Rewiring

As I am writing this, there is a near to empty bowl of oatmeal sitting next to me. It is 12:24pm. Not technically morning anymore, but to a mind and body that once ate as little as possible until as late in the day as possible (and sometimes that meant not eating a meal until between 6:00pm-8:00pm) noon is pretty early to be sitting down to eat a "whole" of anything.

There are two main reasons why, just a few years ago, I would attempt to eat as little as possible for as long as possible during the day.

1.) There was a 90 percent chance that I had binged the night before (fairly soon before going to bed) so I really wasn't that hungry until about 3pm the next day.

2.) My eating disorder was an addiction. So in a sense, I was addicted to food. Rather, I was addicted to the feeling that I got when I binged with food. Consequently, if I started eating, I couldn't stop eating until I noticed that my stomach was starting to ache. So I would put off the seemingly inevitable food-binge that would begin whenever I started eating, until late in the day when there was nothing else I needed to do. It was then that I would "clock out" (check out and numb out) of life for the day by...eating.

(As a side note: I think it is interesting that people with an eating disorder have to learn how to manage their addiction by engaging in it in moderation. Like, can you imagine telling an alcoholic that they have to learn to drink in moderation? Former alcoholics don't try to drink in moderation. They completely abstain from drinking altogether. But obviously one can not completely abstain from eating. Food, and eating, is necessary. So those with an eating disorder--bingeing specifically--have to exercise some pretty intense self control by learning how to eat…and then stop. It was fairly easy for me to not eat. I could go all day not eating. The hard part was stopping once I had started.)

But the reason I used the word "whole" is because a large part of my eating disorder was mental. Here is what I mean by that. If I ate half a cracker, half a cheese stick, a bite or two of a sandwich...and threw away the other part of whatever I was eating...I was good. Binge and/or negative body image feelings avoided. My mind interpreted that as, "you haven't ruined today yet, you have eaten hardly anything, so you're good and you look fine." But if I ate a whole of anything… a whole apple, a whole sandwich, a whole bowl of soup, a mini bag of chips, a entire candy bar…forget it. On a physical+self control level, it would be extraordinarily difficult for me to eat only a moderate/normal amount of food and then call it quits. On a mental+emotional level, even when I was able to eat a normal portion of food and be done…I would typically be emotionally shut down for the day.

Part of my motivation for wanting to be free from this cycle of bingeing was that I realized how my bingeing (or not eating) was affecting my relationships. For example, I wouldn't pick up the phone in the evening if a friend was calling to talk, because I didn't talk to friends during or immediately following a binge. I didn't want anyone coming into that mess…it was my hidden mess. And like I mentioned before, I would shut down emotionally after bingeing. I didn't have the emotional energy to interact with friends. I wouldn't want to talk to anyone and I wouldn't want anyone to talk to me. I would want to be alone so that I could eat and then I would want to be left alone after I binged because I felt gross and ashamed of myself. I mean, think about how you feel after a Thanksgiving meal--completely stuffed. Slightly sick. Sleepy. Relaxed. You want to go take a nap. Well, that is how I would feel after bingeing. Except, a holiday meal is something that usually happens in the context of a community and family. Bingeing is something I did in isolation. I did it when I was alone, I wanted to be left alone so that I could continue to do it, and doing it kept me alone. But it was comforting. It had a payoff. All of our sins and addictions have some kind of payoff…otherwise we wouldn't keeping going back to them. Unfortunately, for me the payoff of bingeing was deeper than staving off the loneliness I felt. As I became more free from this all, I came to realize that beneath my struggles with food there was (there still is) a deeper struggle with depression, anxiety, and a desire for a sense of control. Bingeing with food was a coping mechanism I had developed over the years (and utilized almost daily) to help me handle life…and to help me handle myself.

But I digress. Back to the mental and emotional part of this all.

For years I had associated "meal" with "binge". It was normal for me to binge after a meal. And since my goal of every single day was to eat as little as possible, if at some point during the day I ate an amount of food that my mind told me was "too much" I had this, "what the hell--might as well eat the whole world now" mentality. (Yeah, God might have the whole world in His hands...but I managed to stuff the whole world in my stomach.) So even as my eating patterns changed externally, internally my mind was still telling me that it was time to binge or time to shut down emotionally for the day. I still struggle to not shut down emotionally or to feel like I can't do anything worthwhile with the remaining hours of daylight... (because I tend to feel like I have already ruined the only thing truly worthwhile for that day--not eating so that I can look thinner.)

Slowly I taught myself to eat dinner in the evening…and to still be emotionally available to my roommate (who also happens to be my best friend). Then I learned to eat an afternoon lunch…and move on with my day. Now…"breakfast". This is like the last great frontier for me. By eating in the morning I am starting my day with the thing that I used to end my day with. It is difficult because when I eat a meal, my mind automatically begins to turn off emotional switches. I start to feel like the rest of the day is a waste. And that is extremely frustrating to me because I desire to be emotionally present for my whole entire day.

But over the past year and a half my brain has done a lot of rewiring. Rewiring from depression and rewiring from years of an eating disorder. I have had to teach myself to associate fullness after a meal with meaning that I now have the energy to meet the physical, emotional, spiritual, and mental requirements of the day. So now…that is what my brain is (subconsciously) starting to tell me when I eat meal. Instead of me feeling compelled to continue eating or forced to shut down emotionally, I do feel satisfied and ready to move on with my day with more energy, focus, and the ability to be present in the moment. Whereas before, I would be dreaming about later at night when I would finally be able to check out of life and eat a days worth of calories in a two hour span. This changed mindset is still so new. When I sit down to eat a meal (especially in the morning or early afternoon--yes, time of day matters) my brain still first starts to associate eating with bingeing and bingeing with shutting down. And I have to remind myself that that is not me anymore. Rather, I realize with amazement that that is not me anymore. I eat…and I don't shut down. I'm still in the game. The switches don't get turned off. It's not an extremely conscious thing I am doing anymore--my brain is rewiring. It is now attaching different meanings and feelings with certain activities. It's so weird and awesome.

I almost don't want to say this because I am afraid it will ruin my credibility…but I binged last night. Yep. Even with all of this that I have learned and all the ways I have changed, it is still a struggle and night is the most difficult time. I want to be honest about last night because I don't want to pretend to be at a place with this that I am not. That doesn't help anyone. I am still in the process of figuring this all out. I am still in the process of surrendering my dependancies and trusting God to meet my needs…in the way he wants to meet them. And some nights I don't feel like rewiring my brain. Some nights I just want to eat a damn candy bar. Or ten. And then other nights I feel God tell me that I was made for so much more than suppressing my deepest emotions and hiding my struggles by medicating myself with food or any other substance.

Timeline…Meh, That Will Be A Post For Another Time

For the past nine months or so, I have been going to this thing called Regroup. Basically, it is like group counseling. After what I went through with my depression and anxiety a year ago, I knew that I needed to go to counseling. And I did go to two different counselors for about 4-5 months…but it was just too expensive to continue. (Wow, I just used all three different to/too/twos in one sentence. Is there some award for that?) Anyways. Regroup has been an awesome (and free) alternative. (I still hope to do one-on-one counseling at some point in the near-ish future...once I come upon a large sum of money.)

The Regroup process has three different phases: Phase 1) Recognize. Phase 2) Return. Phase 3) Restore. In the first phase (Recognize) you have three different "deliverables" to complete before moving on to the second phase. First, you have to do what they call, "name it and claim it" which is basically identifying what it is in your life that has become unmanageable--or, if you are like 99.9 percent of the women in the group, you pick the one thing in your life that is most unmanageable. Usually that will be the thing (behavior) that brought a person to Regroup. So, that could be anything from drug usage to drinking to co-dependancy to eating disorders or isolation. Or, it could be a life situation that brought you there, like death, depression, divorce, or whatever other word begins with the letter "d". (I'm obviously kidding. I really didn't try to pick three "d" words.) The second thing you have to do after figuring out what your "name it and claim it" is to have 30 days of consecutive sobriety from that thing. (That is a little bit more tricky to figure what to give up for 30 days if what brought you to regroup was more of a life situation and not an "addiction" per se.) Then, the third and final step in the first phase, is to write a letter of forgiveness from yourself (and/or from God) to yourself. And then you read the letter to everyone in the group. 

I spent about 7-8 months in the first phase. Just for reference, it is supposed to take you about 8-12 weeks. I pretty much knew from the first week what the thing was that I needed to have 30 days of sobriety from (bingeing--in regards to food.) But, my eating disorder was not what brought me to Regroup, and honestly, it was not the thing that was unmanageable in my life at that point. So, my "name it and claim it" (the thing that was unmanageable and brought me to Regroup) was anxiety and depression. But, my go-to coping mechanism for anxiety and depression was bingeing with food. It took me a few months and a few restarts of trying to do my 30 days (and failing) before getting my 30 days done. Honestly, it wasn't a perfect 30 days. I still tried to use food in different ways during that time. But it was worlds different than anything I dreamed I would ever be able to do, even just two years ago. I mean, two years ago, I was not physically capable of going 30 days without bingeing--the idea would have been laughable. Anyways. After the 30 days I wrote my "forgiveness letter" and read it to the group. I am pretty sure that every person that I have heard read their forgiveness letter throughout my months at Regroup, has cried while reading their letter. Conversely, my letter reading time was pretty emotionless. I was just like, "Yay for having a dead heart! And lack of emotions! Feeling nothing is so awesome! Sarcasm!" It has actually been extremely frustrating for me to not be able to cry during this process. Like, I joke about it…but it kind of makes me  feel a little dead inside to not be able to cry when I'm hurting. Crying can be incredibly healing. 

So, none of this is what I was going to write about. I was going to write about how in this second phase of Regroup (Return) I have to write out this whole timeline of my life and major life events. But I guess I will write about that later. Because this post is already long (and depressing) enough. But, I am actually going to add my letter of forgiveness that I wrote. Now, I just want to say why I am talking about this all and sharing this letter. I get that it is personal. Really personal. Maybe I shouldn't talk about it online where it can never be removed for all of eternity. Maybe I'll delete this in a week if I decide I feel like it is too personal. But I just don't want to keep all of this inside of me. Because…what would be the point of that? These struggles and victories are meant to be shared. I know that I am healed and encouraged and challenged by hearing about other people's stories. I am always so thankful that other people aren't mourning their losses and celebrating their victories alone, but allowing others into their story. So, that is where I am with it all at this point. But, knowing me, my feelings about it will change in a few days :) 

(Below is the letter of forgiveness. The first part is me writing to myself. The second part is what I think God would say to me.) 

Lauren,

I know that you haven’t wanted to write much over the past year. It was just so overwhelming for you to sit down and try to sort through all of your thoughts and feelings. You had spent months of writing journal entries where you tried to figure out what was going on with you and why you were so filled with dread and sadness every day...and there were never any answers to be found. As the months went on, these feelings worsened and the dread and sadness became a deep depression filled with anxiety and panic. You didn’t know what was happening or how to stop it or fix it. You felt unable to surrender this “thing” to God, because you didn’t even have a name for what was going on inside of you. 

Eventually you got to the point where you couldn’t think clearly about anything anymore. You didn’t know how you got to this place and when you were honest with yourself, you didn’t really believe there was a way out. You felt too far gone. The only thing you knew is that following God and obeying him by letting go of your dependance on food to comfort you, calm you, and protect you, was part of the reason of how you got here. You just hoped that if following God had led you to this place, that continuing to follow him would eventually lead you out of the darkness and constant panic. 

But you felt gypped by God. You felt like God had misled you on what “the other side” of being free from being in bondage (for almost a decade) to an eating disorder, would look like. You were like an Israelite-- you wanted to run back to Egypt and slavery because at least it was a pain you understood. It was a familiar pain and a struggle that you were, in some sense, self-inflicting and in control over. But you knew that there was no going back at this point. So you kept going forward. But the weight of months of depression and anxiety took it’s toll on you--mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and physically. After months of feeling every emotion entirely too deeply, you lost the ability to feel anything at all. 

Lauren, I know you still struggle with wondering if the things you felt and thought during those weeks and months disqualified you from being a child of God. I know you’re frustrated as you write this, because you can’t find the words. You’re overwhelmed as you write this, because all of what you’re writing about is still so recent and you’re still scared. I know you aren’t sure if you can forgive yourself for 1.) something you are still dealing with--namely, depression and anxiety and 2.) something that isn't "sin" per se. But Lauren, I know that the forgiveness you long for and need to hear verbalized, is from God first and foremost. 

***

Lauren, 

I love you in the middle of your struggle with depression. 
I know your mom does not understand it. Lauren, I loved you during those weeks when you couldn’t even say my name because you weren’t sure if I was there. I loved you that day when you couldn’t take my silence any longer, and even though you wanted to hold on to me, you didn’t have the strength to. You told me that you were done with me and walked away from where you had been sitting and praying and talking to me. And I loved you so much when, in total frustration and pissed-off ness, you turned around, walked back to where you had been praying, and told me that you didn’t mean it, but you just didn’t know how to hold on to me any longer. You didn’t want to live any longer. And that was when you decided to take the anti-depressants. I know you have been ashamed and disappointed in yourself that you couldn’t overcome depression by just “trusting in me” more. I know how frustrated you are that you had to start taking anti-depressants and that they have been part of my way to help the healing process. I know it is not how you wanted me to do it. 

Lauren, you are forgiven for every time over the years that you used food to ease your loneliness. And it is not your fault that you didn’t realize it was more than loneliness that you were trying to ignore, suppress, or hide. You used food to give you a sense of predictability and control over your life, emotions, and thoughts. It is not your fault for not realizing that you were using food and bingeing to keep your world, your thoughts and feelings, your life, and even me, your God...small, safe, and predictable. I do not hold your depression against you. You are accepted and love by me, even when you still struggle with depression, anxiety, and panic. I accept you as you are, because I already paid the price. 

Lauren, I knew all about this long before you were born. I knew what was under the surface of your struggles all along.

When you accepted me into your life and began to have a relationship with me over 15 years ago, you didn’t know the depth of your sin. Even just a few years ago, you thought I was pretty damn lucky to have you as part of my team. But I knew, Lauren. Before I gave you a glimpse of your own heart, I knew all of these things about you. It was you who was surprised at the sinfulness and depravity inside of your heart. I already knew. I already knew you completely, daughter. And I knew that there was no good in you apart from me. I knew the depth of your struggles and need. I knew what all of it meant. I knew every thought you were going to have and every emotion you were going to feel and every time you would tell me that you were done with me. I knew about this season that you were going to walk through. I knew, Lauren. I know it all. I know everything you are going to say and do and think and feel in the future. And I still chose you. It is already paid for. I am not the one who is surprised by what is inside of you, Lauren. I know it all, and I love you. And I forgive you. 

Culinary School/Baking & Pastry Class...kitchen...food...stuff

First of all, what if I changed my blog name from, "The Soap Box" to "The Donut Box"? The tag-line could be, "You might not get exactly what you want, but whatever you end up with will still be pretty damn good." ...because it is a donut. And even if it is a cherry filled jelly donut (puke) it is still good...because it is still a freaking donut. 

I'm sorry that the quality of these pictures is so awful-- I used my phone to take them. Also, please take note of the sweet hats (and general awkward getup) that the girls (on the fourth picture down) are wearing. Yes, I too get to look that awesome during class! I know, we're pretty much the coolest kids around town. Or not. Let's just say that there are very few fashion statements being made at culinary school. But everyone looks equally ridiculous, so it is (kind of) OK. 

I don't know about you, but donuts speak to me. Mostly they just say, "Eat me right this second, Lauren." But there is so much more to these delectable treats than fluffy deep fried goodness covered in sweet buttery icing.

 If a donut could talk, what do you think it would say? You don't know, do you? That is because you never listen to your fried treats. Shame on you. Well, if a donut could talk, I think it would say, "There's a God shaped hole in all of us..." And then it would follow up that comment by saying, "Just kidding--there is a donut-hole shaped hole in all of us...suckaaa!" And of course they would make a silly joke like that--because donuts are funny. That is what they want to tell you--that they are funny. That is why they make you so damn happy. We really should listen to them more.

I know, I'm sorry--that was a lot of pictures of donuts. You should see me during class...I am always taking 500 million pictures of my food. (But hey, I'm not posting them to Instagram. So I'm not that person. Yet.)

I always try to rearrange the food in a semi-appetizing way before I take 20 pictures of it, because at the end of the semester we have to make a portfolio of everything we have baked and include pictures of it all. That is why I try to take good pictures--so that my portfolio doesn't look like crap. And since my phone takes pretty awful pictures, I already have that working against me. Consequently, I have to take quite a few pictures before I get one semi-decent photo.
 Well, my classmates started noticing and commenting on how many pictures I was taking. So a few weeks ago I started joking that I did it because I was OCD and I needed everything to be absolutely perfect or whatever. Well...apparently the joke really caught on. Because now everyone in my class thinks that I am actually legitimately OCD. And they make comments about it fairly often. This past week when we were making donuts, one girl commented on how perfect one of my donuts looked. And then another girl said, "Oh, it's just because Lauren is OCD. You probably rolled that dough out 20 times just to get a perfect shape, didn't you, Lauren?" I laughed and was like, "Yeah, totally." I just played along because I don't really care if they think I'm OCD. But inside I'm just like ...guys, I'm not actually OCD. I was just kidding. Everyone always jokes about being OCD?

    I don't know though, maybe I am. At least a little. But aren't we all a little OCD? 

    Anywho. Moving right along.

   Baguettes are not as funny as donuts. You don't have to talk to them to find that out.
You can tell just by looking at them. 

    Well, and they're French. So they wouldn't talk to you anyways. 

Oh look! There I am with my little baguette baby. So, I kind of think baguette could be an adorable term of endearment for a kid.
 Like, "Oh, come here mon petit baguette..." My poor kids--they're totally going to hate me.