Hello, friends! Happy St. Patty’s Day, and happy Saturday! This week lasted a million years, I think. Two midterms, several assignments, AND the fact that Spring Break the week prior made a senioritis-spring-fever-producing concoction. Only 6 more weeks until finals, not that I’m counting….
In my Spring Break recap post, I mentioned that I had some excellent conversations while at home. Excellent, but challenging. To a quite high degree. Actually, the difficult conversations began the afternoon before break. To summarize:
I’ve been advised to consider more aggressive Eating Disorder treatment. I’m not necessarily in immediate danger, but my weight has been trending downwards, and there’s definitely some concern. This could mean a short inpatient stay.
A stinging reality of healing,
The evening that I arrived home, I was able to talk with my parents about the next step in treatment. I was thankful to talk to them face to face! In this conversation, I had freedom to be open about how I feel – stuck. I know I want to change – to be healthier – but I’m struggling to progress. At first, they were just as shocked by the notion of inpatient treatment, but they became more accepting as we talked.
I asked them, “So, are you supportive of sending me to a center if that’s what needs to happen?” My dad’s response: “If you were I drug addict, I’d send you to rehab. It’s the same idea.”
In my routine doctor visit, I found out that I weigh several pounds less than I thought. Ouch. I’ve been doing “blind weigh-ins” for months, and while it worked to get my focus off of numbers, well…it didn’t work out so well in the long run. In terms of weight, I’m literally back at square one – at diagnosis weight. Dang.
Another sting, but given the situation, it couldn’t be avoided.
That afternoon, I had a meeting with my dear mentor. I expected sympathy and support, in light of recent events. Sympathy and support showed up…by way of a figurative slap in the face. Which, by the way, was a very good thing. I asked my mentor for advice on inpatient treatment, and her response left me speechless. Because sometimes, the most loving thing a person can do is reach across the table and punch you in the nose.
Basically, she told me to think about how what I’m doing now will screw up my life in the future.
“Do you want to have healthy babies?”
“Do you want to have strong bones, a healthy body?”
Of course, my mentor will support whatever decision I make, but she wants me to really think about these things. Hard.
This little bit of healing in our conversation came with yet another stinging reality.
And these are the hurts of healing.
Change doesn’t happen without some discomfort.
Just like gold can’t become pure without a lot of heat.
Just like children experience aches and pains as they grow.
Just like stitches hurt when you get them, but provide better healing of a wound.
I asked my parents to think of my ED like a gash on my arm. We could bandage it up with band-aids and neosporin, and while that certainly wouldn’t hurt – and in the long run, would help – it would be a lot more affective to just go get stitches.
Sometimes, you have to experience discomfort in order to progress. In order to heal.
There are a lot of words here, but I wanted to give a little update, and mostly, ask for your prayers.
Now, to leave you on a more hopeful and happy note:
I DO question why I’m dealing with all of this. But I’m reminded:
And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, whohave been called according to his purpose.
Stay tuned, friends, for updates, and for info on some of the tools I’m learning about!
P.S. If you have questions about any of this, don’t hesitate to ask