Comfort

I used to say that my body was my security blanket. This claim was based on the fact that in times of stress or anxiety, I often found myself seeking out a jutting bone or turning to the mirror in order to calm my emotions. For years, this was a subconscious act. Then, as I embarked on my recovery journey and became far more aware of my actions and emotions, it became a glaring one.

As my weight went up during my most recent intensive program, I learned to stop relying on the size of my body to walk me off my anxiety ledge. To be honest, as my weight grew, I had to learn to cope with the additional anxiety brought on by looking in the mirror. My body no longer was a comfort to me; worse, it was a intense source of distress. In the name of recovery, I had chosen to give away my “blankie.”

Maybe…

I had forgotten about using my body size for reassurance until recently. I had just bombed a workshop and was feeling particularly troubled by it. Failure is my greatest source of shame and self-loathing. I tried breathing, meditating, distraction, but nothing worked. Until I looked in the mirror. See, I’ve lost some weight in recent months. Not enough for anyone to really notice; enough for me to like what I see in the mirror. So there I was, a cocktail of negative emotions bubbling inside and flailing. One look in the mirror – with the words “at least I’m still thin” whispered in my mind – and I could breathe again.

In that moment, everything I had learned about how Anorexia resists treatment because it serves a protective function in the brain clicked into place.

I have spent 20 years using my Eating disorder as a coping mechanism for life. I have spent my entire working life with it. And it has been a constant throughout every adult milestone.

I moved to London without a friend in the world – Anorexia was there. I travelled the world for work – it was there. I climbed the corporate ladder and became one of the youngest senior leaders in my company – Anorexia was there. I became a mother and was completely out of my depth – my old “friend” came back with a vengeance to help me cope. And, when depression hit, I gave the keys to my kingdom to my Eating Disorder and, it not only moved in, it took over.

I have worked extremely hard over the past few years to regain my life, only to discover that I have forgotten what life was like without my Eating Disorder. It is petrifying to have no idea how life turn out when you remove one of its biggest constants. How on earth will I cope without the one thing I have always relied on to get me through the tough times? Will I really be able to hold down a job without Anorexia there to calm my self-doubts and soothe my troubled soul when I fail at something? Can I really function as an adult without it?

My therapist says I can.

“But how do you know for sure?” I ask.

She tells me that she has seen it happen in recovered clients. She also reminds me that most people live fully functional and happy lives without an Eating Disorder.

“But they are not me!!!” I want to scream. “They have not carried around this security blanket for half of their lives. They are not crippled by the fear of their own self mediocrity. They do not restrict their food intake as naturally as they breathe just in order to get through the day.”

I don’t say any of this. Because I know she is right. I know that it is fear holding me back. Palpable and uncontrollable fear that, on the one hand, I desperately want to overcome but, on the other, I am immobilized by.

This is why recovery is so hard. Battling a mental illness means having 2 opposing factions in your brain. The one that wants to kick the eating disorder to the curb. And, the other one that is desperately begging it to stay.

It is a seemingly never-ending battle.

Luckily, when I see my girls smile or I feel the sun on my face or as I look out across the lake as I type now, I am reminded of the many reasons to keep going.