Your Wide Awakening

There were many, many days when I wanted to die. My days felt endless, with no relief in sight. I would sob in front of the mirror, calling myself ugly, stupid, an awful person, and a fat, worthless piece of crap. I would stare at every imperfection on my body … squeezing the skin, picking at my face, pulling my hair out, weighing myself at least twenty-five times a day, and making this disease my sole purpose for getting up in the mornings. I was determined to weigh less than the day before. I was committing emotional and physical suicide.

Looking back, I should have taken a sabbatical from college and entered an inpatient facility to treat anorexia. I was a mess! I had lost all my friends, my grades were average, and I was morbidly depressed. I gained back the physical weight my senior year, but I was still carrying so much emotional weight. I still needed to heal.

I graduated from college with good grades and normal weight, and everyone thought I was on the path to recovery. “Thought” being the key word here. I am sure the ones closest to me knew I was still engaging in self-destructive habits. I moved back in with my dad after college, got a job in the city, and enjoyed the single nightlife. I still wasn’t eating “right,” but to me and everyone else, my weight was okay.

The following year, I got engaged to the guy who made me laugh that night on the golf course. Yes, my high school soul mate, Lenny! We made it! We got married a year later. He was and is the only man who has ever loved me unconditionally, despite flaws, eating disorders, emotional baggage, etc. He loved me all through the anorexia days and made my days brighter with his wit, charm, and generosity.

A year later, I went back to school to study Health Promotion. I wrote papers on eating disorders, behavior change, how to prevent eating disorders, and how to recover from them. I worked with teachers on developing programs for the prevention of eating disorders. Unfortunately, there was still a part of me that didn’t want to let anorexia go. It seemed like the only thing I knew how to do well. So I didn’t finish my degree. I didn’t feel authentic, as I was still struggling with the disease. Anorexia prevented me from finishing anything. It’s an extremely time-consuming disease that takes over 90 percent of your daily thoughts.

Next, Lenny and I bought our first home and started a family nine months later. I worked out throughout my entire pregnancy. I wrote love letters to the unborn child, I wept a lot, ate healthily, and quit my job halfway through the pregnancy. I was eating healthfully for my unborn child, but I still harbored the fear of gaining too much weight, being ugly, and not “adequate.” I had a scary birth with my little angel, but we managed an emergency C-section with a happy ending: a happy and healthy baby girl!

The first night at home with my Lindsay Marie was interesting. I had no idea what to do! (Do any of us?)

We came home from the hospital and were greeted by my dad and his wife and many cards, a lot of flowers and food, and a great many smiles! I remember feeling healthy but scared. What was I gonna do? Could I go to the bathroom by myself? Would I ever sleep again? Would I be sitting at home all day? Was this little girl gonna love me? Did anybody love me? Was I worthy to be the mother of this beautiful miracle? When it was bedtime, I panicked. Where would she sleep? I didn’t want to be away from her for one second. I told my dad, his wife, and my husband that I was fine; they should go to bed upstairs, and I would sleep downstairs with Lindsay. When they went to bed, the tears poured. I mean poooured. I was a mom. Where was mine?

My mom had been gone for thirteen years by this time. Being parented seemed worlds away, but I needed her, right now. I sobbed for hours. My heart literally ached. I fed Lindsay when she cried and rocked her to sleep when she needed to be. I did my best rendition of the Carpenters’ “Close to You” when she wouldn’t settle. That night, I didn’t sleep. I rested her on my chest and listened to her humming, soothing breaths while I thought to myself, repeatedly, Mom, where are you? Where are you? I need you!

The first six months were fun. I loved dressing Lindsay up in little outfits, taking her to baby gym classes, and watching her grow. I learned slowly and surely how to satisfy her needs. We spent much time at home napping, feeding, changing diapers, and playing. I was still in a state of depression, but she gave me hope, unconditional love, and a smile I couldn’t wait to see every day. When she was six months, I started to lose my appetite, lose weight, and feel even more fatigued and depressed. After about two months, I had lost ten pounds for unknown reasons. I looked and felt terrible. I thought I was dying of something! I never went to the doctor, but my intuition told me to go buy a pregnancy test. Well, I bought seven, and yes, all were positive. I was eleven weeks pregnant.

That pregnancy was a delightful surprise. God had a plan for our little family! I was excited to have babies close together in age, like my sisters and me. I wrote to the baby in my journal while Lindsay napped. I was grateful to have become pregnant, but the truth is, I was feeling really lonely and depressed at home. I missed my mom and still wasn’t sure whether I was a good mom. Now I was having another little girl!

Jillian Elle was born in early January. She was an angel baby. She slept well, fed well, and was a happy, smiley ball of love. She was content most of the time and loved her bouncy chair. Lindsay was exploring and learning new things every day. Lenny and I were busy parents. He worked late nights. I, on the other hand was still feeling terribly lonely. I missed my mom. I yearned for her support, her help, and, quite frankly, I wanted a mom to hold me and tell me that everything would be great and that I was doing a great job.

I was in need of love and nurturing myself, so it was hard to give it. We hired a nanny, so I could go back to work. I thought I could pull myself out of depression if I had a career. I started to work with one of my friends, promoting health and wellness at our local schools. It felt good to give back. Still, I didn’t feel fulfilled. Although I was very passionate about the work I was doing, it still did not seem right or the job I was really searching for. A few months later I started to spiral downward, hormonally, emotionally, and physically. I started not to care about my appearance, my relationships, and my sense of self worth. Again! My life felt like it had no meaning. I felt like a terrible mom, sister, spouse, and friend. Here I was, going back down the anorexia hole again. I would spend hours telling myself that I didn’t deserve this life and that I simply did not want live. I felt hopeless about beating anorexia, helpless in being a good mother, and plain worn out. I was sick and tired of fighting my inner demons and feeling worthless. I thought several times a day about taking my own life. A teeny, tiny, little voice inside me told me I still wanted to live. To this day, I marvel that I listened to it. This is why I believe in a Higher Power, and this is how my faith was reborn. My girls were everything to me. Their bright, cheerful faces are what kept me going and what keep me going to this very day.

So I picked up the phone one day and called a treatment center for eating disorders. No one made the call for me. I did it. I was ready to get serious about healing!