Broken

Blogging has always been very therapeutic for me, and thus I write on a subject that is very tender to me.  I spent the weekend in Moscow, Idaho and returned late last night.  While I was there, I spent a lot of time contemplating a good title for this blog.  I knew it needed to be written in order to begin healing and I thought of several titles. However, I think this one word sums it up well.  I am broken in so many ways and broken things need to be fixed.  They will never be the same, but I hope and pray my broken heart will act as a muscle--one that will be stronger once it has healed from this devastation.

Instead of rehashing all the ugly details of the past week, I want to focus on a quote that pertains to everyone, but feels as though it has been written for me:

Even if you cannot always see that silver lining on your clouds, God can, for He is the very source of the light you seek.  He does love you, and He knows your fears.  He hears your prayers.  He is your Heavenly Father, and surely he matches with His own the tears His children shed.

--Jeffrey R. Holland

God knows the pain I am feeling.  He cries when I cry.  He hurts when I hurt.  He counts my tears and mourns for me.  He knows the fear and frustration I feel as well as the torment and despair I am suffering.  However, He, the Father of all creation, also knows what is in store for me.  If I can just weather the storm, there will be glorious blessings in the future.  If I but serve the Lord, the righteous desires of my heart will come to pass.  Maybe not now, but surely by the time I reach heaven.  

I have seen tender mercies poured upon me over the past week:

 

My best friend in Virginia did not wait for me to ask for help.  Instead she appeared on my door step just minutes after I returned home from the moment of my crucible.  

My forever friend allowed me to escape to her home this weekend, with practically no notice.  She wasn't even planning on being home the day I flew in, but God knew I needed her and for an unknown reason, her and her small family travelled back to their home in Idaho just when I needed her the most.

Several quotes have been tailor made for this situation and I know I have found them this weekend, not by coincidence, but by divine intervention.

The last miracle that I will mention on this public blog involves the moments before my hour of need.  I had been praying and fasting that things would be okay, that things would work out.  I also pleaded for peace.  Before traveling into the utter chaos and distress I would soon experience, I felt peace.  Perhaps, the most peace I have felt in a long time.  I thought for sure everything was going to be okay.  However, when things turned to hell, I questioned why I would receive such an answer in one of my most vulnerable moments.  My mother, my spiritual giant and supreme earthly example, suggested that the Lord was embracing me and protecting me before entering the front lines of this emotional battle I must endure.

To those who have supported me and looked after me this weekend, thank you.  My heart will be forever indebted to you.  The texts, phone calls, messages, and social media comments have not gone unnoticed--neither have the prayers on my behalf.  I hope I can do the same for you in your hours of need.  Much love and many thanks to each and every one of you.  

Loved and Alone

Many times it is so much easier to hate yourself than it is to love yourself.  It is easier to give into the worries, anxieties, and fears than to rise above and remain positive.  I may be recovered, but it certainly doesn't mean I am perfect or that I have a flawless life.  Recovery isn't about having it easy or always being able to see past trials.  I have far too many bad days full of discouragement and self-loathing.  However, the difference is that I have learned to sit with the feelings, and figure out the lack of logic behind them and the antidotes that will best alleviate the hurt.

I came home less than 4 days ago from a 16-day vacation to Italy and Greece.  Paradise, right?  Well, not always.  Being abroad has its downfalls too.  The outlets and their voltage are different.  Euros seem like monopoly money, and you can't help but buy everything when you feel that way.  You can't get Diet Coke, only Coca-Cola Light.  You're viewed as an easy target for scams and overpriced taxis.  The aforementioned are mostly insignificant.  The real thing that hurt me most of all was that I was completely disconnected from those I love.  I spent far too many days realizing how incredibly vulnerable I am to the self-hatred when I am in new and different environments with complete strangers.  How ironic these feelings were, considering just days before I had successfully let my doctor weigh me for the first time in a year and a half and felt as though I had just climbed Mt. Everest.  However, it was just too easy to let the hurt and pain rush in, looking at myself with a magnifying glass of biased scrutiny.

In a world of several billion, to feel alone is tragic, yet all too common.  I spent a lot of time in and on the Mediterranean Sea during my travels, whether traveling or swimming.  On one specific day near the end of the trip, I was on a ferry cruise.  I looked out from an isolated spot on the top deck and realized how alone I really felt.  With the expansive waters and uninhabited islands, I realized I am just one of the hundreds of billions of God's creations.  But, then so very quickly I was reminded of Christ, the Creator of this earth, calming the stormy seas.  He, who descended below everything and suffered more than any living thing will ever have to imagine, knows me.  He can calm my rocky heart.  I then felt the impression that the mountains, islands, sea, and all things therein were made for me.  The impression was crystal clear.  I am loved.  It's been said that Christ would have died even for just one of us.  I would extend this to believe that He and our Heavenly Father would have made this earth, whether for just you or for just for me.  Truly.

Now, I sit here with tears dropping onto my keyboard.  I am having another one of those days when it's all too tempting to criticize myself, telling myself I am nowhere good enough to be who I am.  

I just need to take a deep breath and remember, I may feel unworthy and alone, but I AM loved.  I cannot be so quick to forget this.  I am a daughter of a King.  Now, get up and go get 'em, Mackenzie!

Giving Up the Race

I have recently found a new hero.  She is around my age, blonde, very girly, a college student, and a former dancer.  Rebecca Houseknecht was one of the several dancers featured in the recent ballet documentary, First Position.  Before I even watched the 90+minute film yesterday, I knew (from my excellent skills on the internet) who she was and why I liked her.  She competed in the Youth America Grand Prix at age 17 and soon after received a contract to dance with the Washington Ballet.  After dancing as a main member of the company for a year, she gave up running the race.  

When I was at BYU and struggling with the eating disorder, I began a "rededicated effort" to be the "best anorexic."  I put these words in quotations because they are illusions that many who struggle with an eating disorder get caught in.  They are deceitful ways in which the eating disorder captures its prey.  During this period of time, I remember one therapist telling me that if I could just give up the goal of being the "best anorexic" with a certain goal weight so close to my grasp, I would become a hero.  Maybe just a hero to myself, but a hero nonetheless.  He had me picture a marathon runner, a runner running not because she loved it, but because she wanted to prove herself a slave to the pavement.  She was just a few strides from the finish line.  Now, I'm not saying that running marathons is a form of slavery, but rather a prime analogy of what was going on in my mind and body during this time.  Next, he had me picture her tearing off her number, and walking off the race track.  She didn't look back.  She just walked off.  

I look back at all the life changing moments I had to walk away from a potential "win" so I could find happiness and life.  Dance was one of these.  I figure that Rebecca and I are quite similar.  Except, she had the opportunity to live the life of a professional dancer before taking the leap of faith into normalcy.

Several months ago, my mom asked me if I wish I had never had such traumatic events pull me from ballet at age 16 (referring to the eating disorder and depression).  Confidently, I told her, "Mom, if it wasn't for those experiences, I would never have reached the level of self-awareness, happiness, and insight that I now enjoy.  I would have never been happy being a ballerina anyways."  The beautiful thing: I truly believe it.  

For those who are interested, here is the mash-up of Rebecca's story from First Position and an article from the Baltimore Sun newspaper:

News Article

First Position Clip

Little Smiles

How can it be so easy to miss the little smiles in life?  We're all guilty of it.  This weekend my thoughts focused on one thing: the yearly Spring Recital.  I have to admit, I was beyond nervous and anxious and stressed.  Living in Fairfax and trying to travel down to Warrenton at 3 pm rush hour traffic from Monday through Saturday is stressful.  But, that's not all.  I rented a costume from a potentially sketchy website that cost me a couple hundred for a dance I only rehearsed once a week for a little over a month and it only arrived on Wednesday.   In addition, I felt the pressure of not living up to the expectations of parents, students, and co-workers alike as I debuted my first piece of choreography (mind you, for fourteen dancers, aged 5 to 10 years, and ranging in all sorts of ability).  

Nightmares always accompany big events, but I just recently made the connection that when dance is at the forefront of my mind, the flashbacks of horrific and traumatizing past events exponentially increase in my dreams.  As a result, the little demons in my head begin to taunt me more and more, telling me that I will fail and that I am not qualified to proclaim myself an amateur dancer or even a dance teacher.  Don't you hate doubt?  It eats at you like no other.

By the end of the performance, I was able to look back and say everything turned out alright.  My only wish is that I had spent more time with my tiny dancers than time worrying about myself.  The few hugs, smiles, and words of personal achievement by my little dancers I was able to catch melted my heart.  Why hadn't I remembered that those little smiles are for what I live?  It's not the applause or even the compliments; it's the growth of self-efficacy and self-esteem in those I teach and mentor for which I live.  Ultimately, life doesn't matter about you.  Life matters about those you help along the way.

  

Gordon B. Hinckley said it best:

"Being humble means recognizing that we are not on earth to see how important we can become, but to see how much difference we can make in the lives of others."

My loving and caring man, Mark, does this for me.  He sacrificed of himself and his family to come make a difference in my life by coming to my performance.  He drove over 5 hours beginning at 5 in the morning to get there to surprise me.  I love him.  He has taught me so much about humility, selflessness, and service, for which I could never repay him.  

Let's all learn to cherish the people in our lives a little more.

Questions and My Answers

I have to admit I have been savoring the memories of the speech I gave a month ago for National Eating Disorders Awareness Week since I gave it.  The event was spectacular.  Better than I could have imagined or even hoped.  I felt comfortable in the spotlight, perhaps for the first time in my life.  It was natural and the best part was I was speaking from my heart.  Every thing I said was true and genuine.  I wish you all could have been there.  I wish even more that it was recorded, so that I could relive the experience without the fading capacity of my memory.

I want to focus my post not so much on the speech I prepared, but the questions I answered.  Several patients asked questions with the "Is it really possible?  Are you really recovered?" undertone.  While my story is unique in the fact that I truly am recovered, it is not impossible.  I tried to remind the patients, and their loved ones, that the road was hard, unbearably hard most of the time.  However, just because life is hard doesn't mean that there isn't a way to overcome.  One patient began her question saying, "I assume that you have to fight the urges to engage in eating disorder behavior every day, at every moment...."  I was confident when I said, "I wouldn't say I have urges.  More like thoughts that creep into my head.  Temptations.  But, I realize the cost of living in such fantasies."  It truly costs more to live in the eating disorder than it does to live life, no matter how pathetic it may seem.  This is key for anyone with an eating disorder to realize.

Another question came from a former patient regarding finding friends and the emotional pain that it takes.  This question reminded me of the introvert nature I have.  Especially after leaving treatment, social situations were a big trigger.  However, I knew that I needed friends.  Social support is key in recovery.  In response to her question I expressed a concept that I had learned from a former therapist: emotional intimacy.  Emotional Intimacy relies on three things: (1) honesty, (2) security, and (3) "the gift."  The first two are mostly self-explanatory.  However, "the gift" raised a few eyebrows when I mentioned it.  "The gift" refers to the genuine interest two people have in getting to know each other and wanting to be with the other; to disclose and divulge, to weep and to smile, to work and to play.  If even one of these criterion is not met, the person you are interested in becoming friends with is not worth your time.  Making friends can be a draining process, however it is important to know not to share yourself with just anybody.  Being selective in who you choose to be friends with is a secret that really shouldn't be kept from the world.  It is best for everyone's social, mental, and emotional health. 

There were many more questions, and it is a shame that I cannot remember them all.  The last one that I do remember was asked by a mother who was so brave.  Her question was perfect.  I was the only one on the panel who had experienced severe depression and therefore was the only one could relate and to and answer the question with honesty and earnestness.  After the presentation, she thanked me and I felt that she yearned for more: more interaction, more hope, and more assurance that her daughter could recover.  I will never be able to guarantee someone that their loved one will recover.  However, I do believe that I can offer a conditional guarantee:  If your loved one can visualize recovery, and you support him or her in his or her actions to achieve, then recovery is possible, if and only if you both are willing to fight like hell.

I am excited to work as a therapist once I graduate with my MSW (hopefully by 2015).  I once thought that I could never work with patients who have eating disorders.  However, I'm beginning to re-evaluate that thought.  When I entered the eating disorder unit in February, this time as an advocate instead of a patient, I had no remorse, no regrets, no urges, no jealousy.  I was not ashamed of my body.  I was not self-conscious.  I was proud.  I was empathetic.  I wanted to help.

Awareness for eating disorders is growing.  However, I recently wrote a policy analysis paper on eating disorder screenings in Virginia and was appalled to learn that eating disorders are still largely under-funded.  Here is what I wrote:

"One way to intervene and prevent the development of eating disorders for all genders, socioeconomic groups, age groups, and ethnicities in America is through research.  Research funding is scarce in relation to the number of Americans diagnosed with an eating disorder.  5.1 million Americans suffer from Alzheimer’s Disease.  This disease is allotted $450 million for research.  3.6 million Americans live with Autism.  $160 million go towards Autism research.  Nearly six times as many Americans suffer from an eating disorder as compared to Alzheimer’s Disease and almost ten times as many Americans suffer from an eating disorder as compared to Autism.  However, the amount of money allotted to eating disorder research is a mere $28 million.  In more practical terms, an average of $88 is given per Alzheimer’s patient for research.  For an individual with an eating disorder, he or she will receive $0.93 for research (NIH, 2013)."

Astounding.  I do no discredit the need for research for Autism or Alzheimer's, but I can't help but feel a little dismal when I hear that eating disorders are not given the same amount of attention, funding, or impact.  

Maybe I've found my niche.  Maybe I've found what I'm passionate about...