Crossing the Rubicon—My Journey to the Other Side of the Mountain

Today I invite you to walk along beside me as I reminisce about my journey to the other side of the mountain.  Join me on my expedition to a world free of ED (eating disorders). Free of his insatiable demands, his criticizing voice, and relentless requests for perfection. 

Recall I am not going to go into a lot of the specific details about my long battle with ED.  It’s not because of shame or a need for privacy. It’s out of respect and sensitivity for anyone who may come across this blog who is struggling with ED or close to crossing over that line. I know I personally learned my best practices and tips from reading similar stories. Truth be told, there is nothing glamorous about ED. 

While there are certain aspects of my path that will need to be explained to completely understand them, I will try to be as descriptive yet vague as possible.  The intention of this blog is to provide a safe environment for those who read it to heal, process their own issues, just realize they are not alone in their journey, and discover the beautiful world we live in.  Are you ready?  Here we go….

At the risk of sounding cliché there comes a time in a person’s life when they reach a fork in the road, a crossroad where a choice would inevitably have to be made whether they would turn left or right. This is the position I was in when I sought help to conquer ED. I could have taken a turn to the right, which would have led me down the long dreadful road I had been traveling with ED or I could turn left and take the trail completely foreign to me, something entirely different. 

There were so many aspects to be considered.  I had lived with ED for so long, I could have easily continued on the similar path of destruction and challenged how long I could fight and survive the internal battles of his demands.  At least it was a familiar world, ED was all I had identified with for so many years. I knew exactly what to expect.  The other, unknown path was so mysterious and I wasn’t exactly sure where it was going to take me.  I could only tell it was at the bottom of the tallest mountain I’d ever seen.  Looking up, the top seemed so high and unreachable.  The trail looked desolate and scary. It was filled with rugged terrain that would have to be battled before I could make it to my destination.

Knowing it would be the biggest challenge of my life I decided to risk it all and take my first step to the left and up the pathway to the other side of the mountain.  It was the point of no return and at that time I didn’t know if I had the strength to battle all of the obstacles that would block my journey. I can’t help but wonder now if that was how Julius Caesar felt when he first led his army across the Rubicon River. I knew after I took that first step it didn’t matter how scared I was I could not turn back. Although I was terrified, I felt like I had to do it because I could not risk losing an opportunity to discover life without ED’s anchor. Especially if that life was going to be as beautiful as everyone had promised it would be. After all, even if I only made it half way up to the top I would be farther ahead than when I started. 

My journey up the mountain proved to be every bit as challenging as I had imagined it would be.  It took every ounce of strength and courage in my body.  The bright side that I didn’t realize when I started my journey is I wouldn’t be traveling it alone.  I was pleasantly surprised to find there were many friends, old and new, to help me along the way. 

Making peace with food was the first challenge I was faced with.  As a child of the 80s I was all too familiar with all of the fad diets.  Back then it was what we were taught. If we weren’t happy with our physiques there was always new diet to try.  (I guess this really hasn’t changed much in our society, only now I choose not to partake in them).  Following my mother’s lead and her mother before her, I never learned to substitute unhealthy options for healthier ones, rather just to reduce my intake or simply not eat.

The infamous words of Wallis Simpson were ingrained into my head “you can never be too rich or too thin.” Food was considered the enemy.  For so many years it was my crutch, my emotional release and my instrument for control.  Countless hours obsessing and categorizing it and labeling it as good or bad, sanctioned or forbidden.  

In order to make it to my destination I had to let go of those ideals.  During my journey I eliminated any form of dieting and unlearned my food related perceptions.  I admit there are times when I still cut back on certain things, particularly sugar because I have such a sweet tooth, but I know my boundaries and I know I can’t take anything to the extreme. Although I can appreciate a paleo pancake or gluten free scone, I don’t subscribe 100%.  I don’t juice, cleanse or fast.  I know as a good Catholic girl I am supposed to fast on certain Holy Days, but as a survivor of ED, for the sake of health I just can’t do it.  I continue to do whatever it takes to maintain my peace with food, eat to live, but also enjoy it for the celebration it can be in our society.    

My truce with food meant I would inevitably start gaining weight.  That was the next major challenge I faced.   I have to admit it was a very hard concept for me to grasp and embrace.  I had hated my body for as long as I could remember.  Thinking back to myself as a little girl, I could not recall a time when I was complacent with my figure. I remembered stories about how I only weighed 5 pounds 6 ounces when I was born, but I quickly made up for it. I remember being told how I was a little chunky 3-year old.  To make matters worse, it didn’t help that I grew very quickly.  I was taller than my sister three years my senior by the time I was in first grade.  I always felt awkward and couldn’t help but compare myself to her and all of the other petite girls in my class. 

I still vividly recall the first time I was weighed and understood what that meant.  I was in 5^th grade and we were all called down to the nurse’s office.  We were asked to step on the scale, a number was written down and comparisons were made.  I was horrified. That moment marked my association with the value of the number on the scale.   

When I was entrenched with ED I was obsessed with that number.  Weighing myself more than 20 times a day because I could never lose handle of it.  Ironically, that number could never be low enough.  During all of my years with ED even when I was at my thinnest weight, I wasn’t happy with the image that was looking back at me in the mirror. Of course, ED never would have let me be satisfied with that reflection. 

As I was climbing the mountain I quickly realized I was not able to carry all of the things that tied me to ED.  One of the first things I had to leave on the path along my journey was my scale and the number it represented. I haven’t stepped a foot on a scale since that moment. Letting go of that number helped me accept my body and allowed it to evolve into its current healthy state.   I still refer to the first few pounds I gained as “five pounds to freedom.”  Once I was able to embrace them I was able to slowly free myself from ED’s claws.

Of course, gaining weight meant my body was changing, which meant my wardrobe would no longer fit.  Those who know me well would probably describe me as somewhat of a fashionista.  I love collecting beautiful pieces of clothing, mixing and matching everything into my own “Shelly” style. I definitely have the “gathering” part down of the female.  We’re talking about years of collecting suits, designer jeans, sweaters, pants, skirts, dresses, shorts, etc.  None of which would no longer fit.  Although I was very sad at first, I knew I would have to leave them all on the mountain. I didn’t care if it meant running from ED naked and afraid, they had to go.  Keeping them would have been a constant reminder of my life with him, a torturing souvenir of what no longer could be or should be. Letting them go was liberating another step farther away from ED. I even wrote a blog about it “The Grand Purge” which I will try to find and post here.   

I still remember the day I gathered all of the items together.   We’re talking Casual Corner, Ann Klein, Ann Taylor, Tahari, Banana Republic, and The Limited suits, dresses, and pants; Seven for Mankind, Citizens for Humanities, and Rock and Republic jeans; beautiful sweaters and cute shirts from Anthropologie, Express, Free People, Hale Bob, Johnny Was and many of the brands listed above; and a bra collection that would have made Victoria’s Secrets himself envious. My treasures were all packed nicely and neatly into bags and delivered to Goodwill. I know I could have taken them to consignment shops or sold them on eBay, but I needed a quick getaway from them.  Donating them gave me a fast clean break and a peace of mind that someone else who should fit into them would find the same joy I did. It was like planting flowers along the way up the mountain to share. 

Even though my load was lighter without all of the baggage from ED that I was littering along the way up the mountain, I wasn’t completely free.  There was still the greatest challenge of all that would have to be conquered.  Peer pressure! As if the images of unrealistic models in the media and advertisements for the newest dieting craze haunting me everyday weren’t challenging enough, I had a few friends who made recovery extremely difficult. Ironically, battling the media was a little easier.  I promptly recycled all of my magazines and cancelled my subscriptions—Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Self, Allure, Women’s Fitness, Shape, and Marie Claire.  Inevitably I always felt ugly after I read them. 

Although most of my friends and family were very supportive of my recovery, there were a few friends I had to limit contact with. Especially in the beginning when I was being released from ED because whether their comments were intentional or reflections of their own personal issues they were damaging for me. One friend in particular despite my constant pleas to avoid certain topics…weight and diet, just couldn’t let it go.  I still hear her rants echoing in my mind about how much she weighed, or she couldn’t possibly be a certain very small size, or she was so thin her bracelet and certain clothes no longer fit.  Oh and then every time we went shopping together she would always want to know what size I was buying.  It’s kind of funny thinking about it now, because even at my lowest weight I never bragged to the world because ED had it ingrained in my mind to be ashamed regardless of the number on the scale.  Nonetheless, when I was still on that slippery slope of sliding back down the mountain, I had to take pause and take refuge from that friendship.  It got easier as time went on and I realized it was her issue, not mine.  Now I just shut her down when she starts making those kinds of comments, I focus on my health and strength or I quickly tell her she should see my therapist.    

I am happy to report although it was not an easy journey, I crossed the Rubicon and safely made it to the other side of the mountain.  Although I made it seem so linear and easy in this blog it was a real struggle, there were a few times during my recovery process when I actually took short quick visits to see ED.  Today, 6½ almost 7 years after I took that first step, I am happy and free.  I look forward to writing about the wonderful life I have found, lived and enjoyed without him.