The Science of the Grave

The Province of the Saved
Should be the Art – To Save –
Through Skill obtained in Themselves –
The Science of the Grave
No Man can understand
But He that hath endured
The Dissolution – in Himself –
That Man – be qualified
To qualify Despair
To Those who failing new –
Mistake Defeat for Death – Each time –
Till acclimated – to –
(Emily Dickinson)

During the past 10 years of studying to become a psychologist, I was taught to rigorously examine antecedents, behaviors, consequences, case studies, research designs/methods, clients, schools, constructs, theories, and interventions. In these past 10 years of formal study no professor ever suggested that I examine my own pain. And yet my inner angush, when gently exposed, has consistently been my greatest teacher.

I binged and purged yesterday for the first time in 25 months. This setback gives me a unique opportunity to examine my pain. One skill I have not yet fully developed in recovery is the ability to prevent a lapse from becoming a relapse. Lapses following significant periods of sustained recovery have historically been catalysts for regression into full-blown disorder. I still “mistake defeat for death” in this regard. I have not yet successfully “endured the dissolution” caused by a lapse. One definition endure is to “remain in existence.” I will only discover that I am capable of surviving a lapse by choosing to remain in existence with it by exposing it to others instead of hiding it, examining it instead of actively ignoring it, and feeling the physical/emotional pain caused by it instead of numbing.

My ED has consistently been a means by which I discover the “science of the grave.” It invites me to boldly examine and reexamine my strengths, weaknesses, emotions, schemas, triggers, victories, and failures. It prevents me from becoming comfortably apathetic, arrogantly self-sufficient, and righteously impatient with my clients and loved ones. It demands that I maintain a delicate balance between hyper-vigilance and psychological laziness.

I simultaneously cherish and resent having an ED as a lifelong teacher and humility maintainer. Yet without it, I know I how easily I can be seduced and ultimately destroyed by pride. My ED is helping me master “the art- to save” (albeit painfully) through personal experience. It has “qualified me to qualify despair” in ways that formal education never possibly could. For this I am grateful.

Feel fat…and move towards what matters.

While ED behaviors no longer rule my life, I’ve been in denial about the extent to which ED thoughts still dominate my mind. I felt powerless over the mental aspect of my recovery. ED thoughts have been showing up in my mind since I was in elementary school. They are verbalized during conversations with friends. They are implied during conversations with family. Subtle and blatant fat shaming messages permeate magazines, movies, TV shows, and advertisements.

The pervasiveness of ED messages is overwhelming, but there’s hope! While I can’t always eradicate the presence of ED thoughts, I can diminish their power by practicing a skill called “noticing the difference.”

• Towards Moves versus Away Moves: Notice the difference between moving towards what matters and away from discomfort. What is it like when actions are driven by what your heart values? What it is like when actions are driven by avoiding painful thoughts? For me, towards moves feel like freedom and expansion; away moves feel like imprisonment and suffocation.
• Inner World versus Outer World: Notice the difference between being hooked by ED thoughts (inner world) and actively experiencing life through the five senses (outer world). Does entanglement with ED thoughts promote movement towards what matters or away from pain? When I’m actively experiencing life, I’m more likely to make wise decisions guided by what my heart says instead of what ED says.

ED messages only shrink my life when I allow them to hook me. When I’m hooked, escape becomes my primary goal. Escape from self-deprecating thoughts, escape from shame, anxiety, and hopelessness, escape from awareness of my imperfections. When I’m hooked, I will do ANYTHING to get away from pain, if only for a moment. Even if it means neglecting what truly matters.

When I am aware of the difference between being stuck in my head and present in my life, I can choose to unhook from ED thoughts and connect with my values. When my energy isn’t devoted to changing the content of my thoughts, it can be directed towards creativity and connection.

I am committed to practicing the skill of “noticing the difference.” Noticing when I’m stuck in my head and choosing to mindfully connect with heart and my five senses. Noticing when I’m making away moves and choosing to pursue my values, even when if ED is screaming at me. Especially if ED is screaming at me. When I’m able to have the thought, “I’m fat,” AND continue moving towards what matters, I’m free.

(Inspired by: The ACT Matrix: A New Approach to Building Psychological Flexibility Across Settings and Populations)

Ordinary Brilliance

 

Today I stumbled upon a new life goal: to be an illuminator of magic in the ordinary. This way of being comes seemingly easily to (in my opinion) the best of parents. Such parents find enchantment in every move their extraordinarily unskilled children make. They celebrate the effort involved in the creation of every tiny movement, drawing, word. This astonishment in the ordinary is unfortunately short lived.

By high school, the primary behaviors that are routinely noticed can be categorized as either misbehavior or rare talent. If you happen to lack rare talent, good luck getting noticed unless you screw up.

We lament the death of chivalry, the deterioration of youthful innocence, the scarcity of passionate devotion amongst students, employers, and spouses. Yet we rarely celebrate these things. Teenagers don’t receive medals upon opening doors for the elderly. Celebrities might receive attention for performing outrageous wealth-dependent “acts of kindness”, but even they are far more likely to make the news for dancing half-naked on a stage.

Perhaps the world isn’t lacking doers of good but rather spectators of good. Moments of ordinary brilliance disappear undocumented all day, everyday leaving their genius creators at risk for feeling insignificant and maybe even invisible. Today I was reminded of my ability to breathe life into those who might feel insignificant and indivisible simply by noticing moments during which they show up as heroes in their own lives.

The single mom who stumbles out of bed to get her kids ready for school after barely sleeping the night before. Brilliant.

The dad with an hour commute who works his ass off doing menial labor to feed his family. Brilliant.

The college student who attends Friday morning chemistry class after Thursday night’s party. Brilliant.

The recovering addict who goes to the gym instead of using her drug of choice after an stressful day. Brilliant.

If the aforementioned heroes failed to show up as such, we’d sure as hell notice. We’d criticize them for being heartless, lazy, uninvolved, and addicted. We habitually ignore goodness because it’s expected. It feels unnecessary to applaud that which teenagers, parents, and employees are “supposed to do.”

But what if we did? What if we celebrated moments of ordinary brilliance and strived to ensure that genius acts of menial kindness and bravery never went undocumented. Perhaps we’d see more of them. Perhaps the doers of ordinary brilliance would rediscover meaning in their previously insignificant lives.

Today I was reminded that the world doesn’t need more heroes. It simply needs more spectators of good, spectators who make commonplace responsibility appear magical. Because it is.

Happy Anniversary

It is difficult to consistently notice the absence of a behavior. This is one of the many challenges of recovery (that can be intentionally overcome). It is easy to notice things that add comfort to our lives in the short term (e.g., binging and purging) and add pain in the long term (e.g., binging and purging). It is much harder to notice…nothing.

Today I celebrated 365 days in recovery. I’ve been defining recovery as no binging, purging, or restricting. This is technically correct. Most people equate physical and psychological “health” with the absence of unwanted symptoms. The problem with this definition isn’t technical, but rather practical.

Experience has taught me that I am less likely over time to notice (and therefore celebrate) “health” if I define “health” solely as the absence of symptoms. Here’s the dangerous cycle: The absence of ED behaviors becomes part of life –> life becomes increasingly stressful –> I want relief –> binging and purging works. When I stop noticing the absence of what used to be a horrific source of pain, the ED’s comfort-producing qualities are enhanced, and I become increasingly vulnerable to relapse.

In honor of my one-year anniversary, I want to celebrate what recovery is. Recovery is:

• Coming home from a long day of work and blogging instead of purging (e.g., tonight).
• Helping a client overcome addiction without feeling like a total hypocrite.
• Having the energy to learn new sports.
• Helping coworkers troubleshoot complex problems with a clear mind.
• Giving a presentation at work about pursuing values in the presence of fear with the confidence that only comes from practicing what you preach.
• Holiday memories that spotlight laughter instead of secrets.
• Becoming the sister, daughter, and friend I’ve always wanted to be.

My journey in recovery is far from over. This reality makes me feel incredibly happy instead of overwhelmed. This journey has taught me to persevere in the presence of pain, to be vulnerable with trustworthy people, to ask for help, to receive help, to overcome seemingly insurmountable obstacles, to truly experience joy, to treasure the gift of a moment, to open my heart to new experiences, to say goodbye without suffering, to believe in “hopeless causes,” to share my story without shame. It has increased my empathy, my willingness, my capacity to hope.

It has expanded my life. It has been incredibly painful.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Risking Well (Part 1)

“This could end terribly.”

I’ve been identifying highlights of graduate school in honor of up my upcoming graduation:

• Memories that inspire uncontrollable smiling,
• Accomplishments of which I am most proud,
• Moments of connection and authenticity in relationships,
• Challenges I dared to embrace,
• Events during which I engaged wholeheartedly.

I’ve noticed profound and rather unsettling themes in the background of each these beautiful and heartwarming memories…

• They all involved significant emotional, physical, and relational risks.
• They all involved the thought, “This could end terribly.”
• They all involved the feeling of intense anxiety.

Those definitely aren’t heartwarming thoughts and feelings. They are not thoughts and feelings that most people intentionally pursue.

Yet without them, the most significant memories in my life wouldn’t exist. Without those anxious thoughts and feelings, the past five years would have been unfulfilling, shallow, and…safe.

That’s the unsettling part: the realization that having a meaningful life requires willingness to take risks in the presence of challenging thoughts and feelings.

What if I viewed feelings of anxiety and thoughts of impending doom as signals that a “life highlight” might be about to transpire? This shift in perception could empower me to take more risks that align with my values by transforming my relationship with these painful thoughts and feelings.

My goal for the next five years is to become an expert risk-taker. I’m in the process of writing a speech for work that describes critical steps in the risk-taking process. It could end terribly. I can’t wait.

To be continued.

Couragous vs. Effective: Redefining Goals

I recently described a family therapy session I led as “completely ineffective” during a moment of discouragement, and I was promptly challenged to rethink my definition of effective. I often have unrealistic expectations for my performance, and I’m terrified of being unable to help. If my clients aren’t meeting their goals, I automatically blame myself. I wasn’t effective. I did my best to contribute and still failed. The “never good enough” track starts playing loudly.

I tried my best to create a more helpful personal definition of “effective,” but I couldn’t manage to identity criteria I could use to evaluate my performance in the multiple contexts in which I currently practice.  I finally googled the definition of “effective” and identified the problem.

Effective means, “to achieve a desired outcome.” I had identified the outcome of my efforts as the ultimate goal, but outcomes are never entirely in my control. In order for a treatment to be “effective,” my client also needs to act. I can’t control my client’s behavior or the environmental, historical, motivational, physiological, and interpersonal variables that influence her behavior. I can do my best to become a variable that influences her behavior, but the outcome is dependent upon a myriad of other factors.

My behavior, on the other hand, is within my control. I get to decide how I show up in my office: the words I speak/refrain from speaking, my voice tone, my body language, my attention. I can expand my skill set by researching evidence-based treatments and consulting with colleagues. I can fight to identify noble intentions in clients who present as arrogant assholes.  Being unable to control outcomes by no means renders me helpless.

Instead of redefining effective, I want to rethink my goal. Perhaps a better goal is…simply courage.  A courageous person possesses the “strength to risk, persevere, and withstand danger, fear, or difficulty.” Courage is a beautiful and desperately needed quality in every context in which I practice. What might that look like?

• Surrendering my personal agenda so that I can help clients achieve the goals that are meaningful to them
• Vigilantly noticing when my mind wanders and bringing it back to the present
• Taking a risk that makes me at least a little bit uncomfortable in every session
• Refraining from selfish attempts to “rescue” my clients from feeling painful emotions (to preserve my own comfort)
• Asking for feedback especially when I’m afraid to hear the answer
• Examining the extent to which I’m allowing my personal experiences to impact my emotional and verbal reactions towards clients
• Expressing unconditional acceptance when I’m frustrated
• Remaining invested when I feel overwhelmed by the magnitude of a problem
• Continuing to set personal goals for emotional/spiritual/interpersonal development
• Passionately striving to convey a message of hope in the presence of doubt
• Refraining from unconstructive venting about clients to other clinicians  

I will continue celebrating each and every goal that my clients achieve. They (not I) did the work that produced the positive change. I will also begin noticing moments during which I exhibited bravery. Those moments are also worth celebrating.

Work-Life Integration

I’ve been bitching and moaning quite a bit during the past year about my inability to establish “work/life balance.” It recently occurred to me that perhaps I’m pursing the wrong goal. The phrase “work/life balance” implies a dichotomy that I actually very much dislike. It implies that I have these “extremely important values” that I pursue in my “life” that are completely unrelated to the activities in which I engage at “work.” It implies that I spend 50-60 hours a week not truly living. No wonder I feel overwhelmed and a little depressed.

Perhaps a better goal is work/life integration, meaning that I integrate the values I have in my “life” into my relationships and responsibilities at work. What would that even look like?

First I need to identify my core values. These include:

• Helping the discouraged rediscover hope
• Creating an atmosphere in which people feel accepted and valued
• Being authentic in relationships
• Pursuing intellectual development
• Treating my body with respect
• Practicing acceptance and mindfulness
• Putting the needs of others before my own (within reason)
• Taking risks involved in developing/maintaining meaningful relationships
• Being humble and teachable
• Expressing my heart through music, art, and writing

What if I became intentional about finding opportunities to honor these values at work instead of complaining about how work is suffocating my “life”? My workload won’t decrease, but it might make the day feel more meaningful. It would most definitely give me a renewed sense of purpose.

What if I viewed challenges at work as opportunities to practice being a better person? I could practice tolerance towards my obnoxious coworker with the ultimate goal of becoming a more loving friend/sister.  I could conceptualize ridiculous amounts of incomplete paperwork as opportunities to practice acceptance and deep breathing. I could be authentic with clients and coworkers when it’s safer to pretend. I could stop drinking Diet Coke (but I don’t think I’m quite ready for that yet). The possibilities to act in service of my values at work are practically endless.  Ironically, identifying ways in which I can expand my responsibilities at work instead of decrease them feels…so much better. I feel like myself again.  

Recovery Reflections: Part Two

“How have you maintained recovery in the presence of stressors that historically precipitated relapse?”

“Um, I don’t really know.”

While I certainly did not attain nine months of sobriety from ED “by accident,” I recently struggled to articulate how I sustain recovery. I need to identity these healthy lifestyle changes so I can intentionally engage in practices that support recovery.

Here’s a more helpful answer to the aforementioned question (part two):

• I Plan Ahead

I’ve accepted the reality that I don’t always make responsible “spur of the moment” decisions regarding food/exercise (especially in stressful situations). Planning ahead decreases impulsivity and anxiety by removing a component of the unknown. It helps me disconnect from chatter in my head regarding what I should/shouldn’t eat next and fully participate in meaningful relationships and activities.

• I Celebrate Freedom

The initial milestone successes in recovery were easy to celebrate; those moments felt incredibly magical. It’s amazing how quickly I began taking my freedom for granted. I want to remain connected with a sense of gratitude for every day invested in life instead of consumed by addiction. On days when I’m feeling uninspired and overwhelmed, I look for aspects of recovery to celebrate. For example, when I’m struggling with negative body image, I take a moment to celebrate that I’m not in the middle of a binge. That always makes me smile.

• I Remember Hell

After months of consistent abstinence from behaviors, it was tempting to romanticize the “benefits” of using ED. I remembered the alluring short-term effects: the high, escape from pain, and sense of power. I forgot the horrific long-term effects: the damaged relationships/health, wasted money, and exhaustion that prevented me from engaging in valued activities. Memories of being enslaved to ED, while painful, serve an important function in recovery.  After eating healthfully at a party last week, I forced myself to walk through the ugly details of what the night would have looked like pre-recovery.  Remembering the hell that once consumed my life reminds me that recovery is WELL worth the effort and sacrifice involved.

• I Encourage Others

When I was with ED, I simultaneously hated myself and was obsessed with myself.  The mental battle was all encompassing and exhausting. I now have energy to invest in helping others succeed; this is incredibly rewarding. Encouraging those who struggle keeps me out of my head and gives me a sense of purpose. I still feel exhausted at times (as I have not mastered the skill of caring for others without neglecting myself), but it is exhaustion mixed with a sense of pride and gratitude instead of shame.

Today is my nine-month anniversary of life without ED. I am committed to reassessing my answers to the “how am I maintained recovery” question as I journey onward.

Recovery Reflections: Part One

“How have you maintained recovery in the presence of stressors that historically precipitated relapse?”

“Um, I don’t really know.”

While I certainly did not attain nine months of sobriety from ED “by accident,” I recently struggled to articulate how I sustain recovery. I need to identity these healthy lifestyle changes so I can intentionally engage in practices that promote recovery. 

Here’s a more helpful answer to the aforementioned question:

• I Manage Stress

I used to find myself engaged in ED behaviors that “came out of nowhere.” In reality, my inability to cope with relatively minor stressors resulted in an accumulation of tension that often exploded into full-blown hysteria/panic. These intense feelings interfered with my ability to make rational, healthy decisions. It made the option of ED as an “instant escape” appear irresistible.  Practicing awareness has become my essential tool for effectively managing stress. I am now aware of emotional, cognitive, and physiological symptoms that indicate my need to take a break, breathe deeply, and regain perspective.  I also aim to remain proactive instead of reactive by integrating calming exercises into my daily routine.

• I Stay Connected

I used to disconnect from relationships in the presence of painful emotions. I am now able to utilize support when I need it. Sometimes this looks like going to happy hour with coworkers and talking about lighthearted topics. Other times it looks like asking a friend to keep me accountable and/or expressing thoughts and feelings that make me feel vulnerable.

I have also learned how to remain connected with individuals who are not physically present; this practice has provided an unexpected degree of comfort and strength. I place inspirational cards, gifts, artwork, and quotes in prominent places in my house and office. These objects serve as reminders that I am not alone in recovery. They help me to feel connected to those who believe in me even in the absence of communication.

• I Avoid Obvious Triggers

I used to expose myself to unnecessary triggers in an attempt prove that I was strong enough to survive. I was too proud/scared to admit that I was vulnerable.  I now give myself permission to avoid triggering situations, permission to be protective of myself. For example, I avoid alcohol consumption with certain friends, I limit time spent with difficult family members, and I don’t eat binge foods when I’m feeling stressed.  I am committed to doing whatever it takes to safeguard my recovery.   

Tomorrow: Part Two 

 

Growing Pains

Going home for the holidays used to magically transform me into somewhat of a monster. I would walk through the doors of my parent’s home and become a terrible version of myself (e.g., critical, defensive, irritable, self-destructive, compulsive, cynical, and at times straight-up mean). It was definitely not the “most wonderful time of the year” for anyone involved.

I have made tremendous progress during the past year in regards to accepting the relational dynamics in my family that I cannot change. Setting realistic expectations has saved me from unnecessary disappointment and frustration. I recently identified another reality that I need to accept: Home isn’t somewhere I can go to get my own needs met (and maybe that’s finally okay).

Interactions with my family looked very different this Thanksgiving. I didn’t give my mom advice regarding parenting my intellectually disabled brother. I didn’t lecture my intellectually intact brother about his work ethic or substance use. I didn’t challenge my dad’s bizarre worldview. I didn’t make subtle but critical comments to my sisters. I slept in a very messy house without complaining or cleaning compulsively. I didn’t initiate any fights or use unnecessary sarcasm.

IT WAS EXHAUSITING. I think I cried at least once a day in part because I was still clinging to the hope that going home would be rejuvenating. It never has been. It probably never will be. But what if going home isn’t about me? I think I’m finally becoming healthy enough to consider embracing a new role in my family. I can be “selfless” (to an extent) in my interactions without it destroying me because I am learning to meet my needs related to rest and connection through other relationships/experiences. I am getting better at taking care of myself.  If my family doesn’t take care of me it’s not as traumatic as it once was.

I used to go home because I believed that I could fix my family’s “broken system” if only I tried hard enough. I thought I was being selfless, but it was still about me and my need to be the hero. When nothing changed, I felt helpless and resentful.  Perhaps true selflessness in this context consists of adopting a posture of acceptance (when everything inside me still wants to fight for change).

I went home this year because staying connected to my family is important to me.  I am slowing learning to expect less and this new perspective has ironically enabled me to give more.  It is expanding my capacity for gracious endurance.  Accepting difficult realities still really hurts, but it’s a pain that fosters growth instead of deterioration. It’s almost comforting.