Pride - Part One

Despite setting up a business, despite putting myself in all manners of questionable positions to big up the brand - I would never have described myself as brave until I started to challenge my eating disorder. Sounds strange, that I feel proud for getting rid of an old pair of jeans that no longer fit me. Months after refusing to not wear them by sucking in and squatting down to fasten them, falling down the rabbit hole of how defeat will make me feel; insecure, ugly, undeserving and unworthy of eating ‘unhealthy’ (for the rest of my life), generally less than I was when I was able to zip them up, comfortably (because how will anyone find me attractive now?).

To feel proud takes conscious doing. Unlike a product physically and literally detached from me, developing and improving the way I think - any progress that involves my body, noticing change and not caring about it (and I feel, fine?) makes my heart swell. The day before my 28th birthday, for example, I panicked, cried at one stage, and cancelled dinner with my parents. We parted ways - them to the restaurant I booked and wanted to try, me to a very same-looking stew at home. I felt out of sorts, should I stay or should I go? Going back and forth between various outcomes in my head, eventually, five minutes before the table was booked for, I thought, f**k it, and went. (Understatement). On arrival, Mum asked me what I had been doing for the last hour; I assume confused, probably embarrassed - can I change the booking from three people to two? No wait, please can I change it back to three? I responded with simply, “thinking.” (Also an understatement). Picturing us that night - sipping spontaneous cocktails, celebrating my own birthday - to date showing up is one of my proudest moments. The extent of how proud I am nobody will ever understand; I became the girl I want to be. I proved to myself that I can do hard things. However scared I was - and I am scared of my body changing all the time - I kept coming back to the same conclusion: would I rather be loved for being this girl, the girl who does fun things - takes opportunities that may not come around again - or the girl who chooses to stay at home alone out of fear of being on my own (logic even I do not understand)? Still today my parents and I reminisce, Scott’s exceeded all expectations, hands-down, hand on my heart, one of my favourite birthday memories. Worth it if only because I wanted to be there - and I deserved to be there as much as the next table (and actually nobody cared if I was there or not) - I just got a bit lost along the way.

Recovery is a hard process, and a long one at that. What started with buying a bag of Revels - over the course of five years I wish I could tell you when internal criticism gave way to compassion. When I stopped putting pressure on myself to go to the gym tomorrow to justify feeling full after dinner and instead deciding on the day if I want to. When 100% dark chocolate became 70%, eventually milk, preferably - often my first choice. When I started eating porridge with fruit and nut butter - not plain oats made with water - as well as having lunch, when usually I skip it and wait for dinner. Big win. Big. Huge. To overcome these hurdles, acknowledging oneself may sound arrogant - I cannot help it. Eating disorder recovery is my greatest achievement to date. Realising my body is not the most important or exciting or likeable thing about me - in fact if someone has something to say about it, that is on them, not me; tough luck I am not changing for anyone’s views. I have worked so hard to get to this point of thinking, and I do not want to forget how proud I am. The first time I had to buy a box of tampons I held it like a trophy for everyone to see whilst wearing a huge smug grin on my face. (The first period I got I think I cried. Happy tears for the first time in years giving my body what it needs, lockdown gym closures to thank for this).

For me the biggest perspective change, when I get caught in a funk and feel trapped by my insecure thoughts - and not to sound morbid - I imagine if suddenly I (died) was no longer here. Would I feel good about how many seconds, hours, or days I spent obsessing over my cellulite and body fat, proud of the food choices I made because of how I believe they make me look? If someone were to write my obituary, I would like to think it will not include any mention of my body weight, or shape or size, (and so why do I live as though I exist for it?). Sometimes I just need to zoom out and see life as a bigger picture, from a birds-eye view, to realise that no one is looking at or thinking about my thighs the way I am (at least I hope not), let alone criticising my appearance (verbally) - and the gym member I just bumped into, do they remember how I looked yesterday, a week ago, a year ago? No! In the nicest way possible - I have no memory or care about how they look now, I have zero judgement; yet roles reversed and somehow, seemingly appropriately, I am the exception. If anything, perhaps we all go through life with a slight predisposition to wondering whether other people are having the same dialogue as the one we tell ourselves.

On days when I feel particularly tired, lethargic, out of sorts, often I feel proud for the wrong reasons. Not eating anything until 2pm, fuelled up on workout adrenaline and coffee; feeling better about eating because I feel proud, like I have earned it. I put my hands up and admit that it is wrong, I hate how good it makes me feel in the moment - but it is exactly just that. A short-lived high that I later regret, and I spend most of it telling myself I will do better next time, to not resent myself for it (well, maybe a little bit). The eating disorder is a safety net I fall back into when I need a boost of confidence, I know the security is what keeps me going back; it is reliable, maybe - but not right. So I acknowledge my behaviour as old habits, it is only one day and you did not like how it made you feel, be kind. The fact I feel rubbish for it - I appreciate how far I have come in these moments, too. Self-awareness leaps and bounds further than before. (G 2-0 ED).