Christmas Wishes...

This week I weighed myself for the first time since making the 'momentous' ( for me at least ) decision to have two days away from the gym each week. I braced myself, saying that I had to expect it to have gone up, but that this would be OKAY because I had taken a deliberate step towards this, hence I was still in control. But it was still quite a few moments before I could open my eyes after stepping on the scales.

And....no change. I checked again and again but the line hadn't moved. There are several reasons why this could be the case - a bad reaction to an injection earlier in the week which gave me a mini- outbreak of flu, feeling dreadfully sick over the weekend which put me off my food.... But the short answer is, it looks like I haven't done enough. 

According to the media, it is all too easy to put on weight, but it is like a complete guessing game for me. I have forgotten just how much my body can take in and use to perform at its best, before any 'excess calories' even begin to turn to fat. The body is wonderfully flexible - if you starve it of fuel, it will slow down to compensate, the metabolism will become depressed so that you can keep 'ticking over' on a lower budget. I think of it like a fire, and the difference you see when a stack of kindling is suddenly thrown on it - the flames whoosh up and the beast becomes alive! Right now, I am more like the glowing embers left when nearly all has turned to ash. I've forgotten just how alive I could feel and don't know how much 'kindling' it willt take to get me back up to my optimal level.

The worst part of it all was that part of me was secretly pleased that I hadn't put on weight. The old pressures and guilt are still there, like rot, even though part of me wants to cry every time I go in to work at my new job, knowing it isn't my research PhD. These two opposite parts of me, tugging my resolve in different directions, are ones that I've lived with for so long that the thought of trying to untangle them and challenge the wrong one simply exhausts me.

Thank you for reading this over the festive season, when you doubtlessly have many preparations of your own to do. I hope you and all your family have a truly blessed Christmas and that you feel the Joy and wonder of the festival of Christ's Birth. You might wonder how I cope at this time with the onslaught of excess and the suggestion that we eat like kings every day. I do struggle, but I am also fascinated by it all - amazed that anyone could eat such rich food without worry, as part of a social celebration. I often glance through the Christmas food catalogues, or linger by the supermarket 'Festive Fayre' shelves - just looking at it all. But if you offered me a bowl of Christmas pudding, a platter of calorific canapés, a Yuletide eggnog.... I couldn't touch it for the sudden nausea of fear it would induce. Everything at this time of year seems to,be s loaded bombshell of untrackable calories...

So what do I want for Christmas? I'd like to be able to end each day without the conviction that, no matter what else I had 'achieved ' that day, there was still something fundamentally wrong that I hadn't addressed, that was keeping me back from where I want to be. I suppose that means I want the strength to challenge myself, to go through the pain and discomfort and reach the other side.

Merry Christmas!

Loosing the numbers game...

One of the paradoxes of anorexia is that the restrictive rules and habits  it entails are typically done day after day because the sufferer believes it is the only way to feel 'safe'. Even as these behaviours become more and more oppressive, they have to be done in order to feel anywhere near comfortable. The trouble is, life doesn't recognise this and when this delicate framework of living is struck, it doesn't just wobble, it all comes crashing down like a pack of cards. As it did to me last week...

I've mentioned before that part of my recovery had to include developing a better approach to exercise. I really do struggle with this, as I find it all too easy to let my workout schedule snowball out of control.... The trouble is, the only way to improve your fitness is to challenge yourself, and push yourself a little bit harder. So if I do a slightly more intense workout one week, I soon feel that this has to be my 'new' workout and that to revert to the original at any time would be to 'make it easy' for myself.

Similarly, I have to be disciplined about taking designated days off because if I don't do this for whatever reason one week, then it soon becomes 'normal' to not have a rest day - suddenly to go just one day without working out is  lazy and would thus be a source of guilt and shame. Oh dear...there is a reason why God ordained the Sabbath as a day of rest!

Object of my obsessions...

It seems I have a special ( if somewhat useless and self destructive) talent for turning something into an obsession. The latest one began when the Spin bikes in the gym were  upgraded . I liked the new models at first - a sleek, red and black design - but unfortunately each one now had a computer screen which informs you how many calories you are burning. At first I used to just note the total figure down out of curiosity ( I know these things aren't 100% accurate but I reasoned that, as long as the settings were the same, I could use it to compare the intensities of different workouts, and see which instructors gave the 'best value'). But this opened the door for an insidious anxiety to develop...Soon I would be disappointed if I didn't burn XXX number of calories after each session. I worked out the average number of calories I would have to burn each minute to reach this target and so would always have my eye on the dial, constantly checking, not able to lose myself with the music and rhythm of movement. If I still wasn't satisfied at the end of the session, I would carry on a bit longer, whilst the rest of the group were cooling down. And of course, the target was always moving, getting higher and higher as I became obsessed with reaching higher numbers. There was no leeway or room for error; as soon as I got on the bike, I had to start pumping away, to make the numbers start climbing...

So there I was, caught in my trap : as long as the numbers added up, I could feel safe and would be able to eat without worrying too much that day. Never mind that it made me dread my workouts and I had lost any joy there was in the sessions. And of course, something happened to throw a spanner in the works and it all came falling down...

One day I climbed aboard and just COULDN'T get the pedals to move like I used to. I couldn't get the calorie counter high enough, I wasn't going to make my target and I began to panic - if I don't make the target, then I won't have worked hard enough, I will feel guilty and lazy and how can I eat then???! I tried and tried to push the pedals faster but the numbers obstinately wouldn't budge. I broke down and burst into tears making myself completely unable to do anything, let alone an hour of climbs, sprints and intervals. Goodness knows what everyone else thought - that someone had dies perhaps. The instructor managed to calm me down but I was almost too ashamed to admit what the problem was. She understood enough though, and told me that an engineer had been servicing the bikes earlier in the week and it is likely that he tightened the resistances on all of them. 

In the end I managed to complete the session, judging how hard I was working by how much I sweated and the intensity I felt in my legs. How I used to do spin, in other words, on the old bikes.

But it's an illustration in how focused my life is on numbers ( calories, weights, times, etc) and how this is stealing any REAL feeling of being alive....I don't know if I can ever get to a state where I don't particularly care about what the numbers on the scale are as long as I feel strong and my body is able to do all that I threw at it in the course of a busy, fulfilled life. Instead, I have been given a target weight to go back to university and I am determined in my mind to not 'exceed' the target : I will do what I need to, but no more. Imagine if I actually let my body decide what was the best weight for me, and let the numbers go?

I don't know if I'm strong enough for that but this recovery at least has to involve me building a relationship with my body again, to replace a fixation on numbers.

I wonder what numbers are the bane of other people's existence?

Finally - a step forward!

After over two months of inertia, following the shock of being taken off my PhD, I have finally managed to make a change: I will not go to the gym for two days each week.

Possibly, you think I am totally deluded and that someone who needs to put on a stone in weight to get back on their course shouldn't be going anywhere NEAR a gym ( slightly difficult if you live practically next door!) But to me, this is a daunting proposition that feels hard to stomach just writing the words, saying it out loud....let alone to handle the days when they actually come round.

For better or worse, I simply NEED to have some level of activity in my life. Unfortunately, I have got myself in a stranglehold where I have to 'earn' the food I eat by working out. If I don't, I become so worried and anxious and feel so lazy and fat, that this breaks out in physical symptoms - my stomach churns and I can't bear the thought of eating. If I'm not doing so much exercise , surely it will all turn into fat?! ( although I do eat less on days I don't work out to try and offset the difference...). 

Besides this, I feel so chronically tired all the time, that working out is often the only way to make myself feel vaguely normal in the mornings. And I know I will feel 'better', or at least avoid the guilt rush, by putting myself through it. It's this which makes it easier to drag myself to the gym every day than abstain, even when I am so tired that I feel nauseous. 

This has made things very difficult in the past of course, and I won't go into the measures I have taken during trips away to get my exercise in...perhaps I will save that for another post. 

But two things have happened which have given me the strength of mind to make this change:

1. I have got a new job (!) Three days a week, working as a science technician in a local college. Three long, working days involving a 45 minute commute each way and a six 'o clock start. Three potentially exhausting days when it would be the perfect opportunity to just come home, eat, rest and GO TO BED! 

My new 'office' 

Unfortunately, I failed miserably on my first day, running to the gym for an hours spin class when I got back but I have to be strict with myself now. I will never get back to my PhD if I continue to run myself ragged. And taking this job is  bittersweet - whilst it is great to have something to go out to during the week, to keep busy and even earn some proper money to pay the bills, it has been a forceful reminder that I am NOT WHERE I SHOULD BE. I have been reduced from being in charge of my own research project to washing out the glassware from practicals for A Level classes....in these moments when I have a sense of how much I have lost, the inevitable tears start up again...

Is this all that remains of the last technician?!

2. I have a new personal trainer (!) I realised that left to myself I would do nothing and that I needed help to conquer my exercise addiction. The wonderful manager of the Goodwin Sports Centre has arranged for me to work with one of the instructors on a one to one basis. After explaining my situation, my new trainer was confident that he could work out an exercise and diet programme that would increase my lean muscle mass to reach my weight target, whilst at the same time giving me more energy and strength. Hearing him explain the science behind what we would be doing gave me incredible confidence. One of the reasons I find it hard to do anything myself is that I always feel out of my depth and that I can only guess how many extra calories I need for what I do. Coming from a true professional though, I feel I would be a fool not to do what he says. Crucially, I feel I can trust him and that my weight won't ever go spiralling out of control. 

Perhaps it is only a small step, but every journey has to start somewhere....

A life of being, not doing .... of discovering, not achieving....

I've had some very interesting responses to my last blog post which have challenged my thinking in terms of forging an identity. The recurring theme has been a caution against fixating  upon a specific ( possibly stereotyped? ) vision and measuring myself by how far I live up to that ideal and what I achieve within this role. I know, with my tendency to over-focus on achievement, that I have been guilty of this in the past. For instance, when I actually showed a bit of promise at cross country running at school, I naturally presumed that I MUST run a marathon one day, even though imagining the gruelling training this would need did not appeal in the slightest. More recently,  when I decided to take up French again, I thought I SHOULD set myself the goal of achieving a French A Level exam - even though this fills me with fear and I know I have been enjoying learning a language more without the imminent threat exams that there was a school. Whether I actually WANT to do these things never entered into the equation.

These thoughts were brought into focus last week when I travelled to St James's Palace in London to receive my Gold Duke of Edinburgh Award. I had wanted it complete the award ever since I had heard about it, and it was a wonderful experience to be invited to the state rooms at the palace and made to feel 'special'. Yet the whole event did seem to endorse the idea that we are defined by notable accomplishments that we can hold up before others. Indeed, the Olympic Silver-Medallist sprinter who gave our 'motivating speech' encouraged us by stating "This Award should only be the benchmark for your future achievements". Certainly there is a danger here, in that we can become addicted to reaching ever higher standards, feeling a compulsion to keep striving, even though this is entirely self imposed. 

An achievement, certainly, but what did I learn about my self by doing the DofE?

Instead, my friends have encouraged me to believe that I am who I am and, rather than impose a mould upon myself, I should be open to discovering what my personality, strengths and preferences are. As a Christian, I believe that my identity comes through having a saviour that was prepared to die for me, so that I can have a relationship with God. Against this, no earthly standards really matter. This is a wonderfully liberating view, in that it takes away the responsibility of forging an identity or striving to reach a standard. All I have to do is go along as best as I can and enjoy discovering who I really am.

So should we not challenge ourselves at all, if perhaps the motive is not right? I still think it IS good to push ourselves out of our comfort zone, as this is how we discover who we really are, just as gold is refined in the fire. As for the DofE, if I thought of this in terms of a 'Journey of Self-Discovery' then what did I learn about myself?

1. I can actually interact with people and enjoy it! When I started volunteering at The Sunday Centre, a refuge for homeless and vulnerable adults in Sheffield, I was too timid to approach anyone and kept my head down behind the tea bar or the washing up sink. Now, it is difficult to get me to shut up when I am there, as I have made so many friendships amongst the volunteers and the guests! It really is a highlight of my week.

2. I have the independence to travel to a remote location to stay with a group of strangers to complete daunting tasks requiring strong teamwork. Going on a National Trust Working Holiday on the Lizard Peninsular in Cornwall to help remove invasive plant species remains one of the best experiences of my life.

3. Although I doubted myself, I CAN actually go on an expedition to a remote place and be self- sufficient within a team, carrying all we needed to sleep, cook and eat for four days. I used to think these were for other people to do, but now I know that I can always enter this world of exploration.

The postcard mum bought me in London!

One of my 'goals' in my recovery is to walk the Pennine Way. But this sounds dangerously close to being another 'achievement for the sake of achievement', thinking in terms of finding myself, why do I want to do it? 

1: To experience a simpler way of life, where the day is dictated by the rhythm of my feet, the passing of the clouds on the hills, the gentle speed with which I pass the  undulating countryside. To remember a life that is not complicated by unnecessary and constant anxieties.

2: To be able to dedicate a good amount of time to doing ONE thing. I can find it hard to focus at times and my life seems in bits and pieces which I struggle to keep together as a whole. It would be liberation to concentrate on a single aim for more than a few hours!

3. To see if I can do it. If I can, this could open up a new world of belief in myself...perhaps I can get back to the Alps again?

I hope you will support my goal, even though it must seem laughable right now. Still, the hills are waiting, calling for me and now it's time to get my body in a state to meet them. 

Who am I?

I must have over a hundred good reasons to change myself and move closer to a healthy weight. And no good reason whatsoever to stay at this level. So why is it so hard to change?

Part of the problem is that to change would mean giving up the identity that I have lived with for several years now. I have been set a BMI target by the university and it feels horrid to think of my weight being 'dictated' by another. I cannot imagine being this other, bigger (fatter?) person that they want me to become - that I MUST become- if I want to reclaim my PhD. I don't like being who I am right now, but it is all I know and therefore feels safe, or at least more safe than the alternative - the scary unknown. 

The response to this blog so far has been incredible and really humbled me, but I wonder if there is a potential danger in 'coming out' as an anorexic. Now that there is no question that I struggle with this mental illness, it feels as though it has become even more tightly cemented as my identity. Everyone now knows me as an anorexic. If I were to change and NOT be anorexic anymore, then who would I be?

Happier times... Walking in Snowdonia, several years ago

I might think I can get by like this, but I have forgotten how good it can be. How I felt at my peak, when I had the energy to run competitively and run up mountains ( and food was just fuel and not a constant preoccupation and source of worry). The other evening, I came across an article on walking holidays in Grindlewald, Switzerland. I was instantly transported to one of the happiest times of my life, during a family holiday in the Swiss Alps before all of this began. I suddenly yearned to be strong enough to walk along those trails, surrounded by the majesty of the mountains, drawing in the cool, pure air, my thoughts calm but my soul singing with delight. And they are all still there, the great trails and routes and glacier walks that I once hoped to complete. For the first time in months, I felt a great urge from within ( rather than an impulse promoted by others and external circumstances ) to let go of the rigid rules and chase a new life. 

Last night, I was staying with my parents and dad showed me the video he had made of his summer cycling expedition in the French Alps. He really is a marvel, using his 'holiday' to take in  the famous mountain passes that feature in the Tour de France's hardest stages! Seeing him tackle the gruelling climbs and feeling his elation on arriving at each summit, it struck me how this was a REAL way to live, so far removed from the spin classes I rigidly attend in the gym each morning. ( we may cycle miles but we don't exactly get very far...) Here were mountains, real challenges to conquer and experiences to look back on with pride. Whereas in this shrunken, shrivelled state, I can't even challenge what goes on in my head and finish each day ashamed of myself.

That holiday in Grindlewald....

I need to reinvent myself but what body-role model should I have? I look at some of my gym instructors with envy sometimes - they look so fantastic but not in a skinny, wilted, anaemic way. They look STRONG and CAPABLE and INDEPENDENT. A body fit for whatever purpose they might throw at it. A body that could put someone into next week if they felt threatened. And is ant to be strong too, that I can chase these dreams again. To really live and love.

Maybe I should try and reinvent myself as a cyclist? Sadly it seems that running is out of the equation for ever now after an injury I had this summer. So maybe I should try and take after my dad instead - aim to get strong enough to take a bike into the real hills?

Right now, it feels to me that trying to meet my target weight involves moving AWAY from who I truly am. The only way to challenge this, is to see that this illness has distorted me into a shadow of my true self, and that to fight my way back to health would mean becoming CLOSER to what I am really meant to be and regaining my identity. So my best line of attack is to imagine myself already at my target weight so it feels 'normal' when I get there. Every day, I should introduce myself to myself -  'Hello, I am Caroline Wood. I am xxx stone. Pleased to meet you'. 

Pleased, and happy, that I can simply live. 

Can I be brave?

First of all, I have been completely overwhelmed by the response to this blog - that so many people have not only read it, but even took the effort to get in touch and offer encouragement. I am truly blessed by the beautiful people in my life!

But one thing feels desperately wrong. So many of you have called me "brave" and "courageous" for doing this - and I feel that I do not merit this at all. In fact, the best word to describe me is this:

Selfish.

Absolutely, 100%, pig-headedly SELFISH.

This isn't a new idea. Sometimes I feel I should have the word tattooed or carved onto my skin, as a badge of shame. Let me explain...

There are no good points to this illness. Staying chronically undernourished (and exhausted, and cold, and cranky and self-absorbed...) only hurts me and hurts others. My parents worry - this isn't fair on them at all, as they move into what should be the "golden years" of retirement, blessed with the pleasure of watching their children become more independent. My wider family worry. My friends- wonderful as they are - worry. I use up the time and resources of professionals and medical services. All this concern and sadness - all because of me.

And to top it all, I hate it as well. Living this ridiculous, never-satisfying half-life; not living up to the full ideals of anorexia (of wasting away to nothing and escaping the misery in my mind), not being well enough to have a full life. There is no chance of fulfilment here and I end each day with despair that I haven't done anything proactive again. I don't stay in this condition because I want to, but because I am just too scared and terrified to be any different.

So I'm not brave at all - a selfish coward is closer to the mark. The brave thing to do would be to challenge myself, put myself in the position of feeling miserable and uncomfortable and guilty by taking the plunge. No one is "rooting for the anorexia", no one is willing me to stay in this state. It is completely ungrateful of me to squander the opportunities that I have been given - to be paid to do research! to do a PhD in Sheffield! to just LIVE in a peaceful country and learn about others! - to this madness which benefits no one. I can't think too closely of the cases I know where young people have had their lives tragically cut short or diminished by illnesses or terrible accidents because this brings into focus how I have squandered all I was freely given.

But I still have the chance to prove that I can be brave. I have that chance every day.

Yet there is always the easier option, of delaying the challenge to "another day" and giving in - carrying on the same pattern to appease the guilt monster. Anything for an easy, comfortable life.

Except it's not easy or comfortable at all. Mad isn't it?

I hope I can be brave. Time will tell, but I haven't got much left...

Waiting for a magic moment that isn't going to come...

It's been almost two months now since I was thrown out of the University and told that I needed to put on a stone in weight before I could come back. Technically, I haven't got ANY time to lose, as part of the requirements for my return are that I can demonstrate that I can maintain a healthy weight for a significant period (i.e. several months). So what have I done?

Nothing.

Understandable, said my GP, when I saw her a week after it happened; I was still reeling in the shock of it all and hadn't been able to muster any effort of will to make a change. But now my situation has sunk in, the practicalities digested, etc. it really is time to get to work.

Unfortunately, this illness makes me a master at putting things off. All through the first year of my PhD, the medical service and the University were urging me to put on weight, to build a "safety net" so I didn't plummet below the threshold in response to stress or illness. And I fully intended to...but....it was never the right moment. I kept seizing on events and using these to justify putting off actually doing anything - Oh, after this conference, then I will do something....after this report...I can't possibly change anything before I go on holiday....and that is how whole years have dragged by without me really taking myself in hand. The decisions we make day by day by day really do shape who we are, over the course of time.

I am waiting for a magic moment that will never happen - for something to somehow make it easier to challenge my routines of undernourishment and compulsive exercising. But it won't come. This week I was sent for an assessment at the Mental Health Clinic in Sheffield to see what services they could offer. I started to think that this might be the catalyst for change....
...but really they didn't tell me anything I didn't already know. And I have to accept that, in my current state of mind, no one else can really help me, whether I recieve treatment as an outpatient, in the day service or as an inpatient in a specialised eating disorder unit (!). The change has to come from me.

As I read on another blog on anorexia written by Emily Troscianko (fully recovered), it is common for sufferers of anorexia to fall into this trap. In reality, there IS no magic moment, instead we CREATE that moment, the instant we take action towards getting better.

I know what I need to do and that no one can do it for me.

But I'm still waiting, still holding out for....what?

And meanwhile, time moves on, time will run out as it has always inexorably done in the past. Every single day which I end, exhausted, is another failure towards the greater goal. I may achieve what I want - feeling comfortable or at least avoiding guilt by sticking to my regimes - but I am losing the ability, more and more, to fight back to where I really need to be. And yearn to be, if I can ever acknowledge my long-term dreams beyond the short-term questions of each day - To exercise or not to exercise? To eat more or not? To challenge my thinking, embrace freedom of thought and expression.... or Not?