My “Story”

I’ve been meaning for a while to post my “story”. That is, a little bit about myself and how I got to where I am today.

I realize that this is incredibly long. I debated whether I should break it up into several posts or edit it further, but I finally decided just keep it simple. I tried to pare it down somewhat, but let’s just say that brevity is not my forte!
P.S. I apologize in advance for any grammar errors I may make.

Eventually I may add photos, and break it up into several posts to make it easier to follow. But for now, here it is in all it’s raw and rugged wordiness…

1991-2000

Virtually all my life (if you don’t count the couple months I was at boarding school) I have lived in the same town, in the same house, with the same people. Growing up I was, for the most part, very happy. I have a wonderful large family of six brothers and two sisters, plus a loving and dedicated mom and dad. Nestled among the corn fields and rolling flat-as-far-as-the-eye-can-see pastures of rural America, my siblings and I always had plenty of room to grow up on the sixty acre estate that we call home.

Given that we lived in the country, education possibilities were slim. It was pretty much homeschooling or the public school. We were homeschooled. In my early elementary years I loved school so much that I would groan when my mom said I was all done and now that it was “playtime.” Not that I minded playtime. Actually, that was one of the best moments of the day. Sometimes I would just skip school and play all day! What a life.

While I’m certain there was plenty of sad times and hardships, those are not the memories that stick in my mind. Only the happy, carefree feeling of childhood, in every sense of the phrase, is what stands out most in those early years.

2001-2004

As I grew into my pre-adolescence, though, things grew steadily more complicated. This period of life was a very traumatic time for me. Yet at the same time it was essential to my growth and maturity as a person. The principle ordeal that caused me great pain was when my sister left for boarding school. Despite the five year age difference, we had a special connection because we were the only two girls at the time (one year after my older sister left my little sister was born). We shared a room, we got on each other’s nerves, we disagreed, but above all we were bosom friends. For me, my big sister was more than just a friend, though; she was my role model. I looked to my sister for everything from advice to security. But you never realize what you have until it is gone. Such was the case for me and my bout of anxiety after my only sister left.

My sister had wanted to go to this discernment school for a long time, so inside I was very happy for her. The elation, however, was decidedly bittersweet. After she left in February of 2001, I remember crying and crying uncontrollably. It seemed that my only friend was lost to me forever (being in a rural area—and homeschooled to boot—I’ve never had any close friends outside my family). I began to write a “Sisters Away Support Group” (SASG) newsletter for all of the other girls who had sisters away. This was fun, but I continued to have trouble sleeping that entire spring, and my days seemed to be endless endurances of lonesomeness and gloomy despondency. Any happiness I felt was only bruised with the underlying melancholy of the sorrow in my heart. But as time passed, after much tears and misery, and as the wounds of separation began to heal, I gradually began to accept the inevitable course of life, and the will of God. As I stated at the beginning, in retrospect I feel that this was a very important time developmentally for me. While it was certainly difficult, it allowed me to foster my own opinions, and to emerge as my own person, rather than constantly looking to my older sister for everything.

During the fall after I turned ten, I got involved with a Catholic girls’ club called “Challenge.” Challenge was related to the organization that ran the school my sister was attending. Because of this connection, I was ecstatic to finally be old enough to participate in weekly meetings, fundraisers, day events, and retreats. Through my involvement with this group, my spiritual foundation greatly flourished, and the sadness that had been in my heart gradually decreased. The emptiness inside was replaced with a desire to know Christ better and to bring many souls to Him.

Around this time, and I am still a little embarrassed about this, I was kind of chubby and roly-poly. I didn’t think about it a ton, but I did feel really self-conscious when I saw other people my age who were so thin and pretty. My mom reassured me that it was a very common thing in my family to gain a little extra weight around puberty, and that eventually I would naturally stretch out. I was a little worried, however, that I would have a double chin, be flat-chested, and have my crooked, widely-spaced smile forever. Only time would tell, but feelings of insecurity, such as these, proved to be the very ground my eating disorder needed to flourish a few years later.

2005-2006

For seventh grade year I attended a very small homeschool coop that my mom and some friends started. It was a rocky start the first couple of months, but eventually everything got fairly settled and we had a fantastic first year. This change was very exciting and a lot of fun for me, but it also caused me some “adjustment pains”. We switched teachers a few times before we got a stable one, and for me—the perfectionist—that was hard because I was afraid I wasn’t doing enough work or was on par with everything. The reason for my concern was because I wanted everything to be “just right” academically for when I went away to boarding school (more on that to follow).

After a wonderful and sweat-breaking start to the school, we discovered that several of the core families had decided against it for the following year. This hit as a tremendous blow to me, my mom, and the others involved. We had put so much of ourselves into this project, it was difficult to conceive the fact that it wouldn’t work anymore. The ways of God are often mysterious. So, it was back to homeschooling. I entered my eighth grade year with uncertainty, but determination—almost too determined, in fact. I remember my dad remarked on this while I was busily studying away my Christmas break. He said something to the effect of: “Audrey, if you don’t slow down you’re going to finish college before you enter highschool!”

Those were the rather confusing, but happy years. Although all the changes were hard for me, I was very content, and I placed all of my hope in the next year when I would go away to boarding school. I couldn’t wait!

Just A Little Thinner

Around the time I turned fourteen there was a moment of panic when suddenly all of my clothes started getting tight. This was earth-shatteringly frightening to me; I was so scared of being fat. I started exercising more, and very gradually my food intake decreased. I began to congratulate myself for looking so much trimmer. I can’t remember exactly when it happened, but I started thinking, “You know, I would look so much better if I was just a little thinner. If I feel good now, wouldn’t I feel better if I was just a couple pounds less?”

Since I never had very many friends, I thought changing my appearance would make me fit in and feel more confident. I was never very involved in sports so I decided to start walking and being more active. While moderate exercise is healthy and very normal thing to do, the danger in it was that, blending with my perfectionist tendencies and my passionate nature, it turned into an obsession. At the beginning I just made small changes, motivated by urge to look slender. Because for me, being thin equaled being happy. I really didn’t think about it quite in these terms, but nonetheless, this is the attitude that subconsciously seeped into my mind. I started to think that even eating normally made me feel fat, gross and sinful. I actually began to believe when I thought I ate too much it was the sin of gluttony. So, I did not wish to have this detestable vice! “It’ll be okay, though. Tomorrow I’ll just eat less and exercise more and it’ll all be better.” Or so I thought.

Innocent food began to scare me. I deceived myself. I turned around my mind to make all my motives look attractive, and pretend that they would help me to be holy. I would give up dessert for a “sacrifice” or use Lent for my own advantage. “Prayer, almsgiving, fasting…did someone mention fasting?” Fasting was always the longest list in my written Lenten resolutions, and it got longer every year. I would offer these sacrifices for souls. I succeeded in thoroughly misleading myself and confusing my intention to be thin with what I knew was right. “I was fine!” I tried to tell myself. Of course, I knew nothing about anorexia and I was the last one to assume I was developing an eating disorder. I do remember the brief moments, which I quickly brushed aside, when I would come to awareness at how food was so rapidly overcoming my life. Certain Gospel passages about not worrying about food and clothes would snag my conscience for a fleeting second, but the disorder was gaining too quickly for my natural logic to kick in.

This was all very personal. I never told or let-on to anyone, because frankly, I thought I was perfectly okay…and “Wow! Wasn’t I going to look fabulous!” It was very slow at first but eventually I began eating less and less, and exercising more and more.

Food is my LIFE…but I’m fine!

Anorexia. I remember when I first heard that word; it was just a few years ago. I overheard someone saying something about anorexia and bulimia and I curiously interjected, “What do anorexia and bulimia mean?”
“Oh, anorexic is when you don’t eat anything and bulimia is when you throw-up all your food after you eat.” the person responded.

I was stunned. How horrible! How could a person get to such an un-normal relationship with food? Like most people, I thought that would never happen to me. Little did I know…it would.

First it was skipping dessert and just taking small salads for lunch. Then I stopped eating between meals, and I instituted “fast days”. Suddenly I was wary of calories, paranoid of ANY fat, not eating hardly any protein (it had too much fat), counting carbs, watching sugar, limiting salt….the list goes on and on. The transformation from healthy to anorexic wasn’t overnight, but my thoughts almost were. In my free time I exercised, cooked, and devoured endless cookbooks and recipe collections. It had all become a game for me. A very consuming (no pun intended) game at that. These were some of the rules:

• Eat the least amount that you can. The fewer calories and fat, the better!
• You can’t eat without feeling guilty unless you do a lot of exercise. But you’ll still feel guilty anyway.
• Focus on food all the time. You have to figure everything out and make sure you don’t become fat!

My room had become full of cookbooks. By my bedside and everywhere around were dozens of “light” cooking magazines and books, neatly stacked, that I pored over before going to sleep, while in the car, and at leisure. I loved to find ways to cut calories and fat and to make recipes more “healthy”. Food had become my passion and my god.

I was so confused. I eventually developed my own strict food habits, based on these pound-conscientious resources. My image of food was becoming totally distorted.

Food situations were challenges—challenges for me to demonstrate my very strong self-discipline. Even though I did not eat much, I would feel guilty and gross at the slightest indulgence.

I particularly remember my fifteenth birthday as a difficult food situation. Since my life had come to revolve around this nourishment, or lack of, any obstacle to following my regulations posed discord. It had only been a year ago, around my fourteenth birthday, when I had looked in the mirror and decided to really do something about my weight.

In July, I planned on attending the summer program at the Catholic boarding school my older had graduated from. Desiring to follow in the footsteps of my older sister (and role model), I became infatuated with the romantic east coast setting and all-girl atmosphere of the school. It was too good to be true! Ever since age nine I had desired to go to this academy for highschool and I planned on staying after the program for highschool. I had it all planned out. My mom and I spent many weeks getting all the clothes and supplies I would need for my life there. I was so excited; finally I was old enough to fulfill my dream! Among other things, we went shopping for clothes. It felt so good to go to the rack and select the smallest size I could find, and sometimes these would even be too big. I felt so confident knowing I was achieving the American ideal of beauty, not just that, but my ideal of beauty: perfectionism.

Before leaving for New England, I went to the doctor to get my required physical and quell my parents’ fears of my evident transformation to thinness. My mother went with me and expressed her concern. The doctor, however, stated that I would be fine as long as I did not lose any more weight. I thought to myself “I won’t of course. I just like eating healthy and exercising a lot so I don’t gain weight.” After being medically declared healthy, I went home after my mom took me out for an ice cream cone. (Perhaps she had an ulterior motive to “fatten me up”?) Which I promptly went home to “work off” with a long bike ride.

Once, after we got home from an all day event, I set out to take a walk, even though it was night and almost dark. After coming in I said, “Wow, it’s nice out there.” It really was beautiful in the summer twilight with a soft breeze cooling the sticky air. My dad said, “Did you go out because you felt like you ate too much today?” My face burned. How close he was to the truth. And I thought he never even noticed!

I would get up to walk early every morning, before even eating, then have a small breakfast, take another short walk, walk later in the morning, ride my bike after lunch and dinner…but never feel like I had really done enough. The more exercise the better. I was always afraid people would see me exercise and think I was doing too much, so tried to avoid exercising in front of others. The extent of my “exercising” was walking, biking, and stretching (all of which I was quite religious about). These are pretty mild forms of movement, and in terms of actual exertion it was never too extreme. The problem was that my thoughts were. I didn’t do it because I liked it; I did it because I felt like I had to. Often these exercise habits would take up most of my day.

I loved to cook, but not eat. I looked to find low-fat baking substitutions for me, and then made “unhealthy” recipes, which I would never eat, but rather just watch others enjoy.

It was a hard and very deceiving time. Outside, though, I felt very happy. Anorexia gives you a false feeling of control. “Maybe I can’t control everything else, but at least everything is okay if my eating is ‘right’.”

Summer 2006

“Just a few more years to wait, then I can go to boarding school. Everything will be perfect then.” As I shared above, ever since I was nine, this was my response to most of my problems and uncertainties. I spent a lot of time dreaming of the wonderful time I would have there—building castles in the air of how I would love going to a “real” school, and be with seventy other girls who loved Christ. There would be outings, independence, and I would be in such a wonderful environment where everyone was nice and everything was easy. It was going to be just perfect. But of course, I had to make it that way. I had to be smart enough, I had to be accepted…and I had to be realistic, so I visited several times. It was just as I imagined: perfect! I finally had something to look forward to that would solve all my problems. I felt so generous to be sacrificing myself, leaving my family, and going so far away to school to give Christ the first chance with my life. Unfortunately, I failed to consider several factors that would vastly determine the quality of my stay there.

The time finally came for me to go to the Summer Program. Needless to say, I was very excited. The first month there was wonderful, but also a little hard. There were some things that I didn’t like as much as I had previously thought, but I hardly allowed myself to question them. After all, this was where I did belong. During the Summer Program was when I first began to think that maybe my eating was a problem. One of the women who ran the program once asked me privately: “Are you okay? You’ve lost a lot of weight just since you were here at Easter. Is anything wrong?” Oblivious to the truth myself, I laughed inwardly and reassured her that I was just hunky-dory. But as the weeks wore on, through much self-examination and prayer, I started to realize that something was not right. I kept these thoughts neatly concealed in my head, however.

After the month was over, I decided to stay for the school year, just as I had always planned. I loved it. Well…some of it. I never thought I could miss my family so much, and I surprised myself by feeling very homesick! But I didn’t give my thoughts any consideration—this was my plan! “Plus, now I know I’m supposed to be here because it’s a little hard. After all, nothing worthwhile is ever easy.” So I swallowed my thoughts and feelings and pasted a convincing grin on my face to disguise the truth. School began. I liked it, but maybe not nearly as much as I thought I would. “Good grief! What was happening to me?”

August-November 2006

Food was a very difficult thing for me while at boarding school. I thought I would love the challenge to prove how I could still eat what I felt was “right”. Remember, eating was a very serious game to me. To my horror, however, I found out some rules at the school that I hadn’t known about. At lunch we had to drink a glass of milk, (2% milk. “I could NOT drink all that unnecessary fat!” I thought to myself).We also had to eat a little bit of everything served, even dessert! I didn’t want to go against the will of the directors, so I tried to still follow in letter, if not in spirit. With three meals a day and a snack, I had to face these obstacles often. Food was hard. Nonetheless, I found ways to avoid these things if I could.  I would drink barely enough milk to cover the bottom of the glass, cover my food with a napkin or throw it away, take miniscule portions and leave food on my plate or dispose of it any other way I could. I would even hide during snack or arrive at meals late. I was compelled to do this. I had to do this. It was stronger than me. Meanwhile, I was HUNGRY! Not all the time, because it took very little to fill me due to the fact that my stomach had shrunk, but the few times I would get really hungry it was almost painful. My head and stomach would throb; I would feel dizzy and light all over, and I had a difficult time concentrating. Still, I didn’t want to eat and I didn’t ask for a snack because it was too much trouble—and too many calories. The rest of the time, I would worry about meal times coming and me not being hungry; the latter which became increasingly more frequent as my anorexic patterns gained momentum.

During my time at at boarding school, all of the behaviors I had begun at home spiraled down into a dangerous and controlling disease. At home, I would eat what I wanted when I was hungry. Usually, that was something healthy and low in calories and fat; still, it was nourishment for my body. As more and more delicious and God-given foods were crossed of my list, my options grew slim. We had to eat what we were served; since I didn’t like what was served…I didn’t eat it much. I began to feel less and less hungry and eventually the hunger pains went away, food began to feel heavy on my stomach, and I grew very anxious about what we were having tomorrow for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The truth is, while to some it may seem like it would be great not to be hungry, that could not be further from the reality. There is no way to describe the sick-like heaviness that constantly lingers in your stomach; it is such a terrible feeling to know you have eaten next to nothing all day and yet you have no appetite for dinner…or life. Your very existence and soul begins to wither away as the feeling consumes more than just ‘healthy’ food—it takes whatever it can from you until you no longer know who is living, you or your eating disorder. I longed to be in control again of my own food. I looked back with envy to the freedom I had at home. I thought that for me, freedom and control existed in eating what I wanted.

Eventually, my directors started to notice, and became very worried about my health and the loss of weight from what was already a frail and thin body. I was put on a more strict food plan which meant I was forced to eat extra snacks, more protein, and bigger portions at meals—all of which I furtively got out of any way that I could.

I flipped out at ANY fat. Frankly, I had a bad-case of “fat phobia”. My goal and purpose was to avoid fat at any cost. Fat was bad. Fat made me feel gross. Fat made me ugly. Fat made me overweight. Fat was unhealthy. Fat would kill me. Fat cluttered my mind. Fat made me anxious. Fat scared me. I don’t need any fat; anyone who says I do, is just trying to make me, well, FAT!

As time passed, the women in charge got increasingly concerned at my inability to maintain a healthy diet. My spiritual director and class assistant began to speak to me about this, as well as more carefully monitoring my food intake. I was so confused! I felt like I was imprisoned, chained and stifled; they seemed to be watching my every move at mealtimes. While they meant only the best, this supervision made me even more nervous and self-conscious around food. I remember the horrible feeling of being so bloated and full, fuller than I could imagine, after being coaxed and prodded to eat a generous meal. This just made me feel more guilty, and eat even less; I used to perform a sort of test periodically to make sure I wasn’t gaining weight: I would check to make sure every bone in my ribcage was still visible and stuck out, and that my stomach was still concave and taut. I felt free and light in my skeleton-like body; at least I could still control that. At the same time, I wanted to get better…but I didn’t want to gain weight. I wanted to eat, I wanted to get well…but I couldn’t. My heart was bitterly divided—I was at war with the most brutal of foes: myself.

For me, anorexia was like being tied to a wild horse that kept dragging me as it ran with abandon at hideous speeds. Sometimes, the steed would slow, I would do better for a bit, but before I knew it, he would be off again to the next corner of the earth as my body continued to grind in pain against the rough ground. Perhaps this image seems a little exaggerated to some, but truly, the debilitating nature of eating disorders has no boundaries. One minute I would want to get well and try harder, the next minute I was fiercely against the idea and clung to my destructing habits for all I was worth. There is no need for me to differentiate which side usually reserved the upper hand.

It took me a while to fully realize that I was not free. But I eventually came to see that not only was I not free, I was not me! I didn’t know myself anymore; Audrey wasn’t in charge, my eating disorder was! This was a frightening realization for a girl who loved to have things organized and under control.

I was constantly comparing myself with the seventy-six other girls at the school. I unconsciously analyzed others’ every flaw, and coveted their attractiveness. On the contrary, I saw myself as ugly and plain. My only source of pride regarding my physical features was how tiny and emaciated I was. I thought people liked me more because I was thinner, while in reality I was only distancing myself from others by setting such unnatural and unachievable standards of beauty. I wanted to be the skinniest girl in the school, the skinniest girl at the airport, the skinniest girl at the store—wherever I went, I had to be the skinniest, or else I felt that I was doing something wrong. I was sure there were girls at the school who ate less than me, and that next to them, I looked like a cow.

Spiritual direction is probably the one thing that helped me the most during those tumultuous months. My spiritual guide reassured me that skinniness was not beautiful; it is a lie that the world gives, and we are not of this world. God has such a different view for us; he created food to be a gift! Focusing on ourselves only make us more miserable than before. “It doesn’t matter, Audrey. In the scheme of life it is so pointless to worry about our physical well-being.” she would say.

Other things than just food were challenging for me at the boarding school. I was cold all of the time. This was partly due to my lack of warm clothes, partly due to the chilliness in general, and largely due to my lack of natural “insulation”. I shivered practically all day: the damp, frigid sea air surrounded me as I walked through the halls, sat in class, played sports, ate dinner, and even as I lie in bed at night. It seemed there was nowhere, save under the hand dryer or in a hot shower (but occasionally, the hot water wouldn’t even work, so showers could be very “ccccold”, too) that I could really be warm. Sports were another thing that I found very hard for me. I have never been very athletic, and by nature I pretty much detest playing any kind of competitive sport. So, this was a miserable hour and ten minutes for me everyday. I tried to make myself like this time, even feeling guilty if—for one reason or another—I missed it (“goodness! I would get sooo fat if I didn’t exercise!”), but nothing I did made me like sports any more than I had. Outings were another part of the schedule that I dreaded. At least these were only once a week. To me, outings were long, cold, all-day events, at a park or other outdoor area. Through wind and rain we braved the elements, all to endure a terrible several hours playing—you guessed it—more sports!

The cold and sports were not the only things I didn’t like, however. I found the whole schedule to be very monotonous. There was never enough time for anything; we never had free time or time to ourselves; my school stuff and closet seemed so disorganized—and I never had time to clean it. Overall, my life felt rushed and empty. On top of that, there were rules for everything—even down to whom and when we were allowed to talk. All of these factors grated on my already tense nerves. I wanted to be in control of my chaotic, out-of-hand life! It wasn’t really that I hated the school; it was only that it was so different than what I thought. I found myself not particularly liking those differences.

I didn’t understand why God was permitting this to happen to me. After all the years I had dreamed of coming here, it just did not make sense. Over time, though, I learned that this was part of his plan: sometimes God permits crosses so that we can learn to trust more in Him, and not in ourselves. Still, I felt like I just couldn’t do it. I was tired of bothering everyone with my problems and I felt I didn’t deserve their help and kindness. I had hardly ever failed before in life. With a few minor exceptions, just about anything I wanted I could achieve if I worked hard enough at it. Everything was for a reason…this was his path for my life. So why was everything turning out so bad? I prayed for God to make me whole again, and to help me to do his will.

At the same time that I felt this unrest, however, I also felt very controlled and good about my “orderly” eating. This was a way for me to further deal with the changes and unpredictability of life, and to cope with my disappointment at how my dream had turned out. I still felt happy about being thin, and I even praised myself for the fact. I didn’t realize how scary the situation had become. I remember my mom sent me some clothes once while I was there and I had to call and tell her, much to my secret delight, that they were too big. I even had to use safety pins to wear most of the waists on my teeny tiny sized skirts. At night, I would lie in the dark on my bed and do a series of stretches and exercises as quietly as I could, to keep my body “fit”. I was deathly afraid of being fat and flabby.

“Vencete hija!” This phrase, meaning ‘overcome yourself daughter’, kept coming back to me. One of the directors had mentioned it in a talk, and ever since then I frequently reminded myself of this motivating mantra. Why then, did it seem that I couldn’t overcome myself? Why, Christ? I clearly remember my spiritual guide calmly reminding me of the words of St. Paul: “Strength is perfected in weakness”. Holiness is to please Christ, not us! But no matter how much I attempted to not worry about food, and to be who Christ wanted me to be, it seemed I fell more deeply into the trap I set for myself.

My body was little more than skin and bones. My mom was worried and losing sleep over the calls she got from the school. They were telling me how dangerous this was for my health…but still, I continued. Finally, I was taken to a nearby doctor. She matter-of-factly declared that I had anorexia, and that I needed to see a specialist. This was the first time I realized that I had a disease with a name. The people at school were even more concerned after they discovered that the scale they had been weighing me on was ten pounds off and that I actually weighed much less than they had thought. I, however, thought that they were all crazy, I was fine, and that I did not have this thing referred to as —what was it called—“anorexia”. I wasn’t allowed to do sports anymore, much to my chagrin, because of my frailty. I was very mad about this because I knew it would cause me to get very fat, so I compensated by eating even less. My spiritual guide continued to tell me to wage war on my critical thoughts and to replace them with positive ones. Easier said than done. But I tried. “I don’t want it. Why did He make us to be so miserable?” I wrote. “I used to be happy. I’ve tried, but it doesn’t work…where is hope for holiness if I can’t accept this?”

Around this time, I received a call from a close relative. She had battled fleetingly with food restriction, but overcame it fairly easily. During our conversation she lectured me on how silly all this, that I just needed “to eat!” She said it wasn’t worth leaving the school and everything for. I knew how right she was, and that she was only trying to help, but I could not keep from thinking that this was much more difficult than she perceived!

Sure, I was pretty outwardly content, but beyond that thin facade were feelings of despair and sadness. I longed to be home again, where I was free, and I could just get better. I never actually thought this, though, because I was still determined to make this work. All that remained of a once vibrant person was the shadow of a willowy girl. All my energies, talents—everything—were consumed by the desire to look a certain way. I wanted to hibernate and wake up when all of this anguish was over and I was new and alive again, like a butterfly shedding her cocoon.

Going Home

Thanksgiving break was rapidly approaching, and I still was not sure whether I would stay at home or come back to school. After talking more to my spiritual guide, she felt that it was best for me to go home so that I could really focus on getting well. I was sad about leaving the school, but going home felt like a wave of refreshment washing over me. So, I packed my bags and—with mixed feelings—prepared to fly home.

I was a little scared about calling and telling my mom about my decision. I just didn’t know how she would take everything with me being sick and stuff. She could not have been kinder. I can recall her reassuring and motherly words as she spoke to me over the phone. “He will show you if you truly give yourself to him. God’s will is one exhausting process—and continues for our whole life. Seek his will above all else. Ask Mary to protect your vocation [if it is to be]. God’s ways are mysterious.” I still had many uncertainties, though. How was this going to work out? I felt sorry that I had ever burdened the people at the school with my problems, I was sorry that I didn’t give of myself enough to living the life that I had always wanted. I was so grateful for all the people there had done for me; I felt I could never repay them.

I was worried that maybe I just hadn’t been strong enough to accept the sacrifice God had sent me. What would happen after this? I had never been able to give my best while at school, anyway, because of my sickness; I never gave Christ the full chance he deserved. I didn’t really want to leave, because I knew that I was not only leaving the school, I was leaving all of my dreams behind as well.

With these worries and regrets on my heart, I went to confession for the last time before I was to leave. After confessing my sins, I shared some of my concerns with the priest. He told me many things, but what sticks in my mind is that, “We are always free—we must opt for Christ always.” God can give us his graces wherever and however he wants; all that matters is that we do his will, and love him with all of our hearts. He then encouraged me to trust in Our Lady of the Miraculous Medal. I am not sure why he chose this particular devotion to Mary, but he told me to: “…trust her, she can do miracles! Stay close to her. She wants to give us those graces.” He then gave me a miraculous medal that was blessed by the Holy Father. I left the confessional that day with the peace that I can overcome this even if I don’t understand Christ’s will—he will eventually heal me, and his plan will prevail.

November 2006-January 2007: Back Home

                                                                                                   January 11, 2007

“Life has been marked by a great many things, lately. Mostly, the transition to life here, and to dealing with my health—I lost a lot of weight and I am presently [edited to remove specifics; I don’t want to be triggering to anyone!] lb. I need to gain at least 20 lb. So, yes, there is that whole struggle…various doctors appointments etc. included…I truly know with certainty that this is where God wants me, but it’s just a question of reopening the doors; discovering who I really am (now that I know what I’m not) and figuring out what’s next, Lord?”

After I got home from boarding school, life just kind of went on. I was happy to be home, free to eat what I wanted with no one breathing down my neck. Of course my parents were concerned, but one thing that I really admire them for is how they handled the situation: they never forced me to eat, looked at me weird, or treated me differently. Sure, they would try to buy things I would eat, and they took me out for ice cream (one treat that I never quite denied myself, providing that I didn’t have any fat that day in order to compensate, and as long as I walked the sufficient number of miles, etc.), but they never made me sense the nervous and caged reactions around food that I had previously experienced at school. Naturally, being anorexic, I felt a little of that on my own, but the point I’m trying to make is that they never implied that feeling in me. Now, I’m not saying this is the case for everyone, but in my situation this helped me enormously. I never felt that I needed to hide my emotions or symptoms; at this point, they were always willing to talk things through with me and to help me in any way they could. As time went on, I opened up more and more to them—especially to my mom—and this aided made me feel a little better.

During the months subsequent to my arrival back home, I saw a doctor—our family physician—once a week. She was very concerned about my weight and habits, but without her having experience in eating disorders it seemed I wasn’t really getting anywhere. Every Wednesday I would go in and get weighed and then she would talk to me for a while about how this would affect my body negatively in the long run, I needed to just have “no limits” with food, and other similar advice. Some of this did help me, but getting weighed every week and finding out I had lost another three pounds—“yay!” I thought—or gained a pound or two (probably because I tried to drink a lot of water before I went), wasn’t really helping me much. In the first example, my parents and doctor would be scared and the lectures were usually longer. In the latter case, however, everyone (but me) would rejoice and I would get out of there right away (just in time to go home and start eating even less so I didn’t gain anymore weight.) Imagine feeling like you are fat because you gained weight and now weigh 93 pounds! Ugh, it was exhausting. Case in point: don’t make an anorexic even more infatuated and concerned about her size!

At the doctor’s suggestion, I began to see a local counselor. I talked to her periodically and shared my situation, but with no immediate results. She was not experienced in eating disorders either. In fact, I kind of got the impression that she thought I was fine! She reassured me what I was eating sounded normal and that exercise was good for well-being, etc. Now, this could’ve been my fault—though I did attempt to be fully honest—or it could just be that she wasn’t very learned in treating anorexics. I don’t blame her or the doctor I was seeing for these tactics; rather, I think everyone did the very best job they could—they just didn’t know a lot about the illness in general. I am very grateful, however, for the help they were able to give, and for their kindness to me; they really did want to help.

Meanwhile, my life still revolved—from sun-up to sun-down—around f-o-o-d. I lost interest in things that I once pushed myself to do, I worried about my mom being worried about me, I counted calories and carefully planned every meal. It was miserable. I was weary of the battle, and I longed to be free to be the girl I once was; I knew ‘she’ was inside me…somewhere. God was very near to me in that time, however. After all of the wonderful formation I had received at boarding school, more than ever I turned to Him for help, consolation, and support. I knew I needed to keep my body strong to fulfill the mission that He had in store for me, and I felt sad that I was destroying His temple—my body. I knew that it doesn’t matter how long a person lived, it only mattered that he or she lived well and entirely for God. The sad truth was that I didn’t think I was living this way, considering almost all my energies were employed in my near-religious observance of every crumb I consumed. Was food my god? This is a question I began to throw around in my mind.

Trapped in a Thin Disguise

More and more I felt that I was really in a trap. Yes, I knew the gruesome reasons of why it was so dangerous to be this thin: “these are the building block years of my life; my muscle, bone, teeth, brain tissue—everything— is being formed and strengthened; it may make me unable to bear children; it will shave years off my life; eventually a person gets so deprived from nourishment that the body begins to feed on itself; the body can’t operate properly this way; it clouds my thinking…I KNOW!!! I just can’t stop!” I struggled inside myself at every moment for the reins to control my own life again. It was the same old thing: I wanted to eat, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t…and I wanted to get well! No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t overcome my will.

Even though all of this inner turmoil was raging inside of me, there were moments of relative peace. I remember the wonderful feeling of being warm again, after the coldness I felt away at school. I would snuggle under my covers at night in my flannel pajamas and pull the heavy down comforter all around me. Mmmm…it felt good to be home. I was scared, though, of how my bones would sort of grind against each other in an unnerving way as I tossed and turned through the night. It seemed like they stuck out so sharply, and they were always cracking. A person once remarked: “You look so skinny, I thought you were going to break.” While some may take that as a compliment, it only reminded me of my condition. My periods had stopped long ago, I was still extremely cold, my hair was falling out in handfuls, my heart hurt, and I often felt very weak. My sister even told me, “Audrey, you’re so skinny that it is not even attractive. It looks almost frightening.” After tucking myself into bed my thoughts would eventually turn toward these things. “God, help me live through the night,” I would often pray. I was scared that I would just slip away while sleeping; I knew how horrible this was for my body. Still, I just wanted to be svelte, and pretty—whatever it took.

Help! I Can’t Stop Eating! (January-April 2007)

Sometime in the early spring, I had an episode that frightened every nerve in my body. I found myself eating A LOT of food at once. My doctor’s response was, “Hurrah! She’s eating!” I wasn’t so thrilled. There was something really wrong here. It’s not as if I suddenly just decided to eat more, I couldn’t stop eating…I was compelled to eat. It was as strong—if not stronger— than the urge not to eat. It would happen once, then not again for a couple weeks. Meanwhile, I would starve even more to make up for the guilt I felt over bingeing. This made the whole problem worse. I started to have bigger and bigger binges. Here I was doing the thing I least wanted to do, and not being able to stop! I just ate and ate and ate and ate; it would stop tasting good; I would feel sick, but I just kept going. I hurt all over and it felt like the cycle of destruction would never end. It was so much that I would groan in agony afterwards from the pain I felt and the horrible bloating in my stomach, and my entire body felt bruised and languid. Even then, I still wanted to eat! The binges escalated from occasionally, to all the time, non-stop. This feeling is indescribably horrible. I felt like a wild animal tearing through the cupboard for crackers, cereal, cookies, ice cream, chips—anything I could find. It was like it wasn’t even me doing this; I didn’t want to…but I was. If anorexia gives you a sense of control, binge eating gives you out-of-control-helpless-despair. It was the scariest thing I ever went through in my whole life. It is sort of what hell must be like. I know that this must sound repugnant, but it is unfortunately, very true.

No one had any idea what was happening, or where to get help. My parents weren’t sure if they should take the food away—which would result in fiercely ambitious movements on my part to get it back—or if they should just leave me be. But they knew they couldn’t do that because of how bad I would feel afterward. I felt like I didn’t want to live anymore, I was angry, despairing, and inexplicably sad. My family often got frustrated with my ever changing moods, and this left me with no one to turn to. I felt abandoned and alone. No one understood me. I wanted control! I wanted to be anorexic again! It was clear I needed help. My whole person was screaming for help!!!

What I did not know at the time is that this is a very normal reaction to being starved for a long period of time. Eventually, I realized that the body’s natural defense mechanism to react to malnutrition is to think it will never get food again. So when you eat, you can’t stop. A therapist once told me that similar over-eating urges occur to at least 50% of anorexia survivors. They have also conducted studies, and the same thing happens to anyone after being denied nourishment—whether they wanted to limit food intake or not. For example, many survivors of concentration camps and famines show all of the same characteristic behaviors after being released from the impeding situation. The effect, for me, was perhaps even heightened by a medication I was taking at the time—Zyprexa. This particular medication has been known to cause increased weight gain over a short period of time. In a very short time I gained 20-30 pounds; I felt more miserable than I had ever felt in my life. I didn’t know such despair existed. Because of the frequency that this binging occurred, it needed to be urgently stopped. It can cause many long term health deficiencies, as any eating disorder does.

The problem was that my mom and dad had no idea where to go for help. Clearly, the local help wasn’t doing anything. They contacted anyone they could think of who would know of any eating disorder specialists, therapists, etc. Through this process we discovered that two of my aunts (by marriage only—so it’s not genetic) had also suffered mild eating disorders—one with bulimia and one with anorexia—and recovered from them happily. This gave me a lot of hope. Up until that point I hadn’t known anyone else with an eating disorder, and it was surprisingly nice to hear that two people I knew and admired so much had faced the similar problems to what I was going through.

My parents’ inquiries eventually revealed some experts several hours away. I began attending counseling there twice a week (yes, it was a long drive!). Coincidentally, my aunt, uncle and their many children lived in a near-by town. This proved to be a true blessing and delight. I was very good friends with two of my girl cousins and I spent a lot of time there over the next two months. Their home, always so cheerful and inviting, was filled with the most wonderful brood of children. All of these factors really gave me hope, as well as much needed respite.

My bingeing, though, wasn’t doing that well. I still was having a very hard time with food. No matter how many times I promised myself to get a grip, never binge again—or even never eat again—it never worked. I became more depressed as every time I popped back up again I would only fall harder on my face again. I had so many dreams…but they seemed they would never be fulfilled.

In-patient Care (April-May 2007)

I continued my out-patient care to almost no avail. Even when going to a counselor, doctor, etc. they really can’t do a lot. The process to regain a normal relationship with food is slow and requires months, sometimes years, of constant hard work. Luckily, my family was a big support, but still things were just getting worse. Yes, those were some very miserable months; but, by the grace of God, I got through. It was becoming increasingly more apparent, however, that a drastic measure needed to be taken. Things were so hard that I could almost not bear the thought of another day. So I was admitted to a large children’s hospital (I was age 15 at the time). That was a tough two weeks. I felt really alone and lost on the psychiatric ward with all these kids who were there for other problems like drug abuse and suicide attempts. (They don’t have a specialized eating disorder program there).

Although I’m not sure that it helped my recovery that much, my two weeks there provided an interesting experience, that’s for sure. More importantly, it gave both me and my family a feeling that we were really doing something. That said, it was not fun and at the time I hated it. The people there were very mixed. Some of the staff was very nice but didn’t really “get it” and others were more blunt (and almost akin to jail keepers). Indeed, one of the more difficult aspects of my stay there was the fact at times that I was essentially “caged” in this ward–and as an eating disorder patient I had more freedom than nearly all others, so that is saying something.

It was definitely hard. There wasn’t a lot to do and I got really bored at times. But, I made it, and that’s what matters. All my problems weren’t *bang* solved once I walked out into the fresh air again, though. Oh no. I still had a loooong way to go!

Summer 2007

The next few months proved to be a constant struggle between me and the eating disorder. At the doctors’ directions and on mutual agreement, my parents decided to padlock the refrigerator and lock up all of the food. Wow. Even though I did want to get better, that was really, really hard for me. But I knew that as my confidence came back I would someday be okay with a room full of food again; it would just take time. Can you imagine what it was like when we had people over, though? Having to unlock the fridge. Humiliating.

This time was so hard for me. I can’t even describe it. I felt like I had no one to turn to. My parents didn’t get it. I had no friends or social circle outside of home. My life felt really awful.

Meanwhile, summer approached and the days grew warmer. I spent time on and off during summer break catching up on school. I finally finished ninth grade…in August! It didn’t really bother me, though; I just did a little at a time (it was still hard for me to concentrate) and I was almost glad to have something with which to occupy my time. I picked up knitting, and I also made a lot of projects for the 4-H fair. It was a pleasant surprise when I ending up making nearly $100 off premiums from my entries! We also took a short vacation to Kentucky to visit my sister, as well as various other small ventures. Overall, it was a nice summer in those ways. There was still a lot of inner turmoil grinding away inside of me—and that was the not-so-nice part. My days were a mix of the yin and the yang, the good and the bad. But somehow, I survived. I remember once as we were leaving my grandparents, my grandpa grabbed my arm and said to me in is his soft, muffled voice: “Just keep plugging along.” Sometimes, I guess that’s all we can do. 

Fall 2007-Spring 2010

I will spare you all the ups and downs of these years. In a nutshell (a very tiny little nutshell): I went to a public highschool for a semester in 2007, but that was definitely not for me. That same year I started taking courses at the local community college. For the past couple years I’ve basically been:

• Taking a class or two or three each semester from the college
• Sitting at home pounding away on my computer
• Trying to figure out where to go from here
• Riding the waves of my muddled moods
• Still battling the bingeing (it’s ups and downs, nothing like it used to be, however…or perhaps I’ve just learned to deal with it better? I no longer restrict, though. Basically because I couldn’t even if I wanted to—which I don’t.)
• Hoping for a counselor
• Feeling anxious and depressed
• Seeking a healthy balance in my life
• Watching in pathetical indolence as my life passes before me—afraid and hopeful, scared and incapable
• Trying to get through each day
• Dreaming of the future
• Hoping that things will slowly get better

Obviously, a bunch more has happened but I’m trying to keep the word count under 2,000 here. (Lol) The years have really gone so fast since everything first “exploded”.  I am young yet, and I have a lot of life before me. My life is not horrible, there are so many things going for me, and I know that this type of indecision and crises is common in people my age. Still, it’s difficult to try to reconcile myself with the “issues” I face—lack of concentration, impatience, being easily overwhelmed, lose of interest in things I used to enjoy, bingeing, etc.—and to think about the person that I used to be, before all of this. I know that girl is still underneath everything…somewhere…and I remain hopeful that someday I will find her—the real me—again.

Reflecting on My Eating Disorder

Afterwards, when I was no longer anorexic, it used to bother me that I didn’t think I was a very “good” anorexic. By nature, I like to succeed in everything—and that includes wanting to be the most sick. I thought that just because I never got to [x] pounds that I hadn’t been a very successful starver. As silly and illogical as that sounds, it really was the way I felt. But now, I try to relish and embrace the fact that I didn’t let my eating disorder own even more of me than it already had consumed. I am proud that I have never purged or thrown-up my food purposely. There have been times I’ve wanted to, but by that time I knew that it would do me more harm than assistance. Plus, I just never could. So, while it is often tempting for me to compare myself to others and want to be at the top of everything, an influential lesson I have learned (and I am definitely still learning) is to not judge myself based on other people’s situations, appearances, or qualities. While this may sound cliché, the most important thing a person can ever do for herself is to realize that she is a child of God; from the moment of conception all of one’s traits, talents, and assets are already determined. We were all made the way we are for a reason, and until we embrace that identity—not within ourselves, but through the eyes of faith—will we truly find lasting happiness and contentment.

That said, I don’t have it all figured out. My eating disorder doesn’t define me, but it is part of who I am. I am still struggling to pick up the pieces of my life and figure out exactly who and what I am.

Eating disorders are a miserable experience, but at the same time a whole new opportunity to grow and understand one’s self—and others—better. Still, I wish there could be better prevention and understanding so people don’t have to go through this at all. I feel that the message of promoting real beauty is so important. No wonder so many girls have eating disorders when thinness is so often equated to happiness in our society. I want to encourage people to love themselves for who God made them to be. I feel like somewhat of a hypocrite writing this, as it is still something I struggle with very much in my own life. Nevertheless, I KNOW this to be true, even if I falter at believing it sometimes.

It is really hard for me to gain my confidence back about myself. I still feel a lot of insecurities about my body, my weight, and my identity. I sometimes feel that I have let myself and others down by going through all this, and I worry that other people see me as a failure. I have to remind myself to think of my eating disorder as a disease—like cancer or any other sickness. It’s miserable but you receive treatment, work hard, and hopefully recover. I never asked to have this—it’s definitely not what I ‘planned’ for my life to be like—but I know God has something amazing planned for my life that is far greater than anything I could’ve imagined. Even if I can’t see it now, He wants me to learn from this experience. I have learned so much already about how to trust in Him to be in control, rather than myself.

Although my life now seems to be characterized by doubt and fear, I know that like all things, this too shall pass. I hope. In the meantime, I’m trying to survive the journey, to enjoy the beauty of everyday, and to take pleasure in all the little things that God has given me. Life is an adventure! As long as we keep Christ in the pilot’s chair, we can be sure that we will arrive at our destination, no matter how bumpy the ride may be.

My “story” has really just begun, and on this blog is where I seek to  sort through my thoughts, share my opinions, chronicle the ups and downs, and share what I have learned.

God bless!