Good evening, sweet quiet place.
Today has been quite the adventure, huh?
Up at 7am. Got to hang out with the oldest and the youngest this morning. A grocery trip so my boy could see his special friend, Cindy. The oldest did physical therapy by herself. A long drive back home with them. I revel in that time with them.
Coming home to clean out the fridge and freezer. Steak making. Readying for school. A massage–holy deltoids.
Coming home to eat for the first time today at 3pm. Making a brisket. A therapy session with the middlest–the single most productive and constructive hour I’ve spent in a long time. And that’s saying a lot. Quick grocery trip and a long drive home with my boy. I revel in that time with him.
Home again for brisket and stuffing which everyone ate, except the littlest, who obviously has no time for delicious food. Kisses with Chris in between him fixing the winter window coverings. A clean bill of health for the water after it was unusable for six days.
And now here I sit. It’s 8:53 and the littlest is asleep. Why, you might ask yourself? Because I’m amazing.
No arrogance or conceit. Merely the knowledge that I worked damn hard to get him to sleep early and to wake him early and it has paid off. This is my reward. I feel the win.
And soon my middlest will be asleep. Chris and I have worked hard getting him to sleep early too. He’s still a work in progress with getting up early, but all the meltdowns from both boys have decreased considerably and life is starting to feel manageable again.
I’ve been writing (pen to paper) about grief recently. And honoring mine. I’m reading Hope Remains by Reppard and Summer Gordon. I’m not into all the Jesus stuff, per se, but the faith stuff is good. And the faith stuff in the face of grief is just what I need right now.
Everything in its place and a place for everything. Today was goodness.
Last night I clicked the button that allows this site to be live.
It was hilariously anticlimactic.
I mean, it was awesome. I don’t mean to downplay it. But also, the site immediately let me know I could undo it at any time. So I laughed that this huge thing (to me) could be undone with a quick click of the mouse.
But here we are. Live. And public. And probably not really very searchable yet. But whatever.
I did it.
Happy March!
Chris and I have been trying to get the boys to bed earlier. Over the past few months it had been later and later, until they were both going to sleep after 10. The littlest would then wake up at 8:30 or 9, which would only serve to have a late bedtime again. Meltdowns throughout the day from both of them got worse and worse and I just don’t want to live that way anymore. I don’t want them to have to feel that way anymore.
Sick cycle carousel.
So, for the last two weeks I’ve been forfeiting my beautifully quiet mornings (and some random sleeping in of my own) to make sure the littlest is up by 8/8:15. And even still “early to bed” has been a struggle.
Tonight after 15 minutes of goodnights, we finally lights’d out at 8:37. Seven minutes later than I would have preferred, but I’m working on my perfectionism. I’m working on letting go of the reins and letting Chris participate, even if things don’t get done how and when I picture.
I digress from the point. Ha.
The point. The point is this is another perfect place to take ownership of a win. Because as my boy excitedly chatted and tried to spark playtime, I joked to him that we’d have to start making bedtime at 7 so that he was asleep by 9. Because here I was, dogging on myself because he’s tossing and turning and talking. Here I am thinking I’m not making any good headway with an early bedtime.
And he was asleep by 9:06.
That’s fucking huge! That’s enough. I’m enough.
Even though it doesn’t feel like it. Even though I don’t actually believe it yet. Even though self validation pales in comparison to validation from others.
It’s still a win. It’s still crucial I recognize it for what it is. My brain and my body need time to catch up. Awareness is the first step. I’ve got this.
Addictions are so…smarmy.
I mean, sometimes it is so fucking easy. It’s over off the periphery. I’m not thinking about it at all or just barely. I can even note to myself “it hasn’t been hard.”
And then BAM! out of nowhere, it saunters up. All fucking seductive and full of himself. And it says, “I like the way it tastes when you lick the batter off your finger.” And you ignore it. Best you can.
It’s no big deal, right? It’s been five days since your last disordered day. Four full days of being proud about food choices.
It’s so. fucking. easy. to give in when the words “but it just tastes so good” swim around in your head seductively.
And then, without permission, smarmy schmoozy sultry addiction voice says, “This is good. Stay with me.”
So many deep breaths.
This hurts to write about. Because today it was immediate to recognize and I responded without hesitation. And I know I should be proud of that. And still, it’s hard.
I refuse to live in fear, but that means I have to do something else with all the feelings I have about that voice lying in wait around the corner.
Writing helps. Talking about it helps. Owning the win helps.
So….here goes.
Today that voice in my head that keeps me disordered told me to keep eating.
And I said, “no thanks” and walked away.
I’m really proud of myself. I did goodness.
Checking in.
Busy fucking day. So many appointments. It was almost nonstop driving. Yet there was something really great about it. Purpose. I liked it. I handled it and none of it was hard.
Showing up felt good. Like breathing.
Most of the day was spent with my middlest and it felt really great to have so much time with him. I felt like I really got to see him today and he got to be seen.
Also another nondisordered day. That feels so good, I can’t even begin to describe the lightness. Which is good because my eyes are heavy and I gotta pass out. But real quick let me say…nothing feels better than having a healthy relationship with myself.
One day at a time. One moment at a time. Present. Practice. Repeat.
Today I worked my program in a way I’m really proud of.
I not only remembered, but I articulated, the importance of staying my path. That I’m right where I’m supposed to be, even if it’s hard. I’m learning the lessons and building the foundation, even if it’s uncomfortable. I’m finding my voice, even if it looks like I’m silent.
I’m putting in the work right now so that later, if someone trips me up, I’m better equipped to respond. I’m better able to keep my footing. To set a boundary. I’m a better me.
And that ain’t a bad deal. So I’m happy to stay the course.
Today is also four consecutive days free of disordered eating.
I had lost sight. I didn’t think this was possible anymore.
But here I am. Doing the impossible all over the place.
I keep thinking about the things we’re taught that we don’t even know we were taught. That we didn’t even realized we learned.
I mean, it was just today that I came to see the extent to which I put up with sexual abuse. Only, it didn’t look like sexual abuse. It wasn’t the typical “abuse” people talk refer to. No one held me down and forced me to do anything. It was subtler than that. I was always told I could say no, except in the moment…when you don’t really want to? But feel you have to? Feel you’re obligated to. It’s not easy to say no. There are less immediate ramifications if you just say yes.
So I said yes time and time again. I gave consent. But I didn’t want to.
And herein lies the issue.
He knew. And it didn’t matter. He knew and eventually got frustrated because I wasn’t more “connected”.
Today was the first time I realized that I shouldn’t have felt compelled to turn against myself. That I should never have felt this inherent need to backburner myself for someone else.
And I know where it comes from. It comes from that place in time when I told my mother of a violation and she told me it couldn’t be true. Assured me love existed there and only love could be there.
She violated me just as much as he did. They all normalized it. For years. Decades. A lifetime.
And so now here I sit. Fucking clueless. Ashamed for not standing my ground earlier. Guilt-ridden for standing my ground now.
I feel like I can’t win.
But I can’t stop thinking. All those moments in the past that I said yes when I wanted to say no. When he’d force himself on me when I was sleeping. And I’d pretend to keep sleeping, hoping he’d give up. All the excuses of “I was so drunk” or “I was just really tired and didn’t know what I was doing.”
What do I do with all of those? How do I exist without compartmentalizing them? How do I function with them all in my head?
As the weekend comes to a close, and I suddenly have two healthy eating days behind me, I can’t help but just fucking bask in the gratitude.
I don’t have to worry about this week or even tomorrow. I have no idea what will come of those, nor do I have any control of it.
Today I navigated a lot of shit. Today I traversed old wounds I thought mostly healed. Each time I entertained a thought that didn’t serve me, I put it back down. And then I picked up another, noted the insanity, and I put it back down. And picked up another. But at least always put them back down.
My eating disorder kicks my ass. Those roots are thick and sturdy. Today’s chaos also has deep roots, but manageability exists. It didn’t used to. Which reminds me how far I’ve come and that good things lay ahead.
Yesterday I felt like my eating disorder would keep me tangled in its web forever. It was pretty fucking bleak. For the first time in months, some cotton is starting to give way to light.
I know where my feet are and I’m here for the ride.
Good morning eating disorder.
You can come along with me today. But you cannot drive. You cannot dj the radio. You cannot give directions.
Stay with me. Be with me. You are not alone.
Make no mistake about it tho, I am in charge.
All my love always,
Jill.
