I had been crying a lot lately (have I written this post before?… that message sounds familiar).
Crying sometimes for good reasons, sometimes for no reason. Then I started to turn back to my eating disorder and numbed out much of the pain through restriction and denial. It was as if I could float above myself, looking at the damage I was harvesting and say to myself “tsk, tsk, that’s not good. Oh well.” The familiarity of oblivion was so comforting.
I went in to therapy yesterday wondering at my detachment and how pervasive it was. Thinking to myself that it really wasn’t such a bad thing after all. After all, at least I wasn’t hurting.
Then my counsellor asked me how I felt. She probed me about how I treat myself. She brought to light all the ways I tell myself a sad story and then use it to run in terror from any risk of being vulnerable. How I then end up once again mourning what I don’t have. The cycle repeats. And I am hurting more than ever.
I want out. It’s so powerful to finally recognize how this journey really is a jagged line. I knew that going in but somehow deluded myself that I could just make the changes and do what needed to be done, all the while of course never actually changing. I had this vision of the outcome, a vision of a beautiful future and way to be in the world and believed that I could do a bit of work and then be there. I have made progress, I have made changes, I have dipped my toes in to recovery.
But when the inevitable challenges of life have surfaced, I have retreated into the safety of the familiar.
This post is not my proclamation that from here on out, I will get it right. I won’t. This post is my affirmation that the goal is still a worthy one, just as the author of the goal is still worthy. This post points me back to a quote I love…
Courage does not always roar – Sometimes it is the quiet voice at the end of the day saying…
I will try again tomorrow.