Finding myself in a situation that felt hopeless, and knowing I needed help with my out of control anxiety and physical symptoms, I called and made an appointment with my clinic. With the help of the loveliest of practitioners I started getting back on course and learning even more about myself (and what my body needs from me) in the process. (Side note: he retired as I neared the end of my treatment, which truly pains me. He was the most compassionate and gentle man and I’m so grateful to have met him, especially during a time when I felt so rotten, afraid-of-everything, and vulnerable).
After towing the line during my active recovery phase, I grew more lax during the holidays thinking I was well! This was malarky and I relapsed fiercely, this time without my doctor and nutritionist just a bus ride away. It was up to me to figure out how to solve it myself with the tools and knowledge that they gave me.
It’s taken a lot of doing, but I’ve seen some progress since then. It’s been a powerful experience to feel agency and control over my healing practices and to facilitate my body’s work of healing itself. While I couldn’t have done it without the knowledge, support and teaching I previously gained from my doctor and nutritionist, it’s been incredibly empowering to have to ‘go it alone’ these last few weeks and find that I am capable of trusting my intuition and successfully navigating this terrain of illness and healing.
But even as I’ve experienced empowerment with my healing practices, I’ve also had some concerns. As I went through the weeks where I could only stomach limited portion sizes, I could tell I was losing weight. Eventually the weight loss started to worry me. Without my trusty scale on hand to give me a measurable number, my imagination feared the worst. Realizing there was a scale in the house where I’m currently staying was a relief because I was able to deal with a hard number again. While the number was much lower than it should be, it wasn’t low enough to warrant panic. I clocked in at 22 lbs underweight from the low-end of my 10 lb target range, which put me at having lost 27+ lbs since leaving Seattle (hard to be sure since I wasn’t weighing myself then, but I usually hang around the middle of my range).
Although I’ve lost significant weight, by sticking to my diet and a regular eating routine, my stomach has healed enough to eat normal-sized portions again! I’m not afraid of my underweight body anymore because I have a solid number to work up from and am eating with more ease than before. With the help of a scale I’ll be able to visibly see some numerically measurable progress and know that I’m improving over time. It relieves my mind to be able to integrate quantitative information into my healing, because qualitative knowledge is just squidgy enough to fuel my anxiety (“I can tell I’m losing weight! OMG, how much have I lost!?” An overactive, fearful imagination can run quite far with a question like that).
But it wasn’t only the weight loss itself that worried me, it was also what others would think about it. Now that you’ve been properly introduced to my body, my habits (both maladaptive and healthy) and the journey of illness and healing I’ve been on of late, there’s one final thing that must be addressed, which brings us full circle back to the beginning. In the post that started this whole cascade of tell-all narratives about food and bodies, I spoke of my weariness about others providing commentary on how I eat. While it’s fair to say that those comments get old after a while, they aren’t insensitive and are easy to shrug off. Sometimes though, they’re accompanied by another narrative, one that leaves insecurities behind and voices lingering in my head. The rubber meets the road in the last post and I speak frankly about these voices and I ask you to join me in imagining a kinder, more compassionate future.