One of my "projects" during the past year has been integrating more daily prayer into my life. I find that taking time to "talk" to Hashem when I begin and end my day helps me to feel more grounded and centered...and, not surprisingly, I love the structure of the ritual. I've been fortunate to have the guidance of some gifted rabbis, and of some friends who have doubled as passionate teachers. I'll be truthful and admit that not EVERY prayer resonates with me. But, there are a few to which I feel deeply connected, and I would like to focus this post on one of them: Ana B'koach.
Ana B'koach is one of my favorite parts of the Kabbalat Shabbat liturgy. I'm aware that it is loaded with deep kabbalistic meaning, but that's not why I love it (I don't really "get" kabbalah, to be honest). No, the main reason why I'm drawn to this prayer is its beginning:
Ana b'koach gedulat yemincha, tatir tzerurah.
I've heard this translated several ways, but my favorite is: We beg You, with the strength of Your right hand, untie our tangles. I just LOVE that image. There have been many times in my life, particularly in my recovery journey, when I have felt that my soul is all tied up in knots. When I was in treatment, a therapist asked me to draw how I envisioned myself and my eating disorder. I remember drawing a little red stick figure surrounded by a tangled mess of black scribbles. In recovery, I have found freedom from that hopelessness. However, there are still times when I feel bound up by life, pulled in different directions and unsure how to unwind. In those moments, I yearn for Hashem to reach down and gently help me untie myself.
The other theme of this prayer that resonates with me is that Hashem treats gently and mercifully those who acknowledge His "oneness." Part of my work in recovery has been realizing that, ultimately, life is in Hashem's control--not in mine. It has been a tough concept to accept, because if there's one thing I love, it's being in control. That's a big part of what my eating disorder was all about: micromanaging my surroundings, my intake, and my body in an effort to avoid all discomfort. In recovery, I'm having to realize that I'm just not as powerful as I might sometimes wish I was. I can take initiative, I can put my best effort into things, and I can make educated choices...but the truth is that I do not see the whole picture, and I might not know what ultimately is best for me. The only one who sees how all the pieces fit together is Hashem, and I have to trust that all the experiences He brings me are going to lead me to positive growth. When I internalize this belief, I open myself to Hashem's love and mercy.
When I say Ana B'koach, I close my eyes and turn my focus inward to a conversation that is between just Hashem and me. As my mouth recites the traditional Hebrew, here is what my soul is saying:
Please, Hashem, help me untangle myself. As I try to live my life in a way that makes You proud of me, please protect me and bless me. Guide me to bring goodness to my community and light to the people whose lives I touch. Help me to keep my eye on the ball and to see my way out of confusion. Please, Hashem, know that I am trying. Show me what is right for me to do.
Recently, I came across this version of Ana B'koach sung by a choir from a girls' school in Israel. I can't get enough of it...I find it absolutely beautiful and want to share it with you!
My wish for us all is that we continue to merit Hashem's help in untangling ourselves from the knots in which we find ourselves.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Monday, March 5, 2012
Faith in Purpose
I'll be honest: Purim is not my favorite holiday. It's very noisy; there's a lot of alcohol involved; things are supposed to be mixed up and out of order. None of that meshes well with my aforementioned penchant for rules.
Still, Megillat Esther is some fabulous drama. One of my favorite moments occurs in chapter 4. Mordechai has just told Esther about Haman's plot to annihilate the Jews, and he calls upon Esther to go to the king and plead with him to save the Jewish people. Esther is doubtful that she could pull this off--who is she, to think that she could hold such power with the king? But Mordechai insists. He says, "...who knows? Perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis" (Book of Esther 4:14).
What I love about this part is the message that each of us is created to fulfill a unique purpose and that we should not doubt our ability to effect change. Initially, Esther does not present as a particularly self-confident or empowered woman. The text often refers to her in the passive voice: she "was taken," or she "would be summoned," etc. She is quiet, obedient, and eager to please. And yet...within her she has a spark, of which she is all but unaware. It is she who is best positioned to save the Jewish people, and this is not an accident. Esther has inside of her more power than she ever thought possible.
When I read this section of Megillat Esther, I am reminded that I, too, have a purpose in life that only I can serve. The same is true for each of us. The eating disorder has made us very good at believing that we are nothing special...when the truth is that Hashem created each of us to fulfill a need of the world. I'm reminded of one of my all-time favorite quotes, by Marianne Williamson:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
I think Esther would agree.
Still, Megillat Esther is some fabulous drama. One of my favorite moments occurs in chapter 4. Mordechai has just told Esther about Haman's plot to annihilate the Jews, and he calls upon Esther to go to the king and plead with him to save the Jewish people. Esther is doubtful that she could pull this off--who is she, to think that she could hold such power with the king? But Mordechai insists. He says, "...who knows? Perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis" (Book of Esther 4:14).
What I love about this part is the message that each of us is created to fulfill a unique purpose and that we should not doubt our ability to effect change. Initially, Esther does not present as a particularly self-confident or empowered woman. The text often refers to her in the passive voice: she "was taken," or she "would be summoned," etc. She is quiet, obedient, and eager to please. And yet...within her she has a spark, of which she is all but unaware. It is she who is best positioned to save the Jewish people, and this is not an accident. Esther has inside of her more power than she ever thought possible.
When I read this section of Megillat Esther, I am reminded that I, too, have a purpose in life that only I can serve. The same is true for each of us. The eating disorder has made us very good at believing that we are nothing special...when the truth is that Hashem created each of us to fulfill a need of the world. I'm reminded of one of my all-time favorite quotes, by Marianne Williamson:
"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, 'Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?' Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."
I think Esther would agree.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Intention Matters!
I love rules. Love them. Give me an open-ended task with no guidelines, and I become a ball of anxiety. How am I supposed to know how to do anything correctly, if no one explains the dos and don'ts? One of the things I found most reassuring about anorexia was the intricately detailed system of rules I created regarding food and exercise. Although completely arbitrary, the rules made me feel safe in the belief that if I followed them, nothing bad would happen to me.
Is it any wonder that I am pulled toward traditional Judaism? Look at all the rules!
I didn't begin increasing my level of religious observance until I was well on my way in recovery, but it still didn't take me long to realize that if I wasn't careful, the stringent regulations of traditional Judaism could become mere substitutions for the self-imposed rules of my eating disorder. I'd always been uncomfortable when other people paid attention to my physical body, so I was more than eager to sign up for religiously sanctioned modest dressing. And then, there were the negative commandments forming the basis for laws of kashrut and fasting. How comforting to know that if anorexia wouldn't be controlling what I ate, Hashem would be!
I knew that I did not have the luxury, as some people might, of just taking on rituals and rules without thinking them through. Covering one's body and restricting one's food options and intake might not be triggers for some people, but they definitely are for me. However, these are also important parts of traditional Judaism that I wanted to integrate into my life. How could I do that while still preserving the recovery for which I'd fought so hard?
For me, the key is intention. I need to do mitzvot for the right reasons, and this sometimes requires that I "re-frame" some thought patterns. Here are some examples:
Modest dressing:
Old thought: "Hey! I get to completely cover my body in shapeless skirts and long sleeves because Hashem wants me to! Now NO ONE will look at me! Awesome!"
New thought: "When I wear modest clothing, I am sending the message that my body is precious and not for just anyone to have access to. I can wear skirts and shirts that make me feel attractive while still letting others know that I value modesty."
Kashrut:
Old thought: "Now I have a whole new way to control what I eat and avoid scary foods...and it's totally justified because it's religious!"
New thought: "The idea behind kashrut is that eating should be a sacred act. It is one way I have of striving to be holy as Hashem is holy. Kashrut teaches discipline...by having some limitations on what I eat, I am acknowledging the presence of Hashem. But this does not have to lead to deprivation."
Fasting:
Old thought: "A whole day with no food!"
New thought: "If fasting becomes about weight control, I cannot allow myself to do it. Period. Fasting should be a way for me to focus on repentance, to turn my energy inward. To do it with the goal of food restriction is to completely miss the point."
Bottom line? Yes, it matters whether or not we do the mitzvot. But, it also matters what our intentions are as we do them. Human life has the highest value...the principle of pikuach nefesh clearly states that almost any negative commandment can be broken in order to save a life. If I twist the mitzvot into ways to perpetuate a life-threatening eating disorder, that is not what Hashem would want. As Jews in recovery, it is our responsibility not only to do mitzvot, but to do them with a pure heart, for the purposes for which they are intended.
Is it any wonder that I am pulled toward traditional Judaism? Look at all the rules!
I didn't begin increasing my level of religious observance until I was well on my way in recovery, but it still didn't take me long to realize that if I wasn't careful, the stringent regulations of traditional Judaism could become mere substitutions for the self-imposed rules of my eating disorder. I'd always been uncomfortable when other people paid attention to my physical body, so I was more than eager to sign up for religiously sanctioned modest dressing. And then, there were the negative commandments forming the basis for laws of kashrut and fasting. How comforting to know that if anorexia wouldn't be controlling what I ate, Hashem would be!
I knew that I did not have the luxury, as some people might, of just taking on rituals and rules without thinking them through. Covering one's body and restricting one's food options and intake might not be triggers for some people, but they definitely are for me. However, these are also important parts of traditional Judaism that I wanted to integrate into my life. How could I do that while still preserving the recovery for which I'd fought so hard?
For me, the key is intention. I need to do mitzvot for the right reasons, and this sometimes requires that I "re-frame" some thought patterns. Here are some examples:
Modest dressing:
Old thought: "Hey! I get to completely cover my body in shapeless skirts and long sleeves because Hashem wants me to! Now NO ONE will look at me! Awesome!"
New thought: "When I wear modest clothing, I am sending the message that my body is precious and not for just anyone to have access to. I can wear skirts and shirts that make me feel attractive while still letting others know that I value modesty."
Kashrut:
Old thought: "Now I have a whole new way to control what I eat and avoid scary foods...and it's totally justified because it's religious!"
New thought: "The idea behind kashrut is that eating should be a sacred act. It is one way I have of striving to be holy as Hashem is holy. Kashrut teaches discipline...by having some limitations on what I eat, I am acknowledging the presence of Hashem. But this does not have to lead to deprivation."
Fasting:
Old thought: "A whole day with no food!"
New thought: "If fasting becomes about weight control, I cannot allow myself to do it. Period. Fasting should be a way for me to focus on repentance, to turn my energy inward. To do it with the goal of food restriction is to completely miss the point."
Bottom line? Yes, it matters whether or not we do the mitzvot. But, it also matters what our intentions are as we do them. Human life has the highest value...the principle of pikuach nefesh clearly states that almost any negative commandment can be broken in order to save a life. If I twist the mitzvot into ways to perpetuate a life-threatening eating disorder, that is not what Hashem would want. As Jews in recovery, it is our responsibility not only to do mitzvot, but to do them with a pure heart, for the purposes for which they are intended.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Cultivating Gratitude
There's no doubt that everyone's journey through an eating disorder is different...but one commonly occurring theme is the insidious partnership between eating disorders and depression. I am 99% sure that every single person I know who has battled an eating disorder has also experienced some form of clinical depression during the course of her illness. Personally, I am no exception: during the height of my anorexia I was chronically depressed, and my process of recovery has been peppered with periods of significant melancholy. In my experience, few things make it harder to feel committed to the work of recovery, than being profoundly saddened and discouraged by life.
Although there are, of course, pharmaceutical remedies for depressed mood, there are also a number of "do-it-yourself" exercises that one can do to improve one's overall mental health and happiness. One of my favorites is keeping a gratitude journal. There is plenty of research out there in the field of psychology that asserts that practicing gratitude is a key element to living a happier life. Keeping a gratitude journal is a concrete way to cultivate a sense of thankfulness for all the positive things we experience in our lives. A few years ago I began this practice as a homework assignment for a mind-body workshop, and I loved it so much that I never stopped. The process is simple: before going to sleep each night, I jot down three to six specific experiences I had that day for which I am grateful. The entire exercise takes fewer than five minutes, but I can honestly say that since beginning this nightly ritual, I have noticed a subtle yet significant shift in my overall affect and sense of well-being.
In keeping with the academic research pointing to the importance of gratitude, Judaism has long had a tradition of emphasizing the value of giving thanks. One way of expressing the concept of gratitude in Hebrew is hakarat hatov (הכרת הטוב), literally, "recognizing the good." We all have blessings in our lives, and practicing gratitude means acknowledging all the positivity that we already experience. So central a concept is this, that embedded in Jewish practice are brachot for just about everything imaginable: ingesting any food and drink, going to the bathroom, and waking up in the morning; smelling pleasant fragrances, witnessing thunder and lightning, seeing fruit trees in bloom, and being by the ocean...these are just a handful of the experiences for which Judaism tells us we should be thankful. As I journey through recovery, I feel incredibly fortunate to belong to a spiritual tradition that teaches me to be awake, alert, and appreciative of all the blessings, large and small, that I enjoy on a daily basis.
So...here are some things I have been grateful for this week:
- the feeling of snowflakes landing on my cheeks as I walked to shul on Shabbat morning in light snowfall
- seeing a brilliant red male cardinal at my parents' birdfeeder
- a much-needed phone chat with a dear friend
- adorable valentines from my students
- seeing a particularly beautiful sunrise on my way to work
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
The Promise of Spring
Today was one of my favorite Jewish holidays: Tu B'Shevat, the "New Year of Trees." Why do I love this holiday? Well, I live in a place where the winters are long and often harsh, and there is nothing that thrills me more than when the first buds start to blossom on the trees. So, I think the idea of having a holiday to celebrate this annual miracle is brilliant! Never mind that we observe Tu B'Shevat according to the cycle of seasons in Israel, and that the trees where I live are far from ready to bloom...just having a reminder of the forthcoming beauty is enough for me!
As I did some learning about Tu B'Shevat this year, one theme that kept coming up in my reading was the Torah's comparison of humans to trees (see Deuteronomy 20:19). I found many different ways of interpreting this comparison, but one in particular resonated with me and I want to share it here.
A tree's life cycle contains periods of growth and vitality, as well as periods of dormancy and decay. During the winter months, the tree appears almost lifeless, stripped of its colorful crown of leaves. While looking at a tree's bare branches, it can be hard to remember what the same tree looked like when it was in full bloom. Perhaps we even doubt that the tree will revive itself again...will this be the winter that finally does it in?
But then...spring arrives! With the change of seasons, the tree remembers how to live. Some trees unfurl a few leaves at a time; others bloom seemingly overnight. Buds open, flowers burst forth, and fruits--the trees' means of producing a next generation--become lush and ripe. After a seemingly interminable winter, the tree has reasserted itself vibrantly.
Aren't people the same way?
Like trees, our lives have cycles that include times of blooming as well as periods of stagnation. Being mired in an eating disorder is the equivalent of being buried in a winter snowstorm. Growth stalls and the landscape is cold and bleak. It is easy to forget what life feels like, and it is hard to trust that our lives will ever again be in full bloom. But with the work of recovery comes spring...we thaw out bit by bit, and begin to grow our lives. Recovery proves to us that we can emerge from the eating disorder and participate wholly in the business of living.
But, even within recovery there are dark times. Personally, I have not found recovery to be a guarantee of happiness--there are hard days at work, disagreements with loved ones, and periods of hormone-induced moodiness. There might be illness, or financial stress, or prolonged family drama. However...since fully entering recovery, I have never forgotten the promise of spring. Even when I am sad, scared, and angry, I am able to remember that the tide will turn, that fluctuations are part of life, and that I can weather the storm. I am also able to recognize that the tough times are part of what fuels growth...and, viewed through this lens, even challenges can have a positive tint.
I found this quote from an article on Tu B'Shevat and will share it in closing:
"This is the message of Tu B'Shevat. In the middle of winter, when everything around us seems so cold and bleak, think of spring. Eat fruit. Sing joyous tunes. Plant new trees. Always look for the good."
As I did some learning about Tu B'Shevat this year, one theme that kept coming up in my reading was the Torah's comparison of humans to trees (see Deuteronomy 20:19). I found many different ways of interpreting this comparison, but one in particular resonated with me and I want to share it here.
A tree's life cycle contains periods of growth and vitality, as well as periods of dormancy and decay. During the winter months, the tree appears almost lifeless, stripped of its colorful crown of leaves. While looking at a tree's bare branches, it can be hard to remember what the same tree looked like when it was in full bloom. Perhaps we even doubt that the tree will revive itself again...will this be the winter that finally does it in?
But then...spring arrives! With the change of seasons, the tree remembers how to live. Some trees unfurl a few leaves at a time; others bloom seemingly overnight. Buds open, flowers burst forth, and fruits--the trees' means of producing a next generation--become lush and ripe. After a seemingly interminable winter, the tree has reasserted itself vibrantly.
Aren't people the same way?
Like trees, our lives have cycles that include times of blooming as well as periods of stagnation. Being mired in an eating disorder is the equivalent of being buried in a winter snowstorm. Growth stalls and the landscape is cold and bleak. It is easy to forget what life feels like, and it is hard to trust that our lives will ever again be in full bloom. But with the work of recovery comes spring...we thaw out bit by bit, and begin to grow our lives. Recovery proves to us that we can emerge from the eating disorder and participate wholly in the business of living.
But, even within recovery there are dark times. Personally, I have not found recovery to be a guarantee of happiness--there are hard days at work, disagreements with loved ones, and periods of hormone-induced moodiness. There might be illness, or financial stress, or prolonged family drama. However...since fully entering recovery, I have never forgotten the promise of spring. Even when I am sad, scared, and angry, I am able to remember that the tide will turn, that fluctuations are part of life, and that I can weather the storm. I am also able to recognize that the tough times are part of what fuels growth...and, viewed through this lens, even challenges can have a positive tint.
I found this quote from an article on Tu B'Shevat and will share it in closing:
"This is the message of Tu B'Shevat. In the middle of winter, when everything around us seems so cold and bleak, think of spring. Eat fruit. Sing joyous tunes. Plant new trees. Always look for the good."
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Crossing the Sea
I have a little bit of an optimism problem...specifically, the problem is that I am not an optimist. I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm a pessimist, but I'm definitely pragmatic. I do not believe that things will always work out for the best. Risk-taking, for me, usually involves imagining every possible negative outcome I can think of and deciding whether or not I could tolerate it. In short, I'm not big on "leaps of faith." I absolutely do believe in Hashem, and I do trust in His protection...but, at the same time, I am not about to leap into the unknown without at least some sense of confidence that I will not regret it.
It seems the ancient Israelites also experienced this sense of trepidation when faced with the challenge of crossing the Red Sea. Their choice was either to return to slavery in Egypt, or to attempt to cross a vast, cold, unfamiliar body of water. All of a sudden, slavery wasn't looking so terrible...after all, they'd been slaves for so long that the lifestyle offered them a comforting sense of security. Sure, it was miserable...but it was also predictable and familiar. Is it any wonder that when they were staring down that expanse of the Red Sea, they may have started to waver a bit on their determination to escape?
According to one midrash, an Israelite named Nachshon was the first one to set foot into the water. As he waded in, inch by inch, the sea did not part...but he kept going, because he knew that returning to slavery really was not an option. Only when Nachshon was in the water up to his nose, did Hashem finally part the sea, enabling Nachshon and the rest of the Israelites to cross on dry land. Apparently, Hashem was not ready to part the sea until He knew that the Israelites had enough faith to enter the water.
To me, the message of this midrash is beautifully applicable to the risk involved in pursuing recovery. When I reflect on the source of my early ambivalence toward recovery, the word that comes to mind most often is fear. Abandoning the familiarity and security of the confines of anorexia was completely petrifying...even if, objectively, it seemed obvious that recovery offered me a much greater chance at happiness. I think this fear of the unknowns of recovery is often hard for patients' loved ones to understand, because it does seem counter-intuitive: to the witness, the eating disorder is so clearly a source of misery, and recovery is the path to freedom. But, to the person with an eating disorder, entering recovery is like wading into the Red Sea--it requires acceptance of risk and tremendous courage and faith.
In my own process, I've found that once I showed that I truly was willing to do the work of recovery, the path seemed considerably more clear than it did when I was staring at it from the camp of anorexia. It hasn't been a total breeze, but I do feel that once I demonstrated my commitment, Hashem provided me the sources of strength and guidance I needed to make the journey. To those who are still in the place of hesitation: I understand your fear, because I felt it myself. But, maybe if you take the first few steps in faith, you will find the reassurance you need to continue.
עזי וזמרת יה ויהי–לי לישועה
Hashem is my strength and might; He is become my deliverance.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Birth...times two
In this week's parashah, after a couple of weeks of plagues and back-and-forth among Hashem, Moshe, and Pharoah, the Jewish people finally are liberated from slavery in Egypt. It's a pivotal event if ever there was one--so important, in fact, that Hashem says to Moshe, "This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you." But wait...don't we already HAVE a "first month"? Doesn't the Jewish year begin in Tishrei, with Rosh Hashana? How can the month to which Hashem is referring (Nissan) ALSO be the first month of the year?
I recently read an article that offers the following explanation: Tishrei marks the anniversary of creation and the beginning of human history. Nissan, however, marks the birth of Jewish history--when the people of Israel were finally set free from the cruelties of Egyptian slavery. So, both months commemorate important "firsts": Tishrei, the first day of humankind; Nissan, the first day of Jewish freedom. Therefore, both months can be considered the beginning of the Jewish year.
This concept strongly resonates with me--the idea that even though we are physically born just one time, sometimes we need another "birth" to really kick our lives into high gear. I have found this to be especially true in recovery. Although in the concrete sense my life began on the day I came into the world, I don't think I really began living until I became solidly committed to recovery. Literally speaking, I of course have been alive every day for the past 30 years. However, it is also true that many of those years were spent in darkness, not so much living as merely subsisting. I remember with clarity the day when I first tasted freedom from that mute, restrictive existence: a friend of mine, who had also fought--and won--her own battle with an eating disorder, presented her story at a panel discussion celebrating eating disorder recovery. After the panel ended, this friend looked deep into my eyes and told me she believed in me. I had worked hard. I had a story of my own to tell. And one day, she said, I would be able to stand up in public and share my own victory with others. Something in the way she spoke made me believe her, and that moment stands out to me as the point at which I really began to believe, with my whole heart, that I could recover. This is not to say that since that day my process has always been smooth and easy...but I can say that since then, I have remained fully committed to living my "best life" in recovery...and now I am enjoying the life I have created.
The amazing thing about recovery is that it truly gives us the chance to start fresh, to "reboot" ourselves, so to speak. Birth was a miracle that happened to each of us, but recovery is a miracle we can choose for ourselves. Rather than lamenting all the time lost to the eating disorder (an easy trap to fall into!), why not actively choose a starting point from which to build a fully vibrant life? If we liberate ourselves from our own versions of slavery, we can celebrate that freedom as the time when we allowed ourselves to begin anew.
I recently read an article that offers the following explanation: Tishrei marks the anniversary of creation and the beginning of human history. Nissan, however, marks the birth of Jewish history--when the people of Israel were finally set free from the cruelties of Egyptian slavery. So, both months commemorate important "firsts": Tishrei, the first day of humankind; Nissan, the first day of Jewish freedom. Therefore, both months can be considered the beginning of the Jewish year.
This concept strongly resonates with me--the idea that even though we are physically born just one time, sometimes we need another "birth" to really kick our lives into high gear. I have found this to be especially true in recovery. Although in the concrete sense my life began on the day I came into the world, I don't think I really began living until I became solidly committed to recovery. Literally speaking, I of course have been alive every day for the past 30 years. However, it is also true that many of those years were spent in darkness, not so much living as merely subsisting. I remember with clarity the day when I first tasted freedom from that mute, restrictive existence: a friend of mine, who had also fought--and won--her own battle with an eating disorder, presented her story at a panel discussion celebrating eating disorder recovery. After the panel ended, this friend looked deep into my eyes and told me she believed in me. I had worked hard. I had a story of my own to tell. And one day, she said, I would be able to stand up in public and share my own victory with others. Something in the way she spoke made me believe her, and that moment stands out to me as the point at which I really began to believe, with my whole heart, that I could recover. This is not to say that since that day my process has always been smooth and easy...but I can say that since then, I have remained fully committed to living my "best life" in recovery...and now I am enjoying the life I have created.
The amazing thing about recovery is that it truly gives us the chance to start fresh, to "reboot" ourselves, so to speak. Birth was a miracle that happened to each of us, but recovery is a miracle we can choose for ourselves. Rather than lamenting all the time lost to the eating disorder (an easy trap to fall into!), why not actively choose a starting point from which to build a fully vibrant life? If we liberate ourselves from our own versions of slavery, we can celebrate that freedom as the time when we allowed ourselves to begin anew.
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