I was nineteen when I received my official diagnosis, but of course by then I had already been suffering in silence for years.
Anorexia. Bulimia. Major Depression. Generalized Anxiety. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Suicidal ideation. And self-harm (which means there are scars on my body that I put there).
In other words: broken.
Every doctor I saw, every specialist I consulted all agreed; I was broken. And they were right, because when you’re told over and over again by very smart people with lots of letters after their names that you are broken, well…. eventually you begin to believe them.
I wasn’t born broken.
In fact, according to the great Aristotle, one of my favourite philosophers (yes, I have a favorite philosopher because I’m nerdy like that), we are born perfect; blank slates upon which life inscribes her Journey. Tabula Rasa, which literally means “blank slate” means that no one is born broken so, I could not have been born broken, no one could.
Even if it doesn’t always feel that way...
Anorexia. Bulimia. Major Depression. Generalized Anxiety. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Suicidal ideation. And self-harm (which means there are scars on my body that I put there).
In other words: broken.
Every doctor I saw, every specialist I consulted all agreed; I was broken. And they were right, because when you’re told over and over again by very smart people with lots of letters after their names that you are broken, well…. eventually you begin to believe them.
I wasn’t born broken.
In fact, according to the great Aristotle, one of my favourite philosophers (yes, I have a favorite philosopher because I’m nerdy like that), we are born perfect; blank slates upon which life inscribes her Journey. Tabula Rasa, which literally means “blank slate” means that no one is born broken so, I could not have been born broken, no one could.
Even if it doesn’t always feel that way...
As time went on the pain got worse, the fear got bigger, and my body began to crack under the pressure...
Growing up I didn’t feel broken.
In fact, I had what I considered to be a very normal upbringing and spent my childhood doing the usual childhood things. I had plenty of friends, I did well in school and I had the usual childhood experiences including first crushes, chickenpox, dance classes, and sleepovers.
And yet, as time went on the pain got worse, the fear got bigger. The pain was still quiet; still easy to avoid, but the pressure was building.
From a very young age I also remember hating myself. I remember being five years old, playing in my room, and I vividly remember digging my fingernails into my thigh; punishing myself for doing something wrong and knowing, with certainty, that I deserved it.
In fact, I had what I considered to be a very normal upbringing and spent my childhood doing the usual childhood things. I had plenty of friends, I did well in school and I had the usual childhood experiences including first crushes, chickenpox, dance classes, and sleepovers.
And yet, as time went on the pain got worse, the fear got bigger. The pain was still quiet; still easy to avoid, but the pressure was building.
From a very young age I also remember hating myself. I remember being five years old, playing in my room, and I vividly remember digging my fingernails into my thigh; punishing myself for doing something wrong and knowing, with certainty, that I deserved it.
I’ve often wondered, over the years, where such intense self-loathing came from. Where does a five-year old learn to hate herself so much that she feels the need to cause herself physical pain?
In examining this question I have had to face some hard truths about my childhood, truths that have had a profound impact on me.
In examining this question I have had to face some hard truths about my childhood, truths that have had a profound impact on me.
And like a shadow seen only out of the corner of your eye, I, too, found the harder I tried to look at the cause of my pain, the less I was able to see.
And so I began to break.
People tend to think eating disorders are just about weight, or getting attention. This certainly plays a part, but consider this: an anorexic uses their conscious willpower to override their body’s own built-in self-preservation mechanism.
It is a slow suicide; death by a thousand paper cuts. It is about fear and control. It is about self-loathing and shame.
Anorexia is born of a profound and persistent desire to destroy and obliterate the Self, to literally disappear from existence.
Trust me when I tell you that the level of pain and shame that is required to literally starve yourself to death is not the result of not having a flat tummy or wanting to be a size 2. It comes from a much deeper, much darker place.
I know. I’ve been there.
But with each passing day the pressure continued to build until the pain became unbearable and the fear consumed me.
People tend to think eating disorders are just about weight, or getting attention. This certainly plays a part, but consider this: an anorexic uses their conscious willpower to override their body’s own built-in self-preservation mechanism.
It is a slow suicide; death by a thousand paper cuts. It is about fear and control. It is about self-loathing and shame.
Anorexia is born of a profound and persistent desire to destroy and obliterate the Self, to literally disappear from existence.
Trust me when I tell you that the level of pain and shame that is required to literally starve yourself to death is not the result of not having a flat tummy or wanting to be a size 2. It comes from a much deeper, much darker place.
I know. I’ve been there.
But with each passing day the pressure continued to build until the pain became unbearable and the fear consumed me.
It would take me another 13 years of pain and darkness and fighting to finally understand this message...
I finally broke.
That day started off surprisingly well. I was feeling good. I had seen my therapist earlier that day and things were going quite nicely, all things considered. After months and months of adjusting my medication we had finally found a mix that was working and didn’t send me into a manic state and I hadn’t hurt myself in nearly a week, which was a new record. I had even systematically gone through all my stuff and thrown away anything I could use to hurt myself, thus removing all temptation - something my therapist had recommended.
It was the weekend and I was in my first year of university and working on a research project for my philosophy class. I remember that I had gone looking for a paperclip, which always ended up at the bottom of my drawer. And as I was looking and moving things around in the drawer I noticed something sharp that I had not yet disposed of, and so I gave it to my parents to throw away.
And then I lost. My. Shit.
Suddenly the reality of my situation came crashing down on me – I had nothing left to hurt myself with, and the thought of that sent me spiraling into a breakdown of epic proportions. I was hysterical and I couldn’t get control back. My parents tried frantically to calm me down but nothing was working. No matter what I did I just couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop crying.
That’s when we decided it was time for me to go to the hospital.
That day started off surprisingly well. I was feeling good. I had seen my therapist earlier that day and things were going quite nicely, all things considered. After months and months of adjusting my medication we had finally found a mix that was working and didn’t send me into a manic state and I hadn’t hurt myself in nearly a week, which was a new record. I had even systematically gone through all my stuff and thrown away anything I could use to hurt myself, thus removing all temptation - something my therapist had recommended.
It was the weekend and I was in my first year of university and working on a research project for my philosophy class. I remember that I had gone looking for a paperclip, which always ended up at the bottom of my drawer. And as I was looking and moving things around in the drawer I noticed something sharp that I had not yet disposed of, and so I gave it to my parents to throw away.
And then I lost. My. Shit.
Suddenly the reality of my situation came crashing down on me – I had nothing left to hurt myself with, and the thought of that sent me spiraling into a breakdown of epic proportions. I was hysterical and I couldn’t get control back. My parents tried frantically to calm me down but nothing was working. No matter what I did I just couldn’t stop shaking. I couldn’t stop crying.
That’s when we decided it was time for me to go to the hospital.
I remember very little about the rest of that night. Memories come to me in flashes; little snippets of a movie that I know I’ve seen but the details are a blur.
I remember sitting under one of those old TVs they used to have screwed into a corner on the wall (these were the days before flat screens) and I remember wishing it would fall on me so the pain would stop.
I remember meeting with the on-call psychologist, a weenie little guy with a receding hairline and a bowtie (a frickin’ bow tie!).
I remember the scratchy feel of the hospital gown against my body and how I kind of liked it and found it comforting.
I remember my dad going out to a local donut shop at 3 a.m. and bringing back a batch of fresh-from-the-oven cheddar biscuits.
And I remember Dwayne, an incredible soul who was part of the hospital’s Crisis Team (a team I would meet many more times over the coming years). He was the first person to acknowledge me. To notice me, not just my pain. And he was the first person who told me I was not broken.
It would take me another 13 years of pain and darkness and fighting to finally understand his message.
I remember sitting under one of those old TVs they used to have screwed into a corner on the wall (these were the days before flat screens) and I remember wishing it would fall on me so the pain would stop.
I remember meeting with the on-call psychologist, a weenie little guy with a receding hairline and a bowtie (a frickin’ bow tie!).
I remember the scratchy feel of the hospital gown against my body and how I kind of liked it and found it comforting.
I remember my dad going out to a local donut shop at 3 a.m. and bringing back a batch of fresh-from-the-oven cheddar biscuits.
And I remember Dwayne, an incredible soul who was part of the hospital’s Crisis Team (a team I would meet many more times over the coming years). He was the first person to acknowledge me. To notice me, not just my pain. And he was the first person who told me I was not broken.
It would take me another 13 years of pain and darkness and fighting to finally understand his message.
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In Japan, there exists a beautiful art form known as Kintsukuroi (keen-tsoo-koo-roy), which means literally ‘to repair with gold’. It is the art of repairing pottery with molten gold or silver, in essence highlighting the scars of the break. Rather than attempt to hide the injury or pretend it never happened, the Japanese understand that the piece is more beautiful for having been broken and healed.
You see, life is a process of change and re-birth. The old systems and ways break down to make way for new learnings and realizations. It is beautiful and painful and poetic. It is simultaneously wonderful and horrible. Change is inevitable, and yet we hold on to the old ways so tight that it is not the change itself that hurts, only our reluctance to embrace a new way. I never really understood the idea of surrendering, but after drowning in my pain for over a decade it became very clear. |
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Learning to surrender is about learning to let go even when every fibre in your being wants to cling tight. Letting go is harder, but it will hurt less once you surrender.
No one is ever broken because we were never whole to begin with. We are in a constant state of change, of breaking down and building back up. Each time learning more. Each time becoming stronger. A broken bone is known to heal stronger than before the injury. A broken limb will never lose the scar of its journey but it is stronger for having healed, and can never break the same way again. It is unbroken.
Just as our bones break and heal stronger, so, too, do our minds. And so the goal is not to be whole, for that is just an illusion. Aim, instead to be stronger. Wiser. Unbroken.
No one is ever broken because we were never whole to begin with. We are in a constant state of change, of breaking down and building back up. Each time learning more. Each time becoming stronger. A broken bone is known to heal stronger than before the injury. A broken limb will never lose the scar of its journey but it is stronger for having healed, and can never break the same way again. It is unbroken.
Just as our bones break and heal stronger, so, too, do our minds. And so the goal is not to be whole, for that is just an illusion. Aim, instead to be stronger. Wiser. Unbroken.
In 2010 I walked away from the eating disorder and began my journey back to health. It took more than just feeding my body good food - in fact that came later. Deeper healing only began to happen when I found the tools that I now use and share in my private practice, retreats and training programs.
Today I am fully recovered and thriving. I am blessed to share my life with my incredible husband, Brian, whose support continues to motivate me to heal deeper and share more authentically.
In 2014 I made the decision to start my own business and am now honoured to help guide others on their path to emotional healing, using the tools that helped me to help. I specialize in working with anyone who struggles with feelings of depression, worthlessness, hopelessness, anxiety or trauma.
Live Life Unbroken. It’s just three little words, but they have had such a profound impact on my life.
I hear so many people say that they are broken; that their problems are insurmountable. That they cannot be fixed. It hurts when I hear this, not just because it is awful to see a beautiful soul in pain, but because I have been there.
And my message of hope remains: No one is ever broken. Everyone can find healing.
Today I am fully recovered and thriving. I am blessed to share my life with my incredible husband, Brian, whose support continues to motivate me to heal deeper and share more authentically.
In 2014 I made the decision to start my own business and am now honoured to help guide others on their path to emotional healing, using the tools that helped me to help. I specialize in working with anyone who struggles with feelings of depression, worthlessness, hopelessness, anxiety or trauma.
Live Life Unbroken. It’s just three little words, but they have had such a profound impact on my life.
I hear so many people say that they are broken; that their problems are insurmountable. That they cannot be fixed. It hurts when I hear this, not just because it is awful to see a beautiful soul in pain, but because I have been there.
And my message of hope remains: No one is ever broken. Everyone can find healing.
