Managing body image distress amid changing seasons

“There are few more excruciating experiences than when something that has become a part of who we are changes… When things we’ve come to accept as a part of our identity and worth change, it can feel like we are being stripped of who we are.”

— Amber Lyon, You Are A Magnet, 115

I’ve been reflecting on the possibility that “getting out” isn’t necessarily guaranteed. Or, is it even always the goal? Does setting this expectation cause more issues and create additional pressure? Can I make peace with the idea that certain challenges might be an ongoing, never-ending journey for me? I’ve started to think more about what I can realistically do to cultivate joy and purpose while in the “through” stage, because that stage (to some extent) might be permanent for me. I know that my life is happening now — if I wait to try and live fully until I cross some imaginary finish line where I’m finally free from my ED and chronic pain, am I wasting precious, limited time?

A bookish distraction for those who are going through it and need something lighthearted.

“The abundance of rhetoric about female sexual purity, my profound shame surrounding my bisexuality, the sense that my parents’ love was conditional, my desperate desire to make myself thinner, and my mounting sense of self-hatred all created fertile ground for my instinct to stay silent after being sexually assaulted – expressing and working through the pain, fear, and horror that accompanied being raped didn’t feel justifiable in comparison to the further distress it would have caused my parents.”

“I dread going to sleep because I dread waking up.” In my experience, eating disorder recovery + severe chronic pain = depression.

"During the first several months of my (indefinite) exercise break, I felt hopeless. I didn’t want to get out of bed and have to exist in such extreme discomfort all day; however, I also didn’t really feel better if I stayed in bed all day. I’ve had many instances over the course of my recovery journey where I’ve felt as though recovery isn’t actually going to be worth what it’s costing me. In some of my lowest moments, I’ve claimed that I don’t actually want to recover (and I’ve sincerely meant it!)."

I feel somewhat ashamed and slightly icky for admitting that I’ve been struggling so much with grief - especially when it seems as though, on the “scale” of loss, others have it far worse. I think that I’m likely not the only one who feels like they’re experiencing grief over things that have been implicitly labelled “unacceptable.” So, in this post, I’m sharing the main things that I’m currently mourning the loss of, even though it feels like these things aren’t “acceptable” to grieve by society’s standards. Hopefully this resonates with someone out there and helps validate that non-death-related grief is difficult and worthy of holding space for. 

I would also get SO frustrated when people would tell me to just "listen to my body" (a common sentiment when people are offering advice about how to heal your relationship with movement). Because of the ED, I quite literally did not have the ability to listen to my body and discern when I needed to rest - I had forced myself to push through exhaustion for years without resting, and I had convinced myself that I didn't ever really "need" rest (and, problematically, that resting was "lazy"). Furthermore, "listening to my body" felt impossible when I was in such intense physical pain. This sort of decision paralysis in regards to exercise made me feel extremely isolated - I struggled to find any resources online, in blogs, or on social media that talked specifically about how hard it is to make these types of decisions when you live with chronic pain and are trying to heal from an ED and an exercise addiction. I felt (still feel?) like my experience as someone in ED recovery while trying to manage chronic pain was/is too "niche" and like no one really understood (understands?).

The overlap between chronic pain and eating disorder recovery is not a topic that I have seen discussed very often online; however, my experience trying to navigate physical pain while in the midst of recovering from an eating disorder has been profoundly difficult and has impacted my life drastically. EDs obviously intersect with other components of one's identity and experiences in diverse ways, but the lack of conversations about the particular intersection with chronic pain has made me feel extremely isolated. Perhaps this is too niche of a topic, but, if sharing my story helps just one person feel less alone, I know it will be worth it! I am also hopeful that, even if you don't deal with chronic pain or chronic illness, there are likely aspects of this situation that will still be resonant.

The fact that recovery isn't linear can be a source of great distress - especially for those who are really, really tired of having an ED and just desperately want to be fully "recovered." I majorly struggle with appropriately balancing recognizing and celebrating the progress that I've made, while also acknowledging the changes that I still need to make. I think that, at least in my own experience, finding this balance can be extremely tricky. I personally tend to hyper-fixate on all the ways I could be doing better, which often leaves me feeling overwhelmed and angry with myself.

I’m really hopeful that this post can offer comfort and validation, if you ultimately do decide to take a break from exercise (for a week, a month, a year, or however long feels right to you). Please know that you absolutely are doing the right thing. If you struggle with craving permission from others to take a step back from workout out, I want to reiterate that you undoubtedly are doing something so productive for your holistic health (even if that means eliminating working out altogether). If you sense that a break is the best thing for you to do, it is! Reaching this decision is scary, especially if exercise has been a consistent part of your daily routine for years.

"I hope you find the courage to change your life... I hope you realize that this is not the practice run, this is not the preview. This is it. There is nothing to do but leap." Visualizing what I want my life to look like in twenty or thirty years has been incredibly clarifying for me: How will I feel if I engage in unhealthy and harmful behaviors for the next few decades? I see a life wrought with potentially life-threatening health complications, missing out on traveling and meals with friends, always being scared to go to the doctor, constantly criticizing myself and my appearance, and always wanting to be smaller. In twenty years, will I regret the over-exercising, restricting, and lack of rest? Will I wish that, instead of being obsessed with being the smallest version of myself, I had instead pushed through recovery? What might my life be like if I continue to do the hard work now - acknowledging the discomfort and still doing it anyways?

Googling "what to do when you want to die" as a consequence of how tremendously unhappy I was with my body and myself was a rock-bottom moment for me. I'm so lucky to now be in a place where I can force myself to take care of my body, no matter what the ED tries to convince me. Let this be a brutal reminder: the health consequences of an eating disorder - and putting yourself at risk of losing your life - is undoubtedly not worth it.