Getting real
I don’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about something. I will never and have never said or suggested that I actually enjoyed the treatment program for my eating disorder.
I didn’t!
Had my bariatric surgeon not made that a requirement prior to approval of my vertical sleeve gastrectomy, I most likely would never have walked through the doors of that treatment facility. I didn’t even realize that I had an eating disorder. Yes, I knew that something was “off” with my eating behaviors. But, I thought that if I was just on the “right” diet, it would change. If I could just be more motivated to go to the gym. If I could find the “right” exercise program. If I could just stay away from sweets and fatty foods. If I had more willpower and self-control. If I just took the “right” pills. So many “if’s”.
Even after my surgeon made this requirement, I struggled with going to the program. I made every excuse that I could think of. It was after work, so I was tired. I didn’t like Monday because I had to stand up in the hot kitchen during “culinary” and my back hurt. I didn’t like Tuesdays because I didn’t know what I would be eating. I didn’t like Thursdays because I didn’t know what I should take to eat. I didn’t feel comfortable sharing intimate parts of my life with strangers. I didn’t like having to explore what I was truly feeling. I was too old. I was the only minority. I felt out of place. The AC in the building was too cold.
On and on and on.
Oh! And, I was ANGRY! I made it known at any chance that I could. I was angry at my surgeon. I was angry at the treatment process. I was angry at my family and friends for not getting me help sooner. I was angry that I had to work and then go to treatment instead of going home three nights per week. I was angry at the other patients. I was angry at the treatment staff. I was angry at people who tried to encourage me. I was angry at people who discouraged me. I was angry at the world.
Most important, I was angry and frustrated with myself. Why wasn’t I able to “fight” this? Why did it take me so long to get help? Why do I allow other people to trigger my eating disorder? Why do I love food obsessively? Why couldn’t I eat whatever I want and be thin? Why wasn’t my metabolism more active? Why didn’t “the switch” in my brain turn the eating disorder off? Why me?! Victim mentality all the way!
Only now, weeks out of treatment and into recovery, do I see that I actually benefited from my treatment program. The lessons that I learned in that program and about myself are finally starting to sink in. I subscribe to the philosophy that all emotions are rooted in either love or fear. My anger comes from fear. Fear of failing. Fear of having to give up the familiarity of my eating behaviors. Fear of finding better coping skills. Fear of delving into my emotions and mental state with honesty. Fear of experimenting to find new coping mechanisms. Fear of what I would be like and who I am at a healthy weight and in a healthy relationship with food. Fear of facing how my eating disorder has impacted or maybe hurt the people around me. Fear of letting go of people that I may love, but who are not in the best interest of my recovery. Fear of what life is like when no food is “bad” and I don't restrict what I consume. Fear of realizing all of the opportunities and life experiences that I have missed. Fear of realizing that recovery will take hard work for the rest of my life, that I will never be able to let my guard down, and that a “cure” will never be. Fear of exposing the roots of why these behaviors started. Fear that the eating disorder was just a veil for an even uglier reality about who I am.
Prior to treatment, I found it difficult to concede when I was afraid. To me, fear and weakness were synonyms. I always thought that I needed to be strong or at least give the impression of strength. Anger and aggression were strength in my mind. But, this process has shown me just how flawed my thinking can be. Fear is a perfectly natural human emotion. It doesn’t equate to weakness. I can be fearful and strong at the same time. There should never be shame in feeling fear. Although some of my fears were not warranted, having those fears was understandable. Flawed, perhaps, but valid.