By Steph Hillier (she/her), Guest Contributor
I’m so tired of beating myself up for being an imperfect human. I’ve been tired now for about 5 years, maybe more. I’m not actually sure when I was sucked into the time-warp; probably around the same time as I started to use exercise to manage my stress and existential dread. Going for a run and numbing out to anything mildly uncomfortable became my go-to coping strategy. No danger there, AT ALL. Because exercise is healthy right??
Looking back, I have absolutely no idea where my energy to exercise came from (certainly wasn’t from food); or when I actually started to restrict food. It definitely WAS NOT a conscious decision (sorry to disappoint folk who believe eating disorders are a lifestyle choice). Contrary to popular belief, I couldn’t give a toss about being stick thin. Looking like a supermodel – no thanks. Being as small as possible to hide away from a world that can be so cruel and painful – sold! Throw in being able to control something (yes, food) when life itself is full of scary unknowns – I’m 1000% in.
One day out of nowhere, I suddenly realised that I’d grown an alien arm which would body check me to make sure my bones were still there. Yep, phew! I’m safe. The number on the scale became alluring, a little game I’d play with myself to get it as low as possible. But just for fun! No harm in it, it’s normal for women to obsess over losing weight, right?? There was absolutely NOTHING wrong with me. I was a-okay. I was simply following the rules given to me by that gentle, caring voice in my head. The one that whispered, “everything will be alright my dear, just do as I say, and I will keep you safe and protect you”. The safety and structure of that little voice was so sneakily seductive.
Somewhere along the line, that soft voice of protection became a BLOODY BIG SCREAMING VOICE of necessity, compulsion, rigidity, pain. But look – it still promised to keep me safe. It’s just that I had to keep moving MORE, survive off air MORE, and isolate myself MORE so that nobody would take away my hard work and safe-haven. People please, just leave me alone and let me do this one thing well!
My worth, value, and purpose for being alive became insidiously intertwined with how “well” I did anorexia. I was a lying, smiling, queen at making my own smoke and mirrors. Nothing to see here folks! I am absolutely, 100% FINE. Why do I need to keep repeating myself?! I felt manic from my sense of achievement (and apparent starvation), but I also never ever felt good enough (more, more, more!) – a perfect recipe for depression and anxiety garnished with a sprinkling of debilitating insomnia.
While I put EVERYTHING into following my arbitrary rule book, I didn’t realise how life outside my precious bony bubble was disintegrating (as were my bones at this point). Not that I cared, because I was doing my one thing well. Turns out other people cared deeply, and those people saved my life (you know who you are). I was suddenly swept into a maelstrom of involuntary hospital admissions, full-time gigging as a professional appointment attendee, and a warrior in constant battle with her own mind. These were some dark, DARK days for me.
Tony Robbins said, “change happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of change”. I ran and face-planted smack-bam into this point. I’d drive myself crazy, desperately wishing things were different but not DOING anything different (definition of insanity). I became so sick of the cycle of anorexia, of never quite being small or good enough, of frequent flying through hospitals. That’s not a life I want for myself anymore.
I won’t lie to you – I’m still terrified of the unknown, of recovery, of letting go of anorexia completely. But I’m MORE petrified of waking up one day on my deathbed wishing I had done things differently, wishing I had tried. I’d rather regret the things I’ve done, than regret the things I haven’t done. Read that again. I REFUSE to believe that my sole purpose on this earth is to become as small as possible, to hide away, to minimise myself. I don’t have all the answers and I sure as sh*t don’t always make the right decision for my healthy self. I’m still miserable at times, I still suffer; because I’m still human. PS. So are you.
Life sucks. There’s war, injustice, climate crisis etc – throw an ED on top and lordy!; life is DANG hard. AND – it can also be beautiful. Yep, hard and beautiful, at the same time. Ying and yang. Light and dark, you get the gist. Eye roll all you like, but I dare you NOT to smile as you gaze into your pet’s eyes or when the warm sunlight bathes you on a frosty morning. I promise you the good IS there, our buffed-up negativity bias just gets in the way. Your perception of the world changes your world. Validating my suffering before popping on my fantastical love glasses to scout out gratitude glimmers helps to shift any sticky moodiness I have; the trick is to “feel” and not just “think” the glimmers. Anyhoo. Something you can practise, or not.
Have you heard the saying “it isn’t your fault – but it is your responsibility”? Ugh, it sounds so harsh and makes me a little cringy even reading it. It’s (disappointingly, and excitedly) true though. Nobody can change your life but YOU. The princess saves herself this time. This also means you have the agency to craft life the way YOU want it to be. Life isn’t fair, you didn’t choose your ED, it’s not your fault – but it is up to you what you do about it.
What sort of life do you want for yourself? You can keep doing your ED – that’s cool, it’s your life. But I hope you choose something new with me, something different. From what I’ve heard, nobody EVER regrets recovery. This stuff is hard, it takes time and energy, and it’s lifelong learning, so you have permission to go slow (not that you need it). You’ll stuff up, we all do, welcome back to humanity. You can rest and sit and cry. You can also smile and perhaps find a little laugh again.
Ride the waves. Be in the now. Practise all the clichés, there’s truth to (most of) them. I’ll leave you with two magical words – Self. Compassion. Yeppppp. Cue another eye roll. I get it, it feels ick to start. But haven’t you been through enough? I practise (key word PRACTISE) self-compassion because I know that hate can never heal. And I’m tired. I’m tired of beating myself up for simply being an imperfect human like everybody else. I’m starting to trust that I’m exactly where I’m meant to be, learning my unique curriculum in perfect timing. I also believe that you are exactly where you need to be, which is at the end of my rambles! Well done you. I hope we can both walk this path of recovery together, wearing our kick-ass love glasses and self-compassion capes.
