They Just Don't "Get It"

In my discussions with parents regarding their loved one's eating disorder, I often hear of the difficulties with people who just don't "get it". The comments are hurtful. The comments cut. The comments bring us to tears. The comments make us angry. The comments make us wonder why. Wonder how family and friends can be so utterly clueless.

 I do believe eating disorders fall into a category of blame and choice. It's easier to place blame and assume it is a choice than to truly try and understand the pain and the proven science behind the illness. While I do know some people comment with the best of intentions, those intentions are misguided. Would you tell someone who has a loved one with cancer that their behavior is a choice, so that is why they have a scary illness? Would you tell someone who has a loved one with diabetes that it's their fault because they modeled poor eating habits? No, you would not.

 I am at a loss for words to explain the heartless comments and the unthinkable hurt they cause. Acceptance of that fact was hard for me. We need to hang onto what we know is true. We know it is true that it is not our fault. We know it is true that this disease shakes us to our very core. We know that this disease takes so much away. We know that this disease cannot be understood unless it has mowed you down, too. I am thankful that people don't understand. I would not wish it on anyone. (Well, maybe for one day -- then they would get it!). They won't get it. They can't get it. We can only hope our voices will make a difference. We are strong. We are loud. We can make a difference.

Respect yourself and don't allow others to make you feel otherwise. We have been through enough and we don't need other people's opinions of us to make it worse. Know that and tattoo that on your soul. Unless they have walked with you, they just don't know. You can tell them that.  Then you can walk away.

Change . . .

Change.  We need to change.  It needs to change.  You need to change.  Change. Change is difficult.  Change is needed.  A situation not working?  You need to change it.  This is what we hope to do in October.  Hundreds of people will converge on Washington at the M.O.M. March to raise awareness of the needed changes in eating disorder treatment.

Not 1 more.  One more what?  Death.  No one needs to die from a treatable mental illness.  Daily, these souls are denied needed treatment due to lack of coverage by insurance companies.  They are turned away.  It's unconscionable and it needs to stop.  We need your voice and we need your help to support The Anna Westin Act.

The Anna Westin Act (Anna's Law)

I had the honor of spending some time with Anna's mother, Kitty, a few months ago.  To say she is remarkable is an understatement.  Through her pain, she has continued to help others and this law, in honor of her daughter Anna, is the necessary CHANGE that needs to happen.

Truth is that without CHANGE, eating disorders will continue to take lives.  We can CHANGE that.  Will you be part of that CHANGE?

Join us in Washington.  It will CHANGE you.

March Against ED

Goodbye Dad . . .

Today is Mother's Day . . .  I know for many of you,  this day can be a difficult one.   It is for me as well.  My mom has been gone for 27 years and I still miss her the most on Mother's Day.  It is just a reminder that she is no longer with us.  I try to find a way to celebrate that honors her . . . honoring is a nice thing to do.  We can also honor ourselves.  Remember that!

The year started out as usual for me, with hopes of bringing to bloom new ideas and goals.  Life does have a way of throwing you a nasty Nolan Ryan curveball when you least expect it, however.  It did for me on January 27th when my husband and I found my father on the bathroom floor.  He had fallen while putting on his clothes.  This was his second fall in five days.

The next two months were followed up with hospitals and doctor appointments, surgery and more doctor appointments and an eventual stay at a nursing and rehabilitation facility.  Dad despised every minute of it.  He wanted to go home.  At 92, he was out of his comfort zone.  I felt very torn as to what I knew he needed and what his wishes were.  I had to keep him safe.  Living an hour away from me was no longer an option.  My sister and I worked on a plan -- oh it was a grand one -- and he would be so happy.  Truth was, dad was not happy.  He continued to decline and at the end of March we made the difficult decision, at his request, to stop all medical intervention.  He passed away on March 29th, a week shy of his 93rd birthday.  Signing those forms as his power of attorney was not easy.  I had to remember he entrusted that task to me over 20 years ago and it was time I respected what I knew he wanted.  His daily needs were no longer a concern.  He was at peace.  He was reunited back with my mom.  That was a great comfort.

It is difficult packing up a life.  A life well lived.  A man well loved.  A son.  A brother.  A husband. A father.  An uncle.  A grandfather.  A great grandfather.  A friend.  He had many and had outlived most of them.   Having both of your parents gone is a strange feeling . . . almost a disconnect.  When mom died, I still had dad.  Now dad is gone.  These wonderful parents who raised me and provided for my every need, who taught me difficult lessons, who loved me -- are gone.  It hits me at strange times, different moments and my heart feels heavy.

It is now time, however,  to move forward and get back to those lofty goals I had in the beginning of January.  That is what they would want me to do.  Keep looking ahead.  Follow your heart, your dreams,  if you make $5.00, save three and spend two; go slow.

I will, mom and dad, I will  . . .

A Network of Hope and a Little PTSD

This past December, I was fortunate to be able to attend the Hope Network Mom's Retreat in beautiful San Diego.  I was encouraged to attend by one of the parents in my support group.  You see, I preach self care to them all the time and was telling them about the retreat.  One parent piped up and said, why don't you go?  Me?  Yes, you.  You are always telling us to take care of ourselves . . . etc., etc., blah, blah . . . ok, ok, I decided to go.  If nothing else, I would learn some self-care techniques to pass along to my families.

What transpired that weekend was beyond anything I could have imagined.  My daughter was recovered from her eating disorder, so "what was the point in going?" I asked myself.  I quickly discovered what the point was.  It was me.  ME.  Me?  Really?  Yes, ma'am.

As we gathered together for the first time -- 2 coaches and five moms -- it was evident something special was about to happen.  We introduced ourselves and started sharing our stories.  Each one was heartbreaking, each one was different, each one was ours alone.  The pain in our eyes -- that was pretty much the same.  Hurt, anger, resentment . . . it was all there.

We listened, we cried, we laughed, we had some wine -- it was good.

We learned how to embrace JOY in the midst of sadness.  We learned how to accept what happened and see the need to move on.  We learned that life is unpredictable.  We learned to not judge others. We learned self-acceptance.  We learned there are no wrong answers.  We learned that PTSD is very real.  It's not about moving on, it's about remembering.  We can move on, but in all the remembering, that is where the true pain resides.

For me, personally, I had a huge AHA moment -- isn't that what Oprah calls them?  When a light so big goes off in your head it blinds you from the inside out?

I realized in a moment that the work I do to help families truly brings me fulfillment.  It may not always be fun -- eating disorders are not something that you associate with fun -- but helping families to know that this is not their fault and to relieve them of their self-blame is very satisfying.  For them to connect with other families who "get it" is huge, comforting and downright necessary.

I needed to stop listening to that voice in my head (probably some evil twin of ED) telling me that I needed to find something else to do.  Something that was fun.  I learned to listen to my heart, not my head.  My heart is more rational than the mental gymnastics in my head anyway.  I had to learn to be accepting of my own choices regardless of what others thought.  I needed to start liking myself again.
It's one of the hardest things I have ever done, yet one of the most freeing.

You do not need the approval of anyone to follow your heart.  When you live with a family member with a mental illness (yes, eating disorders are a mental illness, not a choice),  it can cause you to question yourself daily.  You are constantly being reminded by the eating disorder voice that it's your fault, you are to blame. It is hard to trust your own voice.   I need to learn to trust mine.  I'm working on it and it feels pretty good.

One of the first changes I made upon returning home was to donate my entire bin of "self-help" books to the library.   It was brought to my attention that by hanging onto them, that perhaps they were a constant reminder of where I felt I was lacking.   Wow!  I felt lighter already.  Thanks, Becky.

I will continue to listen to my heart, my inner compass.  I will continue to pray each day.  I will continue to trust myself.  I will start liking myself a little more.  I will continue to  eliminate from my life "that which does not serve me."

Not sure what that looks likes, but it will be interesting when I find out.  I'll keep you posted.