Strength and the façade

     It's okay, even when it isn't. You are no failure. What you feel is valid, and you are not alone in those feelings. It does not matter what that person thinks of you (if they are, in fact, thinking of you). You are loved. Those who love you want nothing but the best for you. True, sometimes their idea of "the best" doesn't always match your own. It may be the exact opposite. I encourage you to push that aside and focus on the love that person has for you, the hope they have for your life, the potential they see in you. Anything else is noise. And that noise does not have to control your decisions, your life. You are the master of your own actions.

    You don't have to feel guilty for taking care of yourself, whether that involves cleaning a cut, going to rehab, seeing a therapist, eating a sandwich, sleeping in, icing a muscle. Why is it so normal to feel this guilt over such things? Do you feel you aren't deserving? Do you want to tough it out, to appear strong?

 That's a big one, isn't it, to be strong. I'm not here to tell you that you're strong. I'm telling you that you don't always have to be. That seems to be the number one encouragement we give people- "Oh, you're so strong." "Well, you're a strong person so you'll make it through." "Stay strong." … You don't have to stay strong. It's okay to release that notion for a while. What does "strong" even mean? Does it mean to push through no matter what? Does it mean to be tough? To hide how you're feeling and put on a brave face? Rub dirt in it? What does it all even mean? Whatever it means, it seems to be a hell of a lot of mental strain.

There is no need to compare yourself to other people, either. Odds are, you're receiving a viewpoint that is very subjective. *Social Media*. "Pics from our vacation!" "Baby arrived today, 7lbs and beautiful as ever <3." "I'm battling pneumonia and broke my ankle on the sidewalk today, but I still made it in to work. Like my granddaddy always said, toughen up Buttercup." "Those of you out there with your perfect lives have no idea what it's like to be me. Your so called problems are nothing. #thinkofothers #notallaboutyou." "He proposed and I said YES!!!"

These aren't all negative or anything. But put it all in perspective. Whatever they are saying, they're choosing to put it out there to be viewed. They want people to think about whatever it is, good or bad. And that's okay! It's fun to see pictures of France. It's wonderful that baby So&So is healthy. I'm glad you didn't crack your skull on the sidewalk, your granddaddy would be proud. No one's life is perfect. Congratulations on your upcoming wedding!

But be careful. These posts people make aren't formulas for life and how it should be. You don't have to contort your own life into these molds. It's fine if you aren't married, do whatever you want to do. No babies, no problem! You don't have to visit Hawaii to see something beautiful. And who knows, maybe one day you'll get to take that trip anyway. If you're sick, there's no shame in tending to it.

You don't have to be strong. Just be.

Madame

Life really comes full circle, doesn't it? Phases repeat, roles reverse. And some things never change. Tonight, I needed help. I was sick, weak, panicked. Tonight, I needed my mom.

Anyone who knows Madame knows she's the best. If you can trust anyone, you can trust her. If you need encouragement, a good laugh, advice, company, you can find it in her. This woman got her Master's degree in her fifties. This woman travels to her ninety-four year old mother's home every weekend to care for her. Every semester, this woman gives her students a mental health speech, testifying of her own struggles and offering hope that life can and will get better. Tonight, this woman brought her crying, adult daughter Chickfila nuggets.

Obviously this requires more detail. As I go through my eating disorder recovery, I experience ups and downs, naturally. It takes a lot out of me to avoid damaging habits, obsessive behaviors. All in all, good progress has been made. But, as with all addictions, we tend to replace one dangerous action with another. One of mine is exercise- cardio. If I'm not careful, I'll overdo it, quite literally running on fumes and not taking care of myself and giving my body what it needs to survive. Try flipping a light switch on without paying the electric bill. This has almost caused me to black out on several occasions, sometimes without even exerting too much effort.

It almost happened again tonight. What began as a peaceful walk at the park turned into a workout that my body hadn't been prepared to do (Side note: For the sake of your own interest, and my own sake as well, I prefer to refrain from giving details of my actual diet or caloric intake, but lets just say that what I'd eaten today wouldn't have fueled a fairy). I barely made it back to my car. I got in, and my head immediately fell onto the steering wheel. I couldn't hold my arm up to grip the wheel, it just kept sliding down with a smack onto the seat. My brain was clouded, and my legs were shaking. In the midst of this, the one clear thought I had was that I needed to call my mom. Some things never change.

I felt guilty, and embarrassed. This selfless woman was probably in the middle of stitching and watching tv after a busy day of teaching and grading and class preparations. And here I am, twenty- six, calling my mom because... well, because why? I knew why. It was because I needed to eat and didn't trust myself to do that. So I called someone I knew I could trust.

I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard her voice on the phone. It was a short conversation, one that didn't require much explanation on my part. She just said to stay put and leave everything to her. Not long after, she arrives at the park with a bag from Chickfila. (Side note: Yes, many of you are aware that I've typically stuck to a vegetarian diet for most of my life. This isn't necessarily related to E.D., but more of a personal preference. But dammit, if Chickfila doesn't have the best nuggets... screw the controversy, screw my vegetarianism, screw Colonel Sanders. Those nuggets are magic fried in peanut oil and drenched in bbq sauce. Excuse me while I go chant "tofurkey" in the mirror three times while spinning...)

Fear is a funny thing, huh? Different people have different fears. No matter how it manifests, the feeling is relatable. If you will, try remembering a time you felt overcome with anxiety, paralyzed. I'll openly (and embarrassingly) admit that these chicken nuggets horrified me. Not because I thought they contained poison or anything. Because I knew the real me, the not-sick side of my brain, would gladly eat them. And frankly, I felt that allowing that would make me lose my grasp, would send my life crumbling down. Talk about giving something so simple so much power.

My mom was amazing. She sat in my car with me, talked me through everything she got me to eat, and encouraged me. Around her, I don't need to apologize, or explain myself, or hide how I feel. This woman is full of love, more so than anyone else I know. She is not only strong, but she empowers others on a daily basis. Anyone who's met her knows this. Just ask any of her friends, her students, her coworkers, her family.

Phases repeat. I called my mom, she brought me food, and I cried. I felt like a child, in a way. But the more I think about it, I don't suppose there's anything wrong with that. I needed help and I called someone I trust. And that person happened to be my mom. One thing that will never change is that I love this woman with all my heart. Certains choses ne changent jamais. Je t'aime, Maman.