Another December

Hi. It’s been a year. 

Did you miss me? Probably not. 😂 

I was reading through the last post on this blog and remembering what a year ago felt like—how frustrating it was to watch my son’s biological parents give up on fighting for him. 

The story pretty much ended there. After last December’s court hearing, Cubby’s bio mom never saw him again. 

Because of some mistakes made by the attorney, our adoption story took a little bit longer than planned but we adopted our boy in October of this year. 

I now have THREE children—and still no husband. 

Christmas can be such a lonely time. I definitely seem to struggle more around this holiday season. 

We made some huge changes this year that brought our family closer together. But I still go to bed and feel alone at night and wonder if I will ever be good enough for another man. I try really hard not to base my self-worth on whether I am in a relationship but it is really hard. 

Six years ago, I wasn’t the only one out of my friends whose relationship status changed from married to single. Not necessarily close friends, but friends/acquaintances nonetheless. And I often compare my life to their’s and wonder why I am the only one that has never been in a relationship since then. Is it because I’m not pretty enough? Skinny enough? Is it because I am a Mormon? or maybe it is because I am not a strong enough Mormon. Is it because of my personality? Gosh, what is it? 

It bothers me from time to time. I don’t think about it throughout each day and it definitely does not consume my life but that doesn’t mean I don’t think and wish my life looked different. 

I am a single mother. And yes, I adopted a baby on my own. And that doesn’t make sense to a lot of people. But even though I know it was right to adopt my son, I really wish he had a dad. I really wish I wasn’t embarking on a career while raising three young children on my own. It is so scary. The last of my college adventure starts in January, where I get to work a job for 14 weeks without getting paid a single penny. At the same time, I am expected to pay all of my bills and support three children on my own. At the same time, I am expected to be on time to pick my children up from school and day care and take them to their various activities.

That all starts in less than three weeks. And I am panicking. I am so damn scared that I am going to fall short as a mother, as a breadwinner, and as a freaking human being. What if I fail? What if I can’t do all of the things, all at once? 

My anxiety is high. Some days, I just wish I could run away with my children and not do these hard adulting things. I just want to be a mom. I just don’t want to fall short. 

I can’t voice all of these things to my closest friends and family because they don’t understand. I constantly feel like my life as a foster mom and adoptive mom doesn’t make sense because I am placing more stress on myself. But every time I pray about it, I get this overwhelming feeling like I’m supposed to be a foster mom. 

I am sure I sound crazy. What’s new? 

I miss my older kids right now. I am sure that is why my emotions are heightened. I hate sharing holidays. I hate sharing any time with their dad. I know they need him but I still selfishly want them with me all of the time. 

I need friends who are closer and more available. I don’t have that right now. I do have amazing friends but not ones that are close and available. I try really hard to mask some of the darkness that I feel because I watch other single moms and feel like somehow, they are just doing it better. They have their people. 

There is this part of me that believes I have my people. There is this part of me that tries to ask for help and reach out. And then there is this other part of me that doesn’t want to ask for help because I usually feel let down when person upon person upon person isn’t available to help. Belle moved away and I don’t have a relationship like that with anybody else. I don’t think anybody would understand what a huge loss that was. And then she made new friends and it all just feels so different. 

Sometimes I look back to three or four years ago, when the actual relationship between myself and Peter was a lot harder. And I wish we could go back to that because at least I had more people who saw me. I wish I could go back to that because back then, my relationship with religion was less complicated. 

I love my life and my children. But it is so hard. These nights, the nights where the demons come out in my brain, are so hard for me because there is no one I can reach out to and talk to. I’m just alone. 

My fear is that I will always be alone. 

Shame Culture

What does therapy look like for you? 

Am I doing it right? Is there even a right way of doing it?

Do people tell their therapists everything---like absolutely everything? Is that the only way to truly heal or figure your stuff out?

There are certain things I could talk all day about. Not necessarily easy things but things that don't feel shameful.

Shame culture runs deep around here. It does. And I don't even know where that started. Is it a religious thing or have I just learned to beat myself up about anything and everything that I can?

I went to therapy yesterday with one rule for myself---don't talk about sex. Don't talk about missing it or wanting it or thinking about it. Just don't. Because shit will get uncomfortable and your therapist will think you are gross and you will not feel better.

One rule. 

But here's the thing---it's one of the main reasons I used to refuse a specialized eating disorder therapist---my therapist has been in my life for 5 years. She was there as a marriage therapist and she was there to watch me as I went through my divorce. She gets me.

So I usually get in to her office with my set of rules---taboo subjects that I'm NOT going to talk about---and somehow those are always the things that get brought up. Partly because I start to feel safe and decide to throw out a hint (that sounds way dumber than it feels when I'm there...). Partly because she knows me really well at this point and there isn't much I haven't told her. So she figures out what my taboo subject is and dives in.

And I cringe and feel uncomfortable and stress about whether her perception of me has changed. But when I leave, I feel like I accomplished something huge.

Merely surviving the conversations that feel so absolutely shameful is such a huge deal for me. And I like being pushed. In fact, I need to be pushed. Because if it were up to me alone, therapy would be about only showing my best attributes and laughing and pretending that life is always awesome. [I'm kind of an idiot, guys...] 

So it's a good thing I'm not running the show. It's a good thing she knows me.

But this week, that hasn't helped me to pull out of the shame spiral where just the fact that I miss having sex makes me feel like a bad person. Like there's something wrong with me. Like I'm gross. Like I'm not a "normal" female.

And I hate that. 

I hate that the shame I feel seems to have ANYTHING to do with my gender. Because---why? Why is it ok for boys to feel this way but not girls?

I'm working through it, I think. And if I'm not, I'm going to try and continue this conversation in therapy next week, even though I will hate it.

The hours where I hate therapy are usually the best hours. I always leave feeling better. Because there is just something about pushing past my comfort zone that makes me proud of myself.

Bravery, y'all. 

I Won

A few weeks ago, I put my story into words once again. I actually like how, each time I write it out, it sounds a little differently than the last time. I like that it captures different parts of the struggle and beauty from the past ten + years.

I entered my story into a Mother's Day contest and last night, I found out I won.

And so, I wanted to share this version here to have it saved.

Hi. 

My name is Wendy and although I am many things, warrior is certainly at the top of that list. 

I was a fairytale lover --- boy-obsessed from 1^st grade until I graduated from high school. Fairytales taught me that I needed a man to take care of me and I believed from a young age that if I was loved by a man, I would have infinite worth.

I was married at the age of 19 to a man who loved me. And the thing is, he truly did love me. That part was not a lie. But he loved me conditionally. He loved me for certain parts of who I was and began to tear down the parts of me he didn’t like.

Early on in our marriage (and unknown to me until after our divorce), my husband was viewing pornography and taking intimacy outside our marriage. I became a pawn in our marriage and learned that I was not the most important thing to him. But why? I couldn’t figure out what was more important.  I just knew things had shifted. He hardly ever wanted to be intimate with me and would stay up all night playing video games, claiming he had insomnia. I got used to marriage feeling mostly one-sided and found myself justifying the way he was treating me --- because at least he wasn’t physically abusing me. But I still wondered if the shift in our marriage was my fault.

I had given this man two beautiful children --- was it my body? Was I not sexy enough anymore?

For a girl who claimed to be strong and independent, I am surprised when I look back and realize how much I lost myself in my marriage. Then again, for a girl who claimed to be strong and independent, I had held the belief that my worth was dependent on a man for as long as I can remember.

Five years into my marriage, I was arguing with my husband one day when he told me he no longer believed in God and would not be attending church with us any longer. This shook me but I held my ground and poured myself into being a better wife and mother. I could fix this. I could mend this part of our world that felt bruised and broken. I felt our marriage falling apart but I wasn’t going to let it. I needed him and I felt he needed me too.

I found myself drowning while trying to save him. Often times, he came home from work angry and unresponsive and he would lock himself in our room or go outside to clean his guns or work on the car he was fixing up. The emotional abuse was weighing me down and I started to have panic attacks about seemingly normal things like what brand of food to buy.

And in the midst of me trying so hard to fix us, he abandoned our family in August of 2013, after seven years of marriage. Our children were only 5 and 4 years old and did not understand what was happening, so on top of being abandoned by my husband, I was left to tell my kids about the divorce by myself and deal with their heartache. And in turn, they knew I was their safe space and so they directed all of their anger toward me for months while begging me to bring their daddy back home. 

Throughout the 6 month process of separation and divorce, I found out that my husband was not the man he had claimed to be. He was addicted to pornography and was secretly numbing his feelings of guilt with alcohol. I tried so hard to stay afloat throughout this time but I began to drown in the form of an eating disorder and severe anxiety.

I felt so worthless. So used. So unloved.

And the thing is, my ex-husband is not a monster. We don’t always get along and he certainly makes some poor choices when it comes to his treatment of myself and our children but he isn’t a monster. He is an addict that struggles with knowing how to treat the people he loves most. He pushes us away in fear of us rejecting him. Does that lessen my pain? No. But it helps me to understand that I was not the problem. I could not have been prettier, smarter, or more subservient. This battle wasn’t mine to win or lose. It was, and is, his battle to fight and he chose to fight it without me by his side.

I’ve endured a lot since my divorce 4 ½ years ago. My ex-husband has crossed the line between discipline and abuse with our children. He has continued to treat me in a way that is disrespectful but about once a year for the first three years of divorce, he would come to me and tell me he loved me and wanted me back. He got remarried last year and immediately served me court papers for half custody, a battle that ultimately went to trial and ended up in my favor (and what is best for our children). He is there for us when it is convenient but the truth is, I am ok with that. Because I’ve got this.

I was forced to find myself when my husband abandoned me. That event, although extremely traumatic for me, has shaped me into a person that I very much like. I did not curl up in a corner and die --- I fought for myself and my children. I graduated from Arizona State University with a bachelor’s degree last summer. I am working two jobs to provide for my children. I got certified as a foster parent and was the mother of a sweet and sassy toddler for five months last year and last week, I was asked to take in a two-day-old baby boy and have been killin’ it in the motherhood department. My children are healthy and loved.

I still struggle with loneliness, especially when my kids go to their dad’s house but I know that my worth is not dependent on others. I will still live a beautiful life, even if I never remarry. I will continue to persevere when life slaps me in the face because I know for a fact that I can do hard things. 

Failure

I told her in a pretty rude way.

She asked about my eating disorder and I sarcastically gestured to my body. Because if you look at me, it looks like I have not been skipping meals at all.

That was just a short 30 seconds of how my first therapy session in 18 months went.

And it was mostly truthful. Because just considering purging every time I eat doesn't count, right? And sometimes having a day where I don't eat or a day where I do throw up doesn't count, right?

But when I left, I started to actually assess the past few months and how often I have snuck to a bathroom after eating a meal.

I don't like lying to people, mostly because I don't like liars. So when I left that session thinking I might've lied, I was pretty angry at myself.

I'm usually pretty hard on myself after therapy. It's always been that way. Because if I could just be completely real and comfortable and open and serious, maybe I'd leave feeling a weight lifted off my chest.

I've had a few sessions like that in my life.

But they're not often. Because most of the time, I leave therapy the same way I leave MOST situations in my life---thinking of all the things I should've said or could've done, reminding myself how I've once again failed and acted like an idiot.

Is there a point in my life where I'll stop being so hard on myself?

The Catch-22 of all of this is that I'm capable of believing I'm a failure no matter which choice I make.

For example, if I eat a meal and don't purge it, I am a failure for letting myself eat and letting those calories turn into fat, which will inevitably cause me to gain weight and make me less desirable to a possible future spouse.
And if I DO purge after eating, I am a failure for giving in to my eating disorder and being weak and not fighting hard enough to be the best mom for my kids.

So no matter what, I'm a failure here.

And that just plain sucks.

Dreams

As a little girl, I dreamed of becoming a wife and a mother. I read fairytales and watched Disney princess movies and believed I'd be able to follow those dreams someday.

At the age of 14, I received my patriarchal blessing and it talked about getting married and having children. I was elated. I couldn't wait for those days. I had always known I wanted to be a mother.

I never worried about whether my husband would treat me well. I never worried about whether I would have miscarriages or be infertile.
Those weren't part of my plan so the thoughts never really entered my mind.

But I've learned some pretty important things in my life. The growing up I've done in the last 4 years is insurmountable in comparison to how much growing up I did the first 18 years of my life.

I know that there is something much bigger than me---God---and that He knows how to take care of me. I know He will help me fight my battles and bask in my joys. I know He loves it when I smile and He is sad when I'm hurting.

And I know that even though my dreams have changed, they are still possible and real.

I was a dancer for 12 years growing up. Twelve years of my life, I spent hours in front of mirrors, perfecting my balance and pointing my toes. And I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up---a dance teacher. I knew I would never want to leave my happy place.

But when I became a wife and mother, I stopped dancing. I never found the time or the place for it.

I stopped dancing for 8 years and it was hard for me. When I was hired as a dance teacher this past year, it was a struggle. I was rusty. (I still am rusty)

But dancing is magical for me. Dancing can cheer me up anytime I'm down. Dancing clears my thoughts and allows me to listen to my body.

I realized something tonight. It could've been a horrible day. I had an old friend say some really hurtful things to me and I could've let it affect me but I taught dance tonight. I watched myself in the mirror and admired my capabilities.

I was happy and free.

It reminded me why I dream.

I dream because hope is real. I believe in my dreams because I believe in myself.

I have an amazing life and as I sit here watching my son play Candyland---pretending he is two different characters on the board---and acting surprised each time he wins, I know I am right where I'm supposed to be.

This is the life I wanted to live. This is the life I dreamed of as a little girl.

I'm living my dream life.

And I thank God for that every single day.

It's Only Make Believe

Sometimes marriage seems like a distant memory, like something that I question ever even existed.

I can distance myself from the memories for a time but they always creep back in.
Peter and I haven't been getting along lately. To me, this means that Peter isn't conquering the recovery path he claimed to be on.

But what do I know? He deceived me for 8 years.

I often tell myself this wasn't about me, that I was more than good enough for Peter but most of the time, I say it because I feel like that's what I'm supposed to say.

Do I believe it? Not really. Do I want to believe it? Yes.

Our marriage was make believe. It wasn't real. It wasn't based on trust and love and compassion. It was based on lies and anger and a shit-ton of messes.
Marriage didn't help me grow into a better person. I lost myself in marriage. I had fears that were almost unrecognizable even to myself.

He never told me it was me, that my body is the reason he left...but was it? Could it have been?
Could this recovery I keep trying to force myself into make me less lovable in the future?
I try not to believe this. I try to remember that recovery is for myself, not for anyone else. But I don't think I've ever chosen recovery for myself. It's always been for others; for friends, for family, for my children, for future relationships, for my therapist, etc. It's amazing how good I can be at pleasing others but when it comes to pleasing myself? Hmm...in my mind, the most pleasing thing for myself would be purging and exercise and skipping meals and watching as the person in the mirror gets smaller and smaller.

Peter and I got in a fight this week---not that that's abnormal. But as I sat on the phone with my mother and apologized that I was asking for her help with my children, she apologized for the position that I'm in---and there was a lump in my throat as I said, "It's ok. I'm the one who chose this mess."

Because I chose to marry Peter and have 2 children with him. I chose to sign divorce papers. I chose not to be submissive every second of every day to keep him happy.

I'm not saying that any of those choices were wrong---in fact, I think they were all good choices. But I still chose them. This is still my life. It's always going to be my life.

I feel much happier and more independent without Peter here but it still hurts. It still aches to be alone. It still sucks to rely on other people sometimes. If I could do this all alone, I would. I would do it in a heartbeat.

I often wish this wasn't my life, that Peter hadn't been an addict who left his family and flip-flops between wanting to see his kids more and complaining that he has them double the amount that he used to have them. I often wish things were different, that I was skinnier and gorgeous and had been one of those divorced women who was so amazing that she got snatched up quickly by another man who could see her worth.

But I'm not. This is my life. This has been my life for almost 2 years.

And unfortunately, it isn't going to change.

Hello, Ed

Fighting is hard.
I feel this sense of pressure that I'm supposed to be fighting for myself every day and a lot of times, it's too much. It is too damn much.

People say I'm strong. I even say I'm strong. But at night, when I think back on the day and the amount of times I gave in to my eating disorder, I realize just how weak I am.

I don't know if the trauma from the past month has made it worse but I feel like Wendy all of the time these days---obsessing over my food intake, purging many times a day, looking in the mirror and seeing fat fat fat fat fat fat fat and a whole lot of ugliness, weighing myself in the morning and wanting to throw the scale out the effing window.

I act like I'm fine. Am I fine? I feel fine. I feel like this is who I'm supposed to be. I feel like if I can just lose weight, I'll be happier than ever before. I believe that. I remember last March/April when I was going to the gym daily and starving myself or obsessively purging. I was beginning to look better. I was beginning to feel in control while simultaneously getting out of control---irony? Sure.

I think that's the thing I hate most about eating disorders. I crave the control but after a while, I lose control. But in a weird twisted way, the loss of control also feels good because my brain is saying, "This is what you've wanted! This is total commitment and you will love yourself soon.".

Soon?
When does "soon" happen? Does it end with the specific amount of weight I've dubbed as "worthy" of my approval? Or will the number just get lower each time I reach a goal?

I don't know. She used to tell me it never ended, that I'd never be satisfied. But I don't believe her. My brain doesn't believe her. It believes Ed.

Ed hasn't ever left me the way other people have. Ed hasn't ruined my life. In fact, he tries to fix my flaws and I like that. I like that when I give in to my eating disorder, I'm fixing myself to become more worthy of life and love and happiness.

My counselor pointed out that I've always equated my worth to weight and that is true. It feels like the two things go hand in hand for me. Do I think that about everyone around me? No. But for myself, weight matters.

If I was skinny, my stupid flaws and mistakes could be overlooked by someone. This is just logical to me. If I was what the world perceives to be "hot", I would be more attractive and people would want to get to know me better. I feel like this whole "I'm an overweight mother of 2" thing is a real downer for most of the men I meet. Because who would want to take all of that on for someone who looks like me?

I feel oddly out of control and in control right now. I feel like I deserve this, like this is just the life I was meant to live. The aches and pains of an eating disorder are worth it when the numbers on the scale get lower.

With everything going on, this seems like the only little piece of control I can have. Everything else is being pulled out from underneath me. People who I loved no longer love me. I need this. I need Ed.

My Character

When someone tries to defame your character, you are left with a few different choices. And the thing is, a lot of the choices seem scary and messy.

You can cower down and lose confidence. You can put your trust in the accuser and wonder whether you are really, truly a bad person. 

Or you can do nothing. You can ignore it and live your life, cutting that person out to keep yourself safe from future hurt.

Or you can fight. You can become pissed off and possibly go bat-shit crazy on the person. You can attack their character right back. You can try and hurt them how they've hurt you.

Or...

Or you can fight for YOURSELF. This is different than fighting with the person. You can stand up for yourself when you are attacked and you can prove the person wrong. You can live your life, showing the world your character. You can have compassion for the persons anger and set boundaries that keep you from further harm as much as possible. 

And if you pick the fourth choice, which in most situations I would recommend, you will find who you're real friends are. 

They are the people who hear horrible things about you and question them. They are the people who come and ask you for your side, even if they don't agree with you in the end. They listen and they don't attack you. They don't believe things about you just because someone told them to. 

This is where I'm at right now. A lot of days, I struggle with trusting anyone---because I trusted her with all of my vulnerability. All of it. The deep stuff. The messy stuff. The happy stuff. I was transparent and I still got hurt so deeply. 

So it's hard to feel like I can trust any of my friendships to be genuine. But I'm doing it. I'm fighting for myself and part of that is continuing to trust the people in my life who have supported me. 

Because this trial is not going to ruin me. I won't let it. 

Yes, it has changed me. It has made a lot of things feel horrible and it has left me with a great amount of fear. And fear is hard for me because I live every day with an anxiety disorder that sometimes takes control. 

But ever since that day a month ago, I have worked. And that's all I can do. It doesn't matter that it still feels so scary and messy. It doesn't matter that I'm often afraid or feel anger. Because I'm trying. I'm trying a little bit each day. 

I'm trying to build a relationship with God because I'm putting my faith in the Spirit and it's ability to help me discern safety. 

I can't forget the power of the Spirit and the help my God gave me that day or in the weeks since. I've been so angry with Him but He didn't leave when I yelled. In fact, He surrounded me with extra comfort when I yelled and blamed and asked why. He loves me unconditionally. 

I know I can trust in that.

And I refuse to let this ruin my trust in the people who genuinely love me and support me. I refuse. 

Because I am a good person. I know I did everything I could in the best way I knew how at the time. 

Yes, in hindsight, I'd change a lot of things but that wasn't possible at the time...because I didn't know any of this back then. 

Hope{less}

If he wants to leave then let him leave.

The idea of this sounds so simple.

Let him leave.

But people don't always tell you about the aftermath. People don't always tell you how much it is going to hurt and how much you might lose yourself. They don't tell you that these times will feel so painfully lonely and that one minute to the next can drastically change. They don't tell you that you will see the beauty but you will also feel like you want to die.

I often wish my journey would just end already---not my journey on earth necessarily but this painful journey of divorce and eating disorder and trauma and exhaustion. I often hope that the light at the end of the tunnel is going to show up but it never does.

Especially today, it doesn't.

I feel weak. I feel stupid.

I was thinking about my eating disorder for hours on end at work today. It was consuming my thoughts and I was wondering why I'm more apt to say I relapsed if I purge but if I go days without eating, I don't treat that as a relapse.
Is it because I've always identified with bulimia the most?
Even further than that, I wonder if the relapse is actually the thought process---the things I choose to believe. Because if I choose to believe the lies, isn't that a relapse? Isn't ED all about the lies in my head?

So maybe I'm in the middle of another eating disorder struggle and maybe I'm not. I haven't navigated it that far yet. But my body feels the way it used to---struggling to stay awake, feeling jittery, and extremely impatient.

But I ate today. I really did. I ate breakfast and snacked at work and ate dinner. So I don't know why my stomach feels hollow tonight. I don't know why I've been fighting back tears for a good portion of the day. I don't know why I am so angry that this is my life.

I feel like I can't handle life---the kids, the school, the work schedule. It all seems like too much today. It all seems heavy and scary and I feel like I'm failing at everything.

I look in the mirror and I don't see a person I love. In fact, I see a person that I hate. I see rolls and fat and blemishes and stretch marks. I see a mother who doesn't have time to do homework with her daughter, a student who half-asses assignments just to get them done on time, and a friend who almost never has time for others anymore.

Tunnel vision.

I feel like I'm being held captive by tunnel vision tonight. I feel like all of the beauty is covered in dark clouds. I feel like everything I accomplish is tarnished by the millions of mistakes I make. I feel so unworthy of love. I feel so unworthy of relationships, whether they be family or friend relationships.

I have a messy house that was spotless four days ago and I haven't decided when I'll be able to pick it all up and continue on my psychotic organizing journey.

I have OCD that tells me NOT to touch door handles or bathrooms or counter tops and that if I do, I better bust out my hand sanitizer or we are all going to get sick.

Today I was thinking about how it'd be easier if I weren't here---how the people who depend on me wouldn't have to get their hopes crushed all of the time. I feel like I'm constantly screwing everything up.

I feel like I'm speeding through life but getting nowhere. Am I moving on a path? Am I working toward something? I want to say yes. I want to have goals and be productive and have positive relationships but I just don't have faith in myself tonight.

I'm trying to accept the fact that I'll probably be single forever because I don't have the time or energy to date. I can't even keep up with the relationships I have---adding in another one might kill me. And not getting married means I get to accept the fact that I'm not having any more kids. And not having any more kids means I get to accept the fact that my baby starts kindergarten this year and that life is passing me by faster than I'd like it to.

I can't do this tonight. I really hope that sleeping will bring some of my normal self back. If it doesn't, I might just go bat-shit crazy tomorrow.

My Conflicted Feelings about Ed

I've heard people claim to completely recover from their eating disorders. Honestly, maybe a part of me used to believe that was possible. But I think it had to do with the fact that I was married and happy and didn't struggle with my self-esteem and so my eating disorder's voice was a whisper in my head.

There were times I would look in the mirror and struggle to love my body. But my husband would assure me I was beautiful and my worries would fade.

Then one day, I found out all of that was a lie. I found out that the man who had claimed I was beautiful had been looking at naked women on the internet. And I found that out after he had left me---alone, feeling worthless and abandoned.

And I just can't see myself getting over that. Ever.

I have so many helpful tools and so much support---but sometimes I pull away from the support because I'm so damn exhausted and all I want to do is live with the comfort of my eating disorder and not worry about the repercussions of it all.

Because when I have an empty stomach, I feel empowered. I feel more worthy. But I also feel like hell.

I hate it. I love it.

I've been trying to work on recovery for eight months now. Eight months of rollercoaster emotions, weight loss and weight gain, weeks of no purging, weeks of starving myself, etc. It hasn't been an easy 8 months. In fact, I have felt so much emotional turmoil regarding my eating disorder because I'm so afraid.

I'm afraid of dying---and I'm afraid of recovery.

A year ago, I wrote in my journal about how giving up my eating disorder would automatically equal gaining weight. And gaining weight would cause me to not get married. So moral of that story, giving up my eating disorder would cause me to be lonely forever.
A year later, I can pick out the lies. But I have also gained weight since starting my recovery journey and although I was ok with that at first, the weight gain has gotten to me. I think about it daily---multiple times a day. I can't concentrate very well when my stomach is full because I want to purge. I don't always act on it but the thoughts are always there. They never leave me alone.

I can tell you one of the biggest lies that I believe---that my eating disorder helps me. I tell myself that all the time. In fact, even though I can point it out as a lie, I don't quite believe that. When I was able to go to the gym every day last February through July, I would take pictures in the mirror every few weeks. As I looked at those pictures the other day, I saw a girl who was in control, who was strong and capable. And now I feel like I've lost her again---like I'm weak and incapable. I feel like I'm losing myself.

But everyone says that when my eating disorder takes over, that's when I lose myself.

So why do I feel lost without my eating disorder?

Tonight I'm just trying to honestly and openly sort through these thoughts. I want them here. I want to remember my struggle.

I wish I had this figured out. I wish this blog had more happiness and less mess. But I identify as Wendy the most when life is messy. I just do. And I'm extremely grateful that I have a safe place for all of this.
I can remember back to the days where I felt so alone and had no one to talk to. I remember the feelings of just wishing I could die so that my heart wouldn't hurt so bad. I don't identify with ever being suicidal but I have had days where I believed I would't be strong enough to keep going.

I hadn't purged in so long before this weekend. I had been holding on, even if the rope I was grasping was a thin strand of yarn. At least I was holding on. And now that I'm not holding on---or maybe I am still holding on---I don't know what I want to do next.

I want to heal. I want to believe in myself. I just don't even have a desire to open a recovery book or fight my thoughts. I feel so exhausted.

And the hardest part is, I keep trying to practice patience with myself. I keep trying to validate my fears and anxiety and trauma. But a lot of days, I still feel like I'm at Recovery Square One.

I know focusing on the baby steps will help. I think that's where I'll start. I think I'll continue to validate my feelings and when that becomes easier, I'll add a new goal in there.

It's funny how I gave myself a timeline of "one year" to work through my divorce trauma. I figured that was a loooong time. It sure sounded like a long time. But now that I'm here, it seems like it all just happened.

You really can't put a timeline on grief.

Today I am Wendy

My high's have been higher than I've felt in a year.
My lows are crazy low in comparison.

My heart is angry a lot when I'm alone. Put me in a group of people and I'll perk up. Put me in front of the cyber world of friendship and I'll perk up. Put me in my classrooms at school or at my work desk and it doesn't compare to the thoughts going on in my head.

Am I just an effing crazy person?

Because as I sit and fight for recovery to win again, I truly believe that I love myself. Am I just stupid? I love who I am on the inside. I still don't like who I am on the outside. I am fat. I am truly, by definition, overweight. Am I obese? No. But I'm not skinny.

A lot of my choices at home are stupid. A lot of them directly conflict with my Christian beliefs. Am I just so weak that I can't get my shit together when I'm not being watched?

I'm eventually going to get a tattoo. I know...right?! I have it drawn up. It's just going to happen. But when I found out about Peter's tattoo that he lied about, I flipped out. We were up until 2am fighting that night. So am I just a hypocrite?

A lot of times, I don't feel like I'm genuine because how the hell can I be this awesome serving Christian and in my mind, the most constant phrase that plays is, "Who fucking cares?"? It doesn't make sense.
Like at all.

How can I be angry at Peter for looking at pornography when sometimes I consider just sleeping around because I like sex and I want to feel connection---even fake connection? I hate that I like sex. I know that's ironic. Sex is good. It is natural. It is fun. But I hate liking it because I hate missing it. I hate struggling with the loss of connection. I don't want to struggle. I don't want the struggle to get harder the longer I go unmarried. I thought it was supposed to get easier.

I don't know if there is a bigger contradiction in my life than the fact that I teach my children gospel principles and yet, I struggle to pray. I have a strong testimony and yet, I struggle to go to church. I do not doubt that every word in the scriptures are true and yet, I don't open them up for answers.

I know my Heavenly Father loves me but I don't get why He can't just answer the prayers that I do pray. I don't understand all of this. I wish it weren't so hard.
I can give you every "correct" answer of why I've been given the specific trials in my life. I can point out the blessings from each and every one of them. But that doesn't mean I want them to continue just so I can grow more and get more blessings from hard trials.

I'm done.

I'm done being single and not knowing if there will ever be someone to love me on this earth. Everyone says he's out there. I'm supposed to trust that I'm worthy of a man's love. But have I had a single second date since my divorce? No. Have I kissed anyone? No. Have I had any type of relationship where the guy wanted to be with me more and more? No.

I can trust facts. Facts are facts. They don't need arguing. They just are. So everyone in the world can tell me I'm going to be loved by a man but how am I supposed to trust that? Dream Boy didn't have feelings for me. And I thought I was dealing with that ok but it really freaking hurts. Not because he rejected me. It's ok that he was honest. I kinda like him even more for being honest with me /damnit/. It isn't the simple form of rejection that hurts today. It is the fact that Dream Boy having any inkling of interest would've shown me that love---someday, today, a hundred years from now---is possible. Because I just don't have enough hope that it is. There's a little hope---but each day that passes, a piece of it dies.

I just don't know what I'm supposed to do. Am I supposed to just be perfect and not make any decisions against my religion because that would just make me a liar and put me on the highway to hell? Am I supposed to recognize that I am imperfect and give myself a break? What the hell is my next step? Because the one I choose will probably so freaking contradicting that I am going to go crazy.

Like literal crazy.

There is so much good. I shouldn't be struggling because I am able to recognize the good. I feel like such an ungrateful bitch for NOT acknowledging gratitude in my every day thoughts and actions and feelings.

Today I am Wendy. I am the part of me who is struggling with faith and security and connection. I am the part of me that still gets angry and ignore the empathy I've felt toward Peter's decisions. I am the part of me that is stupid and irrational and unsettled.

I Fail

I come here when it gets hard. And it keeps getting really hard.

I've had some of my worst days and that just isn't fair. My eating disorder days were supposed to be my worst. My husband leaving me was supposed to be my worst day. This isn't how it's supposed to be.

But my crying has become a broken record. It keeps happening. Damnit, it keeps happening!

My brain feels hazy, like it would if I were on drugs---but I'm not---and I wish I was. I wish I wasn't hurting so badly for no apparent reason. I wish I wasn't a horrible mother. I wish I wouldn't say mean things to my kids. I don't deserve them and today proved that they would probably be better off being raised by someone else---someone more patient, someone less broken.

I know I take on too much responsibility. I know I "can't do it all". Everyone tries to remind me of this. But when I say no to people, I become more of a failure. I'm so worried people won't like me if I don't help them. I'm so worried people will abandon me if I don't bend over backwards and put a brave face on every single day.

They'd get sick of me. They are getting sick of me. No one likes to be around negativity and right now, that seems to be all that I am. Who am I, really? Because Wendy isn't strong or brave or nice or compassionate.

I'm not really worth anyone's time. I know the real me---and you don't---so if you like me, you probably just haven't gotten to know me well enough. Because the real me is full of flaws and full of failures and she gets afraid and mean sometimes. She says really dumb things a lot. She goes too far with jokes and sarcasm. She isn't good.

I don't trust anyone---and even just that little fact makes me even more rude. How rude that I can't trust people who have born their souls to me? How can I not trust people who confide in me about some of life's most sensitive subjects? So by not trusting, I'm failing. I'm failing by not being strong enough to trust the people around me who have proven they are trustworthy.

I barely got through today and unfortunately, it isn't over yet. If my kids weren't with me, I'd probably highly consider drinking because I am not strong enough to succeed tonight.

I was exhausted at work and I kept nodding off in my office. And then the headache started. And then I got back to my kids and they were crazy and rude and all over the place. I told my friend I don't like kids today---and I probably shouldn't be their mom. How can someone so unworthy be a mother to two of life's most precious gifts? I'm not good enough for them. They'll realize it someday.

I was impatient all afternoon. My four year old and I butted heads. A friend came to give me a break before I literally snapped and my son said to her, "I'm coming to your house because my mom and I are being mean to each other today. She said she never wants to speak to me again." And he was telling her the truth. I did say that. And I hate that I said that. I hate how much I failed as his mother today. I hate that he could potentially remember today for the rest of his life. I hate who I am today.

My house is a mess and I can't keep up with this life. But if I accept help, I'm a failure. Lots of single moms have jobs, go to school, raise their children successfully, and keep their damn house clean. I'm just not good enough at all of those things so something always falls through the cracks.

Today two of those things fell through the cracks as I released my impatience onto my children.

I failed at being the kind of person I want to believe that I am.

And because of that, I hate myself today.

Sensitive

I know, this is a redundant picture. I've used it before.

Tonight, I really just want to forget everybody. I want to forget all of the hurt and the pain and the awkwardness and the crap that comes with being an overly sensitive person.

And when I say overly sensitive---I quite literally mean that. OVERLY.

It's stupid, actually. Being overly sensitive is a weakness of mine and my goodness gracious, I do not like feeling weak. So sensitivity is a sensitive subject for me (ha!).

I'm trying to fight the urge to get my feelings hurt and talk myself through some really tough situations that I'm faced with. This is a huge step for me since I usually shut down when I'm faced with tough situations.

Ok, to be honest, I'm kind of shutting down. Maybe a little bit. But not to the same degree that I used to.
Baby steps, friends, baby steps...
I'm just trying to be more rational and sometimes that means letting myself feel the hurt and the anger for a while and acknowledging that this is who I am. I am a sensitive person. My feelings get hurt when I feel like people don't want me in their life. My feelings get hurt when I feel like people want others in their life more than me. My feelings get hurt by some pretty insignificant things.

I'm sensitive. I'm trying to be ok with that. And when I'm not ok with that, I am just trying not to shut down.

But I get it now. I get why my fight with Ed has become so much harder again. I get how much my eating disorder relates to any pain I feel in my life. When I feel insignificant, I work hard to prove that I am not. When I feel like people will abandon me, I work hard to prove that I am good enough.

The problem is that "good enough = skinny enough" in my mind. And I know my friends don't care about that but Ed tells me they secretly care, that everyone secretly feels like I'm worthless and stupid and sensitive and obnoxious.

This week, the "obnoxious" is my biggest fear and I don't feel any sense of worth because I am loud and obnoxious and I want to be subdued and never make mistakes. I don't want to feel stupid for being me. I don't want to be a screw-up.

I really want things to not bother me so much. I want to be confident and love myself and be an amazing friend.

I'm just so effing angry with myself tonight. I tried to write an uplifting post on my regular blog and it all felt so fake and stupid and I couldn't do it. I couldn't lie and act like I was feeling inspired tonight---because tonight, I feel anything but inspired. I feel anything but incredible. I feel anything but brave.

Maybe I'll get over it tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll be trying really hard to forget my pain and pretend that I am strong and that things don't ever bother me.

Because that just seems like the only way to feel ok tonight.

PS: Pan moved back...so there's that. Maybe that's why I feel like shit. No, I don't think it is but it sure has been "FUN" seeing him a few extra times in the past few days. Yay...not.

PPS: I need counseling. I'm drowning and I need counseling. And the only counselor I want to see is my old counselor, which is weird since I struggled with that for a while. I just don't know anymore. I really just don't know what I want.

Breaking Your Own Heart

Peter lost me. I can honestly sit here and tell you that he lost more out of this than I did.

He lost his wife, the woman who had loved him from the start. He lost out on so much of the memory making with our children because he no longer sees them every night. Most of all, he lost out on support for his addiction.

You see, Peter's family isn't very supportive. In fact, most of the time, they're the opposite. They have always been harder on Peter than any of his brothers. It's almost like he could do no right in their eyes---which isn't how it should be.

I was Peter's support. I stood up for him when his family wouldn't. I sided with him and he confided in me about his heartache over his family's lack of showing love. But he never confided in me the one thing that was eating him inside more than any other thing.

He never confided in me about his addiction to pornography. Instead, he left me...and he lost me.

I am no longer Peter's number one supporter. I am no longer there for him when he needs someone.

He gave that up because addiction was harder to deal with than losing the one person who tried so hard to root for him every step of the way.

I wasn't a perfect wife but I supported Peter.

Sadly, when I sit down and think about the things I lost in our divorce, the two that come to mind the most are money and sex. Yeah. About that. There is a part of me that feels like she lost out on support or love but I lost out on that much sooner than the divorce. I had lost that years ago. When I read old journal entries, that was non-existent the last few years of my marriage.

I was already alone in my marriage.

I took a roadtrip this past week and had rented a few new cd's from the library to keep me company. One of them was a Kelly Clarkson cd and as I listened to each song, I knew why I had been drawn to that particular cd.

#13: Breaking Your Own Heart
Shaking your head like it's all wrong
Before you're here you're already gone
And even with the light all around you
You're all alone in the dark

Your breaking your own heart
Taking it too far down a lonely road
You say you just want love
But when it's close enough you just let it go
The very thing you've been the most afraid of
You've been doing from the start
Breaking your own heart

It's now too late, I am not here
If only you let go of your fears

Peter may have broken my heart when he left me. I may have been a target of his ultimate rejection. But the day he called me sobbing with apologies for his 6+ year addiction and how it affected us and how he knows I was a huge loss for him, I understood whose heart had broken the most---his.

I listened to that Kelly Clarkson song close to 100 times in the past 5 days and today, I recorded my own cover of the song and wanted to share it with you.

I did change the last verse a little to fit our story because although I wish I could say I'm still here for Peter, I'm not. It isn't healthy for me to be there for him and I am healing more without him in my life because I'm learning to be my own person.

{Thank you, Alice and Kate, for teaching me that recording my own voice isn't as scary as it used to feel. It isn't an amazing voice but it's the one God gave me and I really do love using it.}

Addiction Won't Win

I've been happier lately---a real happiness that I didn't have to work as hard to find each morning. But it still isn't the lasting happiness I'm hoping for.
I went a week, a whole week, without acting on my eating disorder. It felt so huge. It felt so amazing. I've been a prisoner to the mind games of bulimia for over 8 months and I felt a little bit more free. But I also felt panicky the first few days. I also felt a lot of fear to step on a scale. I felt sadness when my clothes weren't as loose as they have been.

Since that week, I've slipped up every few days. But my goodness, when I look at where I was and where I am, one slip every few days is kind of amazing. That being said, I'm still so worried. My brain hasn't just started loving my body because I stopped throwing up. That part is still pretty prominent in my daily thoughts. I know I've gained weight and that makes me want to spiral.

Weight gain = not good enough. This is the thought I need to fix in my brain. If God can love me at any weight, why can't I love myself? And why can't I believe that someone else could love me?

I do see a brighter future ahead. I see it and I understand that it is possible. Fighting Ed is more possible than ever before and I can do this. I can love the body that is a part of me. I can love the wild, obnoxious, and often times hilarious personality within me. I can love the sensitive, compassionate, and caring side of me. There are so many pieces that make up me and I am going to learn to love each and every one of them.

Because I'm unique and I love that. I don't want to be a cookie cutter of someone else. I don't want to look or act like other people because I am not them. I want to be me and be ok with that.

My addiction will not win. I am a fighter and I'm strong enough to handle an eating disorder, an addict ex husband, two rambunctious kids, full time school, and 3 part time jobs---because I am STRONG!

I don't necessarily believe God gave me this life because He knew I could handle it. I think God gave me this life because He knew how much this life could teach me and make me a better me and He promised that He would never leave, even on the crappiest of days---wait, ESPECIALLY on the crappiest of days.

I'm going to continue to fight. It won't be perfect or pretty or the same as anyone else's fight but I can make it. I am going to make it.

Like A Boss

It has been an incredible week. An incredible week filled with good days and bad days---but every day has brought an experience I have learned from. Every day has taught me something about myself and brought a little bit of hope to my soul.
I had forgotten what believing in myself felt like.

Today I believe in myself. I believe I have worth. I look at dating and am determined not to settle. I believe I can bring something to the table in a relationship.

I'm not saying this will last forever or that I won't struggle. I'm not saying I love every inch of myself. I still struggle with my body image daily but today, I believe in my capabilities and I even believe a man could overlook my body imperfections if he truly sees the kind of person that I am.

I feel worthy of love today. The things I usually easily love about myself are back in plain view. I didn't have to search to find them this morning. They were just there.

My fear is that this won't last. My fear is that I still have spirals and hurdles to overcome.

But today I feel the possibility of healing. I do not want to be affected by divorce my entire life. I am a determined person. I will not let my past decide who I am supposed to be. I will fight my body image issues. I will fight pornography. I will fight for my friendships. I WILL FIGHT FOR MYSELF.

Because I am worth it.