It's not about control, y'all!

Seriously.  I can't tell you how many times I have heard this.  It's a power struggle.  Stop fighting her and she'll stop fighting back.  It's about control.

I swear if I had a quarter....

It's not about freaking control.  But it is also something I have struggled to understand.  Especially how to explain it to others not living it.

You see, when your child has an eating disorder, particularly a restrictive one, something happens in their brain.  It's an anxiolytic response.

E is so overwhelmed and terrified of her world.  A world she does not understand.  A world that is scary.  We sat together last night while she cried because she was afraid to grow up.  Afraid of a time that her father and I wouldn't be here, because she needs us so much.  She was afraid of the standardized testing they are about to do in school.  She was afraid of letting go of the past, because she was afraid she would forget those that were special to her in the past and their memories.  Her stomach and brain were churning with so much fear and she became afraid that she was going to get sick.

It's a horrible vicious cycle.

Restricting her food (or, as she said to me last night, not eating so she will stop growing) has become like an addiction to her.  She has realized that when she doesn't eat, she feels better.  She is not afraid.  Restricting the amount and type of food she eats has become an addiction to her.  It has become her way of dealing with the anxiety that consumes her.

Think about it this way.  An alcoholic uses alcohol to deal with difficult things.  It soothes them in the chaos of their life.  But, from the outside, we understand how the alcoholism is actually destroying their life and their health.  It causes them to act and do things that they may not otherwise do if they were not in the grips of the need for that drink.  

To E, restricting is alcohol.  It has become what soothes her when she is afraid.  Is there a control element?  Sure.  But it's a false one.  One she has told herself and that her brain has convinced her is the only way she can control this world she is in.

But from the outside, from our point of view, we can see the damage this way of thinking causes.  The malnutrition, the aggressive behavior, the anxious movements of her hands.  But to her, she sees that she is doing her best to stop herself from growing up and our requirement that she eat is something to be fought.

She does not comprehend that this restriction will ultimately kill her.

She.Does.Not.Understand.

A very wise friend of mine said it this way.  "Thoughts control behaviors. She cannot control her thoughts. They are what are disordered. Her behavior comes out of the thoughts, not the other way around." 

When you see it as a control thing, you are seeing the behavior.  But the behavior is not the origin of the problem.

No.  This is not about control.  This is not about the parent/child power struggle.  Or the child/authoritative figure power struggle.

This is about fear.  Fear of living a life without her drug.  Fear of living life without her restriction.

Don't Stop, Can't Stop, Won't Stop

Lately, I've been unable to sit still.  I can't stop moving.  I'm cleaning, or painting, or organizing.  We are mostly done with one big project (replacing the doors in the house) and I can't stop planning for the next (landscaping and cleaning the backyard and remodeling a bathroom.) 

I laughingly joked to myself the other day if there was an "addiction anoynomous" for home updating.  Because I just can't stop.

Then at a recent annual well-check for myself, and they give you that ridiculous self-assessment form with a million different questions that ask the same thing but in different ways, one question stuck out to me.  It was on a form to assess your anxiety levels and it asked if you feel the need to be in constant motion.

Well.  Yes.

I mean, I knew the reason I kept moving was to keep myself from stopping and thinking because if I did the weight of it might crush me.  But I never associated it with anxiety.  It makes complete sense, in hindsight.  The question is, what do you do about it?

A friend posted this image this morning and it completely resonated with me.  They need to add the constantly moving, ha!  But do you see anxiety in your life?  What are you doing about it?

Sometimes self care isn't self care

Self-care seems to be all the rage these days.  Every where you turn, moms are being encouraged to "get away" and "do something for themselves."  Even the Today show did an entire piece on how women are focusing so much on others to their own physical detriment.

While this sentiment is very true and valid, they miss one very important piece.  What is the definition of self-care?

(disclaimer: this is not my image, but from Pexels)


Dictionary.com defines self-care as "the practice of taking action to preserve or improve one's own health." And "the practice of taking an active role in protecting one's own well-being and happiness, in particular during periods of stress."

But that definition is fairly non-descript.  Is it nails?  Or massages?  Or vacations?

Or is it simply sunshine, fresh air, early morning coffee and organizing your kitchen cabinets?

I have found throughout this last year that self-care for me is two fold.  Redecorating my house (sorry Andrew) and reorganizing/cleaning/decluttering.

And maybe it's more than just decluttering the physical space.  It's definitely self-preservation, because quite honestly, it keeps my mind focused on anything and everything than what I am going through.  It keeps the thoughts out of my head that so easily crop up when I have a free moment.

So yeah, I'm avoiding actually exploring those deeper recesses of my mind, but honestly that needs to be dealt with when I am no longer in the midst of a battle that takes every ounce of mental and physical energy I do have.

Maybe it's ok

"Maybe it's ok if I'm not ok
'Cause the One who holds the world is holding onto me
Maybe it's all right if I'm not all right
'Cause the One who holds the stars is holding my whole life."  ~We are Messengers

Mental health has a stigma surrounding it.  I don't know why but it seems no one ever wants to truly say how they feel.  Conversations never go more than skin deep when someone asks you how it's going.  How many times have you been asked that question just to respond with "it's going ok" or "things are great!"  And how many times has that actually been what you wanted to say.

I'm guilty of this, and not so much because I'm afraid of the stigma of mental health.  Heck, I'm not afraid to blast it on Facebook.  PTSD, anxiety, depression are rampant in my life and in my mind.  I've actually been discriminated against because I fully admit to PTSD following E's NICU stay, because I want the world to know that yes, the NICU can be THAT traumatic and PTSD is more common after a NICU stay than most would believe or know.  And I do so hoping that other NICU moms read it and realize that a) they have it too and b) it's normal after what they've been through.

But I think for myself, I don't say what I really feel because I don't want anyone to feel like I'm just a Debbie Downer.  I don't want to bring anyone else down just because I'm struggling.

And yes, I'm struggling, and not in a bad way.  Who wouldn't if you woke up every morning preparing yourself for battle and a battle that you don't know when it will end?  Would you be ok if you had to watch your kid with every meal display anxiety?  Picking her nails, her skin, playing with her food making you think she's eating it, going for her drink.  Anything other than putting the food on her plate in her mouth.  When every meal takes an hour, sometimes more, even breakfast.  A simple bowl of cereal can become a line in the sand.

I think part of why I am struggling is because my personality is one of transparency.  I need to share, to get these words out of my head, in an effort to reduce the power they hold on me.  The more I keep them in the more the bounce and echo and swirl with dizzying power.  But I've been afraid, yes afraid, to share her story in this journey.

But what if I wasn't afraid?  What if she wasn't afraid?  What if everyone shared and the stigma disappeared?  Yes, she has an eating disorder but it's not something to hide and only share in whispered back room conversations like she has the plague.  Yes, we avoid any activities that include food because I'm not having that battle in a room full of people.  Not because I'm embarrassed by her, but I am, in many ways, afraid of how others will see her in the midst of the lack of knowledge surrounding eating disorders and mental health in general.

The song Maybe It's Ok has been bouncing around in my head for a few days now, especially the "maybe it's ok to not be ok."

Remove the stigma.  Because sometimes it really is ok to not be ok.