Thirty

 It is my birthday for another 55mins as of writing this right now.

To be honest, I expected it to be worse. There was a sense of a looming deadline as the birthday approached, as if I was sure to expire or feel some catastrophic change as a result of simply no longer being in my twenties.

Alas, it was uneventful when I awoke this morning. Genuinely nothing felt different. Perhaps it was the residual vodka from last night's drinking stream (thank you to everyone who helped make that successful), but honestly it was honestly anticlimactic.

However, as the day wore on, I couldn't help but feel like there is something wrong with me. Not for turning thirty, I know I can't change that, but for the fact that I've accomplished so little by this point.

For example, I have no partner, I'm bad at dating, I'm not very lean, I'm not very strong, I don't have a career, I haven't finished enough study to actually be able to use the degree I have, I don't know how to drive so I can't get a job in my field of study, and I'm broke. 

I finished a workout where I failed on squats and just left feeling less than. For obvious reasons I was hungry afterwards and might have unleashed some hanger at my friend, and then when the tiredness hit and I felt like crying, I immediately jumped into consuming content to numb out and ended up staying up later than I had anticipated. Then I climbed into bed and couldn't sleep because my heart was keeping me up, which resulted in more anxious interpretations of the thoughts I was having, and by the time I realised I was clenching my jaw (along with probably every other muscle in my body) it had been 30mins since I first tried to attempt sleep.

I might just need to go back on my antidepressants. I might not have anything wrong with me at all. This might just be the birthday blues. Perhaps it's the would-be hangover, or the introvert drain, or some combination of any number of factors.

Whatever the cause, I feel pathetic. I get jealous of other people for all sorts of things, be it their body, their confidence, them talking to my crush, them being better at the gym, whatever. I'm stubborn for the most stupid reasons, refusing to do things that would potentially resolve my concerns, simply because I'm stuck in some form of self-sabotage fuelled indignance. I'm convinced the people I care about simply tolerate me and are just keeping me around for a joke. 

I really wish I could make an effort to disprove myself, to find evidence for the contrary, to give myself a pep talk, self soothing and personal nurturing. 

At the very least, I can almost convince myself that perhaps this isn't just because I'm thirty now.

Trigger warning

 Being an eating disorder sufferer, I know more than most that some imagery and topics of discussion can be trigger. However, it is because of this personal connection that I know offering a trigger warning is entirely pointless.

In a previous post, you may remember me mentioning that people of any size and shape simply existing can cause eating disorder thoughts to occur. Additionally, eating disorder behaviours can be triggered by images of food, eating something tasty, or meals and cuisines that are less than appetising and watching people eat. Should we make it illegal to be fat or ban underweight people from leaving their homes and posting selfies on the internet? Maybe we could prohibit processed foods, so as to not accidentally trigger a binge. Obviously mukbangs would be immediately banned and deleted from existence, as would food challenges and reviews.

Alternatively, and perhaps more logically, I can manage my own triggers because they're my responsibility.

I can't live in a world free of triggers. An alcoholic can't live in a year round dry July or request all their local pubs and bottle-shops to close their businesses. Suffering with anxiety doesn't make you exempt from deadlines and calendars.

In fact, by avoiding triggers, you're reinforcing the learned response and increasing the likelihood of requiring further avoidance in the future. Graded exposure works, because if we avoid stimulus we are lowering our tolerance for it and therefore decreasing the amount of exposure necessary for the triggered response to activate. 

Micromanaging the external world to regulate an internal response is nonsensical, time consuming, and in the end results in poor outcomes. Furthermore, despite our best efforts and the energetic requirement required to make adjustments to factors outside of our control, we are unlikely to see results. No matter how much I scream and shout that eating disorders are deadly and certain content is triggering, I have no control over the uploads of other people. The entire world could repeat in unison, however triggers are inherently personal, unlikely to be shared universally by individuals even with the same lived experience or diagnosis, and as such are impossible to prescribe remedies to in a world-wide fashion. If we were to respond to each and every trigger than any person on the planet had, there would be more things banned than permitted. Misophonia is a condition characterised by an emotional response to the sound of other people eating. How on earth would we ensure we don't potentially trigger a person living with that?

I appreciate this growing desire to increase awareness and make more conscious decisions about our actions. I am grateful that people are trying. However the people who are mindful of this are not the people who were ever doing it intentionally, and having these demands for trigger warnings won't change their behaviour either. 

The world's increasing sensitivity is, in my opinion, not accidental. I fear, if we are to continue hedging our language, sheltering people from hard truths, tiptoeing around blatant facts, and bubble wrapping each other by adding trigger warnings and telling people what they can and can't say, we'll only get worse collectively.

So, to conclude, no. I will not be adding trigger warnings. Yes, I will discuss the stark reality of my lived experience. No, it is not designed to offend you. Yes, if you are upset you are welcome to ignore my content or do whatever you believe necessary for your own self care and personal trigger management.

An Uncomfortable Predicament

 I know I talk about my eating disorder a lot here, and I'm adding that preface to this post because I don't feel like I deserve to even claim I have an eating disorder now that I'm weight restored. If anything, I'm getting fat. 

So for the person reading this, I can imagine the contrast between the amount of emotional and psychological turmoil caused and my physical presentation is stark, however this should serve as a reminder that eating disorders are mental illnesses. 

So, to confess, I've been bingeing a lot lately. I was discussing one of the health consequences of these binges with a friend who lovingly suggested I see a doctor. This is the correct response, however it only further highlights the main difficulty I am presented with.

I could, and arguably should, go to a doctor, because it is a health matter and that is the only source for medical and health information. However, when I know the cause of the health concern is my bingeing, there is little they can actually offer.

They might offer a prescription for symptom relief, however the symptoms will only persist if I don't address the reason they're presenting, so they're unlikely to given potential side effects and long term impacts from the medication. 

With the issue being the result of my eating disorder and not an underlying actual medical concern, they're likely to suggest referrals to dietetics and psychology. These are both great ideas, they're the correct solution, however it then falls on me to engage with the services, to seek out the clinics, to attend the appointments (at my cost), and to actually implement the interventions. This will be a slow process likely based on urge surfing, meal timing, craving tolerance and mood regulation. However if I binge while engaging in the process, I still can and probably will. They can't stop me. 

It is up to me- and me along, to stop shovelling junk into my face.

I only have myself to blame for these consequences, and I only have myself to depend on to get out of this cycle.

It is my responsibility to recognise what triggers the binges and avoid the triggers.

I have to know what foods are too highly palatable and to avoid them.

I need to go for a walk when the urge hits.

I need to plan meals and meal times that will keep me full throughout the day.

I have to remember to drink water when I think I need sweets.

It's up to me to have fruit and vegetables available for snacking.

It's nobody else's responsibility to stop me from buying protein bars.

I need to decide whether eating junk in the moment matters more to me than the very serious and potentially lifelong repercussions.

It doesn't matter what trauma is causing my behaviour. It doesn't matter why I'm doing it. My heart and the rest of my body don't give a fuck who is to blame for me being disordered.

Knowing when my disorder started or why I keep going back to it won't unlock some hidden secret to stop it.

Maybe it is genetic, maybe it is permanent. Maybe it's not even an eating disorder. Maybe it's some terminal uniqueness I suffer with.

Doesn't matter.

I might never be blessed with the body I want. I might never be able to see the work I've put in during training. I might never look any better.

Doesn't mean I can't try, and doesn't mean I shouldn't be mindful of my food choices.

The Disgusting Monster Laying Dormant

 It is believed that shame is an inherent trait designed to keep individuals in line with the pack. You don't share things that bring you a feeling of shame so as to not bring yourself into disrepute with those that could keep you alive.

Thankfully now I don't need to avoid sharing shameful things because we don't have to worry about clan wars or sharing food as a tribe, so here goes.

I get so jealous of people thinner than me - even if they're kids - and I'm repulsed by overweight people. I still hold onto body checking behaviours for myself, and I also body check random people in public. 

Do they have abs, do they have a muffin top, do they jiggle when they walk, how prominent are their collar bones and ribs? Am I bigger than then? Do I melt over the seat more than them? 

I'm not justifying my actions when I say that this is simply me trying to place myself on a spectrum with them, that's just what I'm trying to do. Me checking their bodies is me checking where my body is in comparison to theirs and how much work I need to do. Sometimes it's light congratulations; because sure I'm fat but I'm not that fat. Other times it's disappointment, heart break and dejection because someone else has the body I will never have.

Additionally, despite me wishing it weren't the case, there is an archetypal judgment call based on how I assume they are as people. If they're thinner than me, I assume them to be arrogant, self-righteous, conceited. If they're bigger than me, I attribute traits of laziness, apathy, complacency. If they're more muscular than I am, surely they're aggressive, confident, hard working.

Now before you say this is draconian and barbaric, because how dare I make sweeping generalisations without meeting people, could you really say you don't have a judgment call when you see a group of teenagers dripping in Nautica and Adidas roam the streets? Does the shouting drawl of "oi lad" and "nah cunt" not raise anxiety levels, or do you manage to remain equanimous?

Partially, I must admit, I'm merely trying to demystify my physical appearance by way of measuring up to objective stimuli when I conduct these checks. Are your legs touching? Are mine? What's your body doing? What does it look like when I stand next to you? What factors might be contributing to this?

Worst of all, at least for me, is that my behaviour doesn't align. So, instead of me being neck deep in a restrictive eating disorder, I'm probably just an average build girl who binges more than she'd care to admit and is body checking and fat shaming complete strangers. As if, somehow, I think me being underweight or actively restricting would justify my judgment. These are the bizarre and nefarious things that eating disorders tell people, which makes them so difficult.

I think also, we unfortunately live in a world where people are afraid to talk about these things, and when hard topics come up they're often shut down and silenced. I'm not allowed body image issues because I'm already in a body that some people would admire and desire for themselves. I'm not allowed to be "fatphobic" because that's cruel and hurtful, despite the fact that it is an actual symptom of a mental illness that I suffer with and I don't act on my thoughts.

Alternatively, maybe I am in the wrong, who knows.

Divine Feminine & Masculine

 Today I'd like to take a change of pace to discuss something far less analytical and thought focussed, because, as you'll soon learn, I'm far too often stuck in that internal environment. That environment is the product of what I'll refer to here as masculine energy.

We all know masculine energy; it's going, doing, rushing, smashing, conquering, goal attainment, to-do lists, hustling. It's your type A personality. It's your trackers and your rise and grind mentality.

There is a very apparent need for masculine energy; without it we wouldn't get anything done. We'd be adrift in a space of sensuality without an ounce of urgency. However, both feminine and masculine energy are dose dependent poisons.

Spending all your time in thinking, analysing, output and productivity sucks the fun out of life. There's a frantic hastiness to living in this energy where no matter how fast you pedal through life you'll always be chasing your tail.

Embracing feminine energy is realising that life isn't meant to be a race. That this moment, right where you are, is beautiful as it is. That despite your trying, there is. It is smiling at the sky, breathing in the colours of life, dancing in your apartment on your own, taking time to really taste your food. It is the space between the thoughts. It is the acceptance of reality as opposed to the working for something different.

This is not to suggest embracing mediocrity and becoming complacent with life, it is simply admiring, appreciating, and giving thanks for what you already have and where you have come thus far.

It is the journey of life.

You don't need an extravagent self care routine or a tantric sex ritual. It doesn't take free bleeding or joining a coven and converting to wicca. 

It can be as simple as walking a little slower.

It can be pausing a utilitarian walk to take a photo of something beautiful you see.

It can be sitting instead of standing.

It can be intentionally mono-tasking. (Side note, this is actually harder than it sounds).

Even just taking yourself out for a meal somewhere on your own and enjoying your own company. Taking in the atmosphere and knowing you're worth that bliss.

Embracing feminine energy is making space for the beauty of life to come through.

If the though of giving yourself to do whatever you want gives you major anxiety, it may be an indication that this is exactly what you need.

Give yourself the freedom to be, the space to play, the time to explore. Give yourself grace and compassion. Nurture your soul. 

Release the deadline. Paint without the goal of becoming an artist. Do something, anything, just for the fun of it.

Let there be silence.

Give yourself kindness, softness, a gentle touch.

Utilising feminine energy is realising life isn't a competition and there's enough for everyone. It's laughing with your whole body, not worried about what someone will think. Leisure for leisure's sake. 

Nobody would spoil the fun of a playground by telling a child it's exercise, would they?

So why do we sour the sweet essence of life just because we're adults?

Paradoxically, focussing too heavily on the masculine will lead to a dead stop in all productivity.

You set a million goals and make yourself a schedule down to 5 minute increments. You're determined, you're fired up, you're furious, and by 9am you're a couch potato with no awareness of what went wrong.

My struggle has been exactly this. A Sunday roles around and I'm fed up with failed attempts, wasted potential and stagnant self improvement. I commit myself to a week of lofty goals and scream at myself that this has to be the last straw. I set goals, make contingency plans, even go so far as to make consequences and rewards for failure or success. 

I wish I could say I even keep up momentum for long enough to get burnt out, however that would be a gross misrepresentation of the truth.

I don't even try.

I never begin.

Unfortunately, I'm just hitting a wall of jadedness and dejection. Too apathetic to do a thing.

Why?
Because there's no pleasure in life.

I've lost the thrill of achievement.

I need to reinvigorate my soul.

When one of my workplaces decided they would no longer offer work on Saturdays, a dearly loved shift for it's alluring penalty rates and tantalising lack of supervision, I originally took the news with a heavy heart and figured I'd simply work a different job then instead.

Except instead of being inspired by the potential for improvement, being motivated by the thought of a nice change, I just felt downtrodden and defeated.

Do I really need to keep sacrificing weekends?

I guess I'd never considered that perhaps there was a small (or even large and growing larger) part of me that resented that I didn't get the day off.

It wasn't easy, but I decided that this would be my opportunity to experiment with a new approach. I was surprised that it wasn't an automatic and obvious decision to work Saturdays somewhere else, so I took this liberty to offer a gentler alternative.

I would take Saturdays off from working and commit myself to bringing a more feminine balance to my life.

And so begins my series of self-dates as documented in the vlogs.

This has been a new and challenging adventure, which I will continue to document, but so far has been enjoyable.

Perspective

 It should come as no surprise after my last post that lately I've been struggling with body image issues and food fears. 

Something hard to explain that comes as a result of these stressors is the body dysmorphia.

I've verbalised it to friends as looking at my body and seeing 3+ different body types spliced together like those matching toys you'd get in happy meals as a kid where you twist the line up the legs, mid and head of a particular character.

I can't understand my body.

Sometimes I see a specific feature and feel some kind of softness or appreciation for it, normally my collarbones or the part where my ribs become my abdomen, but then it just looks like that body part has been added to something weird, (just below my my collarbones are pecs, and below them hang my two misshapen breasts that look like the early stages of puberty, whereas the cute almost abs of my upper stomach/ribs sits just above my bloated lower belly, made all the worst by my fat flanks that leave my entire midsection looking boxy).

I could sit here and debate whether it's an inability to see the whole for all the parts, that I'm trying to inspect with my brain as opposed to appreciate with my heart, or I could spend time trying to analyse which mechanism/s contribute to the experience, but at the end of the day, that's what I see and how it looks to me.

So I remind myself: this is only how I see it. It's just my disorder. It's just me being my worst critic. Nobody else sees it the same.

Sometimes I'll get compliments for my muscle mass, or a comment about me being small. Some people even try to suggest I'm lean, which is just factually incorrect. I know that each person has their own preference and standards. Sometimes I can tell they don't mean malice, but I battle internally trying to know whether they mean well. Despite whether knowing full well this is a compliment, I'm still left feeling confused.

What do they see?

I would honestly love to see myself from the perspective of someone else. Just for a day, to hop in and out of the minds of NPCs in the real world. To view myself with fresh eyes. What would I see differently? What would I think?

Would I even notice the cellulite? Would I be as disgusted as I normally am that my legs jiggle when I walk? Would my eyes bulge when I see my biceps? Would I still be telling myself I need to be strict on a diet, to increase my cardio, to body check in every reflective surface just to see what I look like in that moment? How would I feel if I saw myself sit down, as opposed to pace at the train station? What would my assumptions be if I saw me from a different perspective?

Obviously this thought experiment extends to more than just physical appearance, unfortunately that's just what preoccupies my mind most. Occasionally my line of questioning rolls into more broad topics, so it becomes...

If I told my life story to someone else, would they see me as a failure, or would they be amazed that I've survived? How would I react if someone else told me they were in my particular circumstance? Why can't I do that for me? If I were an outsider just meeting me for the first time now, would I be as harsh as I am to myself? Or would I be pleasantly surprised at my resilience, my sense of humour, my light-hearted approach to life?

Nobody sees me the way I do.

The same goes for you, too, my dear reader.

Nobody cares about that freckle, that blemish, the fact that you burnt your toast or can't make your bills. Nobody will be disappointed in you for not getting straight A's or asking for help. Nobody is going to wake you up in the middle of the night to remind you of that cringe thing you did back in primary school the way you do. Nobody is going to call you a failure for a relationship not working or the fact that you've been single for longer than you want. Nobody is going to scream at you for not knowing how to dress, or berate you for forgetting to finish your laundry. Nobody will laugh at you because your eyeliner is uneven or your hair is a mess.

I know that knowing this doesn't really kill the inner critic. I know that voice still plays like a broken tape recorder in the background, probably 24hrs a day. I know it's near impossible to shut it up or rewrite that script.

So just start with softness; I might not be as bad as I think. I might not have failed my entire life completely. Perhaps there is a possibility that this isn't the worst thing in the entire universe.

There's also nothing wrong with theoretically swapping perspectives and trying to see yourself from someone else's view. 

It's also super main character of you to assume that anyone passing by will notice you, let alone remember you even 20mins from now.

Realistically you could fuck up a conversation to catastrophic proportions and still not take up any space in their mind, and you're not even getting to that point.

So it's really not that bad.

"Recovery"*

I'm stuck, once again, in the weird limbo of pseudo recovery.

I'll eat something tasty and "off plan" because I want it and the recovery mindset suggests I can and probably should, but that will create the insatiable urge to devour more decadent treats, triggering a binge. Whether or not I binge on those specific craving items or just whatever I have and can get my hands on is hardly relevant, but the unfortunate fact is I find myself chowing down beyond the little allowable treat.

So with this in mind, I have 2 possible solutions:

1) I just stay on track, don't indulge in off-plan foods, and eat the same small handful of allowable foods for the rest of eternity.

Or,

2) I just eat nothing but enjoyable, non-nutritive, indulgent, fattening craving foods until the craving dies, triggering binge after binge in the hopes that my binges are simply fuelled by the mental restriction ("I can't have X") and not some other unknown factor.

The question really becomes: which of these, if any, is actually recovery focussed? And beyond that point, is recovery really what I want? 

Am I the weird one for eating based on logic, thought, fore-planning and macro counting, or is the rest of the population just woefully ignorant and misinformed with their emotional decision making around food choices?

Do either of these dichotomised options - eat to a plan vs eat like a chid - actually make sense? Do we look to evolutionary theory for answers? If so, surely our hunter-gatherer ancestors would have eaten what they could get their hands on, regardless of if they were "feeling something sweet". Would this translate to "eat what you should" in our modern era?

Furthermore, where do each of my solutions lead? In deciding to eat predetermined meals, I'm essentially locking myself into a lifetime of making conscious, frontal brain decisions on food, with the alternative suggesting a more intuitive eating, follow your feeling approach.

Truthfully, and it should come as no surprise, I find there to be nothing intuitive about eating. Sure, eat when you're hungry and stop when you're full makes sense on paper, but where do we learn what hunger feels like and what does a person do if those hunger/fullness cues don't work or aren't understood? I also find it recklessly naive to assume that our bodies will crave and ask for what is best for them when we have choices like cheeseburgers and chocolates available. Let us not forget that food is a for-profit industry. Major corporations spend millions on research and development to ensure their offerings are not only moreish, but so moreish you go with their shiny object and not their competitor's.

That's certainly something our ancestors didn't have to worry about when the meals on offer were the chicken you can't catch or the bull that is fast asleep.

With food production as it is, we've found ourselves in the gleeful predicament of choice beyond our wildest dreams. Could you imagine a meek villager or lone nomad suggesting he didn't feel like the ox that was leftover from the hunt? Imagine a tribe chieftain going to the effort of providing a bounty, and someone decides they don't want to try innards. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not going full Liver King and suggesting anything for the ancestral lifestyle, but there is something to be said for our selfishness and greed, we take a lot for granted in this fashion.

There is, undeniably, a part of me that fears losing my current physique and the opportunity to improve it. I'm not even where I want to be right now, what would it do to my mental health should I go further from a place where I'm comfortable in my meat suit? What is my identity if not a person who eats with utility in mind? But also, how bad could it really be if I do happen to get "fat"? Sure, I'd be settling for mediocrity and be part of the majority population, what's wrong with that?

That being said, let's not forget that food has a real and sincere impact on the way our body functions. I know that after a binge I'm left feeling hungover and lethargic, with awful consequences on my gut, further throwing my appetite out of whack and perpetuating cravings for similar junk foods. Do I want to live like that? Do I want to struggle in the gym from the after effects of a sudden influx of a specially curated and propriety cocktail of sugars and chemicals?

All this is to suggest that there is a right way to eat. Some blanket way that all humans should sustain their existence. Almost sounds a little... black and white, wouldn't you say? Almost like the cognitive tools I'm using to tackle the question of recovery are, in and of themselves, part of the disorder I'm suggesting to be in recovery from. 

I must remind myself that this flesh bag, my meat suit, this suit of armour for my living bits- that's all it is. People don't care what it looks like. If they do? Fuck 'em. My body has changed a million times already. I didn't complain about growing 300% in the first 3 years of life, why would I complain about growing 2% now? Deciding on how to eat isn't actually a permanent thing. I can eat like a child tomorrow and return to veganism (heaven forbid) the next. Hell, maybe there'll come a time where I do carnivore for a month again. With such a robust and varied history of different ways of eating, surely I recognise by now that it's really not about making a final choice and never changing ever again.

Anyway. This is what "recovery"* looks like.