By guest blogger, Mr X

Nine months after his residential treatment has ended, My X is still struggling to fit back into a life without a psychotherapist at his constant beck and call. The gap between treatment and healthy can be a mountainous one. Here are Mr X’s tips for getting back to you.

I have just spent the past six weeks cocooned in a safe, controlled and emotional space. An almost sanitised environment.Every morning, I’d check a white board for the day’s schedule; already decided for me.  This included, of course, my meals. Precisely planned and plonked in front of me. The only exception is if you are lucky enough to “achieve” level three of recovery. Here lies a slither of respite. You are now granted the experience of self-service. The days were long and emotionally exhausting, with barely a moment left unfilled.No mobile phones, no newspapers, no books and extremely limited internet access. Cut off from the outside world with every aspect of your internal life plated up for you to ruminate over until it all begins to unravelling. Initially, this was my worst nightmare. I’d spent years expending every ounce of energy on retaining absolute control. But it was never enough. Still, the thought of handing over control to another human? Unfathomable. But when you’re on your knees, there comes a point when enough is enough.

But to my surprise, within a week I’d experienced a powerful shift. Like an infant learning to swim, little by little I began to relinquish my grip of the side of the pool.  Just for a fleeting moment to start with, but as time passed, and with e support and encouragement of the professionals and peers around me, my confidence grew. Lo and behold, the catastrophes don’t materialise, the world did not end and all was not lost. It was a liberating experience, my body rested and brain refuelled. By the end of my time in treatment, I was happier than I had been in years. But then my time was up. It was time to be released back into the wild. All I’d known for six weeks was this detached house a small town in the suburbs, a handful of church halls and a weekly trip to a garden centre. How was I going to survive in the real world? The fear kicked in. I can’t do this on my own. How will I cope?

Yet here I am more than 9 months later. Things are far from perfect, but they don’t need to be. Every day is still a battle but the difference is that now I know how to win.  So, here’s 8 tips that keep my head above water during the ‘transition’ period. Please do remember though, this is just what works for me. I am no medical professional and it is much harder to practice what you preach. We are all different and I don’t have all the answers – just suggestions.

1. It is ok not to be ok

I left treatment on a high. On my second night of #freedom I went to see the Rolling Stones, and it was bloody brilliant. I present and just enjoyed it for what it was.

But of course that wasn’t going to last. Recovery itself – the meal plans, meetings, journaling and all that comes with it – really is a full-time job.

Once you start weaving in the world of work, friends, family, relationships even just existing in this society we’ve constructed, there are bound to be highs and lows.

But that really is ok. I enjoy the good times because I genuinely believe now that I deserve them. Then on the days that aren’t so good I just have to accept it and sit with the feelings – the worst thing I can do is act out. The impulses might always be there, but they will always pass in time.

2. Stop comparing yourself to others

Life isn’t a competition. If you allow yourself to get sucked in by that (convincing) illusion, you are setting yourself up for a fall. Almost everything is outside my control apart from the obvious – my own actions. It is my side of the street I need to keep clean. If you get drawn into it, remember you have no idea what is going on in other people’s lives. What others are doing is irrelevant. My priority has to be my health. I’ve been working part-time for about four months now and boy does it help. When it was first suggested by my medical team, I poo-pooed it; terrified that I’d fall behind everyone else. But it’s turned out quite the opposite. With an extra day to deconstruct my stressors and chill out, I’m much more productive during the working week.

3. Remember this isn’t about the food or exercise

I will never have a say over the thoughts that pop into my head. I may never stop feeling enormous as soon as I feel stressed. When life is tough, it is likely I will always have an urge to restrict. But at least now I’m able to take stock and figure out what I am really feeling. My eyes are now opened to something that deep down, I probably always knew; food and exercise weren’t the heart of my problems. Life was. An eating disorder was simply my solution, my comfort blanket. I remember vividly the first time I cried in rehab. It was a Wednesday afternoon, during break between an intense double session. We “foodies” had a compulsory afternoon snack to much on, and mine was biscuits. The previous day I’d made my selection with the dietitian; hobnobs, the king of biscuits. It  had been years since I’d enjoyed a dunking session with these crunchy little guys.

But when I sat down, I was instead presented with a pair of Hovis biscuits. And I was distraught. How could they do this to me? Ten minutes later I was curled up in bed sobbing my heart out. The normal ones amongst you will have spotted the flaw in my logic. After all it is common knowledge that Hovis biscuits contain fewer calories than hobnobs. So really I should have been delighted. But it wasn’t a result of choosing the wrong snack. It was the feeling of being cheated out of the remaining ounce of control I still had. And it pierced through my skin like glass. It wasn’t about the biscuit.

4. Use the “tools”

The thing that pisses me off about recovery is that my way didn’t work. I tried for years and years and look where it got me. Eating disorders are so manipulative –  I lost count of the number of times I changed my habits thinking I’d beaten it, but it got me nowhere. I’d let one thing go but cling on to another for dear life. The tools I have now – courtesy of treatment and my 12 step program – work. Throughout my eating I was arrogant. I questioned the logic in what others told me and always had a smart-are reason as to why it didn’t apply. When I am stressed I try to take a step back and look at my behaviour objectively – usually,  I’ve started to practice old habits.  They die hard, but little by little, I can chip away and create

new ones.

5. Be kind to your mind (and body)

Like many of us with eating disorders, perfectionism is a thing. 99% is not enough. Couple with chronically low self-esteem, that manifests as a desperate need for life to all be on my terms. When it wasn’t, I punished my body though restriction and purging. I had no idea of the toll this had taken on my body. For the first three weeks of treatment, I would nap at every available opportunity – at the dinner table, in therapy groups, in the taxis to and from meetings. My body just shut down. My eating disorder told me I was superhuman. If I started to feel ill I’d train harder and eat less. My immune system had given up trying to repair itself. Only when I started the re-feeding process did it jump start again.

These days I am more kind to myself.  Whereas before I’d stomp the 5k to and from work each day, now I get the bus. I have time to read, meditate or listen to music. Much more pleasurable and infinitely less tiring. Then I have breakfast. If I am tired I stay in bed. If I am not feeling well I take it easy for a few days. A couple of weeks ago I stormed through three whole series of a Netflix drama 10 days. I could never have sat still like that before.

6. Put recovery first

It is my recovery and no one else can do it for me. I used to see putting myself first as selfish. Now I know the opposite is true. Unless I am ok, I am not emotionally available to build relationships with others – whether it be friends, family, lovers, colleagues, fellows or clients.

I am learning to communicate my boundaries and say how things make me feel. Sometimes, it is still excruciating, but it is getting easier. And things get far worse when I hide. If I feel something is unsafe or unhealthy for my recovery then I step away from it.  I tell myself that I simply can’t get involved.

7. Live in the moment

Before treatment, I would go to things but not really be there. My head was always spent in the past or the future. I can’t foresee the futures – whether it be 10 minutes or ten years ahead – so try not to expend unnecessary energy projecting out future scenarios. And by living in the day I am able to listen and involve myself in conversations. I am not sat trying to fight the hunger and wondering where my next exercise stint is coming from. Nothing is forever either. An alcoholic with 30 years’ sobriety would tell you they just aim not to have a drink that day. It’s the same for me and my recovery. I will deal with tomorrow when I get to it

 

8. Have some fun because you deserve it

Recovery isn’t all about philosophy and analysis. Get out there and go with the flow. I haven’t done that in years and am learning so much about myself as a person. I didn’t think I deserved it before. I felt inadequate and worthless. My value was simply in my weight. But that isn’t true of anyone. Try to smile and enjoy the ride.

Rehab was the perfect place to learn the art of finding humour and lightness in the most cloudy situations. One evening, the eating disorder patients were been presented with some ground-up, yellowish meat- based monstrosity. Granted we weren’t necessarily the most objective food critics, but this was definitely inedible. It was a far cry from our regular, semi-delicious spaghetti bolognese and chicken curry nights. Where on earth has this mound of unidentifiable animal come from? Perhaps a staff member who seemed to have mysteriously vanished from the house had in fact been served up as a treat, someone suggested. That was it, hysterics all around the table for about 20 minutes.

The non-ED eaters (the facility also housed alcoholics and people suffering with other addictions) kept looking over with bemused looks on their faces. That was a turning point for me. At that moment, I realised that meal times could – and should – be sociable and fun. They are for everyone else, so why would you deserve any different?