My therapist gives me the book, 8 Keys to Recovery from an Eating Disorder. It outlines ten phases of recovery:
- I don’t think I have a problem.
- I might have a problem, but it’s not that bad.
- I have a problem but I don’t care.
- I want to change but I don’t know how and I’m scared.
- I tried to change but I couldn’t.
- I can stop some of the behaviors but not all of them.
- I can stop the behaviors, but not my thoughts
- I am often free from behaviors and thoughts, but not all the time.
- I am free from behaviors and thoughts.
- I am recovered.
On one hand, it’s infuriating realizing there are ten phases. Ten. I can’t just start the book Sunday, spend a day in each phase, and be free 10 days later. I’ll have to progress with steadiness and patience, day in and day out.
On the other, I’m comforted in discovering that recovery is steps. There’s hope in visualizing this ladder, with incremental but significant milestones that deserve equal celebration along the way. Overcoming each tangible goal is intended to propel the individual forward. I scan the pages, searching for the stage that best represents my current reality. I’m pleased as my finger moves further and further down, validating how much further along the ladder I am than I’d anticipated.
I land on Phase 6, where I can stop some of the behaviors, but not all of them. I want so desperately to be in Phase 7, so that I can refer to these behaviors in the past tense, just one step closer to ascending the ladder. I revel when I address an urge one Thursday morning at my desk at work. I recognize the hot flashes that enrapture my body, with curiosity rather than fury. I understand they stem from the presentation I’ll give later that morning. I schooch away from my desk, relocate to an open space, and take deep breaths as I divide the two-hour window into 15-minute blocks. I hold out for 15 minutes. Then another, and another, until suddenly I’m only 30 minutes away from presenting. The urge to binge fades as the adrenaline kicks in. Ultimately, I nail it, sharing insights that lead to engaging discussions across different stakeholders. And now, I’m free to exercise, and enjoy the rest of my day, including an outdoor concert with friends.
I use this instant as evidence that now, I’m over Phase 6, and am truly ready to enter Phase 7. My behaviors are simply a thing of the past, now that I’ve successfully navigated one intrusive urge. Now that I’ve done it once, I can continually succeed in sitting with the urges, recognize them for what they were and where they were coming from, and maneuver through them without acting. Going forward, I can now sit with the urge, let time pass, and face the fear, which is usually associated with a work or social event I’m catastrophizing. Once I’ve attended the event, I can move on with the rest of my day, without needing to manage the consequences of a caloric surplus. If I’ve done it once, I can do it every time.
This is wrong. Withstanding one urge does not mean I will withstand them all. My therapist reminds me that progress isn’t linear, and isn’t all or nothing, when I break down crying from giving into an urge two weeks later. I’m still very much in Phase 6, and am not quite sure how long I’ll stay there. As much as it pains me to admit, I still can’t overcome them every time. Every few weeks, my brain tells me, Enough is enough. You’ve fought these desires long enough. Time to come home.
No matter how many times I triumph over the urges, giving into even one rocks me to my core. It’s the only way to quiet the voices, because after days and days and days of fighting these intrusive thoughts, I just don’t have the energy or strength to put up with them anymore. They need to go. I must feed them.
I’ve been stuck in this stage for so long. What’s the point of any of it anymore? Why even try to move through these urges, if I’ll ultimately cave anyway? What makes me think that I’m strong enough, or even worthy, of ever moving to a place where these thoughts remain thoughts, where my eating disordered self is no longer in the driver’s seat? Who do I think I am, believing I have the ability, the strength, the persistence, to speak of binging in the past tense?
“Will I ever get to Phase 10?” I ask in therapy after my most recent binge. “Hell, will I even get to Phase 7?” I’ve wondered if anyone ever actually get there, or, are they, as I suspect, just lying to themselves? The book asks its reader to visualize a world where overcoming your eating disordered self is possible. It is possible to be free, to have a life you want for yourself. How do you pick up the pieces when you hit a snag in your journey? How do we normalize, discuss, and move past the dips in progress, so that we don’t derail, or discard how far we’ve already come?
My therapist tells me to look at the phases again. To look at how far along I’ve come on the ladder already, and see just how long it took to get to Phase 6.
- I don’t think I have a problem. Seven years ago, a senior in my singing group asked me to lunch my sophomore year, just the two of us. I denied and defended my shrinking body; “I’m just more active and taking better care of myself.” I omitted that over the summer, I fell and fainted three times.
- I might have a problem, but it’s not that bad. I casually slid in a comment on my plummeting weight on my walk back from a drunk, sweltering night out with a friend. She grabbed my hand, so that we couldn’t let the moment slip by. “I thought something was going on, but didn’t know what to say,” she’d waited for an entry for some time. I immediately reassured her it was under control, a thing of the past. I regret ever saying anything, and made a mental note to not go out with her anymore.
- I have a problem but I don’t care. I hid in my room, me and my food. Late night and early morning munchie runs. I emerged occasionally to socialize, perfectly poised behind a relentless smile and dead eyes. I thanked the role the ritual played in my survival, and believed this is my life forever. I ignored my rapidly beating heart, depleted fuel tank, and aching teeth.
- I want to change but I don’t know how and I’m scared. Four years ago, I vowed that very day, tomorrow would be different, believing I could stop whenever I wanted. Each morning on the bus ride to work, I chanted, Don’t binge, don’t binge, don’t binge. I inevitably caved, guzzled candy and cookies and ice cream at work, stashing bags of chips and popcorn and chocolate, On work from home Wednesdays, I jogged to Trader Joe’s for goodies that made the loneliness tolerable, keeping my head down in the checkout line to avoid the judgmental gaze of the cashiers on my strange purchases. After being swept up in the hurricane, I declared once again, tomorrow would be different.
- I tried to change but I couldn’t. Three years ago, out of sheer desperation, I admitted I couldn’t do it alone. I told my parents, friends, and doctors. I started therapy for the first time. I was told to rejoice in the binging dropping from four times a day, to three times a week. Though lessening, I still operated in a cyclical rhythm, sitting in front of my desk, inevitably ransacking my cabins for cereal, whipped cream, and chips. I hibernated, then sweat it all out through hours of biking. Repeating, repeating, repeating, because it was still the pandemic. There was nowhere to go, nothing better to do, and no reason to ever leave.
Yes, I may be caught in this phase. But in a Friday session, my therapist reminds me I’ve already climbed five intense, grueling steps I’m also more than halfway up the ladder. It will take time, perhaps weeks, months, or even years. I will mess up, I will slip. It won’t be perfect, and I can’t be either. But if I think negatively, or let up on challenging these thoughts, it won’t happen. I have to keep faith that someday, I’ll be ready to enter phase 7, that I deserve to enter phase 7, and then 8-10. They might be far off, and represent versions of me I can’t yet envision, but I am excited to meet one day.
Sources
Costin, Carolyn, and Gwen S. Grabb. 8 Keys to Recovery From an Eating Disorder. W.W. Norton & Company, 2012. pp. 14-16.