Peak: …and then one day, my whole life changed!

In August, I decided to seek change. While life will always be a series of peaks and valleys, it was time for me to invest in myself in a way I never had before. In my last post, I talked about the infamous Last Weekend of August. At the time, I had started to build my floating meditation deck and also registered for Yoga Teacher Training. Here is a bit of what has happened since:

I started to build my meditation deck with essentially none of the needed skills and no real plan, yet somehow….I built it! Me! Myself! Oh sure, some of the boards are slightly misaligned. Not all of the screws are flush with the boards. It does not exactly float (yet). However, I carried almost every piece of wood to the Down Below myself. I spent nearly every spare minute I had for 4 weeks constructing (sometimes deconstructing and reconstructing) my deck. I measured. I used power tools. I leveled. I stained. I bruised. I failed. I cursed. I learned. I grew. I did it ALL! One thing I never did was stop. No matter how frustrating things became or how tired I was, I wanted to see this through! I refused to quit on this project or myself!

Although I did not realize it at the time, the process of building this deck was my first step to changing my life. It had been so long (if ever) since I believed in myself or gave myself encouragement. I do not know when the last time was that I looked at something I had done with a sense of pride and achievement. Throughout this project, rather than the usual negative self-talk that is the soundtrack of my mind, I heard myself forgiving the mistakes. I felt compassion on the tough days. I saw beauty in the work I completed. I found strength in every hurdle. As I stood back and looked across my (mostly) finished project, I felt no judgement at my perfectly imperfect project. I found myself in uncharted waters. Literally found myself in a place I never recall being. A place where I could see myself and my efforts in a positive light! A place where love might grow for a person I have never particularly liked.

I built my meditation deck and what began as a project became the beginning of a journey that would leave me changed forever. Here is the (mostly) finished project:

Meditation Deck

Valley: Good Bye…

Life happens, there is no doubt. This week, I lost someone I loved and I did not get to say good bye. I did not get to tell her how much she meant to me. I did not get to tell her how she changed my life. I did not get to tell her all of the words that I held in my heart for so many years because I let life get in the way.

We met somewhere early in life, middle school…high school…who knows. I was friends with her sister and she tagged along from time to time. Pretty quickly, I found myself with her rather than her sister. There was something about her, a light, that I was drawn to immediately. To say she was a firecracker was an understatement.

At some points, we were inseparable. I did her hair for Prom. When some bully gave her trouble, I showed up at school to settle the score. If a boy broke her heart, my shoulder was there to catch her tears. She was the kid sister that I never had and we shared everything siblings share, from heated arguments to unconditional love.

As we grew up, we worked together, celebrated together, lived near each other. She was a daughter to my parents. She was an aunt to my children. No longer a friend, but truly a part of my family. We shared so much history, not perfect, but always filled with love.

This week, I got a call that she had passed away.

The shock and devastation hit me like a ton of bricks. We had not spoken in years.

Somewhere along the line, I went this way, she went that way. There is nothing that happened to end our friendship, but also nothing that carried it on. For years, I had been thinking about her. “…I should really call her…I will look her up soon..” Soon never came. And now, soon will never come.

I cried until I could not breathe. I cried for a young life lost. I cried for the kid sister I left behind as my life took off. I cried for all the memories that we never reminisced over. I cried for all of the years that we wasted being too busy to connect. I cried because I failed her and failed myself by not investing into a relationship that I valued.

They say grief is often a product of guilt and regret. When we lose someone, most of our thoughts are about things we did not say and things we did not or will not do with that person. There is something to be learned in every situation we encounter in life. I learned that “soon” leads to never. Make the call. Send the note. Find the time.

Dear Shannon,
If I could tell you how much light you brought to my life, I'd write it on every star...
If I could tell you how I adored your spirit, I'd sing it into every cloud in the sky...
If I could tell you how your laughter filled my soul, I'd whisper it into each gust of wind...
If I could tell you how much I loved you, I wouldn't wait for a tomorrow that will never come...
Rest in Peace, my beautiful friend.  You will forever be missed!

Valley: The worst weekend of my life…

I have never been a gloom and doom kind of person, but there is a tradition in my life (and I hate to call it that), that I did not choose and do not want. For no reason I can explain, the first weekend of August, every time it comes around, for that last 7 years brings a new (practically) unbearable tragedy to my life. I don’t mean tragedy, like the the heel of my shoe broke off or my favorite plant died. I mean tragedies that forever alter the course of your life. FOREVER ALTER. Year after year, one blow after another. The first weekend of August is so terrifying to me because I never have any idea what is coming my way, and it has never brought anything that could have been predicted.

In the midst of last years devastation, I was so distraught trying to understand what it was about this particular weekend and how it was possible that over and over again tragedy rears it’s head at such a specific time. Was I a serial killer in a past life? Did I enact my worst massacre on the first weekend in August? What did I do to cause this recurring nightmare the first weekend of August EVERY YEAR????? While I have no answer to the why, I know that I cannot live with this fear and anxiety every year. I can’t do it anymore. I won’t do it anymore.

During a particularly soothing session of Yoga some years ago, the Yoga teacher said this: “…if you are uncomfortable in your current position, change your mind or change your body, but do not sit in discomfort…” Those words rang through my ears and straight to my heart. I decided this year, in my year of change, that I would no longer sit in discomfort. Very decisively, I was determined to change the history of the first weekend of August. Not only change the history but cast some positive light over the weekend to shine through the darkness the encompasses it.

For sometime now, I have felt a draw towards Yoga and the lifestyle that comes with the practice. Over the last year, I have not been able to maintain my normal practice, but I did what I could, when I could and tried to live the life. Also, I wanted to create a place of peace, for myself ,to find solace on days where life is so overwhelming that I want to bury my head in the sand and hide (a.k.a The First Weekend of August). This year, in order to forever banish the curse of The First Weekend of August, I registered for Yoga Teacher Training with my second favorite Yoga teacher on the planet. (My number one is irreplaceable but does not do training) Also, I began to build a floating mediation platform that will be placed in my beloved Down Below.

I have never built anything nor have a ever used a saw. But change sometimes means taking a leap into the unknown and seeing where it will lead. With an open heart and an open mind, I began to build a structure with no real plan. In much the same way, I enrolled in YTT with no real plan for where I wanted to go. I feel a calling to deepen my practice. I feel a calling to create serenity in my life. I will not be a victim to whatever circumstance gave birth to the tragic First Weekend of August.

This year, for the first time in 7 years, the First Weekend of August came and went. The only thing that happened is that I changed it’s meaning forever. I began to build my meditation platform and I invested in myself (for the first time in my life) by committing to deepen the practice I love so much.

Will I teach when I am done? I do not know. Will my platform actually float? I do not know. And the answers don’t matter much in this story. What matters is that I was uncomfortable and so I changed my mind. I will not sit in discomfort….

Side note: My platform is not quite done, but here is the progress! Stay tuned for updates!

  • Build a strong foundation…
  • and then make it even stronger…
  • …when you don’t think it can get any stronger, give it another layer of support!

Peak: Slaying Demons

Yesterday was a bad day!

I was overwhelmed! It’s not like there is something major going on but an absolute ton of small stuff. More than I am usually dealing with these days. (by design) For the last two weeks, I have averaged 10+ hours a day on the computer between home and work and about 0 hours doing things I like to do, things I need to do. My house is trashed, the beautiful flowers I have been working so hard to maintain, are begging for attention, and I have not taken my dog outside at all.

Worse than that, I have not been meditating, or coloring, any of the things I do to protect myself from the demons that surround me.

When you are an addict in recovery, it’s easy to forget. It’s easy to forget how intricately designed your routines are and why. It’s easy to forget that you are in a daily battle. It’s easy to forget that you ARE an addict in recovery. What an amazing thing to say after such a long battle! Sometimes I forget that I even have this issue. Until days like yesterday….

….when it all comes crashing back. I felt it. I woke up at 4 am, after getting 3 hours of sleep. I had a whole 4.5 hours off the computer and then back to work. Things were not going right. Deadline on a project that was turning into a disaster. System conversion at work that was NOT going well. I could sense it. Time was ticking and nothing was going my way.

Then it whispered: ...are you starting to feel nauseous?

Yes, yes I was. I was definitely starting to feel nauseous, but there was no time! I was scrambling trying to get out of work. Finally on my way, 2 hours later than I planned, I hopped in my car.

And I heard it again: ...a little dizzy maybe, like your stomach hurts?

It did! My stomach was killing me all day because I had not eaten. Then, I saw the box of cookies that I grabbed on my way out the door that morning to have with my coffee. I reached for them…and stopped.

…..yes, do it! you will feel better…all of this will go away and you will feel better….do it!

STOP! I saw the signs. I picked up the phone and called my sister. I cried my eyes out, half because I was overwhelmed and half because I was scared I was about to fail. I made another call and another, just to keep myself occupied. Because in that moment, I knew exactly what would make me feel better.

And it whispered: you are going to vomit….

The feeling of nausea was becoming overwhelming. See that’s the game, because the mind is strong, you can in fact convince yourself that you are feeling sick….when you are not. Because throwing up when you are sick is okay and not a slip into old habits.

I pulled into my driveway and sat in my car, with my eyes closed, counting …1..2..3… I knew if I went inside, I would lose. I got my dog, I walked around outside, breathing, surrounding myself with things that bring peace…counting…30..31..32..33. I finally went inside and laid down on my bed. I was late and I needed to shower. If I just skip the binge and take the purge, that’s okay right? You know, just to get rid of the nausea. Then I will feel better and can get on with my fun night? NO! …75…76…77…78… I closed my eyes and shut the demon out.

I woke up 20 mins later. Silence. My mind was quiet. IT was gone…no nausea, no urge, silence.

Yesterday was a bad day! Or was it?

Rant: Depression = Sadness, right?

It’s common to associate depression with a stereotype. Someone’s depressed, they mope around and sleep a lot. OR they are dealing with some unpleasant life circumstance that is overwhelming.

I cannot imagine a description further from the truth.

Sure, it may look like that sometimes but often, true depression is unrecognizable. We throw the word around so casually that we forget, or never know, what it truly means.

In my early years, (or so I thought) I spent much of my time battling depression. To the extent that I actually tried to take my own life, twice. Both times, I thought of the pain I would be causing my mom and that outweighed the pain I would continue to live in. Fortunately, my chosen method was pills, so I could reverse my decision. Given my own experience, one would expect that I would clearly recognize signs of severe depression. Here’s a story from high school:

I was having lunch with my usual clique. Among us was a guy. He was sharing how he had an interview that day at our favorite skating rink. We were excited! Who wouldn’t be? 90’s? Skating? Does a job get any better?!?! He would go after football practice and let us know how it went! We had our lunch, ribbed each other and then went off to our classes. Early the next morning, I got the call. His mother came home to find him hanging in his basement. He would never know that he got the job, that call came later that afternoon. This guy, who seemed to have it all, to our young and naive eyes. Football player. Popular. Interviewing for an amazing job. Talking about the future. I replayed various time I had spent with him, trying to see what I had missed. To this day, I can say, I would have never seen it coming.

That was the first time I understood that I would never understand depression. I read about it. Research it. Discussed it. I never wanted to lose another person that way. I promised myself that I would never put anyone I loved through the devastation I witness in the wake of losing this friend. But I wanted to recognize it and help if someone in my life was in that kind of pain.

Fast forward. A couple years ago, someone beyond close to me disclosed that he was suicidal. I was floored. How? How could I miss the signs, again. Immediately, all of my energy went into saving this life. It HAD to be saved. Again, I racked my brain to see what I had missed. Sure, he spent a good deal of time alone. Slept quite a bit. But that’s normal at different stages in life. He laughed. He had friends. Spoke of the future. …We worked together to dig him out of that hole. We talked openly about how he was feeling. He knew he had a lot going for him, but something was stopping him from moving forward. Stoping him from executing on his plans everyday. With each failure, a sense of worthlessness grew. The harder he tried to get things done, the further out of reach they seemed. The more the feeling of worthless grew. Through those conversations I realized what depression could mean. And that I, myself, was in fact still depressed.

I did what I do best. I researched this perspective on depression. I came across a phrase: The Impossible Task. It was the best description of depression I have ever heard, not to mention the most relatable. The Impossible Task is a task that you are willing yourself to complete, but you absolutely cannot bring yourself to start. Maybe it’s a big project. Maybe it’s getting out of bed. Everyday you struggle with these Impossible Tasks and you abuse yourself for failing. It’s easier to go back to bed or hide out in your house, where you continue to battle yourself about getting The Impossible Task done.

What causes depression varies. It could be situational, as in overwhelming trauma. It could be chemical. It could be a combination of factors. It could be unexplained.

Regardless of the cause, depression is a battle, actually, a war that wages within. An invisible war that can be debilitating.

The good news is that there is treatment. Treatment can take many forms. There is medication. Medication is triage, an immediate solution to stabilize the chemicals in the brain. More effective than medication is love. Surviving and overcoming depression requires love. A circle of love encompassing a person is the best method of recovery.

I get a lot of grief because I have an open home. Almost a flop house. I never know who I will find in my house when I wake up. It is by design. The people in my house are seeking love. Often, they come from broken homes. They grow up never knowing unconditional love. They find that love within the walls of my home. My mission has become to provide love to those who need it most. To give worth to those who feel worthless. To save a live that otherwise might not survive.

I am far from perfect and trying to win my own battles. But there is always time and space to give love. A dear friend taught me the meaning of holding space for others. Never under estimate the difference a little love, kindness and generosity can bring to a dying soul. It may not replace the necessary medication but it can and will make a huge difference to someone in need.

The happiest people you meet are most likely the people that need that love the most. Be good. Love generously. Read the signs. Help those in need. By any means necessary.

Rant: Is ADHD real?

Is ADHD a real condition? I have participated in this debate a number of times throughout the years. Here are some common points I hear from those who do not “believe” in ADHD:

  • “…people need to raise their kids, instead of medicate them”
  • “…whenever kids can’t sit still, we just give them a label”
  • “…ADHD isn’t a condition, it’s lazy parenting”
  • “…it’s made up as an excuse for kids who don’t behave”

In general, I agreed with some of the statements above. Many years ago, there was a child in my elementary class who had ADHD (maybe ADD back then?) and so I knew it existed but comparing that child to other children with the same diagnoses, I decided that maybe it was lazy parenting and not a condition. It’s easy to pass judgement on mental health because it is a gray space. These conditions are not visible and are not necessarily measurable, therefore, diagnosing feels subjective.

Growing up, I suspected that one of my kids might have ADHD, but because I was an advocate against medication (NOT against vaccination!), I believed that with the right parenting, self-control could be taught. After all, this “ADHD” thing is all about a person being able to control themselves, sit still, listen, etc. Right? No chance I am medicating my kid into being a zombie just so I can avoid teaching self-control and discipline! NO CHANCE! As it turns out, I was not wrong in my assessment, but quite wrong about my decision to avoid seeking proper treatment!

While it is true, to some extent, that the physical actions are considered in the diagnosing of ADHD, the real core of the issue is the ability to focus and concentrate. When someone has ADHD, they have a diminished ability to stay on task and to see that task through to completion, to put it simply. This turns into frustration that manifests itself in a variety of behaviors including anger, being antsy, hitting, etc.

At the age of 42, I was diagnosed as severely ADHD. Me?!?! ADHD?!?! But my parents weren’t lazy? I can sit still, always could! (ask teenage me, who had no issues with sitting for long periods of time at all!) Self-control? Sure, maybe I take things a little far from time to time with my tomfoolery and shenanigans, but in general, I think I am able to control myself pretty well. How can I have ADHD? That, now, infamous evaluation I completed, returned “off-the-chart” for ADHD. I had questions! Thankfully, my clearly, very patient psychiatrist answered all of my questions and really connected the dots for me.

While still not sure I was a firm believer, I figured I would try the proposed medication and see what happens. Here is what happened: MY LIFE HAS BEEN CHANGED! Almost instantly, I felt a clarity I had never in my life felt. I began to wonder if this is how other people feel all the time, all of their lives? For the first time, I realized that maybe I was wired differently. I was a great student throughout high school, but I joked about how I never did the big projects. My grades were so high, that it never mattered much. I avoided the big projects because I could not think my way through them or focus long enough to actually complete them. At work, I used to say: I am a project starter, not a project finisher! All clues pointing in the same direction. That has all changed. Suddenly, I am a project finishing MASTER! Tasks begin, tasks are finished. My days are organized. I am not spending my days staring off, blankly, wondering where to start.

How did I make it to 42 without anyone noticing? Here is how: I do not fit the generalized profile of ADHD. Even the psychiatrist, who had a stack of 100 pages mapping out my brain in front of her, could not believe the result. What I have learned is that ADHD is real. Do I believe it is over diagnosed? Sure, I imagine like anything else, it can be diagnosed incorrectly. I have also learned that generalizing symptoms off of physical attributes is dangerous in that people will slip through the cracks…as in my case.

Looking back, I have so much regret about not verbalizing my struggles. I preferred to make jokes about it because that was less embarrassing. You know what is not less embarrassing? Telling my kids that I dropped out of Community College because I could not hack it. College requires focus, concentration, and long-term planning. Skills that I could not perform. I wasn’t lazy. I didn’t need more discipline. Simply put, my brain does not function like the brain of others. The best explanation I heard to describe the treatment of ADHD is this: The brain is like an orchestra. If the orchestra is in harmony and you add an instrument (medication) it will disrupt the orchestra. However, if the orchestra is missing a sound and you add it, it creates harmony. This is the difference between abusing ADHD meds and needing them. My brain is in harmony and my life has changed.

Before jumping to conclusions on mental illness/conditions or prejudging behavior, take time to understand, to really understand that the brain is gray matter, not black and white matter. To say that a condition does not exist because it’s a battle you have not fought is a narrow perspective.

I will leave you with this: ADHD is real and it doesn’t just impact kids. It may not look the same for each person, but the mental struggle is very real and can alter the course of an individuals life if not properly treated. As we look at those around us, remember that we can not always see illness or conditions. That does not mean that these conditions do not exist or that someone isn’t in an invisible battle. If you suspect that you or someone you know may be ADHD, I promise it’s worth the evaluation! I find myself wondering about the possibilities of earlier detection. It’s not that things didn’t turn out “just fine” with my life…but is that enough?

One final thought, in case you were wondering, yes, this is the last piece of the “weight loss” puzzle. The medication I take addresses the ADHD but has a little something to help with my Bulimia. Naturally, introducing a stimulant to my body revved up that metabolism that was very sluggish after years of abuse. Now my mind and body are in sync!

Peak: The Climb

We are living in a time where labeling seems to be a priority over support. Is it a disorder or a condition? Living with or surviving? Committing or dying by? In my opinion, there should be less focus on the labels and more support on coping and treating. Here’s one reason why: Bulimia presents as a disorder. It presents as a condition. It can be survived. It can be committed. I could go on and on. Particularly when it comes to the mind, symptoms and recovery are highly individualized and dependent on the individual being impacted.

In my previous post, I shared that I am bulimic and I am in recovery. I chose the word “recovery” purposely. That day that I sat down with my psychiatrist and made my admission was one of the hardest and worst days of my life. That statement speaks volumes because I have seen some tough days! (Haven’t we all?) After my disclosure/admission, she casually mentions the course of treatment we are going to begin immediately. At that point, I had sat across from this person on a number of occasions and had never shed a tear, until that day. As I listened, knowing this was exactly what I needed but did not want, I felt something rising up inside me. Something I cannot describe. Something I could not control. She was talking and all I could hear was my mind saying: “I told you so! I told you so! Don’t talk about it or they will take it away!” That’s exactly what was happening. She was taking away my binky! My wubbie! My lovie! The only method of soothing and comfort I knew and used. I started sobbing. My mind was racing. I was making a list of all the current stressors in my life and trying to think through coping without my binge…purge…calm ritual. She stopped (obviously) and asked what was happening. I was hysterical and terrified, but honest. Through my tears, I heard this tiny voice say: I have no other way to survive my life on a daily basis. If you take this away, I will not survive.

That was the moment we both realized that I did not have a disorder, I had an addiction.

There are many ways to treat any condition. Depending on the underlying cause, the root of the issue, Bulimia can be a disorder, an illness, a condition and as I have learned, an addiction.

I’ll spare you the details of the amount of energy this poor doctor had to put into convincing me that we were going to treat my addiction. To this point in my life, I could not really say I had been addicted to anything. I would even say, I had an opinion on addiction. Basically, if someone wanted badly enough, they could stop doing anything. Mind over Matter! Well the Universe has a way of teaching us things that we need to learn and I learned that my mind did NOT matter in this case! Or maybe it mattered entirely too much. The things going on in my head were wildly out of character, even for me to believe, and I was living in the same mind where this chaos was taking place! Who was this person? I was visibly shaking and internally frantic, filled with panic.

I was given Naltrexone. Naltrexone is typically used for treating heroine addicts and alcoholics. It works by suppressing and reducing cravings (usually for opiates and alcohol, but apparently sometimes food?!?) and binding the receptors in the brain that seek pleasure from the cravings. I was an addict. More accurately, I am an addict.

In addition to Naltrexone, I was referred to a therapist to address the root cause and to learn how to live under this New World Order. The following days, weeks, months were brutal, to say the least!

I was very sick from the medication. I was distraught trying to find positive outlets for my stress. While not easy, I was making progress! Each day, I felt a little better. Each day the compulsion weakened. Heck, I can recall a few days where my “dirty little secret” didn’t even cross my mind. Then it was weeks! Then a month! I was climbing out of the well! My energy was coming back! Food was a source of nutrition and not a binky/wubbie/lovie! Pounds were falling off. Brick by brick, I was climbing! I told myself: I can do it! Keep going! This time you finally WIN!

….and then, as life does, I was dealt an unexpected and crushing blow! It came through the mail. That very moment everything I knew was shattered and destroyed. No dosage of Naltrexone, no therapist, no coping mechanism and no self-control was going to stop the absolute flat tale spin that followed that piece of mail. Life placed it’s big ugly foot on my face and shoved me right back to the bottom of that well. Again, something new! Rage…binge…guilt…purge… no calm. Thanks to the Naltrexone, which I continued to take, NO CALM. Rage…binge…guilt…purge…no calm. Shame. Failure. Desperation. I clawed at the wall, I needed to climb. Rage…binge…purge…fail!

However, something had changed. I knew what it was like to feel better. My desire to get back on track was strong. I just didn’t know how to cope. I spent time with my therapist. I began meditation. Not the kind where you find a corner, light a candle and sit cross-legged in silence. The kind where in the middle of the work day or the grocery store parking lot, wherever you are in that moment where the addictive tendencies and cravings start to creep in, you stop and close your eyes. You breathe. You count. You quiet your mind until the urge passes. What you don’t do is walk into the kitchen and open the cupboard…

I started coloring. I started DIY projects. I fell in love with folding laundry (hilarious, I know), something I always liked but didn’t realize could be soothing. I now had a tool box of coping mechanisms. Life is not going to cut me any slack and I know that I am certainly not alone, sadly. My life is filled with people struggling to cope with something or another. There is strength in numbers. There is strength in community, even if that community is a giant ball of disorders and suffering.

I started to climb. I backslid. I climbed. I backslid. BUT, the backslide no longer sent me to the bottom of the well, just down a few bricks. As of today, I am two months clean? Sober? Compliant? What is the label for this type of addiction? That’s why labels do not work. I like to say I am two months healthy. Not a day goes by where I don’t miss that feeling. The calm. The release. However, my body is proof of the price I was paying. Last February (2018), I weighed in at 206 lbs. By October, my weight stabilized at 140 lbs. There is still another piece to the weight loss puzzle because that evaluation revealed more than my “dirty little secret.” But you already know, that’s a post for another day! It’s not just about the weight, my mind is more clear. At my most recent physical, my results were the best they have ever been. I am happier, even when life continues to throw curve balls at me! I have outlets for my stress. I am working out again, but for the right reasons!

Why did I choose the word recovery? Addiction is a road with no end. An infinite journey of recovery. I am careful not to over eat. A full belly is a trigger for the purge compulsion. I avoid the scale. It triggers the self-loathing which triggers the hate and you know the rest of the routine. Will I ever be able to stuff myself and not feel the desires? I do not know. But right now, it’s a risk I am not willing to take. Life is a series of peaks and valleys, but I never want to find myself at the bottom of the well. I never want to lie and hide. I never want to be an Imposter in my own life. I am an addict and I am in recovery.

Valley: I am Bulimic

Publicly, I have never admitted that I am bulimic. I would even say that most people I know, don’t know I am bulimic. I used to say (when I said it at all): I WAS bulimic in high school. And I was. Last year, I finally admitted that I AM bulimic.

The erosion of my self-image and self-esteem began from a young age. Without spending too much time on that piece, I will say that I was bullied, repeatedly told I was fat, not good enough, less than, not working hard enough, not as good as such and such, etc. People who I loved, people I respected didn’t think I was enough. How can I be if they don’t think so? I must not be. Additionally, I was shy (yes, it’s true) and awkward, traits that don’t play well in school. As a result, I spent most of my adolescence suffering from depression. I did not know that then, but hindsight….

By high school, I had spiraled into a deep dark place. Expectations were high. There was so much at stake. How would I measure up? I was stressed trying to out run a mind that told me I was worthless while working tirelessly to find success. Where things started (continued?) to go wrong is that I loved food, food was always sooooo good to me! After a bad day, I would sit to find comfort, in food, but then the guilt would set in because I saw myself as fat, ugly, stupid, worthless. Me to me: You just ate WHAT?? You are already fat, what did you DO???? My solution was to undo what made me feel guilty, the surrogate for my emotions…the food. I started vomiting to remove the guilt. I liked it, that feeling. Feeling so full and then having a release. There was a calm that would set in. Over time, it became a routine and a habit. Bad day….binge…purge….calm. Because I prefer to wear loose clothing, it took time for anyone to realize that I was losing weight. But, it was high school and eventually I got “caught.” I made promises to stop. I had it under control. It’s over. I used to be bulimic.

But it didn’t. I hid. I was sneaky. I was guilty. The cycle continued. Guilt…binge…purge…calm. I was lying. I was fake. I was everything nobody thought I was, an Imposter. Guilt…binge…purge….calm. What if they find out? They will think I am weak. I am supposed to be strong. Guilt…binge…purge…calm. Something new began…hate. I hated myself for not being able to find another way. I hated myself for the way I looked. I hated myself for not being like everyone else who seemed so confident. I hated myself for not being a shining example for my kids. I hated myself for walking around with this “dirty little secret.” I hated myself for hating myself. The cycle evolved: Hate…binge…guilt…purge…calm.

There is a misconception when a condition is labeled as an eating disorder. For me, it had nothing to do with the eating. It had everything to do with the disorder, the guilt, self-loathing and seeking comfort. A cycle. A part of my routine. I knew there was something wrong in what I was doing, otherwise there would be no reason to hide. I needed a way to comfort myself and if anyone found out, my comfort could be taken away. For that reason, if I talked about it I talked about it only in the past tense. Then, it didn’t really exist. Did it?

As life went on, the medical issues began. Acid reflux, high blood pressure, low electrolytes, weight gain. Doctors were running tests and treating conditions but could never find the source. “….maybe you need a lifestyle adjustment, more exercise, better eating habits….”. I started to workout like mad. No results. More workouts! New workouts! Cycle. CrossFit. No results. Back to the doctors! How can I work out this much and still be obese? (denial is amazing!) They said: “….it gets harder as you get older….”. “….metabolism slows down with age…”. “….just keep at it…” I heard: …”Your body is a mess. You still can’t do anything right. You failed, again! If you just tried harder, maybe you could accomplish something!” Okay. I started working harder, eating smarter. I joined challenges. Signed up for gyms. The harder I worked without seeing results, the more I hated myself. The cycle continues. Hate…binge…guilt…purge…calm. I found new ways to be self-destructive to cover the guilt and shame. I denied that the lack of results could be related to my “dirty little secret”. That was a thing of the past, high school, right?

After my hormones were balanced (previous post). Mentally, I still wasn’t whole and I wanted to be. Something was stopping me from feeling like myself and it went beyond my hormonal imbalance. I was referred to a psychiatrist for evaluation. The testing was tricky. In general, on these tests, I can figure out what the question is assessing, navigating my way safely through without revealing too much. On this test, I could not. I gave honest answers. For the first time in my life, I WANTED to get better and to understand how I became so broken, why was I so tired and what was happening with my weight! I went in for my results. I was not prepared for what came next.

I sat down. The very first question I was asked was: Do you have an eating disorder? I felt flushed and looked at my feet. Does she ask everyone this? How could she possibly know? I let out a little quiet no. She told me that I scored off the charts for an eating disorder and reminded me that if I wanted to feel better, I needed to be honest with her and more importantly with myself. I broke down and for the first time, I said: Yes, I am bulimic and have been for decades. I found myself at the bottom of a well. It was a low point, a deep valley.

To quell any concern, I am in recovery. If you are one of the people who wanted to know how I lost weight, here is another piece of the puzzle. I am bulimic and I am getting help. (Aren’t you glad you asked?) My road to recovery has been long and deserves it’s own post, so stayed tuned! Falling into the valley is an important part of climbing to the peak.

Why am I sharing this today? Mental health is important! Beyond important! Yet we hide symptoms and pretend we are fine because that is more acceptable than admitting we need help. I am sharing this very personal information, because I have healed enough to know that I am not the only person walking around with a “dirty little secret.” (And believe me, this is one of many) If you need help, get it! If you need a friend, contact me! I have wonderful resources and would love to support anyone who needs it because I would not be where I am without the help and support of others. I am thankful for those who have been serving as my light while I navigate through darkness! Whether you have an issue or issues and even if you don’t, know that you are not alone, at the very least, you have me!

Rant: Menopause is when your period stops, right?

Yes and no! For most of my life, I understood that I would have a period. Then, one day, I would get hot flashes and be a bit crabby, my period would stop and that, my friends, would be menopause! At the infamous physical where I discovered my hormone issue, I was speaking to my doctor and mentioned that I was basically having non-stop periods. This is, in part, what started the discussion about my symptoms and her suspicion of perimenopause. I had never heard of perimenopause and did not understand how any of that would explain my non-stop periods. That is the moment I learned this fun fact: Your period does not just stop one day. Menopause is not a light switch that gets turned off. There is a bit more to it. News to me! What happens is that your periods get heavier and closer together (during the perimenopause stage) and eventually get lighter and further apart until they stop. Periods do not stop until your hormones have dropped and the ovaries stop releasing eggs. You are not considered to be in menopause until you have had no period for 12 months. You are considered to be in perimenopause (which can be any number of years…1 or 10 or more) until this time. Did you know that? I certainly did not. So that’s the end? NOPE. There is a stage called post menopause. The previous symptoms ease, but can still exist. As a result of the diminishing hormones women are at greater risk of conditions such as osteoporosis and heart disease.

I found it to be unbelievable that I never knew how any of this worked. Even more unbelievable to me was that it never occurred to be to look into any of this. In part, it was because I really had no idea the impact that it would have on my life or my body. Women should be told exactly how hormones impact their bodies at various stages from a young age.

Something else I did not know, which would have been great information during my child bearing years, is that estrogen is responsible for creating an environment in the uterus for the fertilized egg to embed. However, progesterone is what actually retains the embedded egg to the uterine wall. I almost miscarried my first born child. When I went to the doctor, they immediately began progesterone injections. Guess what they did not do? Explain any of this to me. I went on to have a couple other miscarriages (and also a beautiful daughter). When I had my hormone panel, my progesterone was so extremely low that it was conceivable that I may have had lower than common progesterone for sometime given my pregnancy history. No one thought to check into that after a pattern of miscarriages seemed to be emerging or immediately following the scare with my son? Maybe a quick blood draw “just to be safe” would have spared me the heartbreak that comes with miscarriage. Perhaps, at my first OB/GYN at 18, they could have just done a hormone panel to set a baseline so that we could preemptively address any issues BEFORE I got to the point where I was on the verge of losing a pregnancy.

No matter how you slice it, women need more information early in life. As a tribe, we need to get active in informing ourselves and those around us and demanding change. I know, I know, with everything happening in the world this may seem insignificant. Let me tell you, until I experienced that madness that had become my perimenopausal life, I would have thought the same. Not anymore! It’s time to educate and change!

Rant: Do you know about your hormones?

A couple of years ago, I became a shell of who I had previously been. I went from being driven and active, balanced and controlled with the memory of an elephant. Over time, I found myself lethargic, unmotivated, wildly insane and I couldn’t retain a thought long enough to write it down. I gained weight because I was having severe cravings and eating nonstop. I became depressed and the harder I tried to return to “normal” the worse my situation became. By sheer coincidence, I mentioned some of this to my doctor and she referred me to a hormone specialist. I was barely 40 but they wanted to exclude perimenopause?!?! Guess what? It wasn’t excluded. I was experiencing early onset menopause. When my bloodwork came back, I was producing virtually none of the hormones that women need to function properly. I am not a doctor but I have done a TON of research to learn about female hormones and I was shocked at how little I knew. It took over a year to get the right formula to balance my hormones and I was back to feeling like my self. As I began to share my story with friends and peers I learned a few things. 1. Most women do not truly understand their hormones and the impact they have on their mind and body. 2. Women are not really educated on menopause and what happens within the body in the time leading up to this stage. 3. Doctors discount the symptoms women have and actually refuse to test hormones even when requested. So here is my rant: Why? Why are we not taught about hormones and menopause during the “Are You There God, It’s Me Margaret” class in fourth grade or in our high school health class? Why are we told that menopause is just the stage when your period ends? Why wouldn’t a doctor test hormones or outright refuse to test them when asked? Every year, at my physical my cholesterol is checked. I have never even been close to having a high cholesterol result. Same with blood sugar, etc. Why aren’t our hormones baselined and at a minimum tested ever few years? How many women are suffering because their hormones are out of balance and the symptoms are written off as PMS or female crazy or exhaustion, etc. We are not taken seriously when we go to a doctor and ask for testing because something is WRONG and we cannot explain it. I had been working out like a maniac and couldn’t lose a pound, which I mentioned to several doctors. The response I received was “….metabolism slows down when you get older, keep at it…”. No! That was not the issue. The issue was that my body had prematurely stopped generating hormones but no one bothered to check because of my age. As soon as my hormones were balanced, I began to lose weight. There is a great deal more to that part of the story, but I’ll save that for another post. My point here is that we, as women, need to take control of learning and educating ourselves and our sisters on this topic. We need to make it part of our health routines. We need doctors to baseline our hormones and track changes. The hormones I take (and I take 4 and counting) are all natural. There is no downside to testing hormones. It’s one vial of blood which can be drawn at your physical. I encourage you to research what I am saying and speak to your doctor and speak to your friends. There has not been a single time that I shared this experience and the person I was speaking with did not respond with a resounding: “Wow, that’s how I feel…”. It’s time to make our minds and bodies a priority and change the mindset that we are “just crazy women PMSing!” Please feel free to contact me with questions. This topic has become a passion for me and helping to educate others is quickly becoming my mission!