empty room; He’s gentle and tender and loving. One afternoon, I took the opportunity of most of the young people being at seminars to sneak off to one of the on-site coffee shops. I had picked up and bought a book, ‘God on mute’ by Pete Grieg (which I’ve been meaning to read for years but is particularly appropriate now) so took my book and my notepad/Bible, and curled up by my phone charger with a diet coke. One chapter talked about how a woman had written a brutally honest letter to God after miscarrying her twin boys, which inspired me to try to be honest myself.

 I wrote my own letter, admitting I was scared and lost and would really quite like God to intervene in this situation. I expressed my frustration, doubts and hopelessness and asked Him again for His presence.

It was ridiculous how much difference just trying to articulate to God what I was feeling made – as opposed to running away. I felt more able to worship afterwards and even found myself starting to automatically pray for people and situations again…it was like my connection to Him had opened up a little and I’m very thankful for that.

‘God on mute’ has really challenged me this week - and I've not even finished it yet! I hope I can continue to learn from it and, as I move into a more convincing acceptance of this season I'm in, continue to engage the silence...