Backslider

Today I'm going to talk about something that is very difficult for me to admit.
Hold on to your hats everyone.

I am not perfect.

Haha...jk, we already knew that, but it plays into the real point of this blog which is,

Recovery is not a straight line.

Thanks to that shitty little algorithm built into facebook right now, we are bombarded with our, "What you were doing a year ago" pictures and statuses, which, while a cute nostalgic little touchstone for some, can also be hella triggering for others forcing us to compare where we were to where we are now for better or worse.

I'm not saying that this is the sole source of backsliding, but it certainly contributes. Comparison of ourselves, our bodies, our progress, our process to anyone, and that includes older versions of ourselves, can be very detrimental to our recovery.

Anyway, all this to introduce the this very uncomfortable admittance.
I have backslid.

The holiday season is stressful. This is just a fact. It's stressful financially, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. Coupled with the pressures of being a new parent who wants to fulfill all the dreams of their little creature (and -let's be honest- relive a bit of our own childhood through them), the stresses of the season compound and we fall back on unhealthy habits to survive.

Oh goddamn.
Okay.
Why is this so hard to say?

I lost too much weight.

If anybody wants to be mad at me for "complaining" about losing weight during the holiday season when they might have gained a pound or two over the season, I want to reiterate that this blog is a document of my personal experiences, and I would never pass judgement on anybody else's struggle. Believe me, in years past, I have put on ten pounds during December and then another in January and made myself feel like shit about it, and that was just as unhealthy, not the weight gain, but the feeling like shit part, the beating myself up part, the not taking care of myself part, and that's how we end up here. Backsliding.

I have struggled both with anorexia and exercise addiction and with BED and compulsive restricting and binging cycles. Believe me, I have swung on this pendulum back and forth many times in my fifteen year struggle with Disordered Eating.

This year, it swung this way.

I used my pediatrician's recommendation that I cut wheat out of my diet to help my son's colic as a jumping off point to restricting again.

Even after the doctor said I needed to introduce wheat back into my diet to see if it made any impact through my breastmilk, and if it didn't, then I could let the baby try wheat, even then, I smiled virtuously and refused the passed plate of holiday cookies. I shrugged at the stuffing on the table, and shook my head at the Christmas pudding with custard (my absolute favorite holiday dessert).
All the while, I told myself I was being cautious, a good mother. I ate one item with wheat in it every day, a cracker, a bite of dry toast, a half the crust on a piece of pumpkin pie, taking my wheat almost medicinally and refusing to enjoy it.
I kept telling myself that I was being a good mother.
That I was just making sure I didn't flood my system with wheat and hurt the baby.

It was total bullshit.

I was losing weight.
And I liked it.

I watched the numbers get lower.

I watched the numbers on the scale get to places they hadn't been since high school, and then I watched them get to the place where they had only ever been before when I'd been disordered.

Then something totally stupid happened.

After the holidays, we traveled to Virginia to see my in-laws and let them spoil the baby.
We traveled, stayed two days, and traveled again, and I woke up five days ago sick as a dog with a head cold.

But not the way I usually get sick.

I am usually the girl who skips the flu shot.
I don't use anti bacterial wipes, and I always eat a piece of something if I drop it on the floor. I firmly believe we live in a germphobic society that will ultimately lead us to get wiped out by some virus we should have antibodies for. Well, not that extreme, but I do think that the whole obsession with cleanliness is both a symptom of privilege separation, and very American. Europeans are shaking their heads as so called Beauty-Gurus pound their vanities and deliver sermons about the virtues of not washing your hair every day because DUH. Sebum is nature's way of caring for your hair.

Whew...see how eager I am to get off topic?

I fucking hate talking about this.

Yes,
and that is why I need to.

So I got my flu shot this year. I brought antibacterial wipes on the trip. I wiped everything down before letting the baby touch it. I was a psycho about cleanliness.
And Beard was fine.
Baby was fine.
Me?

I DIDN'T HAVE ENOUGH FAT ON MY BODY TO FIGHT OFF THE FUCKING COLD SO I CAME DOWN WITH IT LIKE A MONSTER.

I have spent the last four days in my house, unable to exercise, unable to do much more than drag my carcass back and forth between bedroom and living room. I don't have the energy to play with my son. I am dizzy anytime I stand for longer than five minutes. It feels like an entire beehive is inside my skull and that the bees are using my sinuses as a major highway system.
I can't sleep, and my throat feels like it's coated in broken glass.

All this, because I didn't eat enough for the last month.

SERIOUS CONSEQUENCES COME FROM BACKSLIDING.

I had a come to jesus with myself in the bathroom the other day.
It was in the worst of the cold.
I had a hot shower that lasted about twenty minutes. Bob looked after the baby, and I let the steam work on my lungs and nose. I let the hot water soothe my shivery muscles and bones.

Then I looked at my body in the mirror.

I'd been telling myself that getting thinner wasn't important, but it was a nice bi-product of the no wheat thing, but that was another lie.

I liked seeing my body get smaller this year after watching it get so big the year previous.
I liked seeing it return to dimensions I thought maybe it would never see again.

Then I pushed it.

I couldn't just listen to my body.

My body wanted a sandwich, but I couldn't have the bread, I told it. Even if it could.

My body is now, when you look at it, not unhealthily thin. I look fit for my size. I look HEALTHY.
But I am not.


I am legitimately at an unhealthy weight for my body because if I had weighed more a week ago, I would not have gotten this bloody cold! My husband and my son are healthy, and they did not get the cold. Conclusion: I am not healthy.

This is the fucked up beauty industry bullshit telling us that the thinner you are the healthier you are.
I am here to tell you it's not true!
If I'd had just five pounds, ten pounds more on my frame, I could have battled off this bug and not spent the last four days hobbling around my house like a useless pile of misery!

But here's the thing...

you have to forgive yourself when you backslide.

No matter what it looks like.
No matter how scary it is.

You have to say,
I love you body.
I'm sorry I stopped listening to you.

And you have to work to tune back in to your body's needs.
You have to praise it for pushing those numbers back up on the scale.
You have to recognize that you got here, but you can get back again, and that recovery is not a straight line, and that's okay.

You are not a fuck up.

You are a human being.

And you are struggling.

And that's okay.