Recovery Wisdom from the Fathers

Spring is definitely in the air!  It's hard to believe Pesach has come and gone, and we're now counting the days until Shavuot...woah.  This means it's time for two of my favorite seasonal rituals:

1) Feeding the leftover matzah, in small doses, to the geese and ducks at the pond

2) Reading Pirkei Avot

Both bring me a lot of joy in completely different ways, but for the sake of thematic consistency, I'll focus here on #2.

To be honest, I read Pirkei Avot in snippets throughout the year, but it excites me that the weeks between Pesach and Shavuot are earmarked for reading this tractate of the Talmud in earnest.  Yesterday, during the closing hours of Shabbat, I studied the first chapter with my friend (and chevruta par excellence), and then when I got home I couldn't resist looking ahead.  Toward the end of Chapter 2, I came across one of my favorite quotes, from Pirkei Avot 2:16:

"He [Rabbi Tarfon] used to say:  You are not expected to complete the work and yet you are not free to evade it."

In its original context, this quote relates to the immense tasks of acquiring Torah wisdom and working to repair the world.  However, I think it can be generalized to other realms of life and applied to any situation in which a person faces a daunting yet necessary task.  Certainly, then, it speaks to the work of recovery.

In the beginning of my recovery, I often got overwhelmed when I stared down the road ahead, seeing the end result that I sincerely wanted but having no idea how--or if--I would get myself there.  One of the most supportive things my treatment team did was to communicate to me that I did not have to do everything at once, and none of it would have to be done alone--but they were not going to let me avoid the work, either.  Baby steps, they accepted and encouraged; inertia, they did not.  To be honest, this balance served me well.  I needed someone to acknowledge that what I was doing was hard and scary, and to reassure me that "slow and steady" would get me there, in the end.  But at the same time, I needed to be held accountable and to be reminded that it was my responsibility to take myself as far down the recovery road as I possibly could.  Rabbi Tarfon understood this principle and the truth of his words reaches out to us today:  We do not have to do everything, yet we must do something.

Which brings me to an excerpt from one of my other favorite quotes, taken from the famous words of Rabbi Hillel:

"And if not now, when?" (Pirkei Avot 1:14)

Let's face it:  There is never going to be a time that actually feels like a convenient time to work on recovery.  There's always something in the way:  work, school, family obligations, vacations, etc.  Few of us believe we have the luxury of "taking time off from life" to focus on getting well...but the truth is, it's not so much a luxury as it is a necessity.  Life, after all, is more than just going through the motions. If anything we do is going to have any meaning for us, we will have to be fully present to experience it.  I would argue that time invested in recovery--even when it initially feels like a loss or concession--is ultimately going to result in a life that is richer and more satisfying than anything you could experience through the haze of an eating disorder.  It's as Hillel said...there is never a good time, so the best time is now.

I hope you can take the words of Rabbi Tarfon and Rabbi Hillel with you into the coming weeks as you work on your respective journeys:  Take small steps, but take steps...and take them now!

ּWe are Born Capable

Whew...with just a few hours to go before Erev Rosh Hashana, I'm squeezing in one more blog post before the chag begins.  (So what if there's still cooking and cleaning to do?  Priorities!)  I just can't go into the holiday without sharing with you some thoughts that have been brewing within me in response to last week's parsha, Nitzavim.

In Nitzavim, we reach the climactic moment when Moshe calls upon every individual Israelite to ratify the covenant with Hashem.  Leading up to this scene, the Israelites have spent quite a while listening to Moshe reiterate the multitude of dos and don'ts enumerated in the covenant, as well as the dire consequences for violating Hashem's laws.  I would imagine that the ordinary Israelite might enter into this agreement feeling a mixture of awe, excitement, and anxiety, perhaps wondering, "Will it really be possible for me to successfully follow all of these rules and fulfill all the expectations?"  Understanding this sentiment of self-doubt in the face of this overwhelming responsibility, Moshe declares,

"Surely, this Instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach.  It is not in the heavens, that you should say, 'Who among us can go up to the heavens and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?'  Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, 'Who among us can cross to the other side of the sea and get it for us and impart it to us, that we may observe it?'  No, the thing is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart, to observe it." (Devarim 30:11-14)

With this statement, Moshe reassures the Israelites that following the Torah does not require superhuman strength, nor is it only a select few elite who are able to do teshuva and live a life in accordance with Hashem's teachings.  Rather, each one of them, no matter his or her status, is capable of accessing the teachings and making positive changes in the interest of living a holy life.  If they are willing to put in the effort, positive change and growth are within their reach.

I believe this is also true of recovery--or, really, true of any significant life change that we wish to effect in the interest of personal growth.  How easy it is to become overwhelmed by the path in front of us, and how quickly we can fall into the trap of thinking, "I will never be able to do this," or, "It will never happen for me."  Instead, we should remember that Hashem would not put us in a situation where success is an impossibility.  The work may be intimidating, but it is not beyond us--each one of us has the power to take the steps toward what we yearn for.

The Talmud (Niddah 30b) teaches us that when a fetus is within the womb, that child is taught the entire Torah.  But, when the baby is born, an angel strikes the child and causes him or her to forget everything he or she learned.  You might ask, "What's the point of teaching the baby everything if that child is only going to forget all of it, anyway?" The Sages explain that although Torah study is difficult and requires a lot of effort, each of us is born with an innate affinity for it.  We all have within us the ability to accomplish this task, because instead of starting from square one, we're returning to knowledge that has always been within us.  Recovery is the same--none of us was born with an eating disorder; rather, we were created with the ability to interact authentically and enthusiastically with the world.  We each have inside of ourselves the desire and capability to achieve a life that is rewarding, fulfilling, and nourishing.

So, as we enter the chaggim, I wish for all of us the faith that what our souls are hungry for is not beyond our reach, and the motivation to stretch ourselves far enough so that we are able to grab it.  May the new year bring each of us the courage to progress on our own paths of personal development toward lives that are full of light, love, and satisfaction!

שנה טובה ומתוקה

Find What's Yummy

Shalom from Israel!  I do feel like I should apologize for the long stretch without any postings...as predicted, getting computer access has been a bit tricky.  But, though I haven't been writing, I've been quite busy exploring Jerusalem and reuniting with dear friends after many, many months apart.  This week I began a 3-week-long course of study at the Pardes Institute, and although I've only had three days of learning so far, I've already made one major discovery:

I LOVE learning Torah!

This is no small realization, especially because I distinctly remember a time when I thought studying Torah sounded both tedious and unproductive.  I've found that not only is learning Torah way more mentally stimulating than I'd originally thought, but also that I have a huge appetite for it.  I can't get enough of the beit midrash, with its continuous current of debate and intellectual energy.  I am completely enthralled by Talmud and the scrupulous attention that the talmudic rabbis paid to every single detail.  Also, I just love the feeling of exploring something new in an environment where every question is valid and every opinion merits air time.  Beginning to learn Torah has also been incredibly humbling--it has been a long time since I've had to learn ANYTHING from scratch, and the feeling can be uncomfortable at times.  But at the same time, the struggle is delicious because the rewards are so satisfying.

At first, I couldn't really see how my newfound enthusiasm for Torah learning related to recovery, but I believe I've found a link.  Discovering what energizes us is a major part of recovery work--figuring out what truly excites us, and making space for it in our lives.  A great therapist of mine once said, "You need to find what's yummy to you."  In other words, it's important to figure out what genuinely brings you positive energy and joy.  For me, in this moment, learning Torah is yummy. I'm grateful to have this opportunity to bring it into my life, and I look forward to sharing with you what I'm learning!

What about you?  What does your soul find delicious?

Why Deny?

Hello again!  I decided I needed a little breather in the wake of my Omer-marathon leading up to Shavuot, but last week's parasha (Nasso) sparked a little fire inside me and I have been mentally formulating this blog post since then.  I realize that Nasso is chock-full of material ripe for discussion (perhaps we will come back to the sotah issue another day), but what I want to focus on is the nazirite.  Simply put, a nazirite (in the time of the Temple) was an individual who took on vows of asceticism in an effort to achieve a higher level of holiness.  Specifically, the vow was to abstain from wine and all grape products, to refrain from cutting one's hair, and to avoid contact with the dead and with graves.  It would be a reasonable assumption that Judaism, with its famously stringent laws of kashrut and Shabbat prohibitions, would proclaim virtuous any person who is willing to be even more restrictive than the religion demands.  Interestingly, this is not the case.  When it comes to the nazirite, the Sages are split in their opinions.

Because I think many of us with histories of eating disorders know all too well how seductive and appealing the practice of self-denial can be, I am going to bypass the Talmudic commentary that looks favorably upon the nazirite (although, to be clear, it certainly exists and is easy to find, if you're motivated to do so).  What I find much more fascinating are the words of Sages who clearly do NOT approve of the nazirite vow.

When an individual ends his/her term as a nazirite, that person is required to make a sin offering to Hashem.  If a nazirite is so holy, what purpose could there be for a sin offering?  Rabbi Eliezer Hakappar argued that a nazirite was required to make atonement because, by practicing extreme self-denial, he had "sinned against the soul."  Despite all its laws and regulations, Judaism values the enjoyment of life and does not encourage people to be more restrictive than necessary.  As the Sages asked, "Is it not enough what the Torah has forbidden you, but you wish to forbid yourself more things?" (Nedarim 9:1)

This resonates deeply with me because for so long, my guiding principle was Restrictiveness.  Forget the fact that I was deeply miserable--there was something about self-denial that also gave me a feeling of superiority, of separateness, of virtuousness.  I thought I was special because I could resist what others could not.  In that mindset, I never once thought of my vigorous suppression of appetite as "sinning against my soul."  But now I think that's exactly what it was.

The Talmud teaches,

"In the future world, a man will have to give an accounting for every good thing his eyes saw, but of which he did not eat."  (Kiddushin 4:12)  Rabbi Elazar believed this so strongly that he regularly set aside money so that he could taste every kind of food at least once a year.

When I think about that, it almost brings tears to my eyes--that kind of dedication to pleasure and value of delicious experiences.  What would it be like to live in that way, to prioritize and savor the enjoyment of food?  How can we shift our paradigm from the societal messages of, "Avoid x, y, and z if you don't want to get fat," to the much more nurturing perspective of, "What am I hungry for?  What would be yummy?  How can I be good to my soul in this moment?"  Perhaps just asking the questions--and listening to the answers--is a solid place to start.

Whatever It Takes

During one of our many thought-provoking conversations, a dear Israeli friend of mine once paraphrased the Talmud when she said, "Eretz Yisrael is earned through hardships." (For those interested in the exact quote, see Talmud Berachot 5a!) My friend and I talked a lot about how this phrase applies to our own lives in a metaphorical sense...what personal "Promised Lands" have we had to struggle to achieve?

This past week, two events teamed up to bring this discussion back to the forefront of my mind. First, I received a surprise phone call from this particular friend, across the many miles and time zones that separate New England and Israel--talk about a total heart-warmer! Second, I had the opportunity to return as a "recovery speaker" to one of the facilities in which I received intensive treatment for my eating disorder nearly a decade ago. The women in my audience were a fabulous bunch, and we talked a lot about what separates people who do recover, from people who don't. What is it about people who attain full recovery that allows them to do that?

For me, recovery is my Eretz Yisrael, and I've had to struggle to make it my reality. As I think most people who've dealt with eating disorders can attest, these illnesses are the epitome of self-inflicted cruelty, both physical and emotional. Mine was no exception--when I was deep in anorexia, I was the most profoundly miserable I have ever been...and yet, I was also strangely comfortable being so miserable. I knew intellectually that life in recovery was what I wanted, but was I willing to leave behind the security and familiarity of my eating disorder? For a long time--years--the answer was, no. I remember saying to my therapist, "I want to BE recovered, I just don't want to DO recovery." In other words, I wanted the end result, without having to endure the hard work and struggle necessary to achieve it.

I've found (surprise!) that this is not how recovery works. The point at which I really began to move towards recovery was when I was finally able to say, "I will do whatever it takes." I will eat the food, I will gain the weight, I will go to therapy, I will keep all my appointments, I will stop lying, I will not exercise, I will not self-harm...it was a daunting list of commitments that were often painful to keep, and each one demanded my full effort. That's not to say I was 100% on board with all of those at once--but I had to be open to the idea and willing to try. For many years, I was firmly on track to becoming one of those women who lives the rest of her life "managing" her eating disorder--functioning effectively, but definitely not free. Why? Because although I wanted recovery, I wasn't willing to do all the challenging work necessary to get there. Now, I know that I will never settle for that kind of life, because I have committed to undergoing the "hardships" of recovery so that I will reside permanently in my Promised Land.

And, here's the best part...although the initial stages of recovery definitely did feel like "hardships," the later stages just feel like normal life--sometimes bumpy, sometimes smooth, but always infinitely preferable to anorexia, and all the more precious because I know how hard I've had to work to get there. No amount of simply dreaming about recovery made it a reality for me--it was dreaming, coupled with action, pure and simple. For me, life in the land of Recovery truly has been earned through hardships--and has proven worth it in every way.