There I was, gone for 2 months, and as I come back, looking forward to re-entering the blogging world, it is just in time to learn that Janine is quitting one of the link-ups I join regularly. At this point, I'd love to thank Janine for hosting the Finish The Sentence Friday so far, for introducing me to it and providing something to write about every Friday :-)
Luckily for me, the link-up still continues, hosted by Kristi and Stephanie, with quite an interesting cue for this week:
The most incredible thing my body has ever done is...
... recovering from whatever I've thrown at it over and over again.
Going back, starting in my early teenage years, I've never been good to my body. For years, I've suffered from severe eating disorders, gaining and losing again 20 or 30 pounds within a matter of a few months, eating meals just to yuck them up again in the bathroom minutes after getting off the table.
Once I was somewhat over all that, still panicking when thinking about fat or sugar, I compensated with sports. I went into martial arts and started to pack on muscles. I've destroyed the skin on my shin bones to prevent pain, at times, my whole body was more black and blue than normal color, but still I kept pushing, until I had this moment in the bathroom in one of the clubs I frequented and saw that bull-necked girl in a neckholder top and decided I had to change.
Yes, at this point, I was firmly lodged into the party scene, drinking heavily with the bikers and dancing the nights away in hip-hop clubs. There were weekends I was neither sober nor got any sleep, and those weekends were the rule, not the exception.
Luckily, at this point I entered my 20s, and my priorities changed. I didn't drink much any more, slept more, and my body returned to normal. I went to college and eventually met the husband. We were married and moved to the U.S., and I found a new drug: work. This was maybe the healthiest addiction I've had so far, but long work weeks paired with compressing 2 years of college into only 15 month and my first pregnancy again brought my body to the verge of just collapsing.
Then, we had Lily, and my life changed. It was a long and difficult birth, and when we finally got to hold our daughter in our arms for the first time, I knew that I had to change. I needed to be healthy, in body and mind, to be the mother our daughter would need. Someone, who is a positive role model, someone, she can watch and model her own life after, and become a healthy and happy person.
At that point, I don't know if my body would recover, from all the damage I have done, from this difficult birth and problematic recovery afterward. But surprisingly, it did. My body has not only recovered but managed to create and sustain two more children, and I feel the healthiest I've ever been. And this truly amazes me.
I hope you all have a great weekend!
Showing posts with label eating disorders. Show all posts
Showing posts with label eating disorders. Show all posts
Friday, August 8, 2014
Friday, May 17, 2013
How I Love Them!
For today's "Blog Every Day in May" challenge I'd like to share a favorite picture of myself with you!
This picture was taken in early December, at 7 months pregnant with our Lily. It was such an exciting but also stressful time. I was working a full-time job, studied for my second Bachelor's Degree, and grew a little baby inside me. At this point, we did not know that only a couple months later we would have a daughter.
I had been struggling with my body for such a long time, battling various eating disorder since being a teenager. My husband was worried about me getting pregnant and having to deal with the weight gain, how I would take the changes in my body. Shall I tell you something? I loved it! I loved seeing the changes and how pregnancy and birth has shaped my body. I'm not all firm anymore, the six-pack is gone, but I enjoy my new curves, knowing how my body was remolded carrying those beautiful little girls in it.
This picture was taken in early December, at 7 months pregnant with our Lily. It was such an exciting but also stressful time. I was working a full-time job, studied for my second Bachelor's Degree, and grew a little baby inside me. At this point, we did not know that only a couple months later we would have a daughter.
I had been struggling with my body for such a long time, battling various eating disorder since being a teenager. My husband was worried about me getting pregnant and having to deal with the weight gain, how I would take the changes in my body. Shall I tell you something? I loved it! I loved seeing the changes and how pregnancy and birth has shaped my body. I'm not all firm anymore, the six-pack is gone, but I enjoy my new curves, knowing how my body was remolded carrying those beautiful little girls in it.
********************************
Monday, April 1, 2013
Struggling For Air
I guess it's time for this post. I have dropped hints about my not-so-perfect relationship with my mother before, but I think I'm ready to get to the heart of it all. I'm honest, this is my third or fourth attempt of it, and it might not make it either, but it's something I just need to write about to get it off my chest,
I'm by far not the perfect mom, but I try our best to raise the girls with all the love I have to be free-thinking, independent women. All I want for them is to be happy and able to take care of themselves. And while I don't doubt that my mother tried her best to raise her children with love, I always felt that she gave me her love bound on conditions. To have the perfect grades, to have the perfect figure, to be the perfect daughter at home, to date the guys she approves, and to stay with her in eternal gratefulness.
Well, I am not this type of person. As a result, I developed serious eating disorders at a teenager, struggling to take control of at least this part of my life. I suffered from depression and cut my arms with anything sharp I could find just to feel alive in the pain. Later on, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, which almost always is founded in traumatic incidences in early childhood.
In all my struggling for independence I fought her tooth and nails to break the leashes she had attached to me. The paradox in our relationship always was that on the one hand, she is supportive, like finding therapists or tutors for me or helping me out financially to fund my college, while on the other hand she always tried to hold me back (she was mad when at 14 I told her that I did not want her to make my school lunch for me any more). I am still thankful to my dad that he helped me get out from home at the age of 19, when I took off to college and to my own life.
During my senior year in college, I met my husband. And my mother did everything in her power to prevent us frrom getting married at first. She only relented when she noticed that we would follow through, no matter what. The hubby and I still joke sometimes that it would have indeed been fun just to elope at the court house or in Denmark, the Las Vegas of Europe if it comes to weddings. Three months after the wedding and just days after graduating college, we took off to Richard's new duty station in Kansas. After a last-minute fight at the ariport, my mother did not talk to me for over two months. At this point, it was still hard on me; while I struggled to establish my independence, I still craved her approval to a certain point.
The four years after that, we had two daughters and moved back to Germany. But things didn't get better. We had found a new platform of communication since I was now a mother as well, but still she couldn't respect me as an independent adult and parent. When we first arrived back in Germany, with a newborn, a toddler, and no jobs, we lived in my grandmother's house next to my parents. As soon as I had found a job, we also looked for an apartment; we found one very quickly and moved, which she opposed to the point of accusing me to take her grandchildren away from her again (I commuted for 3 hours every day, and with all respect, our children needed me more than their grandmother).
During the last three years of us living in Germany again, things have gotten better, worse, and even worse. We're going from not talking to each other to her confiding things to me that I never wanted to hear about. The major issue we've been dealing with for well over a year is that Richard and I had decided to end all contact to my "sister", who is my mother's favorite, even though she would never admit it. Well, this person has at some point attacked our daughter with a knife and tried to potty-train her by force within a day to prove our inability as parents while we were moving into our new apartment; after that experience, Lily panicked if she only saw a toilet for a month and we were back to zero in that respect.
In my mother's eyes, I'm a drama queen, who tends to exaggerate and play up things. However, it is my responsibility as a mom to keep our daughters safe. I do not want them to suffer from depression and develop eating disorders just to be able to establish a minimum of control over their own lives. I have never asked my mother to chose sides between her daughters, but it is more than obvious that she has picked her side from the beginning.
I am still learning to accept it, but it's getting easier every time. I feel sorry for our daughters that they don't have the contact with their grandparents as they should. But as they don't know it much different, we will do our best to keep all the drama as far away from them as we can. We have lived as a family by ourselves for so long that the current situation doesn't change much. We have wonderful friends that have become as good as family. Yes, I sometimes day-dream about moving away again, far enough to leave the drama behind me. But I know that I cannot run away forever. I have ran almost to the other side of the world and still couldn't escape the struggle. We have returned to stay and build a good life for our family, and we have succeeded.
I will one day be able to leave behind the guilt, the depression, the panic attacks and become the person I was meant to be before my mother has taken the air from my lungs and tried to bind me to herself. I try to take one baby step at a time, but already feel that I am making progress. My husband is the greatest rock in this process, and I will be eternally greatful to him for all his support in the past, the present, and the future.
I'm by far not the perfect mom, but I try our best to raise the girls with all the love I have to be free-thinking, independent women. All I want for them is to be happy and able to take care of themselves. And while I don't doubt that my mother tried her best to raise her children with love, I always felt that she gave me her love bound on conditions. To have the perfect grades, to have the perfect figure, to be the perfect daughter at home, to date the guys she approves, and to stay with her in eternal gratefulness.
Well, I am not this type of person. As a result, I developed serious eating disorders at a teenager, struggling to take control of at least this part of my life. I suffered from depression and cut my arms with anything sharp I could find just to feel alive in the pain. Later on, I was diagnosed with Borderline Personality Disorder, which almost always is founded in traumatic incidences in early childhood.
In all my struggling for independence I fought her tooth and nails to break the leashes she had attached to me. The paradox in our relationship always was that on the one hand, she is supportive, like finding therapists or tutors for me or helping me out financially to fund my college, while on the other hand she always tried to hold me back (she was mad when at 14 I told her that I did not want her to make my school lunch for me any more). I am still thankful to my dad that he helped me get out from home at the age of 19, when I took off to college and to my own life.
During my senior year in college, I met my husband. And my mother did everything in her power to prevent us frrom getting married at first. She only relented when she noticed that we would follow through, no matter what. The hubby and I still joke sometimes that it would have indeed been fun just to elope at the court house or in Denmark, the Las Vegas of Europe if it comes to weddings. Three months after the wedding and just days after graduating college, we took off to Richard's new duty station in Kansas. After a last-minute fight at the ariport, my mother did not talk to me for over two months. At this point, it was still hard on me; while I struggled to establish my independence, I still craved her approval to a certain point.
The four years after that, we had two daughters and moved back to Germany. But things didn't get better. We had found a new platform of communication since I was now a mother as well, but still she couldn't respect me as an independent adult and parent. When we first arrived back in Germany, with a newborn, a toddler, and no jobs, we lived in my grandmother's house next to my parents. As soon as I had found a job, we also looked for an apartment; we found one very quickly and moved, which she opposed to the point of accusing me to take her grandchildren away from her again (I commuted for 3 hours every day, and with all respect, our children needed me more than their grandmother).
During the last three years of us living in Germany again, things have gotten better, worse, and even worse. We're going from not talking to each other to her confiding things to me that I never wanted to hear about. The major issue we've been dealing with for well over a year is that Richard and I had decided to end all contact to my "sister", who is my mother's favorite, even though she would never admit it. Well, this person has at some point attacked our daughter with a knife and tried to potty-train her by force within a day to prove our inability as parents while we were moving into our new apartment; after that experience, Lily panicked if she only saw a toilet for a month and we were back to zero in that respect.
In my mother's eyes, I'm a drama queen, who tends to exaggerate and play up things. However, it is my responsibility as a mom to keep our daughters safe. I do not want them to suffer from depression and develop eating disorders just to be able to establish a minimum of control over their own lives. I have never asked my mother to chose sides between her daughters, but it is more than obvious that she has picked her side from the beginning.
I am still learning to accept it, but it's getting easier every time. I feel sorry for our daughters that they don't have the contact with their grandparents as they should. But as they don't know it much different, we will do our best to keep all the drama as far away from them as we can. We have lived as a family by ourselves for so long that the current situation doesn't change much. We have wonderful friends that have become as good as family. Yes, I sometimes day-dream about moving away again, far enough to leave the drama behind me. But I know that I cannot run away forever. I have ran almost to the other side of the world and still couldn't escape the struggle. We have returned to stay and build a good life for our family, and we have succeeded.
I will one day be able to leave behind the guilt, the depression, the panic attacks and become the person I was meant to be before my mother has taken the air from my lungs and tried to bind me to herself. I try to take one baby step at a time, but already feel that I am making progress. My husband is the greatest rock in this process, and I will be eternally greatful to him for all his support in the past, the present, and the future.
Friday, November 30, 2012
I Am Beautiful
The other day, a friend of mine posted a link to this blog entry of a woman named Amanda, which was like a revelation to me. It made me feel good about myself just as much as it made me feel bad about the role model I am for my two daughters.
Those two little girls are beauty as pure as it can possibly be. No make-up, no piercings or tattoos, and none of the typical insecurities that I am battling with for most of my life.
I am recovering from eating disorders in their various forms. As a teenager I starved myself to a point where I no longer had a period. These phases turned into bulimic episodes where I would stuff myself and then "get rid" of the food to cleanse myself again. To force my body to obey. To have control at least over a small part of my life... At some point (and I truly do not credit my various therapists for that), I decided to use the will-power, which I used to make me sick, to recover. It was a long process, but at some point, at least a little bit of normalcy had returned. I moved out from home to go to college at 19. I met my husband the year I graduated; we were married and moved a continent away from my old life. At some point, we started talking children. I was scared; I really wanted to have a child so badly, but I didn't know if those years and years of putting my body through all sorts of extremes had left permanent damage to my body. As I was worrying of becoming pregnant at all, my husband was worrying of how I would take pregnancy and the weight gain. And suddenly, after a couple of months, which felt like years, we had two little stripes on the test. I believe I jumped on the bed, that's how happy I was; and I truly enjoyed my pregnancy. No voices in the back of my head telling me that I couldn't gain weight, just the determination to do whatever is necessary to give this little person growing inside me the best possible start into her own life.
Today, I still feel the monsters stirring in the back of my head occasionally, telling me I am too fat; telling me that some body parts are no longer where they used to be. Are those crow's feet???
No! I am me, and I am beautiful to my daughters. I remember getting up one morning, not feeling fresh at all, and still my little girl smiled to me, telling me how pretty I was and that I was the most beautiful Mama in the world. How must she feel if she senses how I truly feel about myself? From the moment I held my little girl in my arms on the day she was born I promised myself that I would do everything in the world to not watch her go down the same path I did. And if that means enjoying my laugh lines, ignoring the not-so-tight abs and boobs, and just feel beautiful for who I am,I will do it. I owe it to my daughters and myself! It is me who they are learning from, and I want to teach them to love - not loath - themselves!
PS: What I do in the mornings in front of the mirror?? Putting war paint on, of course :-)
Those two little girls are beauty as pure as it can possibly be. No make-up, no piercings or tattoos, and none of the typical insecurities that I am battling with for most of my life.
I am recovering from eating disorders in their various forms. As a teenager I starved myself to a point where I no longer had a period. These phases turned into bulimic episodes where I would stuff myself and then "get rid" of the food to cleanse myself again. To force my body to obey. To have control at least over a small part of my life... At some point (and I truly do not credit my various therapists for that), I decided to use the will-power, which I used to make me sick, to recover. It was a long process, but at some point, at least a little bit of normalcy had returned. I moved out from home to go to college at 19. I met my husband the year I graduated; we were married and moved a continent away from my old life. At some point, we started talking children. I was scared; I really wanted to have a child so badly, but I didn't know if those years and years of putting my body through all sorts of extremes had left permanent damage to my body. As I was worrying of becoming pregnant at all, my husband was worrying of how I would take pregnancy and the weight gain. And suddenly, after a couple of months, which felt like years, we had two little stripes on the test. I believe I jumped on the bed, that's how happy I was; and I truly enjoyed my pregnancy. No voices in the back of my head telling me that I couldn't gain weight, just the determination to do whatever is necessary to give this little person growing inside me the best possible start into her own life.
Today, I still feel the monsters stirring in the back of my head occasionally, telling me I am too fat; telling me that some body parts are no longer where they used to be. Are those crow's feet???
No! I am me, and I am beautiful to my daughters. I remember getting up one morning, not feeling fresh at all, and still my little girl smiled to me, telling me how pretty I was and that I was the most beautiful Mama in the world. How must she feel if she senses how I truly feel about myself? From the moment I held my little girl in my arms on the day she was born I promised myself that I would do everything in the world to not watch her go down the same path I did. And if that means enjoying my laugh lines, ignoring the not-so-tight abs and boobs, and just feel beautiful for who I am,I will do it. I owe it to my daughters and myself! It is me who they are learning from, and I want to teach them to love - not loath - themselves!
PS: What I do in the mornings in front of the mirror?? Putting war paint on, of course :-)
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