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.