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Read Part 1 here
In the height of my ED, my IBS was only an issue when I ate, so I tried not to. When I went into recovery and had to eat, my symptoms went into overdrive and I was sick no matter what I ate. Although I was telling myself I was improving, I was still restricting (to a lesser degree) and when I felt the need, would try to make myself sick. To avoid suspicion, I would sometimes eat my allergy foods (i.e. bread) to force a reaction. After about 3 months, I realised I wasn’t reacting anymore. I had put on about a stone, was eating regularly and was chock full of meds. And I was able to stomach food I hadn’t eaten in 4 years.
Cut to 2 years later and I started seeing a dietitian to push through the next hurdle of recovery. Besides addressing my eating patterns and my vegetarianism, she gave me a list of foods to avoid. These low-FODMAP foods were not the extent of the restrictions I had put on myself previously. Basically, I don’t eat apples, mushrooms, onions and honey and I keep white bread to a minimum. As it turns out, my symptoms are highly correlated to my stress levels – which fits completely with my history of depression and anxiety. When I started to get these under control, my IBS was a lot easier to handle too.
The reason I decided to bring this up had to do with the current exam period. I hadn’t been experiencing any symptoms for a while. Like the reading week before it, this reading week had driven me into a frenzy of thoughts of failing and ideals of perfection. An added bonus of the Spring Semester was a stressful work placement and an almost constant string of rehearsals in the period leading up to the exam. The culmination of this was a week of alternately restricting and binging on a daily basis.
Soon, the tests were upon me but I felt prepared. I knew my shit and went into Anatomy to give a sigh of relief that the questions I felt particularly strong at had come up. One hour in and half the questions done, I felt a stabbing pain in my gut. I tried to ignore it but eventually I caved and was escorted to the bathroom. I got sick, felt better and headed back to finish off what was to be a kickass exam. My insides had other plans and I only lasted fifteen more minutes before I called uncle and left the exam hall, test unfinished, to get sick. Disgusted and disappointed don’t begin to cover how I felt that day.
Whether I like it or not, food is always going to be an issue. IBS doesn’t go away, it just fades into the background before rearing its ugly head in times of crisis. My eating disorder seems to follow the same pattern and the two have become intrinsically linked. Maybe if I didn’t have IBS, I would have never restricted a food group and become accustomed to not eating. Maybe if I had never had an ED, my IBS wouldn’t have exacerbated as badly as it did. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. With both conditions, the disease does not just disappear. You find ways to live and ways to cope.
To be continued…
I talk about my history of ED a lot here. What I have never really gotten around to is talking about the other issues I have with food.
When I was 11, I started getting sick. At least 5 times a week, I would have no choice but to take to my bed with stomach spasms, pain and all manner of symptoms. No body had any idea what was wrong with me. I was afraid to go to parties, to leave the house, to do anything in case I got sick while I was out. It was around this time that I started to withdraw and become introverted, partly due to my illness, partly due to first episode of depression. This continued for five years with no change.
Various visits, tests and misdiagnoses later, a gastroenetrologist diagnosed me with IBS. Although I now knew what I was dealing with, I was still frustrated; IBS is a diagnosis of elimination – basically, nothing else was wrong with me – and it was a chronic syndrome i.e. there is no cure, only remissions and exacerbations.
To counteract this, I decided to cut out all wheat, yeast and various foods out of my diet completely. My sickness episodes (while still ever present) decreased dramatically and I also lost about half a stone in a short enough period of time. I was also starting walking and eating healthier in general and I was happy that I was able to be freer with my social life and was looking better. I was still dealing with depressive and anxiety episodes but I had come a long way from my earlier days.
When I decided to quit self harming (another story for another day), I took up binge eating instead. When I gave up the wheat and other foods, I switched to tracking the ingredients in food. This turned into tracking the calories and then reducing calories. The more stresses I had in my life, the more stringently I kept to my “diet”. The less food I ate, the less I was sick (there was nothing in my stomach to make me sick) but overeating, and even normal eating, pushed my body to such an extreme that I was put off eating properly again for days.
To be continued…
First go read this about the proposed fat tax in America.
I used to be one of the masses who believed that education alone could save us. Save us from everything (including obesity) because obviously, ignorance is the enemy. And no, I am not promoting being an idiot. When it comes to being overweight, there always seems to be an underlying current of ‘they should know better’ and that once you learn the wonders of calorie counting and regular exercise, that is the matter sorted. If the deviant behaviour (e.g. eating) continues, a little bit of shame therapy (do you know how many blocks of butter you are putting on your body by eating that ice cream everyday?!) might just do the trick.
I don’t think anyone is under any illusions that their third bar of chocolate is doing them any favours. And of course, for your body to run at its peak of health, balanced eating and regular exercise is major component. But I know girls who eat like horses and are a consistent size 8. I know girls who are far fitter than most people I know and maintain an “overweight” BMI. So who here needs to be taught the education of weight loss?
I am pretty knowledgeable on nutrition and weight loss. I pay out of my own pocket to see a dietitian, I research on the internet and I have in the past lost over 60lbs (until I had some sense knocked into me and stopped starving myself.) I know how much I should exercise, how much I should eat, how much protein I need and which carbs are preferable. I am anything but ignorant on living a healthy lifestyle. So why am I still fat?
Well for one, I come from a family of women with big boobs and hourglass figures and no matter how much weight I try to lose, there is no changing that. That is just the way I am built. Secondly, intellect is not as strong as emotion (in my brain anyway) and after months of therapy, I am finally seeing patterns in why I do what I do. I do not eat because I don’t know any better. I have enough guilt, shame and logic to know better than to overeat. So why do I still do it? Because it calms me, because it soothes the compulsion, because when I feel like I am not good enough for anyone or anything then I honestly don’t give a fuck because what’s the harm in ruining already damaged goods? There are many a reason why I am fat, but ignorance is certainly not one of them.
Whenever I watch a weight loss show, I am struck by how often the presenter gives the impression of lack of knowledge and laziness being the black-and-white reason behind why so many people are overweight. I have yet to hear about the socioeconomic culture of fast food and lack of activity that overwhelms some areas due to poverty. I have yet to hear an address of the emotional issues that accompany the lack of motivation for self care. I have yet to hear of an approach other that calories in vs calories out. All I see is shaming people when they break and then comforting them when they cry before pushing them back onto the treadmill.
If weight loss were as simple as knowing to put down the fork then the obesity crisis would be a thing of myth.
I can’t remember my first panic attack. Previous to having them at all, I had the occasional emotional breakdown or angry outburst. Perhaps I had one beforehand, but I think I was in Cork the first time I had the scary experience of hyperventilation, fear and uncontrollable panic. Particularly in the first six months of recovery, my panic attacks were a regular occurrence.
Unsurprisingly, they were often triggered by food. The first time I went to a restaurant after leaving UCC, I spent an hour poring over the menu on the internet beforehand trying to figure out what I could eat, enveloped in the fear that I would binge, and at the meal, proceeded to spend half the time in the bathroom getting sick, not from bulimic compulsions, but because my stomach couldn’t handle the volume of food or the stress related to it.
I remember panicking and proceeding to burst into tears when my mom told me that my dad had planned on making stuffed mushrooms whose primary ingredient was cheese. I was so overwhelmed that he made me something different because I wasn’t emotionally able for the meal.
During this time, I got stage fright for the first time in my life as I sat at the side of a stage with the rest of my choir, stared at my thighs and decided that they were too fat. And that every member of the audience wouldn’t care how I sang because any talent was superseded by my fat thighs. It was not a fun performance.
My last panic attack in this period of time occurred on the bus to town. I was heading in and noticed some secondary school kids, uniform-free in the middle of the day, and realised it was the UL open day. This revelation brought me back to two years previous when I had first met himself which led me to the break up which led me back to my ED. Hyperventilating at the back of the bus whilst all these thought processes filled my brain.
The time on the bus was the first time I had been able to stop a panic attack by myself (which is no easy feat.) Five minutes into the attack, something clicked and I focused on the seat in front of me. I just kept repeating to myself: That is the seat. This is the bus. My hands are on the seat on the bus. My feet are on the floor of the bus. I kept repeating to myself the things that I saw, the facts that I knew, and silly as it sounds, I calmed down and got off the bus in a far more settled manner than I had been in. After that, due to a heady combination of meds, therapy and new found confidence in my ability to cope, my panic attacks stopped.
I have had three panic attacks in the last two weeks for various reasons. And I haven’t dealt with them well. This morning’s most recent attack was based off the fact that I am going to a work banquet later which serves a five course meal. This familiar territory of freaking out over possible meals scares me even more than the concept of the meal itself. I am becoming increasingly aware of patterns emerging, stresses repeating themselves and the possible triggers of something self destructive.
I started writing this post with a general idea of what I wanted to write about but until I started writing about the bus, I had forgotten how I had dealt in the past. Now I remember and now I am aware. And that is something that I didn’t have back then. I didn’t know I could fight and I didn’t know I could win. I don’t feel confident and I don’t feel strong. But I know I can be. And maybe that’s enough for now.
My general tendency in life is to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Miss two days of study? FAIL EVERYTHING. Eat a lot of chocolate last night? OBESITY CRISIS. Mistake pointed out in your work? WRONG CAREER CHOICE LIFE RUINED. And then I take these thoughts and I use them to motivate myself to do the “right” thing.
Motivating change is a funny thing. There is a very thin line between motivation and obsession in the same way that the reasons behind the change can be productive or destructive with the same end goal. Shame is a huge indicator of which side of the line you fall on.
I am once again trying to lose weight. I am conscious of what I eat, I have specific plans on my exercise for the week, I am disappointed when I don’t meet those goals and sometimes need to white knuckle through to meet them. Some days I worry if I am slipping back into old habits and then I think of shame. In the height of my ED, I was more than conscious of what I ate. I was so consumed with meeting my deficit for the day that I weighed everything. I weighed lettuce, which is essentially water, for fear of going overboard. I measured calories burnt on my heart rate monitor and wouldn’t allow myself to stop exercising until I had reached 600+ calories burnt. I had no life outside weight loss and situations that might cause deviance from the plan caused my so much stress and panic that I often just avoided social situations.
Looking back on it, I see a lot of similarities between how I treated food and how I treated my work when I was doing my leaving cert. It was all or nothing and since nothing meant overwhelming guilt, I was going to commit all to studying and all to weight loss. In both endeavors, there was no clear end point, just a vague goal of “Get medicine” and “Lose weight.” When I got medicine it wasn’t enough. When I lost weight, I needed to lose more. And I was able to maintain this hellish lifestyle because of that voice in my head that reminded me of the dreaded alternative – a B instead of an A, a size 12 instead of a size 4.
When we look at how we motivate ourselves, it is essential to look at our driving force. Denouncing the use of shame is not the same as letting yourself off the hook and continuing with your damaging behavior (in my case, overeating.) The original damaging behavior is no better because it comes from a place of self hatred. When I am eating my third helping of Tesco brand chocolate, I can easily convince myself that I am making up for all the abuse I put my body through in the past few years. But cut to an hour later when I am nauseous and bloated, and I feel like shit for overeating, it is all too clear that my “treat” was really a punishment. It is no different from starving myself all day and feeling really proud about it until I faint into my friend’s arms and have to explain the headaches and the hunger pains. Both situations are riddled in detrimental emotion and neither allow for a life outside the food (or whatever change you are making.)
In my life right now, I am trying to lose weight. But I am also working, studying, going out, writing, singing, having fun, and all manner of things in between. Sometimes I don’t have time and sometimes I fuck up (read: the last 10 days.) But today I am getting out of my motivational slump and am determined to push myself back onto the right track. And under no circumstances are the words “not good enough,” “failure,” “too fat/lazy,” or anything remotely similar going to be used in this process. Instead, I remind myself of the extra energy, the extra confidence, the more stable emotions and reactions I felt when my diet and exercise patterns were more balanced. Oh, and I lost a few pounds. But that’s not what is important.
As a college student, I know the pain of being stereotypically poor and having one too many nights of cider and pizza. I’m not a member of a gym and I own nothing more expensive than a pair of dumbbells and a yoga mat, but I believe that anyone can workout, get fit and enjoy themselves without breaking the bank.
I used to be really lazy about lower body strength training. And if I’m caught for time, it’s still usually the area that doesn’t make the cut. I rationalise it to myself by thinking that the running, kickboxing, yoga, etc. are all working my legs fine and hard and is that not enough? Its not a bad start. But if I want to get BETTER at running and kickboxing and yoga, then lower body strength training is an essential building block.
As a college student, I know the pain of being stereotypically poor and having one too many nights of cider and pizza. I’m not a member of a gym and I own nothing more expensive than a pair of dumbbells and a yoga mat, but I believe that anyone can workout, get fit and enjoy themselves without breaking the bank.
I’ve always loved upper body strength training. This may be due in part to my body’s affinity to store fat lower down in the tummy and thighs area so my arms are always the first place I see results when I kick the strength training up a notch. I’ll admit, having access to lots of weights is the one thing I miss about a gym. But that’s no reason not to fire up those guns.
As a college student, I know the pain of being stereotypically poor and having one too many nights of cider and pizza. I’m not a member of a gym and I own nothing more expensive than a pair of dumbbells and a yoga mat, but I believe that anyone can workout, get fit and enjoy themselves without breaking the bank.
I’m not going to get into the whole “Flat Abs Fast” or “Six Pack in Six Weeks” junk. The fact of the matter is that you can’t spot train and the way to get a flatter stomach is to do cardio and strength training to lose fat all over.
I am also not going to get into the fact that society may be a touch obsessed with a flat stomach and that there is nothing wrong with a little belly (especially if you are a woman who enjoys being fertile.)
What I am going to say is that core training is really important for your overall sports performance, for your posture and for your overall strength. You also don’t need to do 200 sit ups a day. I figure if the recommended amount of strength training is around 60-90 minutes a week, then 20-30 minutes a week of core is right on the button. Here are some of my favourite core workouts that all take less time than an episode of Friends.
Fitness Blender have a ton more abs videos which are all good, so check them out too!
Written in June 2011 and forgotten about.
The weighing scales in my kitchen is in easy view, even from one seat in the living room, so this had to on the sly. I snuck a jelly snake out of the bag lying on the counter, placed it carefully and silently on the tray and noted its 8g of weight. A quick look at the back of the bag and some stealthy calculations and success: 14 calories a snake. I had already had 3 and that was quite enough.
There is something consuming and unrelenting about calorie counting. What was once a vague note of your daily intake soon becomes a mission in accuracy and a never ending game of find the deficit. Well, for me it was anyway. And for what? Sculpted biceps, long lean legs and the elusive flat stomach?
One of the first things I learned in recovery was that no matter how thin I became (and I was thin) I was still me. Admittedly, an undernourished, cranky and bony me, but me nonetheless, and I was just going to have to deal with that. So what is me?
Even with XXlbs of a weight difference, I still have muscles on my arms, skinny calves and a relatively small waist. I still have big boobs, big eyes, big hair. Maybe I am a little larger, but I essentially look the same. I could change my size but not my shape.
So why become so invested in this societal notion that restriction, over exercise, thinness will make your life magically better? Of course, eat well, run, skip, play, be healthy! But a sub-18 BMI will not make your bills smaller, your classes easier, your life more enjoyable. Because honestly, whats enjoyable about secretly weighing snakes? Nothing.
Its very easy not to practice what you preach. On the blog and in real life, I am never short of feel good whims that this whole “loving yourself” thing is far more important than being picture perfect and stick thin with a trophy boy on the arm. You know. To other people. When it comes to myself however, there is this underlying strain of thoughts and emotions that tell me that to achieve anything, I must achieve everything and I get caught in a cycle of perfectionism.
To try and break this cycle, I usually go the logical route of reminding myself that the only person who expects me to be perfect is me. Even looking back on past experience, actually achieving the level of “perfection” I wanted to achieve – my entry to medicine, my extreme weight loss – didn’t bring me any closer to being happy. Looking at the lives of others, I also know that it isn’t only very smart, very thin girls that are in relationships so this need for perfection has very little basis in reality. And this train of thought has gotten me quite far in staying social, reducing panic attacks and coming along in recovery. Then, stuff happens.
Pictures aren’t necessarily the best thing. I’ve never loved pictures anyway and unfortunately, a bad angle here and there is enough to throw all my logic out the window and start longing for the days when I could buy a size 6 again. I worry am I deluding myself, I wonder if what I see in the mirror is real at all, I freak out that everyone is judging me for evident elephantism.
People aren’t always the best thing either. Usually, it is just my own paranoia of thinking people are looking at me in a bad way but yesterday, I was proven right and I was not happy. I was standing outside Centra in Dublin, eating a Freddo, and not freaking out about eating said Freddo, because its a small bar, I wasn’t binging and I have been really balanced in my eating lately. Then an old man came out of the shop, looked at me, told me that eating chocolate makes you fat and walked away. I wasn’t sure what had shocked me more: the fact that a stranger had said this to me in the street or that I had been caught out, an overweight girl eating chocolate.
All ten people I was with had to hear about this. Because when in doubt, look for the approval of others to reassure you. But that in itself… I wonder why I can’t give that approval to myself, that reassurance that some people might just be a bit rude, that these seem people don’t know who you are and what your background is, so their judgement is not necessarily a reflection on you.
Self love is not a process of delusion. Think about a person you love – someone who you really and truly love unashamedly and without condition. You know they are not perfect, you know they have flaws. But you also see that they have these amazing qualities and that is why you love them. Not for the weak points they succeeded in diminishing but for just being themselves. So why on earth is it so difficult to see this reflection in ourselves. Because people love us and people see us in the same non-deluded-but-still-loving way. The pinch of salt is hard to take sometimes but it is so necessary – why let the words of strangers, or of yourself, destroy you? You are worth so much more than that.
