On Monday I was given the opportunity to co-facilitate a day-long workshop on Bulimia Nervosa through Eastern Suburbs and Illawara Health Services (SESIAHS). While I've facilitated and co-facilitated training before, I'd only done that for students (in courses where they're likely to have contact with eating disorders sufferers in the future). This was the first time I'd help train a group of professionals already working with eating disorders.
Initially we just covered the basics - what is an eating disorder, why people get them, etc. Then I had the chance to share a little of my story - duration, type, behaviors, cultural influences, media influences, what helped, what didn't help, etc.
Following on from this, we did a role play where, with the three of us, we each acted out a part of treatment. Helen - an old psychologist of mine and facilitator was the patient, Sandy, clinical psychologist and facilitator was "the therapist" and I was....THE EATING DISORDER VOICE! We toned down the language, but had the ED voice saying "you don't need to tell her x, y and z, you're disgusting, etc." I felt quite awful saying such nasty things to my old psychologist...payback for her sending me to RPA ;)
We covered the different types of treatment - mindfulness (we got the room of professionals to do the raisin exercise, where you examine the raisin, smell the raisin, notice the raisin, taste the raisin, etc.), Dr. Christopher Fairburn's model of treating BN, and we talked a bit about the CBT model (based on Fairburn's) and how to modify that.
We discussed that once you peel away the eating disorder, you find out of the function of the illness - and it can cause a lot of distress, etc. We talked about when hospitalisation is required and how to support a sufferer. We talked about medical instability and how to manage a crisis in that regard (and a psychological crisis). I shared my story of ending up in A&E several times and how scary that was - but at the same time, how I really didn't understand the severity of it.
However, my highlight of the day was a personal achievement. I ate lunch (with noodles!) with the psychologist who had to send her flatly-refusing-to-eating-extremely-neurotic-nearly-psychotic-from-malnutrition-patient-who-would-hysterically-cry-over-a-flake-of-tuna-and-a-water-bottle. (<- that patient was *me* for the record). I didn't think I'd be able to do it, but sometimes you just gotta bite the bullet and do it, damnit.
I wholeheartedly believe in having those who are recovering from, or recovered from this issue to be involved in training. You can read as many papers and researches and studies. Unless you talk to someone, unless you can really understand how the illness works - unless you have the chance to ask those questions - you're not going to be able to understand what you're writing about!
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
For Those In the "Lived Experience"
For a very long time, a huge part of my identity has been that of one with an eating disorder. Starting to give it up was really damn scary! The very idea that there was more to me, when all I'd been bombarded with for over half a decade was "this is all you are, you're pathetic, you're weak, you're stupid". For such a long time people treated me like "the sick person" and that's the mold I knew. It's really scary
Now, a bigger part of my identity is that of being a student, an advocate, a receptionist, a beach-loving, trampolining, nintendo-wii playing, fresh-bread eating, internet addict!
Change was slow. I'd do a uni unit and then medusa would be too seductive, so I'd can it, right before my next enrollment time. Or I'd be so convinced, so overwhelmingly persuaded that I could have it all; be a good student, daughter, sister, friend, employee....and starve myself. I can't.
My studies taught me amazing things. I think one of the most helpful elements being that, as a nursing student, I'm learning the functions of the human body - I'm learning just how damn important it is that we nourish our bodies, just what can go wrong and just how lucky I am. These things cannot be easily discounted now I'm on my way to recovery. The human body is amazing. I think I've found an interest that doesn't involve starving myself (in fact, it involves kgs of pick and mix lollies to make my brain get through the assignments!)
It's almost impossible to recover if there's nothing else, and eating disorders work damn hard to make sure there IS nothing else. The screaming, the violence, the anger directed at people you love? Make no mistake, that is your disorder pushing them away. The tears and temper tantrums at friends? The refusal to attend social gatherings? That's also your disease - isolating. The lack of concentration, while it's also a result of starvation, is a sign of your disease taking away your study - as is your apathy around subjects you used to be passionate about.
One of the best things you can do? Get back into life, find a hobby. Push and push and push and push when things are difficult. Never give up the fight. Make yourself get through that assignment, if it means that's one hour less you'll spend listening to your eating disorder. Find new strategies to cope, and new hobbies which don't involve self destruction. Surround yourself with people who are supportive of you, and don't let your disease get away with anything.
Like I've said before, I'm not a professional. I'm a student. I'm a sufferer. But if anything I've learnt through my journey can help you in anyway, please let it.
Obviously, none of this comes easily. For me, it's never come naturally. But with practice it gets easier. Learning my skills, my talents and ME outside of my disease is coming to me slowly.
- DCM.
xx
Now, a bigger part of my identity is that of being a student, an advocate, a receptionist, a beach-loving, trampolining, nintendo-wii playing, fresh-bread eating, internet addict!
Change was slow. I'd do a uni unit and then medusa would be too seductive, so I'd can it, right before my next enrollment time. Or I'd be so convinced, so overwhelmingly persuaded that I could have it all; be a good student, daughter, sister, friend, employee....and starve myself. I can't.
My studies taught me amazing things. I think one of the most helpful elements being that, as a nursing student, I'm learning the functions of the human body - I'm learning just how damn important it is that we nourish our bodies, just what can go wrong and just how lucky I am. These things cannot be easily discounted now I'm on my way to recovery. The human body is amazing. I think I've found an interest that doesn't involve starving myself (in fact, it involves kgs of pick and mix lollies to make my brain get through the assignments!)
It's almost impossible to recover if there's nothing else, and eating disorders work damn hard to make sure there IS nothing else. The screaming, the violence, the anger directed at people you love? Make no mistake, that is your disorder pushing them away. The tears and temper tantrums at friends? The refusal to attend social gatherings? That's also your disease - isolating. The lack of concentration, while it's also a result of starvation, is a sign of your disease taking away your study - as is your apathy around subjects you used to be passionate about.
One of the best things you can do? Get back into life, find a hobby. Push and push and push and push when things are difficult. Never give up the fight. Make yourself get through that assignment, if it means that's one hour less you'll spend listening to your eating disorder. Find new strategies to cope, and new hobbies which don't involve self destruction. Surround yourself with people who are supportive of you, and don't let your disease get away with anything.
Like I've said before, I'm not a professional. I'm a student. I'm a sufferer. But if anything I've learnt through my journey can help you in anyway, please let it.
Obviously, none of this comes easily. For me, it's never come naturally. But with practice it gets easier. Learning my skills, my talents and ME outside of my disease is coming to me slowly.
- DCM.
xx
Friday, November 20, 2009
Kicking Some ED-Butt
The past week or so has seen me begin my downhill descent. Not fast. It rarely is. Just a few subtle little things which indicate I'm not going so well. The gripping onto the bed post when I wake up to stop the wave of black knocking me back into my blankets, the slightly nauseating chatter of my heart. The fairly incessant thinking about food. And what do you know? Oops I skipped breakfast and then didn't keep down dinner.
I should be used this by now. This path is very familiar. I know it well. I have trodden it more times than I can count.
The scary thing about this disease is I was able to justify every single little warning sign, until my psychologist picked me up on it. I wasn't appreciative at the time - but now we're getting to Friday, and I'm starting to follow her recommendations from Monday (nothing else may take priority over food and eating, there is no point in throwing anything up and this illness isn't going to give me anything) and you know what? Life is getting back on track. I don't have the compulsion to eat 4kgs of almonds at 2:15am, or bake all night, or cook food and freeze it without any intention to touch it. I'm not finding my to-do list quite so overwhelming, nor am I bursting into tears at the thought of having to write an essay on energy (ie. food, more specifically carbs).
Hey, no one said it would be easy. It'd be ignorance to assume that I walk out of the Missenden Unit and was completely cured because anorexia/bulimia is a monster so much stronger than that. It's the devil who perches on my shoulder, disguised as my conscience. It's my little gremlin which whispers in my ear.
Denial is such a huge part of the illness - but when I start getting questions like "would you like a tour of the psychiatric unit again Noelle?" and "how about I take you for a walk through the emergency department, just so we can hear the beeping of the cardiac monitors" and comments from another professional "would you like to see the morgue? No? Why not? Because that's where you're headed if you don't start sticking to that damn meal plan again."
I got your point sister.
So I'm getting there with my butt-kicking. I went out for dinner tonight with a friend, and ate a little over half of my excessively portioned meal. I didn't want dessert, but I ate it, because challenging food, especially new food, is just as important as eating regularly. I came home and had supper, which I've just finished. I ate morning tea and lunch, even though my illness instructed me not to.
Eating disorders aren't fixed overnight. This is why we need more extensive outpatient care, treatment and follow up. I was discharged from hospital to live alone (my choice) and to have complete control of my food intake. My illness likes this plan - and I am constantly deceiving my illness (now that's what I call stepping up the game!). "I'll just eat today." It's always today, lucky me.
NSW currently has no publicly run outpatient eating disorders program. Meaning that people go from intensive inpatient care, 24 hour supervision, constant meal support, and psychological support to....what? A psychiatrist appointment monthly? A weekly to fortnightly psychologist appointment? Fortnightly dietitics appointment?
Honestly - I probably wouldn't have taken outpatient treatment, had it been available, but it would have been nice to have the choice.
As for me? I'm not going any further down this descent. I'm catching the ski lift back up the mountain before I builds up too much momentum and have to crash to stop.
I should be used this by now. This path is very familiar. I know it well. I have trodden it more times than I can count.
The scary thing about this disease is I was able to justify every single little warning sign, until my psychologist picked me up on it. I wasn't appreciative at the time - but now we're getting to Friday, and I'm starting to follow her recommendations from Monday (nothing else may take priority over food and eating, there is no point in throwing anything up and this illness isn't going to give me anything) and you know what? Life is getting back on track. I don't have the compulsion to eat 4kgs of almonds at 2:15am, or bake all night, or cook food and freeze it without any intention to touch it. I'm not finding my to-do list quite so overwhelming, nor am I bursting into tears at the thought of having to write an essay on energy (ie. food, more specifically carbs).
Hey, no one said it would be easy. It'd be ignorance to assume that I walk out of the Missenden Unit and was completely cured because anorexia/bulimia is a monster so much stronger than that. It's the devil who perches on my shoulder, disguised as my conscience. It's my little gremlin which whispers in my ear.
Denial is such a huge part of the illness - but when I start getting questions like "would you like a tour of the psychiatric unit again Noelle?" and "how about I take you for a walk through the emergency department, just so we can hear the beeping of the cardiac monitors" and comments from another professional "would you like to see the morgue? No? Why not? Because that's where you're headed if you don't start sticking to that damn meal plan again."
I got your point sister.
So I'm getting there with my butt-kicking. I went out for dinner tonight with a friend, and ate a little over half of my excessively portioned meal. I didn't want dessert, but I ate it, because challenging food, especially new food, is just as important as eating regularly. I came home and had supper, which I've just finished. I ate morning tea and lunch, even though my illness instructed me not to.
Eating disorders aren't fixed overnight. This is why we need more extensive outpatient care, treatment and follow up. I was discharged from hospital to live alone (my choice) and to have complete control of my food intake. My illness likes this plan - and I am constantly deceiving my illness (now that's what I call stepping up the game!). "I'll just eat today." It's always today, lucky me.
NSW currently has no publicly run outpatient eating disorders program. Meaning that people go from intensive inpatient care, 24 hour supervision, constant meal support, and psychological support to....what? A psychiatrist appointment monthly? A weekly to fortnightly psychologist appointment? Fortnightly dietitics appointment?
Honestly - I probably wouldn't have taken outpatient treatment, had it been available, but it would have been nice to have the choice.
As for me? I'm not going any further down this descent. I'm catching the ski lift back up the mountain before I builds up too much momentum and have to crash to stop.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
About Me - Non-ED
I am a nursing student. This summer I'm going to be taking on two Certificate IV's in alcohol and other drugs and in mental health. Next year I'm hoping to go to tafe and complete a diploma in Enrolled Nursing. Following this I intend to study to become a Registered Nurse whilst working as an Endorsed Enrolled Nurse. I'm also concurrently completing a bachelor in business. My eventual aim? To get into health policy. I've experienced the system as a patient, both as a medical patient and a mental health patient. I want experience as a nurse, as a professional so I fully understand the policy I'm writing and implementing. I think there are too many policies which have been written by people who don't understand the implications of it.
I work part time as a receptionist at a non-profit organisation. I love my job. I love everything the organisation stands for. I believe with all my heart that they're going to make a difference to the young people they aspire to help.
I scrapbook, a hobby which began in hospital. I also love to paint. I have a veggie garden and I feel a strong sense of achievement every time a flower opens, or a little plant pops up. I like to read and sing and shop (oh gosh do I like to shop!). I have a love of cooking appliances, and high heels.
I live alone and am painfully house proud. I despise washing up and folding laundry. Other tasks I can cope with. I recently moved around my furniture so I could play my nintendo wii without tripping over, or crashing into, furniture. I put up my Christmas tree early because I like to lay underneath it with the fairy lights on. It looks pretty!
I never thought my life would end up here. I never thought I would have delayed my education in favour of recovering from an eating disorder. I never thought I would cry so much, and now I am begining to learn that through the tears, there will come laughter and through the laughter comes a renewed strength and hope.
I have the most amazing people in my life - I am truly blessed. I am a princess. I am one of the luckiest girls alive!
I work part time as a receptionist at a non-profit organisation. I love my job. I love everything the organisation stands for. I believe with all my heart that they're going to make a difference to the young people they aspire to help.
I scrapbook, a hobby which began in hospital. I also love to paint. I have a veggie garden and I feel a strong sense of achievement every time a flower opens, or a little plant pops up. I like to read and sing and shop (oh gosh do I like to shop!). I have a love of cooking appliances, and high heels.
I live alone and am painfully house proud. I despise washing up and folding laundry. Other tasks I can cope with. I recently moved around my furniture so I could play my nintendo wii without tripping over, or crashing into, furniture. I put up my Christmas tree early because I like to lay underneath it with the fairy lights on. It looks pretty!
I never thought my life would end up here. I never thought I would have delayed my education in favour of recovering from an eating disorder. I never thought I would cry so much, and now I am begining to learn that through the tears, there will come laughter and through the laughter comes a renewed strength and hope.
I have the most amazing people in my life - I am truly blessed. I am a princess. I am one of the luckiest girls alive!
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
About Me - ED
So some of you reading this blog will know me well, and know my story well. Others, not so much. I guess it's time to fill you in.
I'm not a professional, although I'm in training. I am merely an eating disorders sufferer. There is more to me than that, but in terms of illness - that is what I am. I have ED-NOS. I've been anorexic in the past. I've been bulimic in the past. I've abused my body for the past 8 years. The chances of it fully recovering with no complications of this? Practically zero. I have reminders of the days I couldn't cope with my disease in my legs, on my wrist. I have reminders on my knuckles of all the times I've thrown my fingers down my throat in a desperation to get rid of it.
I've laughed at professionals who told me I needed to be in hospital, I kept laughing (in my head) during my hospitalisation, until I realised I wasn't leaving until I could maintain my weight, maintain regular eating and stop screaming and crying. I've been convinced that I'll never recover. Most days, I still am. I've reached a point where I was told I was going to have a heart attack - it didn't mean anything to me at the time. Not because I didn't care, but because it didn't make sense. I still struggle to believe things ever got that serious.
I've eaten mustard, soy sauce, chilli sauce, vinegar, in an effort to lose weight (didn't work - didn't taste nice, got stuck in my nose, not recommended). I've had hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on my treatment. By NSW Health, by ACT Health, by Medicare, By my own family, by me. It's a debt I will never be able to repay. I've brought friends to tears, and to their knees in prayer that I'll make it through.
My illness has had me racing in the city to every bathroom available, purging into garbage cans when the queues were too long. It’s had me eating combinations of food, food that wasn’t properly cooked – it didn’t matter, it’d just come straight back up again. It’s had me walk for kilometres and kilometres in a starved-half-dead-heart-racing-I-can’t-keep-doing-this-anymore-fuck-I-hope-I-just-die kind of state. It’s had me walk until my feet are bleeding and bruised and battered. It’s had me convinced that I will immediately gain 10kgs if I stop walking for so much as a second. It’s blinded me, deluded me, persuaded me. It will have me, if I let it.
My disease has had me so convinced that my life isn’t worth anything that I’ve tried to end it, whilst inpatient in a psychiatric unit no less. Did it succeed in taking me away from all of this, or inducing the oblivion which I longed for? No. It landed me semi-conscious on a medical ward for three days with some kind of drip reversing the toxicity. With a nurse sitting next to my bed, lest I wake up and try to off myself again. It left me having to shower under two-minute observations from a male nurse, the only nurse who was able to supervise me at the time. It only served to increase the duration of my stay on the ward, rather than reduce it, or cease it completely.
I am not proud of anything my illness has driven me to.
It would be ignorance for me to say "and then I decided I was going to recover and I just did) because no matter how much we want it to, it does not work that way. It would be insulting to your intelligence to imply that after four months of hospitalisation in a psychiatric unit, I simply walked out the doors and never needed to throw up another meal, skip another meal, eat until there's nothing in the pantry, run until I faint.
So am I "recovered"? No. I am not. Am I "recovering"? Yes. Progress is slow. It is frustrating. It makes me want to scream. I still fight with my dietitian, and get angry at myself, and want to walk out on psychologist appointments, and sometimes distract my psychiatrist when I don't want to talk about me (he always picks me up on it) and secretly breathe a sigh of relief when my GP forgets to weigh me, and I still skip meals on bad days. I still sometimes throw up. But compared to 6 months ago, I am doing well.
I am still yet to deal with the intense self-hatred that is the calling card for an eating disorder. I am still yet to come to terms with the fact that I have to be myself. I am still yet to come to terms with why I ended up with this illness. I am still coming to terms with things that have happened, situations and how I perceive my role in those situations. I am still coming to terms with the reality that I cannot change the world, I cannot fix anyone else. I am still accepting that I am worth my time, that I am worthy of anyone's time. I am still "getting" that I can only help myself. I am still I am still learning who I am - after living as a void, a black hole, for years and years of my life. I am still yet to form opinions, to make decisions for myself. I am still learning who I am. I am still creating who I am.
I still hear medusa. She's still loud. She still sometimes answers for me. She still sits in my head and plots and plans what I can cut out and when I can fit in exercise. Whether or not I listen depends on what kind of a day it is.
So for those of you who want to know Who I Am, What I Am and Why I’m So Passionate. This is for you. My disease has taken enough. My disease is the strongest thing I have ever encountered. This battle is the most exhausting, the most relentless, most difficult battle I have ever fought. But I know that if I can get through this, I will have shown myself that I am far stronger than I could have ever given myself credit for.
I'm not a professional, although I'm in training. I am merely an eating disorders sufferer. There is more to me than that, but in terms of illness - that is what I am. I have ED-NOS. I've been anorexic in the past. I've been bulimic in the past. I've abused my body for the past 8 years. The chances of it fully recovering with no complications of this? Practically zero. I have reminders of the days I couldn't cope with my disease in my legs, on my wrist. I have reminders on my knuckles of all the times I've thrown my fingers down my throat in a desperation to get rid of it.
I've laughed at professionals who told me I needed to be in hospital, I kept laughing (in my head) during my hospitalisation, until I realised I wasn't leaving until I could maintain my weight, maintain regular eating and stop screaming and crying. I've been convinced that I'll never recover. Most days, I still am. I've reached a point where I was told I was going to have a heart attack - it didn't mean anything to me at the time. Not because I didn't care, but because it didn't make sense. I still struggle to believe things ever got that serious.
I've eaten mustard, soy sauce, chilli sauce, vinegar, in an effort to lose weight (didn't work - didn't taste nice, got stuck in my nose, not recommended). I've had hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on my treatment. By NSW Health, by ACT Health, by Medicare, By my own family, by me. It's a debt I will never be able to repay. I've brought friends to tears, and to their knees in prayer that I'll make it through.
My illness has had me racing in the city to every bathroom available, purging into garbage cans when the queues were too long. It’s had me eating combinations of food, food that wasn’t properly cooked – it didn’t matter, it’d just come straight back up again. It’s had me walk for kilometres and kilometres in a starved-half-dead-heart-racing-I-can’t-keep-doing-this-anymore-fuck-I-hope-I-just-die kind of state. It’s had me walk until my feet are bleeding and bruised and battered. It’s had me convinced that I will immediately gain 10kgs if I stop walking for so much as a second. It’s blinded me, deluded me, persuaded me. It will have me, if I let it.
My disease has had me so convinced that my life isn’t worth anything that I’ve tried to end it, whilst inpatient in a psychiatric unit no less. Did it succeed in taking me away from all of this, or inducing the oblivion which I longed for? No. It landed me semi-conscious on a medical ward for three days with some kind of drip reversing the toxicity. With a nurse sitting next to my bed, lest I wake up and try to off myself again. It left me having to shower under two-minute observations from a male nurse, the only nurse who was able to supervise me at the time. It only served to increase the duration of my stay on the ward, rather than reduce it, or cease it completely.
I am not proud of anything my illness has driven me to.
It would be ignorance for me to say "and then I decided I was going to recover and I just did) because no matter how much we want it to, it does not work that way. It would be insulting to your intelligence to imply that after four months of hospitalisation in a psychiatric unit, I simply walked out the doors and never needed to throw up another meal, skip another meal, eat until there's nothing in the pantry, run until I faint.
So am I "recovered"? No. I am not. Am I "recovering"? Yes. Progress is slow. It is frustrating. It makes me want to scream. I still fight with my dietitian, and get angry at myself, and want to walk out on psychologist appointments, and sometimes distract my psychiatrist when I don't want to talk about me (he always picks me up on it) and secretly breathe a sigh of relief when my GP forgets to weigh me, and I still skip meals on bad days. I still sometimes throw up. But compared to 6 months ago, I am doing well.
I am still yet to deal with the intense self-hatred that is the calling card for an eating disorder. I am still yet to come to terms with the fact that I have to be myself. I am still yet to come to terms with why I ended up with this illness. I am still coming to terms with things that have happened, situations and how I perceive my role in those situations. I am still coming to terms with the reality that I cannot change the world, I cannot fix anyone else. I am still accepting that I am worth my time, that I am worthy of anyone's time. I am still "getting" that I can only help myself. I am still I am still learning who I am - after living as a void, a black hole, for years and years of my life. I am still yet to form opinions, to make decisions for myself. I am still learning who I am. I am still creating who I am.
I still hear medusa. She's still loud. She still sometimes answers for me. She still sits in my head and plots and plans what I can cut out and when I can fit in exercise. Whether or not I listen depends on what kind of a day it is.
So for those of you who want to know Who I Am, What I Am and Why I’m So Passionate. This is for you. My disease has taken enough. My disease is the strongest thing I have ever encountered. This battle is the most exhausting, the most relentless, most difficult battle I have ever fought. But I know that if I can get through this, I will have shown myself that I am far stronger than I could have ever given myself credit for.
Heckler Submission
I made a submission to Heckler a few months ago. It hasn't been published. Here's what I had to say.
“Sorry – your cancer isn’t metasticised enough – you’re not really “sick enough” for us to do anything about it. Just wait until you’re almost-dying before you come back in to see us.” Ever heard an oncologist say that? “Cancer’s not an illness, it’s just a poor lifestyle choice – you should just stop that cancer-thing, we’re over it”. Or what about “Your lung cancer’s not real – you don’t deserve the bed you’re in” – I’d bet my secret stash of artificial sweetener that you haven’t heard that one.
Australia is the lucky country. We have a healthcare system which ensures most people who require access to treatment will get the treatment they need. We’re fortunate that in most areas of acute care, we have beds which can be accessed with quickly, if not immediately. We have accident and emergency departments we can visit for any issue - and let’s not delude ourselves that we only use the A&E for emergencies. We have medical care which can be accessed by all – regardless of financial status.
Yet we are still backwards in the treatment of eating disorders. Long waiting lists, even for those acutely ill, no specialised public programs, limited treatment time and few choices and options in regards to care are only the start. One of the biggest issues those of us in the eating disordered community is how much our disease is viewed as a lifestyle choice or poor decisions which have landed us in strife. We are questioned, when needing assistance in the acute phase of our illness, by under-trained, overly-judgemental staff as to why we deserve help.
What these “professionals” – most specifically directed at Emergency Department Staff and GPs – forget so conveniently is the cancer patient who continues to smoke while on a chemo drip for his lung cancer, or the drink driver who ends up in physical rehabilitation for two years. Yet mental illnesses, particularly eating disorders, have far more stigma and aggression directed at them than self-induced physical illness. Treatment is given grudgingly and mental health teams – whom one would assume are there to assist with mental illness – are left uncontacted, or, if they are, don’t have the training to deal with eating disorders and instruct that no follow up is required. Very few referrals are made – for most, it’s medical stabilisation and discharge – never mind the fact someone has become physically ill enough to require hospitalisation to begin with.
Eating disorders treatment in NSW? We’ve got a grand-total of four state-wide eating disorder beds – with an average capacity rate of two patients because patients from the SSWAHS take priority over eating disorder patients – because these beds are not designated to eating disorders. We’ve got a one in five mortality rate for eating disorders, five year olds being admitted to hospitals for their anorexia, and very little research to lead us anywhere.
As the old adage says – judge not what you do not understand.
“Sorry – your cancer isn’t metasticised enough – you’re not really “sick enough” for us to do anything about it. Just wait until you’re almost-dying before you come back in to see us.” Ever heard an oncologist say that? “Cancer’s not an illness, it’s just a poor lifestyle choice – you should just stop that cancer-thing, we’re over it”. Or what about “Your lung cancer’s not real – you don’t deserve the bed you’re in” – I’d bet my secret stash of artificial sweetener that you haven’t heard that one.
Australia is the lucky country. We have a healthcare system which ensures most people who require access to treatment will get the treatment they need. We’re fortunate that in most areas of acute care, we have beds which can be accessed with quickly, if not immediately. We have accident and emergency departments we can visit for any issue - and let’s not delude ourselves that we only use the A&E for emergencies. We have medical care which can be accessed by all – regardless of financial status.
Yet we are still backwards in the treatment of eating disorders. Long waiting lists, even for those acutely ill, no specialised public programs, limited treatment time and few choices and options in regards to care are only the start. One of the biggest issues those of us in the eating disordered community is how much our disease is viewed as a lifestyle choice or poor decisions which have landed us in strife. We are questioned, when needing assistance in the acute phase of our illness, by under-trained, overly-judgemental staff as to why we deserve help.
What these “professionals” – most specifically directed at Emergency Department Staff and GPs – forget so conveniently is the cancer patient who continues to smoke while on a chemo drip for his lung cancer, or the drink driver who ends up in physical rehabilitation for two years. Yet mental illnesses, particularly eating disorders, have far more stigma and aggression directed at them than self-induced physical illness. Treatment is given grudgingly and mental health teams – whom one would assume are there to assist with mental illness – are left uncontacted, or, if they are, don’t have the training to deal with eating disorders and instruct that no follow up is required. Very few referrals are made – for most, it’s medical stabilisation and discharge – never mind the fact someone has become physically ill enough to require hospitalisation to begin with.
Eating disorders treatment in NSW? We’ve got a grand-total of four state-wide eating disorder beds – with an average capacity rate of two patients because patients from the SSWAHS take priority over eating disorder patients – because these beds are not designated to eating disorders. We’ve got a one in five mortality rate for eating disorders, five year olds being admitted to hospitals for their anorexia, and very little research to lead us anywhere.
As the old adage says – judge not what you do not understand.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
The Culture/Society Question
How ignorant we are to accuse those of us with the disease they are doing it for attention, that they need to merely “snap out of it” and all will be well. How foolish we are to assume people are doing this all for the wrong reasons, and not because they do, in fact have an illness. How infuriating we are, to not recognise that this disease may have self induced ramifications, but other illnesses such as cancer, obesity complications and others can and often do, have self induced ramifications as well. How dreadful that we as a society give flowers, compassion, support to our physically ill and not to our mentally ill. How horrendous that we put our mentally ill in wards which are falling apart, have infestations of insects, and, even though they are on hospital grounds, are not cleaned to hospital hygiene standards.
How far we, as a society, as “well” people, like to think we have come. How we praise ourselves on reducing stigma around depression, how smugly our politicians announce they have come up with yet another solution – another voluntary code which people may or may not comply with, really wholly dependent on how they feel at the time. How we toot the horn of yet another “professional” convinced they’ve managed to solve and unlock the mystery of eating disorders, who presents yet another narrow minded, non-cohesive, non-multifaceted solution to what has confounded even those with the illness for decades. What a tragedy it is, however, that people are still dying. That people are still struggling. That people are losing themselves, their potential, their world as they know it, to a disease which is still the most complicated area of psychiatry. Yet it is still acutely and painfully obvious that we’ve barely made it past our 1950s psychiatric units of torture.
I’m yet to meet an eating disorder sufferer who enjoys their illness, or who longs to spend more time in hospital, more time destroying themselves and more time watching the tears of the ones they love. But I am also yet to meet someone who has had a hospital experience consisting of more satisfactory treatment than unsatisfactory treatment.
We’ve all heard the stories of nurses telling patients they don’t deserve the bed they’re in, Emergency Department staff refusing to admit people, only to have the person end up returning in an ambulance several hours later, with some complication which could have been avoided if they’d been admitted in the first place. Of hospitals not knowing how to treat an eating disorder, so allowing the person to go home on less than a drink bottle of water in three days. Of GPs who tell their patients that they aren’t thin enough, so they don’t have a problem, of dentists ignoring the warning signs of enamel erosion, and of social workers telling their acutely depressed and highly distressed patients that they’d “only have bulimia if you’ve got scars on your knuckles from jamming your fingers down your throat”.
Most of us from the dance world will have stories of ballet teachers screeching at five year olds “darlink, you look like fat bubby elephhhaaaannnt jumpink down ze room, yuh must be skinneeeeey or you vill never be good enuff for anysink!” or of gymnastics coaches telling their class of juniors that their tummies stick out when they’re walking down the beam.
Do we see funding to train these people? To teach them how to prevent eating disorders, or even increase self esteem in their young and impressionable students? Of course not, because that would mean we were focusing on a solution rather than revelling in a crisis. It would mean that we’d caught up to all who are ill and need our attention now – before they actually drop dead, because let’s face it, anorexics and bulimics kind of have a tendency to do that - and could move on. We’re not even close to catching up to how many people need help right now, let alone moving on to actually prevent this illness.
There’s no way I’d be stupid enough to claim that eating disorders are merely a manifestation of a toxic culture. But we can’t deny that it’s got an impact. More than ever researchers are coming out of the dark singing the same song. Our culture, as it is, is causing higher levels of distress in our young people, particularly our young females, than we ever could have imagined. Rates of self harm are astronomically high; suicide is the number one killer, above road accidents, for our young people.
When you see six year olds drinking diet coke instead of the real thing, because they’re worried they’ll “get fat”, with mummies in tow, who are constantly on a diet and loudly crying “I can’t believe I left the house today! My thighs are too fat!” it’s got to have an impact. When we see little girls and tweens walking around like they’re Slutface McWhore – dressed by their mothers in shirts so tight, skirts so short and fishnet stockings and bralettes and g-strings, and little boys wearing shirts that express their sexual desires, never mind that they’re 18 months old and don’t even know the difference between a boy and a girl, it has to do some harm.
We’ve got so many pressures – so many expectations that; our children play the piano better, speak four languages, do five ballet classes a week, take up pottery, learn how to knit, become experts at basket-weaving, have a good fashion sense, have perfect manners, don’t get their clothes dirty, behave, don’t break anything, don’t scratch anything, don’t graze anything, that we’ve forgotten that kids are kids. Kids like to play in the mud, and fall out of (hopefully extremely low to the ground) trees, and eat because they’re hungry not because they’re on some macrobiotic diet which dictates they eat every three hours and two minutes exactly. Kids refuse to eat vegetables, just because they can – not because they’re worried about the caloric content. We’re not letting our kids just be kids. If we don’t make some changes now, our kids are going to be toast.
We’ve got a society that’s obsessed with less and more, and nothing of moderation. We love the idea of eating foods which have been labelled for decades as “sinful”, have devils ears and a pitch fork surrounding the word “fat”. We’ve got a love of fat-free, sugar-free, nourishment-free. We want it, even if it’s not healthy and we want it with some kind of guarantee that we’re not going to feel guilty. We’ve lost the meaning of “treat” and we’ve replaced the idea of that with “good” and “bad” food, forgetting that anything, in moderation is actually okay. We’ve developed a mentality that we want to taste everything without that nourishment, and that nourishment means fat. We’ve become more obsessed with food, as our girth is widening, but our insatiable desire for food, to fill that hole of terror our society, experiences and co-humans create is only increasing.
We’ve got clothing sizes which give us nouns to describe ourselves, not just knowledge of what clothes we need. Small, medium and large. We may as well have WTS (Way Too Skinny), KN (Kinda Normal) and GBC (Getting a Bit Chubby). Perhaps we could take it one step further and have; YNGABCYTT (You’ll Never Get A Boy Cos You’re Too Thin), PYJNBB (Perfect, You Just Need Bigger Boobs) and GYFT (Gee, You’re Fat Today). Even when we do have numbers, we’ve got such a varying range between shops. It’s extremely confusing to be a size 10 in one shop, and an 18 in the next. Yet, again, our solution to this debacle we’ve got ourselves into is...yet another voluntary code of conduct.
We have a fascination with eating disorders – a disease we’re beyond convinced we will never be affected by. We stare with morbid fascination at the emaciation, the self control of an anorexic, wish we had the gag reflex of a bulimic and perceive anyone with binge eating disorder as needing to go on a diet - failing to see it for the disease it actually is. We struggle to comprehend just how overwhelming and devastating these diseases actually are. For most of us, a small part, no matter how well versed we are on the terror of this disease, will still wish to be “that thin”, of course, without the mental torture.
We perceive skinny as good, no matter what the cost. We see fat as bad, selfish. Yet, we do not yet seem to have an opinion on healthy.
How far we, as a society, as “well” people, like to think we have come. How we praise ourselves on reducing stigma around depression, how smugly our politicians announce they have come up with yet another solution – another voluntary code which people may or may not comply with, really wholly dependent on how they feel at the time. How we toot the horn of yet another “professional” convinced they’ve managed to solve and unlock the mystery of eating disorders, who presents yet another narrow minded, non-cohesive, non-multifaceted solution to what has confounded even those with the illness for decades. What a tragedy it is, however, that people are still dying. That people are still struggling. That people are losing themselves, their potential, their world as they know it, to a disease which is still the most complicated area of psychiatry. Yet it is still acutely and painfully obvious that we’ve barely made it past our 1950s psychiatric units of torture.
I’m yet to meet an eating disorder sufferer who enjoys their illness, or who longs to spend more time in hospital, more time destroying themselves and more time watching the tears of the ones they love. But I am also yet to meet someone who has had a hospital experience consisting of more satisfactory treatment than unsatisfactory treatment.
We’ve all heard the stories of nurses telling patients they don’t deserve the bed they’re in, Emergency Department staff refusing to admit people, only to have the person end up returning in an ambulance several hours later, with some complication which could have been avoided if they’d been admitted in the first place. Of hospitals not knowing how to treat an eating disorder, so allowing the person to go home on less than a drink bottle of water in three days. Of GPs who tell their patients that they aren’t thin enough, so they don’t have a problem, of dentists ignoring the warning signs of enamel erosion, and of social workers telling their acutely depressed and highly distressed patients that they’d “only have bulimia if you’ve got scars on your knuckles from jamming your fingers down your throat”.
Most of us from the dance world will have stories of ballet teachers screeching at five year olds “darlink, you look like fat bubby elephhhaaaannnt jumpink down ze room, yuh must be skinneeeeey or you vill never be good enuff for anysink!” or of gymnastics coaches telling their class of juniors that their tummies stick out when they’re walking down the beam.
Do we see funding to train these people? To teach them how to prevent eating disorders, or even increase self esteem in their young and impressionable students? Of course not, because that would mean we were focusing on a solution rather than revelling in a crisis. It would mean that we’d caught up to all who are ill and need our attention now – before they actually drop dead, because let’s face it, anorexics and bulimics kind of have a tendency to do that - and could move on. We’re not even close to catching up to how many people need help right now, let alone moving on to actually prevent this illness.
There’s no way I’d be stupid enough to claim that eating disorders are merely a manifestation of a toxic culture. But we can’t deny that it’s got an impact. More than ever researchers are coming out of the dark singing the same song. Our culture, as it is, is causing higher levels of distress in our young people, particularly our young females, than we ever could have imagined. Rates of self harm are astronomically high; suicide is the number one killer, above road accidents, for our young people.
When you see six year olds drinking diet coke instead of the real thing, because they’re worried they’ll “get fat”, with mummies in tow, who are constantly on a diet and loudly crying “I can’t believe I left the house today! My thighs are too fat!” it’s got to have an impact. When we see little girls and tweens walking around like they’re Slutface McWhore – dressed by their mothers in shirts so tight, skirts so short and fishnet stockings and bralettes and g-strings, and little boys wearing shirts that express their sexual desires, never mind that they’re 18 months old and don’t even know the difference between a boy and a girl, it has to do some harm.
We’ve got so many pressures – so many expectations that; our children play the piano better, speak four languages, do five ballet classes a week, take up pottery, learn how to knit, become experts at basket-weaving, have a good fashion sense, have perfect manners, don’t get their clothes dirty, behave, don’t break anything, don’t scratch anything, don’t graze anything, that we’ve forgotten that kids are kids. Kids like to play in the mud, and fall out of (hopefully extremely low to the ground) trees, and eat because they’re hungry not because they’re on some macrobiotic diet which dictates they eat every three hours and two minutes exactly. Kids refuse to eat vegetables, just because they can – not because they’re worried about the caloric content. We’re not letting our kids just be kids. If we don’t make some changes now, our kids are going to be toast.
We’ve got a society that’s obsessed with less and more, and nothing of moderation. We love the idea of eating foods which have been labelled for decades as “sinful”, have devils ears and a pitch fork surrounding the word “fat”. We’ve got a love of fat-free, sugar-free, nourishment-free. We want it, even if it’s not healthy and we want it with some kind of guarantee that we’re not going to feel guilty. We’ve lost the meaning of “treat” and we’ve replaced the idea of that with “good” and “bad” food, forgetting that anything, in moderation is actually okay. We’ve developed a mentality that we want to taste everything without that nourishment, and that nourishment means fat. We’ve become more obsessed with food, as our girth is widening, but our insatiable desire for food, to fill that hole of terror our society, experiences and co-humans create is only increasing.
We’ve got clothing sizes which give us nouns to describe ourselves, not just knowledge of what clothes we need. Small, medium and large. We may as well have WTS (Way Too Skinny), KN (Kinda Normal) and GBC (Getting a Bit Chubby). Perhaps we could take it one step further and have; YNGABCYTT (You’ll Never Get A Boy Cos You’re Too Thin), PYJNBB (Perfect, You Just Need Bigger Boobs) and GYFT (Gee, You’re Fat Today). Even when we do have numbers, we’ve got such a varying range between shops. It’s extremely confusing to be a size 10 in one shop, and an 18 in the next. Yet, again, our solution to this debacle we’ve got ourselves into is...yet another voluntary code of conduct.
We have a fascination with eating disorders – a disease we’re beyond convinced we will never be affected by. We stare with morbid fascination at the emaciation, the self control of an anorexic, wish we had the gag reflex of a bulimic and perceive anyone with binge eating disorder as needing to go on a diet - failing to see it for the disease it actually is. We struggle to comprehend just how overwhelming and devastating these diseases actually are. For most of us, a small part, no matter how well versed we are on the terror of this disease, will still wish to be “that thin”, of course, without the mental torture.
We perceive skinny as good, no matter what the cost. We see fat as bad, selfish. Yet, we do not yet seem to have an opinion on healthy.
Saturday, November 14, 2009
Good Health - To Be Supper Skinny?
Okay, so I have a little confession to make here. I love magazines. I could happily sit with a coffee (*ahem* and of course a my 3 meals and 3 snacks) and read magazines all day. I could read magazines until I'm blue in the face (although by societal standards if that were the case I'm sure I'd only be attractive in Smurf-land).
Usually I read magazines that aren't so detrimental to my mental health and don't set me up for failure. I'll read magazines like Frankie and The Big Issue and Time, and my ultimate, weekly, housewifely vice (when I can afford it) That's Life and Take 5 (ripping out the dieting section as I go).
However, last week I was drawn to The Women's Weekly - with Sarah Murdoch on the front cover. While she was caked in a fairly impressive layer of makeup, and clearly had some excellent lighting cast upon her, this magazine cover was different to those around it. Why? Because it was not photoshopped. There were wrinkles on her face (finally! The gal's fast approaching her middle age! It's somewhat unnerving to have her be so....smooth). I think it's an excellent start. Now I'd like to see TWW do that EVERY issue on ALL PAGES.
However, in that same purchase, for some impulsive reason, completely unbeknownst to me, I also decided it would be somewhat of an excellent idea to purchase "Good Health". Why, I do not know? The irony is of course the polar opposites of my purchase. You see, the Good Health cover distresses me greatly. It doesn't really have anything about "Health" in the magazine you see. The title is greatly misleading. Oh, it's not a "let's maintain our weight by healthy food and exercise and not give it another thought" sort of magazine. It's the kind of magazine that promotes weight loss as healthy. I'm yet to find a page that suggests people who are underweight should gain weight, or, that those at a healthy weight can maintain their weight.
Would you like to know what the feature article on the front page of this magazine was? Will it surprise you? (most probably not). "Eat, drink and still shrink! - Fat proof your festive season". Oh for heaven's sake. That's almost as bad as chanting at the top of your lungs in a daycare centre "Santa's not real!" Way to take away the fun, guys!
I find a little on stress (ironic, given any woman who thinks about her weight even in passing would find this magazine particularly stressful), yet those articles also have an emphasis on food - and how we ABSOLUTELY-MUST-NOT-UNDER-ANY-CIRCUMSTANCES-TURN-TO-COMFORT-FOOD-TO-RELIEVE-OUR-STRESS or we're going to end up blowing up like balloons in minutes, and that will make us even more stressed. Perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but I'm sure you understand the sentiment.
When I pick up a health magazine, I want it to be filled with articles about...well....health. Not just about how to be supper-skinny-lollipop-heads-who-are-so-thin-they-can't-have-children. Sure - maintaining a healthy weight is part of health. So is exercise, infection control, mental health, stress relief, social health, spiritual health, etc. But none of these need to be talked about excessively. Gossip has it that health is pretty well dependent on moderation - so why are we talking about weight loss in excess and then have tiny little mouse sized snippets of "other health" articles?
We've got our perspectives wrong. When the emphasis is on what we could be, what we should be, what we'll never be (but we have to keep trying) and not on being happy, being healthy and being who we are, we're never going to be happy. It's time to embrace who we are, as people, as members of our society, as mothers, fathers, children, professionals, students....and it's time to say no to the garbage which has managed to infiltrate our lives and make us feel so inferior.
Usually I read magazines that aren't so detrimental to my mental health and don't set me up for failure. I'll read magazines like Frankie and The Big Issue and Time, and my ultimate, weekly, housewifely vice (when I can afford it) That's Life and Take 5 (ripping out the dieting section as I go).
However, last week I was drawn to The Women's Weekly - with Sarah Murdoch on the front cover. While she was caked in a fairly impressive layer of makeup, and clearly had some excellent lighting cast upon her, this magazine cover was different to those around it. Why? Because it was not photoshopped. There were wrinkles on her face (finally! The gal's fast approaching her middle age! It's somewhat unnerving to have her be so....smooth). I think it's an excellent start. Now I'd like to see TWW do that EVERY issue on ALL PAGES.
However, in that same purchase, for some impulsive reason, completely unbeknownst to me, I also decided it would be somewhat of an excellent idea to purchase "Good Health". Why, I do not know? The irony is of course the polar opposites of my purchase. You see, the Good Health cover distresses me greatly. It doesn't really have anything about "Health" in the magazine you see. The title is greatly misleading. Oh, it's not a "let's maintain our weight by healthy food and exercise and not give it another thought" sort of magazine. It's the kind of magazine that promotes weight loss as healthy. I'm yet to find a page that suggests people who are underweight should gain weight, or, that those at a healthy weight can maintain their weight.
Would you like to know what the feature article on the front page of this magazine was? Will it surprise you? (most probably not). "Eat, drink and still shrink! - Fat proof your festive season". Oh for heaven's sake. That's almost as bad as chanting at the top of your lungs in a daycare centre "Santa's not real!" Way to take away the fun, guys!
I find a little on stress (ironic, given any woman who thinks about her weight even in passing would find this magazine particularly stressful), yet those articles also have an emphasis on food - and how we ABSOLUTELY-MUST-NOT-UNDER-ANY-CIRCUMSTANCES-TURN-TO-COMFORT-FOOD-TO-RELIEVE-OUR-STRESS or we're going to end up blowing up like balloons in minutes, and that will make us even more stressed. Perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but I'm sure you understand the sentiment.
When I pick up a health magazine, I want it to be filled with articles about...well....health. Not just about how to be supper-skinny-lollipop-heads-who-are-so-thin-they-can't-have-children. Sure - maintaining a healthy weight is part of health. So is exercise, infection control, mental health, stress relief, social health, spiritual health, etc. But none of these need to be talked about excessively. Gossip has it that health is pretty well dependent on moderation - so why are we talking about weight loss in excess and then have tiny little mouse sized snippets of "other health" articles?
We've got our perspectives wrong. When the emphasis is on what we could be, what we should be, what we'll never be (but we have to keep trying) and not on being happy, being healthy and being who we are, we're never going to be happy. It's time to embrace who we are, as people, as members of our society, as mothers, fathers, children, professionals, students....and it's time to say no to the garbage which has managed to infiltrate our lives and make us feel so inferior.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
How to Support a Sufferer - Personal Experience
Yesterday was a sad day - someone from work, who has been incredibly supportive over the last, almost two years, had her last day. I feel so connected to my work (and place I volunteer with - it's a confusing relationship, trust me!) that it's really upsetting to lose anyone, especially someone who has been so supportive.
Anyhoozit. Enough of that emotional-stuff.
The main reason I mention it, is that before she left, I reflected on how she's been so supportive, and what set her aside from others who have tried, but caused more pain than they've meant.
The thing which made all the difference is that she has never treated me like I'm "Diet-Coke-Missy-with-the-eating-disorder", she's only ever treated me as "Diet-Coke-Missy-with-potential-far-greater-than-she-knows-right-now". Only twice has she ever initiated contact about my eating disorder - the first time when I was acutely unwell and the second a few weeks out of hospital - just to check it's been going okay. But it was always abundantly clear that if I wanted to talk, I was able to.
I guess it's important to distinguish a difference between the role of concerned-person-who-gets-involved and treatment-team. It is okay for a concerned person to stand back and say "I am here when and if you need me". It is NOT okay for a treatment team to say that. A treatment team needs to act, to push and to ensure that their clients wellbeing and safety come first - before anything else. As professionals, they have a duty of care to ensure that happens.
So this way of supporting was extremely effective for me. I didn't run. I didn't lie. I had enough respect for her that I wouldn't sabotage her attempts - and I had that respect because she didn't push me to do things (like eat) that were out of her realm of experience and role. And for her role - she didn't push me to talk about things (when it's not her place to do so), she didn't say "things will be okay" in a syrupy therapist's voice, she said "if you work hard, things will slowly get better" in a "let's get real" tone. She didn't lecture me on eating - but made a joke out of trying to get a reduction in diet coke. She introduced new concepts - such as that of neuroplasticity (the brain is plastic and thus if we think a certain way those pathways will strengthen - if we do not use those pathways, they will weaken), the power of positive thinking and self acceptance.
I feel like I've done a lot of whining on this blog - so hopefully this entry shows a little bit of what works - for a support person.
We all need someone who believes in us (not us and our illness). We need someone who treats us like we're a worthwhile person - and not a human manifestation of anorexia/bulimia/ednos/etc. We need someone outside of our families (and their hysteria) and outside of our treatment team (and their rules). I'm very, very lucky to have had many of these people.
Anyhoozit. Enough of that emotional-stuff.
The main reason I mention it, is that before she left, I reflected on how she's been so supportive, and what set her aside from others who have tried, but caused more pain than they've meant.
The thing which made all the difference is that she has never treated me like I'm "Diet-Coke-Missy-with-the-eating-disorder", she's only ever treated me as "Diet-Coke-Missy-with-potential-far-greater-than-she-knows-right-now". Only twice has she ever initiated contact about my eating disorder - the first time when I was acutely unwell and the second a few weeks out of hospital - just to check it's been going okay. But it was always abundantly clear that if I wanted to talk, I was able to.
I guess it's important to distinguish a difference between the role of concerned-person-who-gets-involved and treatment-team. It is okay for a concerned person to stand back and say "I am here when and if you need me". It is NOT okay for a treatment team to say that. A treatment team needs to act, to push and to ensure that their clients wellbeing and safety come first - before anything else. As professionals, they have a duty of care to ensure that happens.
So this way of supporting was extremely effective for me. I didn't run. I didn't lie. I had enough respect for her that I wouldn't sabotage her attempts - and I had that respect because she didn't push me to do things (like eat) that were out of her realm of experience and role. And for her role - she didn't push me to talk about things (when it's not her place to do so), she didn't say "things will be okay" in a syrupy therapist's voice, she said "if you work hard, things will slowly get better" in a "let's get real" tone. She didn't lecture me on eating - but made a joke out of trying to get a reduction in diet coke. She introduced new concepts - such as that of neuroplasticity (the brain is plastic and thus if we think a certain way those pathways will strengthen - if we do not use those pathways, they will weaken), the power of positive thinking and self acceptance.
I feel like I've done a lot of whining on this blog - so hopefully this entry shows a little bit of what works - for a support person.
We all need someone who believes in us (not us and our illness). We need someone who treats us like we're a worthwhile person - and not a human manifestation of anorexia/bulimia/ednos/etc. We need someone outside of our families (and their hysteria) and outside of our treatment team (and their rules). I'm very, very lucky to have had many of these people.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
A Butterfly Evening
So, while I don't have much to report on my ranting side (I'm tired and have to get up far too early to see my dietitian tomorrow morning - blast these people who make appointments at 9:30am on a day I have off from work!!! Especially blast them when the topic is food, or more specifically, Diet Coke Missy + food. Woop de do.)
However - I do have to write about this evening. What an amazing night. Tonight the Butterfly Foundation (www.thebutterflyfoundation.org.au) held their first ever Sydney fundraiser. It was a movie night - to see Amelia, a movie about Amelia Earheart, the first female pilot to do....well really a whole lot. Firstly to make it over the Pacific Ocean, and found a flight organisation for women. She died on her last journey - trying to fly around the world.
This movie had nothing to do with body image, or culture, or magazines. It had everything to do with courage, determination, strength and taking a chance. None of these would be unfamiliar to those of us in recovery, or those of us who have seen someone begin their journey of recovery. It was an extremely uplifting movie - it certainly has my tick of approval!!!
A key element of the movie was taking risks - with only a guess of what the outcome could be. As corny as this sounds - this could very well be a metaphor for life, and recovery. When embarking on the journey to health - we never know what will be around the corner. It's scary, it's as turbulent as the seas this woman flew over. We don't know if we're going to run out of petrol (or energy) on our journey. We don't know if we'll make it to land. We don't know if the journey will be (relatively) easy, or an epic journey of roller-coaster proportions. We don't know if we'll make it out alive.
Another key element? Trust. Knowing that as the pilot - she was completely dependent on her navigator (which, ultimately, was her downfall), and herself. That the choices she made had to be done with faith in her plane, her crew-members, and her belief that her decision was the right one. Just like us. We have to trust in our treatment teams; our dietitians, doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers....etc. We have to trust that out treatment team know better than us, and will fly us to land, even when we're scared we're going to crash or drown. We have to trust ourselves, over that little niggling voice of fear, or eating disorder.
It is here I throw in a shameless plug for Butterfly. They need your support!!! They rely on dontations to run their programs and they're doing some wonderful work. They've behind the conference I went to in Canberra and behind NEDC (the National Eating Disorders Coalition), so if you're looking for a charity - www.thebutterflyfoundation.org.au (I also need to mention here that they have an AWESOME shop and I adore their pens).
Hopefully I did not bore you all to death with my lame analogies. I shall leave you with another.
It's only when we start to trust, that we can soar to great heights.
However - I do have to write about this evening. What an amazing night. Tonight the Butterfly Foundation (www.thebutterflyfoundation.org.au) held their first ever Sydney fundraiser. It was a movie night - to see Amelia, a movie about Amelia Earheart, the first female pilot to do....well really a whole lot. Firstly to make it over the Pacific Ocean, and found a flight organisation for women. She died on her last journey - trying to fly around the world.
This movie had nothing to do with body image, or culture, or magazines. It had everything to do with courage, determination, strength and taking a chance. None of these would be unfamiliar to those of us in recovery, or those of us who have seen someone begin their journey of recovery. It was an extremely uplifting movie - it certainly has my tick of approval!!!
A key element of the movie was taking risks - with only a guess of what the outcome could be. As corny as this sounds - this could very well be a metaphor for life, and recovery. When embarking on the journey to health - we never know what will be around the corner. It's scary, it's as turbulent as the seas this woman flew over. We don't know if we're going to run out of petrol (or energy) on our journey. We don't know if we'll make it to land. We don't know if the journey will be (relatively) easy, or an epic journey of roller-coaster proportions. We don't know if we'll make it out alive.
Another key element? Trust. Knowing that as the pilot - she was completely dependent on her navigator (which, ultimately, was her downfall), and herself. That the choices she made had to be done with faith in her plane, her crew-members, and her belief that her decision was the right one. Just like us. We have to trust in our treatment teams; our dietitians, doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers....etc. We have to trust that out treatment team know better than us, and will fly us to land, even when we're scared we're going to crash or drown. We have to trust ourselves, over that little niggling voice of fear, or eating disorder.
It is here I throw in a shameless plug for Butterfly. They need your support!!! They rely on dontations to run their programs and they're doing some wonderful work. They've behind the conference I went to in Canberra and behind NEDC (the National Eating Disorders Coalition), so if you're looking for a charity - www.thebutterflyfoundation.org.au (I also need to mention here that they have an AWESOME shop and I adore their pens).
Hopefully I did not bore you all to death with my lame analogies. I shall leave you with another.
It's only when we start to trust, that we can soar to great heights.
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