Today I have the pleasure of handing the reins to a guest-blogger who shall remain anonymous. She has fought demons that many “fitness” types will never admit they battle on a daily, even hourly basis. Has she won, lost or fought to a draw? I will let you be the judge – but be kind. Despite posting anonymously, I think she is courageous to share her story. I find the honestly in this post enlightening and ultimately uplifting, especially as I move ever closer to joining the fitness industry.
-Luau
***
People look at me and congratulate me on my weight. They see the outside, borne of exercise and hard work.
And starvation.
And obsession.
They don’t realize that every compliment drives me back onto the road, pounding down another two miles. They don’t realize that, some days, I survived on less than 500 calories and gallons of Diet Coke.
That starvation is control.
And that, if your world is falling apart, sometimes the only thing you can control is yourself. But I went about it the wrong way.
***
I approached Luau about writing this piece a while back; after therapy, I’d finally admitted what my husband and mother already knew: that was I starving myself. That it was a badge of courage for me.
I’d started running after finally being healthy enough to do so. Combined with being the primary caregiver of two small children, working a stressful job, and dealing with a strained marriage, running gave me an outlet for all the stress in my life. But, as my husband worked longer hours, and as stress piled up, I couldn’t handle it. I started eating less and less. I told myself that I looked good, and that I was happy.
That was a lie.
I saw the truth in the mirror. The gaunt cheeks, the sallow skin. The dry hair falling out in handfuls. I felt my ribs in the middle of my chest, between my breasts, and was terrified that I had some sort of tumor. But I realized that those were my bones, rising up to meet skin because there was no fat between them. On I went, admiring the gap between my thighs, and the slimness of my calves, and the sharpness of my shoulders and collarbones.
You are beautiful, I told myself. I could model clothes with this figure, right? Most women who’d never given birth weren’t this thin; I wore my slimness as a medal of honor. My sharp angles were an award; they were a matter of pride. Every compliment fed the obsession; every word of praise was fuel to the fire of control burning within.
With help, I realized that my relationship with food, and my obsession with thinness…it was all a way to control myself. To get a hold of my life. To stop the downward spiral. She told me that I was an anorexic; I don’t know if that is true, but I think that the label “eating disorder” applies. I told my mother, and I reached out to another friend who I knew was a master of the Starving Arts.
I stopped running.
I started eating.
Later on, life improved. My marriage improved. And after I’d put on five doctor-ordered pounds, a friend said, “Thank God; you looked like a stick figure.” Those words hurt, but I know now that they were true. When my mother recently came to visit, she praised that my “face had filled out;” it took every fiber of my being not to stop eating entirely when I heard that. This, from a woman who had once criticized my heavier self in college, and who belittled her own body. Who had had breast implants and liposuction at some point to make herself more attractive.
Did she not see the walking contradiction? Did she not understand why I couldn’t believe her words?
I knew, though, that the day my beautiful daughter said her round little tummy was “too heavy,” I had to change. I immediately told her how beautiful her stomach was, and decide to commit to a life of self-love, as best as I could. And that meant admitting that I couldn’t control everything, and that I had to control myself in a healthy way. Which meant that I could no longer starve myself; I had to control that obsession and need.
Today, I look at pictures of beautiful friends, friends with soft bodies and ample breasts and hips. Friends who have a comfortable place for babies to rest on, instead of shuffling to get comfortable, as mine do on me. And I think to myself: You were happier when you were heavier. And I think again that I wish I had the courage to have their softness. Even if it isn’t necessarily the healthiest choice, that body takes the same courage that it does to run a marathon.
Their bravery is legendary to me, because I’m not sure I’ll ever have it again.
But I’ve written this story after eating a good dinner. And in a minute, I’ll have a brownie. Pretty good for a girl who used to say that no meal could be over 200 calories, huh?
And someday soon, I will run again. Not out of a need to control, but to know that my body is strong and healthy.
And that I am sound.
That life is better, and I am, too.
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May 17, 2013 by luau
Whether we care to admit it, we have all done it – rolled our eyes as we’ve listened to someone go on about how difficult they have it. I know I have. Whether it’s food allergies or diabetes or behavioral issues, I’ve acted as if intently listening, truly concerned about what the speaker or speaker’s child is going through, all the while rolling my eyes internally thinking, really? you’re complaining about that? Oh. My. GOD! Will you shut up with your non-problem?
I
don’ttry not to do that anymore. I learned quite a while ago that for each of us, our issues are just that – ours. They are personal, they are deep, and they can cause much distress in our lives. I once rolled my eyes at food allergies – but you know what? Food allergies can kill. I used to roll my eyes at diabetes, self induced in particular – but you know what? Diabetes can kill.Unless you are living it (or have lived it) you can’t fully understand it. Even within the autism community, there are such a wide range of experiences that are as unique from individual to individual as diabetes is to food allergies. I cannot begin to truly imagine what it would be like to have to wipe feces off the wall on a regular basis. I haven’t lived it, so I can’t/shouldn’t judge a parent in that situation for some actions that may seem a little “different” to me.
Which brings me to the awful events surrounding Mikaela Lynch. Earlier this week, 9 year old Mikaela, who was more impacted by autism than my Brooke, slipped out of her parent’s care. Sadly, a couple of days ago she was found in a creek, deceased. Regardless of whether one was part of the autism community or not, I would have assumed that everyone would mourn the loss of this young girl and if nothing else, have thoughts of condolences to her parents and family.
But that was not the case.
To my horror, there were some who decided that maybe less than 24 hours after Mikaela’s body had been found, it would be a good idea to ask if blame should be laid on the parents. Now, I am not going to name anyone, in part because some bloggers get paid by the number of times people click on to their page and even more with every comment that is left on their posts. The more clicks and the more comments, the more they get paid (I wonder what kind of writing such writers are inspired to produce?).
It became apparent that one particular person throwing blame at the parents was not a parent. That person, when called on that fact, rightfully asked if the market on criticizing parents was cornered by those who are parents. It’s true, non-parents have just as much of a right to criticize a parent’s action as anybody else…
BUT
…but that person, as any of us who would judge someone else, should have at least made an intellectual attempt to walk in their target’s shoes.
As much as we over share our lives via social media (and believe me, I know I am guilty in the first degree) how well do we truly know each other? Not nearly as well as we think.
Were Mikaela’s parents negligent? I can’t answer that because I didn’t know Mikaela, her parents or her 8 year old brother, who was apparently keeping an eye on her. YOUR first reaction may be what? an 8 year was supervising a 9 year old autistic girl? Horrors! but then you would fail to recognize that you were looking at the situation through the lens of your life or your personal experience and knowledge of 8 year olds. I have known a few 8 year old kids who I would have trusted to keep an eye on things while I went inside to do dishes, sweep the floor or whatever it is that Mikaela’s parents were doing inside their house. NT (neuro-typical) siblings are unfairly
askedforced to grow and mature quickly. Unless you really know them, how can you really judge them?I try not to jump to judgement on a daily basis and I fail at it over and over again on a daily basis (see Amy’s Baking Company meltdown on Kitchen Nightmares – it’s really hard not to judge) but I try to remind myself every time to at least imagine walking in someone else’s shoes for a bit before dropping the hammer. I hope people will do that before snapping to judgement on Mikaela’s family, or anyone else’s for that matter.
IN ADDITION:
It would appear that there are actual specifics to the timeline that one certain mean-spirited blogger chose to ignore. The blogger chose to write that the parents didn’t notice Mikaela was missing for 30 minutes and that they were inside the house the entire time. Sensationalist at best, mean-spirited and money driven (clicks and comments – there’s a reason why this blogger responds to comments with insults; to get a rise out of commenters who will then leave more comments, putting more money in her pocket) more likely, this blogger painted the worst possible picture without any real facts. Here is the timeline and what the mother was doing according to to the National Autism Association -
While her two children played on a trampoline on Mother’s Day, Mikalea’s mother was in the back of their vacation home putting screens on vent holes because the wasps were building hives in them. During this time, a bee scared Mikaela’s brother, he ran and Mikaela disappeared. Based on video surveillance and time stamp, Mikaela’s parents were two minutes behind her. Thirteen minutes into frantically searching for their daughter, they called the police.
Please stick to reputable news sources when forming an opinion – the examiner.com, though generally entertaining, is not one of them.
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Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged Bloggers, mikaela lynch, pay by the click, pay by the comment, shoes | 5 Comments »