Born With Purpose

Birthdays...on the surface, purely delightful; in reality, so much more complicated.  I don't know that I've ever had an approach to birthdays that wasn't at least partly tainted with anxiety:  I clearly remember crying on my ninth birthday because I WOULD NEVER. BE EIGHT. AGAIN. (Yup...I was that kid.)  Fast forward to my twenties, and I still received my birthday with mixed emotions; only then, it was due to the mire of anorexia and depression in which I found myself stuck.  Every year, my birthday would roll around and I would feel a deep pull of sadness as my own emotions failed to match those of my family and friends.  My parents' excitement was the hardest for me to assimilate:  they were celebrating a wonderful child they loved, and I felt like that child didn't really exist.  While I was grateful and comforted by their enthusiasm for my life, part of me remained convinced that I didn't deserve it.

Well, yesterday I officially entered my "early thirties"(!), and I approached the day feeling hopeful that maybe this would be the year when I would feel only (or at least mostly) happy on my birthday. After all, I've been through a lot of therapy, and I'm now in solid recovery and have a life that I enjoy and am proud of in many ways.  And yet, as the day neared, I felt myself getting on the old, familiar emotional roller-coaster of self-criticsm and guilt.  Luckily, I still happened to be working my way through Toward a Meaningful Life: The wisdom of the Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson by Simon Jacobson, and the chapter titled, "Birth," may have saved my relationship with my birthday.

The Rebbe's idea is simple, yet profound:  Your birth was the moment in which Hashem knew the world could not continue without you.  At the time you were born, Hashem put you on earth for a specific purpose; that moment was the beginning of your mission on earth.  Jacobson expresses the Rebbe's philosophy as follows:

"Many people seem to feel that because we didn't choose to enter the world, our birth is a stroke of coincidence or serendipity.  This couldn't be further from the truth.  Birth is G-d's way of saying that He has invested His will and energy in creating you; G-d feels great joy when you are born, the greatest pleasure imaginable, for the moment of birth realizes His intention in wanting you..."

Wow.

When I actually sat and thought about that--that Hashem put me here on purpose, to bring something to the world that only I could bring; that He created me with love and care and joy--I mean, I actually felt goosebumps.  That's not to say that I then rushed out to buy party hats and streamers, but I did spend some time thinking about what Hashem might have had in mind when He created me...when He breathed my soul into my body, what was the hole in the world that He was hoping I would fill?  How can I use the many, many gifts with which I've been blessed to not just imagine a better, more sacred world, but actually help create one?

My suspicion is that for many of us in recovery (and for many other people, too), birthdays are a mixed emotional bag.  I offer this teaching of the Rebbe's in the hope that if your birthday approaches and you feel there's nothing to celebrate, you remember that even if you don't think you're special, at the moment of your birth G-d felt nothing but joy.  He created you filled with purpose and Divine light...and all of it is still inside you, just waiting to be let out.

So, as another year of my life begins, I feel profoundly grateful to all the people whom Hashem has put in my life to help me along my path:  my amazingly devoted parents and family; my friends who nourish me with both fun and authentic connection; my students who fill me with passion and purpose; my teachers who believe in the power of my mind and heart...and, this little community here, because through our collective energy we release a little more light into this world.  May we all be blessed with such supports and able to use the gifts they give.

Remember:

"Birth is G-d saying you matter." -- The Rebbe



     

What About Love?

Recently, I made a new friend--which, let's face it, is something that becomes exponentially more difficult after graduating from college.  I always get excited about new friends, because a) they don't happen that often, and b) I often wish I had more of them.  As a textbook introvert, I have a small number of very close, deep friendships, but I tend to run into trouble when those few friends go out of town or can't be reached by phone.  So, the promise of an authentic bond with a new person feels exciting and refreshing, but also brings along with it some feelings of caution.  Despite my craving for close connection, there were many years in which friendships definitely were not my most successful endeavors.  Even now that I am in recovery, when I enter into a new relationship I always have in the back of my mind the thought, "Don't make the same mistakes you used to make."

During my eating disorder, one of my biggest liabilities in relationships was my neediness.  At that time, I had very, very few friends--there just wasn't room for many of them in my life alongside anorexia.  I was desperately lonely, and as a result I clung tightly to anyone who promised connection.  Since I had so little self-worth I usually felt incredulous when someone actually wanted to be my friend...and then I lived in fear that one wrong move on my part would sabotage the entire operation.  I went overboard trying to endear myself to others via what one of my friends calls the, "Love Me, Love Me Dance"...and every time one of my emails or phone calls went unanswered, I experienced utter devastation and was certain that I accidentally had done something terrible, that the friendship was over.  I hated myself for being so needy, yet I couldn't help it--that hunger for love was so wide and so deep that I felt it would never be satisfied.

Many years of therapy and a few lasting, precious friendships later, I am relieved and happy to say that I no longer approach relationships with anywhere near that degree of clinginess.  As I've gained a genuine sense of self-love, I've found that I'm much more able to connect with others in a way that feels healthy.  And yet, remnants of former insecurities remain, and I occasionally still worry that friendships I hold dear will one day vanish.  I know how to manage those anxieties and understand that they are not, in fact, grounded in reality...but, there they are, nevertheless.  Recently I read something in the book, Toward a Meaningful Life:  The Wisdom of the Rebbe Menachem Mendel Schneerson, that offered me some insight into the link between self-love and loving others:

"If you don't find a way to love G-d, to love the G-d that resides in your soul, you will find yourself in a constant search for love.  We may even turn to unhealthy forms of love to replace this lack of inner love."

To me, this makes perfect sense:  when I didn't love myself at all, I needed others to do all that loving for me--and there was no amount of "other-love" that would satisfy the void inside myself.  Now that I do have a healthy dose of self-love in my life, now that I recognize the
G-dliness within myself, I'm free to enjoy--but not cling to--positive connections with other people.

Recovery is all about learning, and some lessons I learned the hard way.  There were relationships of mine that suffered in large part because of how I approached them.  But, although there was a time when I truly hated myself for "ruining" those connections, I don't feel that way anymore.  Was it unfortunate?  Absolutely.  Was it the best I could do at the time, with what I had?  Yes.  And, going through this evolution of how I approach relationships has made me more able than ever to tune in to myself and assess how I am contributing to a connection:  too much, to little, or just right?  It's not a perfect science and sometimes there are adjustments to be made...but, I also know that I'm not in danger anymore of reverting to my old imbalanced system.

Recovery is a tough journey, and I wish that all of us have friends to walk it with us.  I hope that we can all achieve a genuine degree of self-love and self-worth that will make those connections possible!

Get Out of the Rut

Although Shavuot technically is one of the major Jewish festivals, it's not a holiday that I grew up hearing a lot about.  Probably this is because, aside from staying up all night learning and eating ice cream (yay!), Shavuot doesn't require much in the way of ritual.  There is no frantic house-cleaning, no fasting, no costumes, no traditional gift-giving.  And yet, Shavuot has become one of my favorite holidays as an adult.  What it lacks in typical markers of festivity, it makes up for in themes:  Shavuot is a time for recommitment and rejuvenation, for getting ourselves out of whatever spiritual ruts in which we've found ourselves.

Perhaps I find it particularly meaningful because my Hebrew birthday is Sivan 4, just two days before Shavuot begins.  I'm not really sure what one is technically supposed to do on one's Hebrew birthday, but I like to use this time to do a sort of spiritual self-assessment--a re-clarification of priorities, an acknowledgement of progress, and a rededication of effort in areas that are still lacking.  This dovetails beautifully with the themes of Shavuot...and also, I've realized lately, of recovery.

When the Jews received the Torah at Sinai, it was a MAJOR event...so monumental that it would have been impossible to sustain that level of intensity for the thousands of years that were yet to come.  How were the Jewish people supposed to remain energized once the excitement and novelty of receiving the Torah wore off?  The answer is Shavuot:  our annual acknowledgement of reaccepting Torah and of figuring out what that means to us, in this moment.  In this way, the process of receiving Torah becomes actively ongoing and our relationship with Torah--and with Hashem--remains dynamic and exciting.  Shavuot gives us an opportunity to reestablish the basics as well as to add layers to our practice so that it reflects our continuing growth.

Recovery works in much the same way.  That initial commitment to recovery is exciting, but let's be honest--miles down that path, it's easy to get stuck in a rut.  These are the times when we might not be regressing, but we're also not progressing--we're just sort of hanging out, not feeling particularly energized.  This is when it's helpful to reassess our personal definitions of progress in recovery.  What we once considered a monumental leap forward might be old hat by now, and we might need to set a new goal as a way to keep the process from getting stale.  Personally, I believe that "full recovery" is not a fixed point, but an evolving state of being, as what we need to feel satisfied and nourished by life is bound to change with time.  Similarly, no one is ever "done" accepting Torah--it is a process that needs to be revisited year after year, with new goals and fresh energy.

This year on Shavuot I invite all of us to (gently) reassess ourselves:  Where are we Jewishly, and where are we in recovery?  How can we reinvigorate ourselves and move forward?  I hope that all of us can find ways to recommit ourselves to our processes and to grow in directions that we find fulfilling.

Being Ready to Receive

In nine days we will begin our celebration of Shavuot, the commemoration of the day when Hashem gave the Torah to the Jewish people.  I really love this holiday and its theme of recommitment...I even love staying awake all night learning Torah, despite my usually strict adherence to an early bedtime as mandated by the teaching profession.  There is something about listening to the Ten Commandments being read aloud at the break of dawn that gives me goosebumps every time.

I came across an article by intellectual giant Adin Steinsaltz that (I think) beautifully captures the important distinction between Hashem's giving of the Torah, and the Jewish people's receiving of it.  Although they clearly go together, they are not the same event.  Steinsaltz points out that while the giving of the Torah was a one-time, top-down event, the receiving of the Torah was--is--an ongoing process that occurs from the bottom up.  Although the Jewish people were willing to accept Torah right away, evident by their declaration of, "All the words that Hashem has spoken, we will do and we will hear!" (Shemot 24:7), it actually took a long time for them to be able to commit to living out the words of Torah.  The Jews always knew they wanted it, but they just weren't ready right out of the gate.  It took time for them to truly absorb what they had been given.  Steinsaltz explains:

"The receiving itself is not just a matter of passively listening to the message of Torah; it is an act of committing oneself to absorbing the poetry and the principles, and carrying out the commandments all the days of one's life.  To begin with, there had to be a certain receptive state of mind--'We shall do and we shall hear'--in order for the Torah to be given.  On the other hand, the inner meaning of this formulation of readiness only became evident later, as expressed by the words of Moses forty years later when, in taking leave of the people, he said, 'And G-d did not give you a heart to know and eyes to see and ears to hear until this very day' (Deuteronomy 29:3).  And indeed, only many generations later could it be said that the people of Israel had developed a heart able to know the Torah designated for them."

Now, while I would never fully equate recovery with receiving Torah, I do think there are some genuine parallels we can draw in the sense that both are drawn-out processes that depend on a gradual increase in readiness.  In recovery, we might know what we need to do long before we are ready to actually do it.  Although our treatment team gives us the tools, it might take an extended period of time for us to muster up the fortitude to use them.

For most of my recovery I worked with one outstanding nutrition therapist. There was a period of time many years ago in which I became frustrated with my compulsive need to measure everything I ate.  Each time I brought it up, my nutritionist would suggest stopping the measuring.  Although intellectually I knew it was a great idea, my response was always, "Mmmm...nah, I don't think so."  This went on for months, until finally I entered a session with her and said, "I want to stop measuring!"  Even then, we both knew I wouldn't be able to go cold turkey--so, she coached me through letting go of measuring one food item at a time.  My nutritionist was ready to hand me Freedom From Measuring long before I was ready to receive it...but she understood that, and was patient with me throughout the entire process.

I really wanted to be able to recover immediately, just like the Jewish people had every intention of fully accepting Torah.  But the reality is that recovery is not a linear process, and neither is receiving Torah--both are ongoing and challenges do pop up along the way, requiring us to shift and reaffirm our commitments.  However, just as Hashem was--is--patient with the Jewish people throughout the evolution of our ability to receive, so too should we be patient with ourselves as we find our ways through recovery.  It isn't only the end result that matters--it's the entire process of getting there.  As Shavuot draws near, I invite all of us to assess honestly the progress we've made over the past year, and to recommit to the journey!

Shabbat Shalom?

Last week I had the privilege of co-facilitating a discussion on eating disorders in the observant Jewish community.  We initially thought only a few people would voluntarily come to something like that...were we ever surprised when over twenty women showed up!  The discussion was passionate and thought provoking, and one topic that rose to the surface time and time again was:  Shabbat.  How, exactly, does an individual with an eating disorder navigate that "island in time"?

The Jewish year is dotted with festivals, but they each happen only once:  there is only one Pesach, one Yom Kippur, to get through each year.  Shabbat, however, comes EVERY WEEK.  This is supposed to be a blessing, a weekly opportunity for pleasure via food and rest.  But, what if you find neither food nor rest pleasurable?  For a person struggling with an eating disorder, Shabbat easily turns into 25 hours a week of facing head-on that which is most stressful.

I suppose it's not a stretch for people to understand why the lavish meals and seemingly constant presence of food can be so threatening to a person with an eating disorder.  The challenge posed by rest, however, is perhaps more difficult to parse out.  For me, physical rest is satisfying only if my brain is also able to quiet down...and, when I was actively engaged in my eating disorder, my brain was never, ever quiet.  I've always compared the endless stream of anxious, obsessive thoughts to the ticker tape that runs constantly across the bottom of the screen on CNN.  It felt like there was never a moment when my brain wasn't broadcasting some worry, and the way I dealt with the anxiety (and with any uncomfortable feeling, really) was to exercise.  Aside from the obvious "benefit" of burning calories, physical activity was my outlet for feelings and my way of coping with sensations that were unpleasant and scary.  For many people with eating disorders, exercise serves that dual purpose.  It's understandable, then, that to be faced with a day that is full of food AND devoid of physical exercise might feel like too much to bear.  

So, the challenges are clear.  What can we do?  Well, some aspects of Shabbat are probably not going to change.  There are always going to be meals, and it's probably never going to be considered "shabbosdik" to go for a long, sweaty run.  However, there are ways to work within the system that can make the Shabbat experience, if not actually pleasurable, at least bearable to someone with an eating disorder.  

Regarding food:  My discussion co-facilitator made the brilliant suggestion of simply not keeping platters of food on the table where people are eating.  If possible, put the food on a separate table or ledge so that it's not constantly staring people right in the face.  This also helps people focus on whom they're eating with, not just what they're eating.  To give the struggling individual some sense of control over the food, allow that person to serve him or herself, and ask ahead of time if he or she would like to be involved in the menu planning.   

Regarding rest:  "Rest" does not have to equal, "sitting around doing nothing."  It is perfectly permissible to do leisurely activities such as taking a walk, playing board games (may I suggest Bananagrams?), or going to the park.  Weather permitting, I personally go for a walk in nature EVERY Shabbat, and I also try to do something intellectually stimulating such as learning Torah or having a meaningful conversation.  But, really, people are encouraged to engage in any pleasurable activity (within the bounds of halacha).  For someone with an eating disorder, "distress tolerance" skills will be especially important on Shabbat and that person should be permitted to do whatever he or she finds soothing, no matter how "unusual" the choice might seem to others.  

For people working on recovery, know this:  there are going to be tough Shabbats...and that's okay.  You are NOT a "bad Jew" because you fail to enjoy Shabbat, or because you can't freely partake of what everyone else seems to find pleasurable.  You are doing the best you can.  Beating yourself up for all the Shabbats that you "should have" enjoyed serves no purpose other than to make you feel badly about yourself.  I was a big-time self-berator until I finally realized that punishing myself for missed opportunities did not bring back those chances, nor did it do anything to help me take advantage of future ones.  That said, knowing I was unhappy was a major motivator for me to get well.  And, now when I actually enjoy sitting at a Shabbat table with friends and good food, the experience is so much sweeter because it is a prize I've won.  I wish for all of you that you find your own paths to future Shabbats full of pleasure and satisfaction--one small step at a time.

The Need for Dialogue

For many months, I've had the beginnings of this blog post brewing in my mind, and this week's parshiot of Acharei Mot-Kedoshim provide me with the perfect jumping-off point.  But then, Monday happened, and my city of Boston was irrevocably altered by tragedy.  In the wake of that, writing about anything else seemed a bit superfluous.  To be honest, it still does, in a way...but since many others (such as this guy) have already written far more eloquent, poignant pieces about Monday's events than I ever could, I suppose I'll just get back to what I can write about...which brings me to this week's Torah portion and the always relevant, ever controversial topic of sex.

I must begin by defining my parameters, here.  I am acutely aware that some of the psukim in Acharei Mot and Kedoshim are often referred to in many ongoing, painful battles around various issues of sexuality.  In the interest of keeping this an open forum for all, I am not going to get into any of those specific arguments here.  This should in no way be interpreted as me ignoring these issues--on the contrary, I find them personally relevant and quite emotional.  But, I'm aware that not everyone does, and I'm just trying to keep this blog something to which as many people as possible can relate.

And let's be honest:  no matter who you are, or where you fall on whatever spectrum, we all can relate to sex.

So what does the book of Vayikra have to say about sexual relations?  Well, in Acharei Mot alone, I count 17 psukim that lay out the laws governing sexual relationships, and nearly every single one contains the phrase, "You shall not".  There is not a lot of discussion regarding any of these prohibitions; they are simply listed matter-of-factly and then are re-stated in Kedoshim, where each one is also given its corresponding punishment.

What I'd like to focus on here is not so much the specific content of the prohibitions, but rather the issue of a cultural sexual ethic being based primarily on unequivocal and harshly punished you shall nots.  Interestingly, much of the basis for the practice of shomer negiah (refraining from physical contact with members of the opposite sex) is derived from Chapter 18 of Vayikra.  Essentially, we are telling young people not to think of themselves or others as sexual beings, lest they fall into the trap of committing one of these sexual sins.  This abstention from all manner of sexual thought and action should continue until the moment when they are expected to fulfill our very first commandment: be fruitful and multiply.

How often does that transition actually go seamlessly?

Again, I want to stress that I'm not intending to use this forum to debate the nature of the traditional Jewish sexual ethic.  What I do want to challenge is the barrier against questioning and dialogue that a long list of you shall nots puts up.   It's no secret that young adults have questions and concerns about sex, about their own bodies, thoughts, and feelings.  And, since we've all been young adults, we've all had these questions.  It is therefore our responsibility to do more than simply begin and end the discussion with "You shall not ____."  Nothing shuts down conversation faster than an absolute negative.  And, few things cause more inner turmoil for young people than the misperception that something wrong with them sexually.  The relationship between sexuality and eating disorders is well documented.  When people feel out of sync with what is culturally expected of them sexually, many respond by taking this confusion and fear out on their own bodies.  For a girl who is expected to marry and have children before she is ready, this might mean starving herself to avoid maturing into a "woman." For an individual who is ready to explore sexuality before it is culturally permitted or in a way the community frowns upon, it might look like bingeing and purging to relieve some of those built-up emotions and anxieties.  One way to support  young people around issues of sexuality is to invite them to air their concerns and questions with trusted adults who won't just tell them what is and is not a sin, but who will respond with compassion and understanding.  It is possible to maintain a cultural sexual ethic while also making room for dialogue about it.  But the absence of dialogue certainly breeds fear, confusion, and self-hatred--all of which are key ingredients for an eating disorder.

So after all that, with what can I leave you?  I suppose I am hoping that if you are a young person with concerns about sexuality, you will get the message that no matter how it seems, you are not the first person on earth to wonder about whatever it is you're wondering about.  I'm also hoping that if you're an adult in a position to offer counsel to a young person about these matters, that you will open the doors of conversation instead of closing them.  Listen to the person talking to you; find out where he or she is at.  If we can support our young people and receive their questions gently, maybe we can make the journey a little less bumpy--so that sexual development doesn't lead to inner pain, but instead can be a healthy part of a full, recovered life.

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!