A Struggle for Perfection

March 19, 2017March 19, 2017 freedomfrommyeatingdisorder1 Comment

“Next up, we have a new member to our community, Andrea Brooks, who will be reading the part of Dorothy.” Fear penetrates through my body, and I almost let it overtake me when I look out into the audience and see a familiar face. My dad, who had accompanied me on my audition, whispers, “You got this,” while giving me a thumbs-up. Suddenly, I feel like I can conquer anything in the world because my dad is with me, and he believes in me. I pour my heart and soul into this audition. I keep repeating, “In order to be an actress, you have to believe you are an actress.” And I believed…with every ounce of my being.

This was my first callback at my very first audition at twelve years old. The only acting I had done before this was at home performing I Love Lucy episodes in front of my family. My dad saw the advertisement in the Newspaper and told me that I should audition. Even though I was inexperienced in the professional acting world, he believed that I had a real shot. With my long, brown hair, blue colored eyes, and fair skin, I was a doppelgänger for the lead role, Dorothy. I auditioned and made it through each round to the final callback. The main role in the Wizard of Oz was between me and another actress who was well-known in this theatre community.

The role of Dorothy goes to…

How could I have failed myself like this? How could I have let my dad down? “Your audition wasn’t perfect,” whispered a voice I had never heard before this moment. And this, was the first time I was introduced to Miss Perfectionist.

My eating disorder, Ed, took on different forms. He elicited help from his multiple personality disorder to gain more ground in the destruction of my mind and body. The word perfect that was used sporadically in my vocabulary would become the defining unrealistic standard I placed on myself. Nothing was ever good enough for Ed’s accomplice, “Miss Perfectionist.” She wanted everyone to like me and in order to do this, I had to please everyone. It was required that I put aside my needs and wants in order to meet the needs and wants of those around me. It wasn’t enough that I believed in myself, but I had to convince everyone else to believe in me too. She insisted that I maintain a perfect grade point average if I was going to become anyone of importance.

She told me that I had to become a famous actress or my years of experience on the stage wouldn’t count. Through every audition, every callback, every rehearsal, she promoted unrealistic standards of perfection for me to achieve. “If you’re not going to do it perfectly, then you might as well not do it at all,” she would shout in my ear as I geared up for my shining moments. Every audition, every test, every big life event was defined by the pressure and nerves stemming from Miss Perfectionist’s voice setting the expectations for me.

According to Miss Perfectionist, I wasn’t allowed to make a mistake and if I did, she would repeat, “Failure” until I did it her way. When I was cast in lead roles, my joy was quickly replaced by the insufferable amount of pressure that I now had to prove to Miss Perfectionist that I was deserving of the part. When I received my acceptance letter from New York University, Miss Perfectionist took center stage and created a doubt in my mind that maybe they didn’t choose the right person. I then began obsessively checking my name on the letter and then convinced myself that I had to live up to their expectations of me. Even though I didn’t know exactly who “they were” or what “their expectations were,” Miss Perfectionist created an excel sheet of the daily standards I had to meet.

The more I succeeded, the more power Miss Perfectionist wanted, and the pressure became unbearable. A result of this pressure, I took it out own myself. My body became my battleground. I counted every calorie and kept track of every minute spent on the treadmill. Every morsel going into my mouth was preplanned and every inch on my body had to be toned. When I stepped on the scale, it had to read a specific number or I would restrict or purge to get the number lower. In a blink of an eye, I went from weighing 116 pounds to 92 pounds on my already petite 5’7-foot frame. And yet, it still wasn’t good enough for Miss Perfectionist, and it never would have been.

Miss Perfectionist would never be satisfied because perfection does not exist. Through my recovery, I learned that life isn’t about perfection but about progress and persistence. I have eliminated the word perfect from my vocabulary, and I stopped using it as a ruler to measure my self-worth. I woke up today weighing almost thirty pounds more than I did when I was under the strict surveillance of Miss Perfectionist and guess what? I felt absolutely beautiful and wonderful in my own skin. I am able to celebrate my body and my accomplishments in a whole new light. The pressure that once accompanied them is no longer a dominate force in my life. When I learned that I could step on the scale and have a weight range that fit my body, I fired Miss Perfectionist. When I understood that I could make a mistake and it didn’t mean I was a failure, I not only fired her but refused to give her a positive reference. I realized that all along it was Miss Perfectionist who wanted me to be perfect-not me.

It took many dialogue sessions to separate my voice from Miss Perfectionist (as it did with Ed’s voice). I had to recognize her standards versus mine and then make a conscious effort to stand up against her. I have learned to accept my imperfections as the qualities that make me unique. Once I grasped the concept that only Jesus was a perfect human being, I gave myself the grace and compassion to be exactly how I was created to be, imperfect. Only through our mistakes, can we discover our strength and greatness. Forget “Perfect”; rebel and just be YOU.

Psalms 139:14: “I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”

“Miss Thinnest Girl in the World”

February 17, 2017February 17, 2017 freedomfrommyeatingdisorder1 Comment

“Ang, it’s time to get up, “says my mom with her gentle, soothing voice. Without hesitation, I jump out of bed with as much excitement as a kid on Christmas morning. Today, is my very first day at my new school. I have waited anxiously for this day for what seems like a lifetime. Located on my desk chair is my freshly ironed uniform dress; brand new, white, Reebok sneakers; and accessories to complement the look. “Everything has to be perfect,” I say as I slowly and carefully dress myself. After all, I want to look sharp on my first day. I soak in these final moments of leaving 6^th grade in my past and beginning a new year as 7^th grader at the prestigious all-girls school.

I complete my look by tying a little, black ribbon into a perfectly knotted bow and stand in front of the mirror. The blue colored uniform reflecting back at me symbolically represents the way I feel about myself. Confident, loyal, and intelligent. Satisfaction and pride linger behind the smile that crosses my angelic face, and the vision of me receiving my acceptance letter comes flooding back into the forefront of my mind. I confidently stare into the mirror with as much pride and self-assurance as I have ever felt in my life. “You are going to do great things and meet so many new friends,” I say to myself as I close my bedroom door. I didn’t yet know that in the quiet spaces of my mind, Ed was lurking in the shadows ready to pounce. Ed was waiting to use the competitive nature of an all-girls school to his advantage. Ed was lining things up like pieces on a chess board to play against me. He would use the mirror to distort my image by telling me I was flawed so that I would spend hours trying to “fix” myself. Ed would plant seeds of doubt and use his false evidence to try and destroy me.

Ed is a master con artist which is why eating disorders take so many lives. Ed slowly and methodically began highlighting the difference between me and the other teenagers who roamed the halls, and I wasn’t prepared for this comparison. I wasn’t ready for the competitive spirit between me and the Jaguars and Suburbans filled with girls who would one day want the exact same thing I would, but there would only be a few, pre-selected spots. I didn’t know about status, money, and power, but Ed did, and he would use it to hurt me.

After all, I was a simple girl who loved using her mind creatively. I spent my summer days playing Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman in the woods while waiting for the handsome, rugged Sully to ride in on his horse to rescue me. I converted the empty barn on our acre lot into an I Love Lucy apartment. My sister and I would act out scenes from the show and perform them in front of our family. As a young, wild-at-heart girl, I believed life was about adventure and imagination.

My first two years at the all-girls school were filled with many self-confidence building activities. I was heavily involved in sports. I enjoyed the camaraderie of the team and spending time with my friends. I especially loved sharing a common interest with my dad who is my hero. My dad was a phenomenal athlete, basketball player, and coach throughout his life. He was awarded athlete of the year when he was in high school, won MVP titles while playing college basketball, and had an incredible work ethic that helped him achieve his goals. I wasn’t really passionate about playing sports or naturally gifted at them, but it was a learning experience that helped impart character traits that would influence my life decisions.

During our practices, my dad instilled in me focus, drive, determination, and the importance of working for what you want in life. Ed would later use these skills to motivate me towards my new purpose of winning the coveted title, “Miss Thinnest Girl in the World.” Ed would capitalize on the idea that I wasn’t innately skilled at sports like my dad to make me doubt myself as a worthy individual who had incredible talents in other areas.

First, Ed used insults and lies in his attack by saying, “Andrea, you were not good enough to make the cheerleading team so you must not be good at anything.” This was a lie that took years to overcome because he made it sound so convincing. You see, Ed likes to leave out facts that don’t support his version of the story. Facts I later learned; that my spot on the cheerleading team was affected because my family declined to donate money to the school. Ed convinced me that it was my lack of abilities that was the deciding factor, and it was a strong trap for Ed to sink his claws. While in recovery, I learned to use the correct evidence to support my facts. I stood firm in my truths, “It wasn’t my lack of abilities that affected my chances on the cheerleading team but an issue regarding money. I am good at many things, and you don’t define what’s good enough for me.” Every lie and insult he hurled at me, I countered it with my truths.

Ed used distorted comparisons to attack. He compared me to others. I would be standing in front of the long, rectangle mirror at school while Ed was whispering sour lies in my ear. Ed would distort my self-image, allowing me to only see fat and shame. Ed taunted me with the words: “Mirror Mirror on the wall, who’s the thinnest of them all? Andrea, you need to eat less because you are not as thin as the girl standing next to you. She must be more accepted and loved than you.”

I finally overcame these comparisons by gaining self-acceptance for my body and appearance. I started seeing my body as a beautiful masterpiece that kept me alive and functioning. I started noticing the features that made me unique. I loved that my smile was similar to my mom’s smile, and my eye color matched my sister’s big, beautiful eyes. I loved that my complexion was like my dad’s porcelain skin tone, and my overall features were a distinct association to my other family members. I stopped allowing Ed to compare me to other people and accepted that I was my own special person. Instead of critiquing myself in front of the mirror, I complimented myself in front of it. I put up post-it notes of affirmations on my mirror and repeated them daily. I have practiced my affirmations for so long that they have become ingrained. When I stand in front of the mirror, thoughts of “You are important; You are valued; and You are worthy” subconsciously take the forefront of my mind. I wear my armor, and Ed doesn’t have a weapon strong enough to puncture it.

Ed’s primary tool is lies so the primary defense is truths. The lies are well constructed and can be difficult to see past. However, the truth is always underneath and in order to find recovery, one must find it. When using the truth as a defense, expect that Ed will challenge this truth, and attempt to convince you that it is false. He will tell you the sky is green, grass is blue, and you are worthless. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and you are worth more than you can comprehend. Stand firm in your truths and wear them as your armor preparing for battle. “Be self-controlled and alert. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour. Resist him, standing firm in the faith.” 1 Pet. 5:8-9

Run by the Rules

February 4, 2017 freedomfrommyeatingdisorder5 Comments

My alarm goes off and I press the snooze button. It’s 5:00 in the morning and my heavy eyes tell me I’ve only been asleep for a few hours. Maybe I can sleep for another hour I think to myself as I roll over and close my eyes. “Get up and burn calories. You want to be thinner than all of the other girls at school,” whispers Ed. He’s right. I throw off the covers and quickly change into shorts, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes. My muscles feel stiff and tight from the rough night’s sleep, but I know that once I start running, they will loosen up. I head downstairs into the living room where the treadmill is located. I turn on the television and watch the early morning show to help pass the time it takes to run in place. My stomach growls, and I don’t have a lot of energy. I pull up my shirt and look down at my stomach. Ugh, I wish my stomach would just go away and shrink down to nothing. “It’s good to run on an empty stomach. You will burn more fat that way,” says Ed. He’s right again so I listen.

I start the treadmill and give myself a two-minute walking warm-up. The treadmill is loud, and I wouldn’t’ be surprised if it wakes up my family but that is the least of my worries. I have to finish this workout so Ed will be proud of me. He won’t want me to eat breakfast if I don’t first burn calories so it’s better to do the workout. Ten minutes into the run and my body feels shaky and weak. I get a dizzy, light-headed sensation, but Ed tells me, “The harder you run the better you will feel about yourself. Look at the fat floating off of your body. I am so proud of you!” I increase the speed and incline of the treadmill. It gives me an incredible high to watch the calories counter increase from 0-500 by the end of my workout. I lift up my shirt and look down at my stomach again. It looks smaller and less full. I know this will change once I eat a plain piece of toast for my so-called “breakfast” but for now, my stomach is right where I want it. I give Ed a high-five and head towards the bathroom where my fortune-teller scale awaits me. As I step on the scale to read my worth for the day, Ed whispers, “That was a pretty good run but tomorrow you need to run faster. You want to burn 501 calories instead of just the 500 you burned today.” I nod my head in agreement, and we wait for the flashing number on the scale to tell me if I am good enough.

You see, Ed has a lot of rules. When I follow his advice, he tells me that I am special, and I will be a success. He tells me that once I reach my magic number, I will finally be happy with myself. He tells me that if I keep listening to him, then I will be in control of my life. When I don’t obey Ed or meet his expectations of me, he tells me that I am worthless, and I will never be good enough. He tells me that without him I will never amount to anything because my outer appearance is more important than who I am on the inside. He tells me that if I let him go, I will become his greatest fear…fat.

The reality of listening to Ed is this: He has the control, and he will keep it until you start disobeying his rules. His rules, though they may be different for each person, are centered around destroying you and ultimately, taking your life. He doesn’t look out for your best interest or want you to accomplish amazing things. He is a liar and a thief. His voice resembles the voice of an abuser. He tells us that we have to be the thinnest or fittest girl in the world; our bodies are not good enough if every inch isn’t toned and sculpted; we are failures because we didn’t make all A’s in school; we are alone and no one will love us for who we are; we can’t eat breakfast because our stomach will expand; we can’t eat carbohydrates because they are bad; we can’t go to parties or restaurants because food will be there; people won’t accept us because we don’t weigh the lowest number on the scale; our worth is defined by the size of our clothes; we have to exercise until we are about to pass out or it doesn’t count; and the list goes on and on. This voice is harsh, mean, critical, unloving, uncaring, scarring, and just plain ridiculous. You wouldn’t allow your best friend to talk to you this way so it’s time to stop allowing Ed’s voice to dominate your thoughts.

Separating your voice from your eating disorder’s voice is an important step to freedom. If you want to gain back the control, you have to take it back from your eating disorder. The voice I should have been listening to is the one I listen to now. My voice. Andrea says that she is good enough by just being born; she is worthy of love and belonging no matter what number she weighs on the scale; her stomach is a beautiful part of her body that digests her food and will one day hold her babies; some fat on her body is an important backup source of energy and fuel to finish a run on the treadmill; she is beautiful by just being who she is; God loves and accepts her unconditionally; she is capable of choosing her happiness; and eating food is a delicious treat that she can experience guilt free. Most importantly, I know that I am more than good enough. The voice I listen to now doesn’t come with rules, regulations, and unrealistic expectations for myself. This one is loving, encouraging, supportive, rational, and brings me the happiness Ed tried to tell me the magic number on the scale would give me.

When I stopped letting Ed run my life, I no longer had to be the thinnest or fittest girl in the room because that is not where I find my self-worth. I don’t have to exercise in order to eat breakfast or enjoy dessert. Today, my body is at its natural, healthy weight because I am allowing my body to do the job it was created to do. I exercise because it is a choice that I make to keep my body strong and functioning. Food and exercise no longer consume my thoughts, and my mind is open to enjoying the beautiful things that life has to offer. I eat a variety of foods, including carbohydrates, because my brain and body need nourishment to keep me alive. I declared my independence and like a strong, independent woman, I am no longer a prisoner to the false ideals set-up by the ruler dictator, Ed. It all starts with you making a choice. If you don’t feel strong enough yet, then I am here fighting this battle with you. You got this!

“But the Lord said to Samuel, “Do not consider his appearance or his height, for I have rejected him. The Lord does not look at the things people look at. People look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7

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Am I Enough?

January 20, 2017 freedomfrommyeatingdisorder2 Comments

12 years ago, stepping on the scale brought the greatest highs of validation and the deepest lows of rejection. As my bare feet touched the clear, glass, bathroom scale, my heart leapt into my stomach as I waited for the flashing number to tell me my worth for that day. Was I enough? Or did I fall short? Would this glass square that sat on the cold, tile floor be proud of me today? Or tell me I was a failure and I needed to do better? Be better. Be anything but me. Standing on the scale for those very few seconds was a great high. It was like looking into a crystal ball and waiting anxiously to hear your future for the very first time. If the number on the scale read something my eating disorder was okay with, my day would consist of the same restricting, calorie counting, exercising, and consuming thoughts as any other typical day. If my eating disorder didn’t agree with my number, then the day was spent doing any activity to lower that number. “Lower” was the word that shouted in my head.” LOWER so that I could cover up the shame I felt for not being good enough. LOWER so that I could feel safe again. LOWER so that the battle in my head didn’t wage so intensely. LOWER so that I could gain back the control. LOWER so that I felt loved and accepted. “You are not okay, Andrea, until that number is LOWER,” shouted my eating disorder, Ed as I later named him, and I would do anything to quiet the severity of His voice.

If I could only weigh that magic number, then I would be happy and all of my dreams would come true. Ed would be proud of me and he wouldn’t shout horrible things to me anymore. Regardless of how low my number reached on the scale, it was still never enough for my eating disorder. As a therapist, I have learned to stay away from words like ‘never’ and ‘always’ because these words are so commonly used but rarely true. In this instance, however, it really was NEVER enough for my eating disorder because it wasn’t about the number on the scale or the food I avoided or threw-up. It was about the beliefs and messages that I carried with me from the moment I went to bed until the moment I woke up. It was about how I felt about the person I saw when I looked in the mirror. My self-worth was given a margin of error of 2 pounds and when I went outside of that, I felt like nothing. I tried to control the food, scale, and fitness to prove to myself that I was worth something. The result of that was this: the things I tried to control ended up controlling me. I was consumed by calories, nutrition, the scale, food, weight, and my appearance. Andrea had left the building and Ed had taken charge. My disorder transformed into recovery when I was able to separate myself from Ed and recognize my own identity apart from my eating disorder. I learned that I had a choice to disagree with it and disobey it.

Once I learned the tools to separate my voice from my eating disorder’s voice, the door was open to make healthier choices. It was an ugly, drawn-out, blood, sweat, and tears battle but in the end, I won. And not just a soldier limping off the battlefield but as a warrior, carrying the flag to the mountain with God leading the way. While I do have my battle scars, the scars I carry have transformed into tattoos of victory. Through my journey, I learned to accept the beauty from the ashes of my story. I learned to accept my imperfections as the things that made me unique and beautiful. I learned that loving myself was imperative if I wanted to love others. Most importantly, I became the person I was created to be. The gap-toothed little girl who after opening a gift of a pencil with her name spelled out in pink, glittered letters was filled with so much joy that she ran wildly around the house had finally found herself again. It feels good to be home.

How did I win the war? Stayed tuned for the next post.