eating disorders are one of the ways that our brains have to actually keep a person alive.

BJ made this comment on my blog about eating disorders... and I wanted to share this with everyone.

"My experience with eating disorders is primarily with Jen. This battle is complicated to the extreme and would take hours to explain and takes years to recover from. From what I have gleaned, eating disorders are one of the ways that our brains have to actually keep a person alive. An odd twist. A survival technique. One where the body demands the diversion of the brain to allow for pain to be relieved. It's not the source of the pain but a way to mask and hide the underlying torment.

Those battling with eating disorders are battling for their lives. Many don't make it. They die. Those that survive are Heroes in my eyes: Capable of dealing with life's most horrific pains. AMAZING people."

He explained it so perfectly - I wish everyone could understand it like he does. I wish everyone had a friend and a support like I have in him. 

Eating Disorders: Numbers, behavior, and body size aren't the point.

I have never done a post about eating disorder with numbers, but today, I want to. This could backfire. I could be super triggering and make a mess of things. To anyone with an eating disorder, you know that ALL numbers can screw with your head, so maybe stop reading here.

At the same time, to anyone with an eating disorder, I want you to know that just because you don't think you are sick enough, you still are. (And a good sign that you need help, is if you think you are not sick enough to get help. Think about that for a second: If you have to make yourself more sick in order to get help, there's probably definitely a big problem in your head. Or if you are competing with someone to be the closest to death (aka the skinniest), that's a good sign things aren't right. Anyway...)


Every time the news runs a story on eating disorders, they talk about the extremes. They love to tell how little a person eats in a day, and it's usually such small amounts that no one can fathom how that girl (because it's almost always a girl) can still walk around. They love to tell how many hours are spent exercising, and it's usually as much as an Olympic athlete, sometimes more. They like to talk about all of the other extreme behaviors a person can do, and there's a lot. (I'm not listing them here, but if you've ever seen a news piece, you know there's a whole lot more.) They LOVE to show scales and low weights and skeletal bodies.


Those stories are real, but they aren't the only stories out there. In fact, they are probably more rare... That's definitely not what all eating disorders look like. I have been inpatient twice. The first time, I firmly believed I didn't have an eating disorder and I didn't deserve to get treatment for one. Just because it didn't look like the stories on the news... or the women that came to speak at my high school... or the made for TV movies. I wasn't sick enough to deserve help.

The second time was different. I didn't wait until it got so bad that I didn't have any other options. I was sick, and scared, and confused... and somehow still somewhat grounded.

I don't want to dismiss how bad off I was. (That was BJ's fear as I was writing this.) I don't want to glorify or glamorize an eating disorder. (That's a fear in writing this.) I don't want to give people ideas, or give anyone a reason to justify or excuse behavior. (That's my biggest fear in writing this.) I don't want to trigger anyone, or make anyone else's battle with food and weight and eating disorder and shit worse. I just want people to know what the eating disorder looked like for me.



Here goes.

The week before I went inpatient (in 2008), I averaged about 1400 calories/day. There were days I ate less, and days I ate more, but that was my average.

The week before I went inpatient, I was walking about 6 miles/day. Walking. Not running. I also played DDR most days. I don't think I lifted weights the week before I went in, but that was a regular part of my routine up until I knew I was for sure going.

I didn't lose my period. I didn't lose my hair nor did I ever have detectable problems with my heart or other internal organs.

(Although while inpatient my blood pressure started doing funky things and I was dizzy ALL the time. I'm still not sure if the dizziness was because of the eating disorder, or if it was a problem that was already there, or if  it was anxiety related. My guess is it was a combination of all three.)

I kept working both of my jobs, and I was still a good employee. I fulfilled all of my responsibilities. My employers didn't know there was a problem until I told them I needed to take time off to go inpatient.

I was considered underweight. (Fifteen pounds. That's how much I gained while I was inpatient.) I didn't think I was fat. I knew I was thin. I didn't own a scale, and I didn't care to. I wasn't against gaining weight, but... more on that later.

There are diet sites out there that tell people to do exactly what I was doing. These aren't "pro-ana" sites. These are sites that are supposed to be all about healthy living. (Weight watchers, the government website (mypyramidtracker.gov and choosemyplate.gov), and others) Most people saw nothing wrong with my behavior. They were still congratulating me on my "will power" and my healthy habits.

None of the above is me trying to say I wasn't sick. I was! That's the point.
If I had kept doing what I was doing, I don't know what would have happened to my body. How long until there were health problems? Or until I couldn't go to work? Weeks? Months? Years? How long could I keep up that behavior without it getting worse? The worst part wasn't what I was doing, it was the fight going on in my mind that was going to kill me. I was in mental and emotional hell.

Food was a constant battle. I felt guilty for every bite I ate. I felt like I was bad. I felt like a good person would eat less. I felt disgusted with myself for eating as much as I did. If I was a good person, I wouldn't need food. I hated myself for spending money on food. I kept track of every penny I spent on myself, and felt guilty for it. I thought I was selfish and needy and out of control, because I spent money on food AND I ate it. I kept track of every bite I ate, and added up every calorie over and over and over again in my mind. It didn't matter how I added it up, it was always too much AND too little. If I was good, I would eat nothing, and if I was good, I wouldn't make people worry about me by not eating. The thinking and the behaviors were just symptoms of a much bigger problem.

I felt panicked if I couldn't exercise. I told myself I was lazy if I sat down, or slept, or stopped walking. I told myself I was lazy for not running... I was angry at myself for only walking and not running. I was constantly worried that I should be exercising more. I hated myself for not going farther or doing more.  That doesn't mean I was always exercising - I just felt like I should be even when I wasn't. My mind never rested. Every time I felt sad or scared or depressed or angry or anxious or happy, I wanted to walk. (In case you missed that, that means, I felt like I should be walking, wanted to be walking, had to be moving 24 hours a day/seven days a week.) Walking was the only way I knew how to feel okay. I'd walk at night. I'd walk in the cold. I felt safer on the streets alone at 2 am than I felt at home... as long as I was moving.

I hated my body. I wasn't trying to lose weight, but I wanted to punish myself and my body.  I thought that the less I ate and the more I exercised, the stronger I was. I wanted to prove to myself and to everyone else that my spirit was stronger than my body. In my mind, the more I punished myself, the better person I was.

I felt suicidal, depressed, miserable, anxious, MISERABLE, sad, self-destructive, and I wasn't getting any better. I couldn't stop what I was doing, because when I stopped walking, I felt the full rush of emotions, flashbacks, and memories, and I didn't know how to handle those. (And I didn't even know what they were. All I knew was that I felt awful whenever I wasn't moving.)

I knew that I should eat more. Exercise less. I didn't care.
I knew what I was doing was harming my body, or it would be soon. I didn't care.
I wanted to die, but didn't feel like I deserved the relief of death.
I wanted to live, but didn't want the life I had led up to that point.
I felt helpless and stuck and alone.

I felt guilty that therapy cost so much. I wondered if it was a waste on me. I thought maybe I was just crazy, and I needed to accept that. I KNEW I was bad, and I didn't deserve to be happy. I felt guilty for using up my therapist's time.

I said brilliant things like, "I just need someone to help teach me how to 'take it' (meaning abuse)," and, "If I were stronger, than I wouldn't need therapy for this. Other people can eat this same amount and they are just fine," and, "What is wrong with me?" (Meaning: I should be able to handle never eating, exercising all the time, never spending money, allowing people to use and abuse me, and be happy.)

I desperately needed help...

I was lucky. There were people around me that were fighting for me to have a better life. There were people who wouldn't let me fall into the oblivion I knew I deserved... And... I am aware that my small body made people pay attention in a way that they wouldn't have if I had been bigger. That made me feel shitty... as if something I can't control (like the genes I was born with) made me more deserving of help than someone else. NO!

There was something inside me that wouldn't let me give up. I knew there was something more and better just out of my reach, and I wanted it. I felt guilty for wanting it, but I WANTED it.

I understood that I could not do the work I needed to do on my own, or even with an outpatient therapist. I asked to go inpatient. My therapist worked with me. The church paid for my time there. My family was supportive. It was the best thing for me. I know I am so lucky that I even had the opportunity to go. Most people don't have that. Most people have to deal with the trauma of abuse and an eating disorder and depression and all of that shit all alone. Still...I don't know how I could have stopped or changed my behaviors AND dealt with the anxiety and trauma without the help of inpatient, therapy, friends, etc.

The staff at CFC pushed me to eat more. They pushed me to gain weight. They watched me closely and helped me to hold myself accountable, so I never exercised. I learned how to deal with emotions without exercise. They challenged me to spend money on myself. They challenged me to rest. (The dizziness I talked about earlier made it so I was a "fall risk". They stuck me in a wheelchair. Even when I was no longer a "fall risk", my therapist wouldn't take me out of the wheelchair until I was comfortable there. He thought it was good for me to just. SIT. All. The fucking. Time.) They challenged me to change my beliefs about food, but even more importantly than the beliefs I had about food... They challenged me to change the beliefs I had about myself, my relationships, and the world around me. They wouldn't let me punish myself, and in time I began accepting myself.

I was hit with memories, flashbacks, depression, anxiety, and all of the other shit that I had been trying to avoid by my constant motion and obsessing about food and exercise. There were people there that supported me: sat with me while I cried, helped me sort through all of the thoughts in my head, gave me a safe place to feel anger, stayed up all night with me when sleep wouldn't come, made me laugh, gave me a place to talk about myself and the struggles. They didn't care how sick I had been or hadn't been. They saw that I was hurting and needed help. It didn't fucking matter if I was skinny or fat or somewhere in between. All that mattered was that I was hurting and I needed help.

They took care of almost everything else, so that I could focus my energy on healing all of the shit inside. That healing and that work didn't end when I left CFC. Really... it was just beginning, but they gave me a great start. They saved my life, and then gave me tools to create a better life.

Recovery doesn't look like I thought it would either. I eat a lot more than what the government recommends. WAY more protein than the little pyramid shows. Exercise is just doing the things I love: riding, fishing, hiking, and occasionally a walk. (I would like to add some weight lifting in there, but I haven't done it yet.)

Nobody congratulates me on my will-power anymore. Strangers don't give me accolades for my healthy habits. In fact, I have had people tell me I should eat healthier, eat less fat, exercise more. AND, I have energy and a will to live. The mental battle is (mostly) over. I don't battle with food at all. I still have to battle the beliefs about myself and what I deserve, and I'm fighting every single day to change those.

My "before" picture (2008). Me at my sickest. I felt so much shame. I wore big jackets. I hid. I kept myself covered. I didn't allow people to take pictures of me, and the only pictures that exist are ones like this one: taken when I wasn't looking. I smiled, but I didn't FEEL a smile. The smile was nothing but a mask.

My "after". There is a small difference in my weight, but... that's not really the point. I look at this picture, and I see ME.
I'm NOT ashamed of my body. I like getting my picture taken. My smile is real and comes from deep inside. I love life (most of the time, and I have no problem saying I hate it when I hate it.) I am real and honest and ME.
I also recognize I'm still small. It makes me angry that we live in a world that values and/or hates small women. WTF? Being small doesn't mean I did recovery right... or better... or worse...

Eating disorders ARE physical. They do manifest themselves with food and the body, but they are far more mental and emotional. I wish the news (and professionals, and recovered people, and anyone willing to talk about it) could help people see and understand that part... but I guess showing a skeletal body does the trick. People immediately understand that THAT person is hurting. It's one of the reasons eating disorders exist.

Just showing up the guys.

Generally speaking, I don't think of myself as a very competitive person. I am ambitious. I am tenacious. But I don't need to "win".

Unless I am the only girl going fishing with the guys, and then something changes.
It never fails. I have almost always been the only girl on the fishing trip. Surrounded by guys, I feel like I have to prove myself. I have to show that I deserve to be on the reservoir... Which somehow translates to, "I have to be the BEST!"

I'm not the best. I'm pretty good... for a beginner.
Today, there were four of us. Once again, I was the only girl... And once again I felt the intense desire to "show up the guys".

I laughed at myself. (What else do you do when you know you are thinking silly, but it feels so intense? I laugh.) Once I got all geared up and started fishing, I (mostly) forgot my desire. It helped that two of them were across the reservoir, so they wouldn't have known if I was catching tons of fish or not.

It was an okay (catching) day for me. I had several fish nibble on my fly. A few takes that got off, and I landed two in the hour we were out there. (We like to go fishing for a couple hours before work.) The other two guys were planning on making a day of it, so we were surprised to see them go in and load their boats up. We started towards the boat ramp to see what was up... but I wasn't done fishing yet, so although I was paddling fast and not really paying attention to my fly, I left it in the water... "Just in case a fish wants it."

We got about twenty feet from the shore, when a big old rainbow trout came up out of the water with my fly in his mouth. Flipped around, and then dove down to the bottom. I had to play him for a while. (I don't know how long. I know my arm got tired.)

On the shore, the two guys were laughing and hooting and I heard, "Way to show us all up Jen! That's awesome!"

Unfortunately, you can't tell that he is huge...

BJ caught a few. Woody caught nothing. Dave caught nothing. Jen caught a few AND the biggest fish of the day AND I did it right in front of them all.

So we went riding.

I am in a relationship with someone who is a lot like me. We both love horses and fishing and the outdoors. We enjoy reading and talking about things. We like a lot of the same TV shows and movies. We both love Mexican food. And Rubio's tacos.

Our similarities make it really nice. I barely ever have to ask for what I want, because he just does what he wants and most of the time it's what I want too.

Our similarities also make it so I get out of practice. Or I don't think about what I want and just go with the flow. Until suddenly I'm feeling all out of whack and I can't figure out why.

I love fishing. Fishing is fun.
I LOVE horseback riding. It feels like it is a key part of ME. I am home on the back of a horse.
We haven't been riding for almost six weeks, because it's been muddy and the fishing has been good. Six weeks without getting out with the horses in the mountains is like an eternity. (I've been in the pasture with Sunny, and I take him out in the foothills by my house, but we haven't GONE anywhere.)

This morning as I was leaving for work, I looked out at the horses, and I wanted to cry. At first I thought it was because up until last week, I worked from home. All day long, I'd work and watch the horses grazing. My new view isn't bad - a field and mountains, but Sunny isn't in the field.

BJ asked me if I was okay. I said yes. No. I don't know.

I want to go riding. I want you to go, not because you want to go, but just because I want to go. I want to go in the mountains - even if it's cold or muddy or not ideal conditions. I just want to go riding!

So we went riding.

It seemed so much scarier... and more complicated... in my head.

I just wanna see you be brave!

I just love this!

SLUT walk 2013

"I love the cause. I hate the name."
That's what BJ said when I told him I was going to Slutwalk, SLC this year.

I was scared.

Do I even have a right to call myself a survivor?
Nobody blamed the way I dressed for the way Larry treated me... It was just his right as my husband.
That old belief. That old fucked up idea. That stupid thing repeated to me by well-meaning (and ignorant) people just keeps hanging around. Even though I know it's stupid, fucked up, irrational, and NOT TRUE, it comes back to haunt me regularly.

Being there, with other survivors and supporters and advocates, was an incredibly emotional experience. It also showed me that although I am better off than I ever dreamed possible, I am not yet where I want to be.

Seeing her. I wanted to cry. Pretty damn good way of displaying the voicelessness I have felt.

The sign behind me: awesome.

Sign making.

I couldn't bring myself to make a sign. I know what I wanted it to say, but I felt too scared to write that and then carry it around. I borrowed someone else's sign.

This is a very powerful project. Victims of abuse: sexual, physical, and emotional as well as secondary survivors (those who know someone who is a survivor of abuse) made T-shirts. Seemed like it could be a very healing thing.

This was my favorite shirt. I HEALED! I will be silent no more!

The Clothesline Project

I wondered if these little girls understood what they were protesting. To some extent, they did. "My body is mine. No one has a right to touch it without MY permission. And if they do, it isn't my fault!"

There were a lot of men and secondary survivors there. I felt grateful for the secondary survivors in my life: The ones that wouldn't give up on me and KNEW I could heal from the abuse.

Some of the signs. It seemed like a very healing thing for a lot of people. Maybe next year I'll be ready to hold up a sign.

This sign broke my heart. PLEASE, let's change things, so no more children have to deal with this.

In memory of those who didn't survive.

There were a LOT of people walking.

I'm still not a "proud survivor", but I would like to be some day.

There were several business where the people came out and clapped and cheered as we walked by. I didn't expect that... I still feel a lot of shame. It was good to see that not everyone believes it was my fault, or that I should keep silent. Some people cheer for the survivors who won't be silent anymore.

I couldn't bring myself to make a sign, so I just signed the poster. I got an eyebrow raise from BJ, "'What you did was not okay!'? NO!!! What he did was fucking SICK, but if that's all your ready to put out there, then that is enough."

"It'd sure be nice if I caught a fish right now"

I have not been fishing all winter. I have gone with BJ while he fished... I guess I pulled out my rod a few times, but it was so cold, I was done after just twenty minutes... it has just been too cold for me to even want to go fishing.

I've enjoyed hiking, snowshoeing, and taking pictures. (I've LOVED taking pictures!)
Yesterday, it was finally warm enough that I WANTED to go fishing. So we did.
We fished the river, and when we ran out of flies for the river, we moved up to the reservoir. I caught a couple on the river. I spent a long time watching a rainbow feeding on the bugs on the bottom of the river. He didn't want any fly I offered him, but I was fascinated just watching him.
I caught a few on the reservoir, and just as we were leaving, BJ pulled out the camera.

I kind of laughed and said, "It'd sure be nice to catch a fish right now... since you've got the camera out... and the day is about over..." and BAM! There was a fish. Couldn't have been more perfect.

Sure be nice if I caught a fish right now...

Check that out!

That's a fish! On my line!!

Fish on! (I'm SO loving this!)

Nice little rainbow.

Posing for the picture.

Once I let that little guy go, BJ decided he needed to fish in one last hole. I pulled out my camera, and BAM! He had a beautiful (and big for that area) rainbow on the end of his rod.

BJ's turn.

Fish on!

And just like that...

NICE fish!

Check him out! (I love the "fish on" giggle and smile.)

It felt SO good to be outside, in the sunshine, fishing with a good friend.
SO glad that spring is finally here and summer is on its way!

Fly Fishing as Incidental Therapy

Every year, BJ and I go to a fly fishing expo. This year, I signed up for the "Women's Only" fly fishing class.I am trying to make friends with females, and I figured this class could be a place to start.

The class started with everyone getting their rods put together and rigged up. Several women had never done that themselves before - they always had their husbands do it for them.
One woman started shaking as she put her rod together. She kept apologizing for doing it wrong and taking so long, and then she half-tearfully said, "My husband just gets to impatient when we're going fishing, and I feel anxious just trying to put this together. I hate doing it wrong."

The instructor told her to slow down and relax. Then she asked how many of us had picked out and/or purchased our own rods. I was the only one. Everyone else used their husband's old rods. One woman said she couldn't afford to buy a rod for herself, so she just fished after her husband was done for the day. She enjoyed it, but she couldn't cut into his time. One woman was left handed, but fished right handed, because it wasn't worth getting her own reel or rerigging his reel for "just" her.

The instructor spent a good twenty minutes telling us that women deserve to fish just as much as men. We don't need to depend on men to tie our knots or rig up our rods. We deserve good equipment that is ours, and it's okay to spend money on ourselves.

At that, my heart jumped into my throat.
I bought my own rod. I bought my own gear. But it was HARD. I hated spending that much money on myself. When I go fishing with BJ, I always wait to find out where he wants to go, and then I pick where I want to go. I don't want to get in his way. His fishing experience is more important (in my mind) than mine.

It seems I am not the only woman who thinks that way.

Do men feel the same feelings of anxiety and undeservedness? I have been to many mixed gender classes and club meetings, and NEVER heard anything like that. Is that because men don't talk about it, or because they don't feel it?

The class was helpful, because it improved my casting, and I had a bit of therapy while I was there.
No more feeling undeserving. And next time we go fishing, I'm going to pick where I want to go before BJ (or anybody else that I go with).

AND... I also loved it when a guy started watching the class. I was chatting with one of the other ladies and not practicing like I could have been. The dude made the comment, "Yeah, that's how my wife fishes too. I'm not sure she ever even casts."
With that (rude) prompting, I picked up my line, cast it forty feet into the center of the target. Looked at him. And smirked.
He laughed. Did a half bow in my direction and left.

I can hit the target about fifty percent of the time... but I hit it when it mattered most.

Going Red

In 2008, my personal world was a bit... rocky.
My religious world was full of questions. Concerns. Things that didn't make sense, and things that I was trying to force myself to believe that was damn near killing me.
Then the church I belonged to get very involved in a political campaign. Letters were read over the pulpit. Ward members were asked to call everyone they knew in California. Money was asked for. (Some might say the church demanded money from its members.) There were signs all over the place, even in Utah. I had just joined Facebook. (Well... not just joined it, but just started using it as a way to keep in touch with people.) My newsfeed (or whatever they called it back then), was FULL of YES! on Prop 8 statuses, pictures, quotes, and pleas.

I hated ALL of it. It made me sad, angry, and confused.
It felt wrong to be fighting against the rights of the minority. It felt like the opposite of what we should be doing, but I also "knew" it was the right thing. The conflict in my head was huge.

I had not done any research before that. I had accepted all the things the church leaders had said without question. I figured they were smart, they spoke for God, and I didn't need to know... but that feeling in my gut... THIS IS WRONG! was so loud... I started researching. I started listening. I felt compassion, and I learned things that I'd been taught at church were inaccurate. False. Religious teachings that pretended to be based in science or knowledge but weren't. They were based in old ideas that have since been proven wrong.

Prop 8 passed. I didn't have time or energy to care much about it anymore.
Then it was overturned. I quietly felt glad.

As I've healed, I've had more time to invest in learning, research, and questioning. I've also become stronger and I am much more willing to be ME and talk about MY thoughts and opinions... instead of just going along with the majority. I love myself enough to be honest now. That didn't used to be the case.

Today, my Facebook is FULL of red. Seeing all of that, I feel excited: Excited for the changes in me. I have come a LONG way. Excited for the changes happening in the country around me. Excited and hopeful that as the laws change, hopefully, the understanding and compassion will come too. As it becomes against the law to discriminate, eventually, I hope, there will be less discrimination. Which means less suicide, less bullying, less fear, less shame, and more people able to just live and be happy.

"And... Have you figured out that we're a couple?"

Ok. So... I have started this entry several times... Trying to figure out how to tell this story.
Is it funny? Is it poignant? Is it a complete shift in my perspective? Did it make my brain hurt and make me sweat profusely and then laugh at myself that I am so slow to figure all this out? Is it silly and small?

The answer to all of those questions is simply, "yes."


Sometimes BJ gets a text from his daughter that freaks me out.
Apparently, she'd been trying to figure out how to ask this question, but couldn't find the words in person... So she asked in a text, "Why don't you call Jen your girlfriend? She basically is."

We were walking through a museum at the moment. He laughed out loud at the text, so I naturally asked him what was so funny. He showed me the text.

My throat got tight. My head started to spin. My chest felt like it was going to cave in on itself and I'm pretty sure all of the oxygen left the room. Or at least I lost the ability to USE the oxygen in the room.


I talked to BJ. I talked to my mom. I talked to my sister. I talked to several friends trying to explain what I was feeling... and listening to them tell me things like,
"Of course you're a couple, but if you wanna call it something else, that's fine."
"It's okay to be scared, but that doesn't change the way things are."
"Take your time, you both seem comfortable with the process you are in."
"I love you, and the label doesn't matter."
"You're an atypical couple, and you can define it however you want."

This afternoon, my sister, my mom, and I stopped to visit my brother on the way home from a baby shower. Jeff said something that prompted me to tell the story of BJ's daughter's text.

Do you know what Jeff's response was?

"We've been wondering for a while when you guys would figure out that you're a couple."

I laughed. I blushed. I sweated (is that the proper usage of that word?) profusely. I was glad I brought it up, and I also just wanted to go home and take a shower.

And somehow, in the simplicity of that statement, there was a shift in my brain.


When I told BJ what Jeff said... do you know what his response was? He chuckled, and said, "And?"

And, what?!?

"And... Have YOU figured out that we're a couple?"


Why is it that everyone else figured it out before I did? But. Yeah. I think I have.
(Jeff, apparently HE has known it for a while, he was just waiting for me to catch up. Apparently Robyn and I have way more in common than we ever knew. :)

So, my next question is, what do I call him?
Boyfriend sounds lame.
Lover is inaccurate.
Friend is still my favorite label, but it doesn't completely describe the relationship.
Roommate definitely doesn't describe the relationship.
Partner (or even Life Partner) feels accurate, but confuses other people. (I tried it at a party this weekend. I was told I was one of those "crazy feminists" who probably wouldn't take my husband's name if I got married. I told him that when I WAS married, I didn't take his name, and I'm such a crazy feminist that I don't even believe in marriage. The conversation with him ended about then. Maybe I shouldn't base anything on that dude's opinions or reactions.)

So, I am now taking suggestions.
What do I call the man I live with and love? The man I am planning my future life with? My closest friend, roommate, confidant, coworker, and fishing/riding/hiking buddy? How do I describe the relationship without going into the details of how we got here?

Blast from the past: Leaving the "perfect patient" behind

(I have a lot of drafts written, but never posted. I was going through my drafts today, and happened upon this post. Not sure why I didn't post it months ago when I wrote it. Here it is today.)

I don't write much about eating disorders anymore: They're not really a part of my present life.
I recently found a blog written by a therapist who treats eating disorders. She happened to be a pretty important part of my recovery.

Reading her blog took me back, so I decided to share this story:

The first time I ever said "No" to anyone, was about five minutes after a group session. The focus was on me. We were talking about all the things I do to make people like me. I was inpatient, so my list was specific to that setting:

1. Follow all the rules.
2. Smile.
3. Talk to other people about what they are struggling with, and never mentioning my struggles.

She told me to stop it. Stop doing those things.
It made my head hurt.

Stop doing those things? Like... just stop smiling? For how long? Stop following rules? I'm locked up here! If I don't follow rules... won't they kick me out? The staff will hate me if I don't do what they say. The other girls will hate me if I talk about my struggles. People don't want to hear about me... What if I agree with the rules? Do I still have to stop following them? Aren't rules there to protect me? How can I trust ME to know what rules to break? What if I FEEL like smiling? Do I still have to stop? I don't even know when I smile because I feel it... or if I just always smile because I know other people like my smile. I don't like talking about me... I like hearing about others. I WANT to be a good friend to them. Not talking to them about their struggles - that would feel really lonely. And rules. What rules can I break? What if I'm following rules because I don't like the consequences imposed upon me? I don't want to waste the church's money or my time by not taking full advantage of every second of treatment. But, if breaking the rules is her assignment, then I have to break rules to take full advantage of every second of treatment. What does she mean?? What the hell am I supposed to do with all of this conflict in my head?

Group ended before I had a chance to vocalize the spiral of confusion. After group, we ate. There was a rule that we weren't allowed to have our watches on during meals and snacks. (I don't know why, so don't ask. It didn't make sense to me then, and it definitely doesn't make sense to me now that I have this much distance from it all.) I forgot and still had it on. One of the staff put her hand out and told me to give her my watch. I sat there for a moment. My face got flushed. My head was spinning. My heart was racing... and then I realized I didn't HAVE to break the rule OR follow the rule.

This was a rule I didn't understand, and I didn't agree with. (I didn't disagree with it - I just didn't agree.) Also, I didn't think anyone could get hurt by breaking THIS rule. If I had to break a rule, it might as well be a small one. I looked at her and said, "No. I don't think so."

I was sweating. According to my peers, I also made myself very small, but I didn't hand her the watch. There were two people at the table who had also been in the group. They smiled and egged me on. Poor staff didn't know what to do... In a group of perfectionists, I doubt she gets told "No" outright very often. I didn't know what to do next... She didn't know what to do... We both just sat there for a minute. Someone tried to explain to her that I was supposed to break rules. I think I eventually handed the watch to her.

In that moment, there was the tiniest spark of something new. I had choices. The best way to take advantage of treatment wasn't to just follow all the rules - it was to find out what I wanted and what was best for ME. The best way to live life might just be the same.

I stopped trying to be perfect. There was a shift in me. I stopped accepting what I was told and started thinking about it. Weighing things out in my own mind. It was the beginning of a whole new Jen.

Five years later, look what that first little spark started... LOOK who I have become since then.

I don't know why THIS picture. It was just a recent picture of me. And I figured I couldn't end a post with "Look who I have become since then," and then NOT post a picture... anyway. Hi!

Let's hear it for Materialism

I used to be so afraid of spending money. Even buying groceries caused me SO MUCH STRESS. This morning a friend asked me what things I have bought that bring me joy. What a strange question... except that I have a lot of things that I have bought or that others have bought for me that bring me GREAT joy. I answered the question for him, and decided I want to share more of that list here...

 
piano, 
violin (though officially my parents paid for that), 
fish tacos from Rubio's, 
a new quilt for the bed with matching pillows,
fishing gear (a fly rod, waders, boots, jacket, and flippers),
a saddle that fits my bum and Sunny's back and (for that matter) Sunny, the horse, his hay, his shoes, etc., 
a warm coat, hats, boots - all of the layers that make going out in the cold... less cold feeling,
snowshoes (they make winter a lot more fun),
symphony tickets, play tickets, movie tickets,
a camera (I have two. One that Dann bought me a few years ago, and one that BJ bought me for Christmas. I love them both. The one Dann bought is small and can go with me anywhere. The one BJ bought is really nice and I have taken some awesome pictures with it already.)
an iPhone, 
frames for the pictures on my wall, 
camping gear, 
plane tickets to Germany, LA, Vegas, and those are just the plane trips over the last two years,
gas for the car and hotel stays in Montana, Yellowstone, Arizona, Zion,
and cruise tickets to Alaska (although I haven't even gone on the trip to Alaska yet. Just thinking about going brings me joy.)

I feel lucky to have money, so I can buy things that enhance my experience in this life.
I recognize I am incredibly wealthy, and I like it!

I totally want to be an aunt...

My brother and his wife have been going through a long and painful process.
From the work they did to get ready to be parents.
To trying to have kids and discovering it will never happen naturally.
To getting ready to adopt children.
To being approved by the adoption agency.

To... being parents one day. (This part hasn't happened yet.)

I am very excited for them to be parents. They'll make great ones. Jeff wasn't willing to have children until he had done a lot of work on  himself. I think that's awesome. AND. I totally want to be an aunt. Their kid is going to be raised right by his/her parents, and it will be spoiled rotten by it's aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

I've already got clothes picked out for the little one:





So... their kid needs to come soon... cause I'm super excited...

There's not much I can do to help them, but I can spread some (tiny) bit of awareness by posting on Facebook and on my blog. Here is the links to their profile and their blog.

Jeff's blog
Their adoption profile
Their family blog

When you say it like that, it sounds like we belong on a sitcom

My family gets together for dinner every Sunday. We don't all make it every Sunday, but everyone is always welcome.


This week, my brother turned to me, and said, "I get a kick out of talking about you to the people at work. I told them yesterday that I was excited for family dinner, because my sister and the man she lives with are coming. And her exhusband and his new girlfriend."

(D's girlfriend hasn't come to dinner yet. She's feeling a little nervous about being grilled by D's brothers... and to be honest, with the way he has grilled THEIR girlfriends, she should be a tiny bit nervous. I look forward to when she does come.)

It felt a little strange to hear it all spelled out like that... and it feels kind of wonderful. I couldn't imagine anything more perfect.

I love this. I'm surrounded by love and friendship and family (some chosen, some related). It couldn't have worked out better if I had planned it, and I definitely did NOT plan this.
How could I have planned this?

He likes me even more than fishing!

He says he likes me even more than eating a good ham sandwich (made with lots of Miracle Whip and Grandma Sycamore bread).
He says he likes me even more than fishing. (And he likes fishing a lot!)

At first he said he likes me just as much as he likes horses. Some people might be offended by that, but I'm not. He likes horses a lot. Horses are pretty amazing.

Then he came back later and said he was just kidding.
He likes me even more than horses.

We've told each other we love each other for years. I have loved him for a long time, but this just enjoying each others' company... enjoying loving him... enjoying this feeling right now... enjoying being silly and giddy...

It's just awesome.

And just so you all know:
I like him even more than I like horses, and I like horses a lot.

Your Favorite Posts of 2012

My brother did a post (on his blog) with a list of his most popular blogs for 2012. It made me jealous. I wanted a list of my most popular blogs from 2012.


So, to satisfy my jealousy, AND for your reading pleasure:

1. A jumble of quotes and wisdoms for the day
Pretty sure this was just because of the images, but maybe because of the quotes too. Who knows? 

2. Heavenly Codependency
Not my favorite post, but it was very raw. I guess that's good...

3. Thoughts on Creativity... and marriage
Pretty sure people ended up here, because they wanted to know if Liz and Felipe were still married. I didn't answer that question, but I did talk about how it's our expectations of marriage that make it hard. Marriage itself isn't hard work, but when we expect marriage to meet all of our needs, it gets hard. I quoted Jeff when he wrote something similar just a few weeks ago.

4. Trying to convince a horse to drag a tree... not as easy as it looks
I don't talk about horses enough. Or maybe people just like to read about when a horse steps on me.

5. Saddled: Defining Recovery
Recovery is about becoming whole. Whole people experience emotions (weird, I know).

6. These two tied:
Love, the church PR dept. (an angry rant)
Angry rants get a lot of attention...

How I came to support marriage equality... again.

7. Living IS the point
This is one of MY favorite posts... It even won an award once... so it surprised me that it was this far down on the list.

8. Relatives say the darndest things
It surprised me that this got as many views as it did... It is kinda funny... but... anyway... It's amazing how much more fun life is when I'm not afraid to just be me.

9. These two tied too:
I miss knowing I could heal the world
Mourning the loss of control I once felt (with fasting) and I also realized how much fasting for religious reasons played into my eating disorder.
Friendship after Divorce
This is a good one. I want more people to read it.

10. What would it look like if you weren't hiding?
I'm glad people saw this one. It was a big turning point in my life. I'm a lot happier and a lot less stressed. (And we're still holding hands whenever we want to. It's awesome!)

And my least viewed post?
My Magnificently Boring Life. It was adequately named, I guess, because who wants to read about my boring life? Except that my boring life was TOTALLY the goal, and it's MAGNIFICENT. 

No More Strangers: Check me out!

There's a guest post on No More Strangers by me!

It's a little nerve wracking. Even though I have a public blog where I write about all sorts of things, it still feels scary to put my story out there more.

But there it is.

Go check it out. Add your comments. (I ALWAYS love comments, but it seems I love them even more and might even need them on a post like that one. I feel really vulnerable, and hearing what people actually think, instead of what I think they think, is really helpful.)

I am wearing purple today.

It's National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Combine that with the awareness that it has been five years and a few days since I walked back into CFC, I'm feeling very nostalgic.

Nostalgic makes me not think so clearly... just broken/half thoughts, pictures, and emotions running through my brain.

Through my stay at CFC, I met some of the most AMAZING, brilliant, compassionate, clever, funny, beautiful, fierce, strong, AMAZING women on this planet. Collectively they have been through more shit than any one can imagine. And while they were going through their own shit, they worked hard to help me. Those women saved my life... and then were with me while I created an even better life.

It is wonderful and shocking to me that I don't know a single person who has died from an eating disorder. (At least that I'm aware of.) I know of people... friends of friends that I never had any contact with... but everyone from both of my stays are still alive and kicking and fighting to make this world a better place.

In honor of all of them. Their fight. Their struggle. Their false beliefs. The things that make them all so much alike, and the things that make them all so very unique.

To my beautiful sisters, I love you. I'm proud of you. I feel so lucky to know you, and to have you in my life.

A fork in the road: Do I try to change the world? Or just go fishing?

A few weeks ago, I wrote about a desire to start some kind of center for PTSD. BJ had a big vision: Something like the Huntsman Cancer Institute... Since I'm not a billionaire, that idea isn't a workable possibility. BUT. The vision sparked something in my dad.

Every time I have seen him or talked to him since then, he has brought up new ideas that ARE possible. Put together a training for doctors. Work with the local PTSD therapists and the local hospitals to educate medical professionals. Make a website with a list of all of the professionals who have been through the training. Put together a list of resources. (Therapists, doctors, dentists, groups, treatment centers, books, blogs, stories, etc.)

(Pause to recognize how much I LOVE that my dad is bringing this back up. I would have let it completely drop, but he's inspired me to keep thinking.)

I admit, I feel torn.
On the one hand, I feel super excited and passionate about this idea. I could start contacting people, help to create a training. Be the organizer. I used to do that for work, but that job wasn't nearly as personal as this would be.

On the other hand, at this point in my life PTSD and abuse are not part of my everyday existence. There was a time when my everything revolved around trauma and the effects of trauma. That isn't the case anymore, and I am glad. I don't want it to be. I want to walk away and never think about it again.

I work at a job that has NO connection to mental health, eating disorders, trauma or abuse. I love what I do. I think it's fun, and I'm excited for what the future holds.

I live with a wonderful friend and we have a great time together. We laugh and talk and play, and I'm excited for our future together.

I have a lot of hobbies and passions that make me feel happy and alive, and I am trying new things all the time.


If I start investing time and energy into this idea, will it trigger my own trauma? Will I be thrown back into my past, and the memories? I don't want my life to always have trauma and icky stuff in it. Will I be able to enjoy my life AND follow this idea? Will I be able to keep myself in a good place and help others?
I don't know. And if it will cause me to have nightmares or sleepless nights, would it still be worth it?

I think so.
And I just don't know.

(And when it all comes down to it, it's going to take a lot of work, and who knows what will even come of it? At this point, I'm just trying to decide if I want to pursue pursuing the idea.)

It isn't hard if it's done right

A week or so ago, I got brave on Facebook and did a status about BJ.

"I never thought it was possible to enjoy being with another person this much. I always thought love was work. This love doesn't feel like work at all."

People who don't know me very well, and don't know Todd at all, and have no idea what I am really talking about said things like, "That's because it is new." or "I give it a month."

Our love and friendship aren't new. Me admitting I love him, and I like being with him, and letting myself be comfortable with the idea that he also loves me - those things are new. Other people defining us as a couple and not trying to convince them otherwise, that is VERY new.

But I've loved him for many years.
My relationship/friendship/whateverthehellyouwanttocallit with BJ doesn't feel like work.
Jeff wrote a blog post about his relationship with his wife, and why he believes marriage isn't work.

He said some things that I have felt, but haven't been able to find the words.

It isn't hard to spend time with BJ. It isn't hard to go fishing. It isn't hard to stay up late working. It isn't hard to listen to him share his thoughts. It isn't hard to hold him when he's crying. It isn't hard to let him hold me when I am sad. It isn't hard to share myself with him. It isn't hard to tell him when I disagree with him. It isn't hard when he disagrees with me.

A few days ago there was an article in the Salt Lake Tribune about what happens when one spouse loses faith (or gains it). There was a quote that really resonated with me.

 "More than likely you divorce because one or both of you couldn’t tell the difference between control and love."

I have been in relationships and friendships that felt like work... and do you know WHY they felt like work? I was trying to control them. I was trying to change them.

I thought it was my job to reform them. Get them to wear a white shirt and tie to church. To go to church. To treat me nice. To get a job. To exercise. To eat different. To go to therapy. To date the "right" person. To stop dating that person. To change their haircut. To stop telling certain jokes.

I had a list of things that I thought other people should do... and when I was trying to change the other person, our relationship FELT like work. It was hard. It was not fun.

In the past few years, I've learned more about me. I've learned about healthy relationships. I know the difference between love and control.

I can say I love BJ, because I have no desire to control or change him. I love who he is. I love the way he treats me. I love spending time with him. I love working, fishing, playing, laughing, crying, talking. I appreciate who he is. I also feel loved by him. He doesn't try to change me. He loves the way I treat him. He loves spending time with me. He appreciates me.

I am in the process of discovering lots of amazing things...
And I just think that when love is done right, it isn't hard, and it doesn't feel like work.
Like Jeff said,

"If you met a painter who truly loves to paint, and you see a magnificent painting they have created.  Do you think they will talk about how hard it was to paint?

Will a car enthusiast talk about how hard it was to restore that classic vehicle?

Will someone who loves photography talk about how hard it was to take that amazing picture?

I don't think so.  If you truly love something, you give it your all.  And you never think it was that hard, because you would have spent the time anyway."

Her urethra inspires me

(Subtitle: I don't want to make light of a shitty thing, but my hope is that at least one person will find it funny... and if you don't, let me know, and I will change it immediately.)

WARNING: I'm about to get graphic about sexual abuse. Stop reading here if you don't feel up to reading about it.

In the past few weeks, I have watched one of my favorite people face shit and fears and SHIT and she's pretty much my hero. Some things, like her situation, have to be faced because it's life or death. Some of my fears don't HAVE to be faced, but watching her courage made me want to be brave.

I know that most people don't understand my fears. They seem silly (even to me). And to compare them AT ALL to what S is facing... but if she can do what she is doing, then of course, I can get over my little fears.

I used to have a half-tooth in my head. It broke off more than a year ago. I figured with it broken that bad, there was no way they could save it, so there was no rush... Except what I REALLY thought was:

HELL NO! I WON'T GO!

The last time I went to the dentist was in 2006. I didn't have them do an exam. It was for a molar on the other side of my mouth. It had broken in half, and I just had them pull it. And before that, I'm not sure when the last time was.

I hate the dentist. I am aware that very few people like going there. It's painful. It sucks to have someone shoving things in your mouth. It's miserable. I get that I am not alone in my general hatred for dentists.

My fear and hatred is similar... and different.
I don't mind the pain. To be clear, I don't LIKE pain, but I can handle pain. I don't like people shoving things in my mouth, but I can handle that discomfort... sort of.

I can't handle them laying the chair back, getting in my space, and trying to keep myself in the present moment while feeling pain and having someone shove things in my mouth.

WARNING: The next paragraph is graphic. Stop reading here if you don't feel up to reading about it.

Laying on my back will probably always be problematic for me. Beyond being just a vulnerable position in general, it is the position I took over and over and over. Sometimes that position resulted in the painful shoving of his genitalia into my own. Sometimes it was the painful and disgusting shoving of his genitalia into other places. While sitting on my chest. And holding my head.


As the dentist puts back the chair, I fight EVERY time to remind myself I am at the dentist and not somewhere else. I fight to remind myself I am safe. No one is going to hurt me, except in the way that will help my teeth... but it is SO familiar and so close to that feeling... that horrible voiceless, powerful, painful, disgusting feeling.


I watched my friend go to the doctor, and I watched her face a long list of things that would trigger her. I came to the conclusion I had been a coward long enough. So I set up the appointment.


It turns out dentists are used to people having anxieties. My dentist had a questionnaire that asked about anxieties... and how he could help... and he and all of his assistants actually read my answers.

They asked what they could do to lessen my anxiety.
I told them to leave me sitting up as much and for as long as possible. Which they did.

Partway through the checkup and cleaning, I could feel myself slipping away.

(For those who have never dissociated, I'll try to explain what it feels like to me. It feels similar to passing out, except I don't actually pass out most of the time. Instead, my consciousness goes way back into the back of my head. Sometimes, I just stay there and I can observe what is happening to my body in the present, but I can't do anything to control my body. Sometimes, my consciousness goes so far away, I am unaware of my surroundings. Sometimes, I experience flashbacks. As far as my consciousness is concerned I am reliving past experiences. It FEELS like I am being raped, or molested, or I'm fighting for my life, and it FEELS almost impossible to tell the difference between the past and the present. I've learned a few tricks to bring myself back... almost none of which can be done in a dentist's chair.)

I started to shake. The hygienist immediately stopped and asked if there was anything she could do to make it better. I told her to just talk. Tell stories. She noticed my sweatshirt with horses on it and started telling me about training her horses. It was a topic I get pretty excited about. I focused on her stories, and that kept me present. (The fact that I could focus on stories will tell anyone who has ever dealt with flashbacks or dissociation how far I have come. Just listening to someone else talk would never have been enough a few years ago.)


They gave me the list of what work needed to be done. Wisdom teeth out (why?), a root canal, two crowns, and four fillings. Not bad considering how long it has been. Then it came time to set the appointment to come back. My chest got tight. I wanted to cry. The dentist was good and asked again, "How can we help you with your anxiety?" He told me the work they were going to do would require that they lay the chair all the way back, and probably have to keep me back for a while. We talked about "laughing gas". It's purpose is to relax people, but not only does it not relax me, it has made things worse in the past. He offered Valium, or something like it, which meant I had to have a driver. I was somewhat relieved, because that gave me an excuse to ask someone to come with me.


So, I got my Diazepam. I took it an hour before my appointment like they told me to. It didn't do anything until about two hours into the appointment... About the time they were all done, I suddenly just wanted to go to sleep.

As I was leaving, I saw my little "grounding guy". BJ's granddaughter gave it to me when she was only two or three. She told me to hold it when I was sad and it would make me smile. It is small enough that it went with me everywhere for a long time. I decided to take him with me to the dentist.

"Grounding guy"

BJ drove.
I was impressed with the staff. They tried hard to be accommodating and empathetic.
I still freaked out.

Causing myself pain sometimes keeps me grounded. Therapists and professionals don't usually like this technique...

I didn't know I'd twisted myself into a pretzel.

I pulled out grounding guy. BJ talked to me. The dentist and his assistants tried to make me laugh, which was helpful.

I survived.They will seat the crowns in a few days.
There really isn't a "happy ending" to this story... but I decided to write about this... and to actually post the pictures that BJ took... because although life is good, and I am happy, I'd be lying if I said I never had to deal with trauma-shit. I do. I have had nightmares and bad nights since the appointment. Flashbacks, where I relive the worst moments. It sucks.

I want to tell this story, because I think it's important to talk about the effects of abuse. I think it's important to help increase understanding. I feel a huge desire to educate people about what it's like to live with PTSD.

No one would have known how freaked out I felt. No one would have known how icky it felt to be in that dentist chair if I didn't tell this story... I wear a good mask on my face. I pretend pretty good when I want to... but I'd like to create a world where people like me don't have to wear a mask. They don't have to pretend that they are okay when they feel like the world is crashing in around them.

Maybe if I talk about one stupid little visit to the dentist, I can make a difference.