I don't know whether this means I'm definitely in the right career, or just a glutton for punishment.

I started another blog.  A science writing blog.

"Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known." --Carl Sagan

I know that the only way to get better at writing is to actually do it.  And there are so many cool things to write about, things that I won't get the chance to cover for, you know, money.  That's where this blog comes in.  It's my chance to write about all of the cool things that I normally wouldn't write about.

I probably won't be blogging all that much at first.  I'm trying to pack and move, and deadlines for paying work will always take prescedence.  So, too, will ED Bites.  It's my baby.  It's not going anywhere.  I've put way too much effort into this blog to let it wither away.

But I also need to start putting more effort and time and energy into non-ED things.  I don't think this blog is holding me back--far from it.  Yet I also don't want to be known just for my ED work.  It doesn't bother me that most of the world knows me for ED-related and recovery things.  At the same time, that's not all I want the world to know me for.  It's been a big part of my life, but I hope to make it a much smaller part of my life.

Hence this blog. 

It's a recovery step, in a way, even though it really has nothing much to do with the eating disorder at all.

Many of my recovery milestones thus far have been directly related to food/weight.  Things like eliminating my list of fear foods, not purging for a year and a half (and counting!), reaching my target weight and staying there.  Not that these aren't huge milestones, but they were also very concrete things.  I can do concrete goals very well, but more nebulous goals (increase flexibility! meet new friends!) are much more difficult.  I can't break them down into little steps.

One of the things I worked on a lot with TNT and have started to do with Dr. H is making friends.  I have been living here for a bit over a year, and I really didn't have any friends.  If I wanted to do something on a Friday night, I asked my parents.  There wasn't someone for me to call.

A few months ago, I joined a book club on meetup.com because I love reading, and it seemed like the perfect fit.  I lucked out, as the people there are really cool, really nice, and really smart.  My kind of people.  I could discuss politics without feeling the need to censor myself.  They were very accepting.  January's meeting was last weekend, and I went and had a very nice time.  I brought some killer scones (Banana Peanut Butter Chocolate Chip). The hostess made decaf coffee for me, since last time I turned the regular coffee down lest I be up all night, which I thought was the sweetest thing ever.

I stayed around a bit after to help clean up and to spend more quality time with their pup.  As I did, the host, hostess, and one other person began talking about their weekly jam sessions.  Apparently, every week, a bunch of them get together with their stringed instruments and just play music. It had come up during the group that I play piano and sing, and so they invited me to come.

As I was driving home, I realized: I finally have friends now.  I haven't had that in ages.  It occurred to me that they might be inviting me out of pity or guilt (they were talking about this music thing and I was right there next to them), an idea I can't totally shake.  But I also know that they genuinely seem to like me, and they aren't the type to throw out a pity invite.

It feels...really good.  I have a friend in real life, and I have online friends, but I honestly don't remember what it's like to have a group of people to actually do things with.  It's all very new to me.

Sunday was my last group therapy session with TNT.  As much as I disliked the idea at first--I would be the fattest one there, I was either not sick enough or too sick to be helped--I really came to enjoy the group.  One of the requirements was that you had to be in active recovery.  That meant you couldn't be actively involved in ED symptoms.  A slip up didn't mean you would be asked to leave, but you had to have significant abstinence from the eating disorder.

That last little bit was some of what made the group really helpful.  I'd done support groups before that ended in what can only be described as a hot mess.  I quit going because it was so hard to continue my recovery in that environment.  All people would talk about is how much weight they had lost, how many times they threw up, and so on.  File under: Pointless, Definition of.

I had groups when I was in treatment, and many of those were, in fact, helpful.  Learning DBT skills in a group setting, doing relapse prevention with others, learning from each other was remarkably helpful.  I was lucky, too, in that most of these groups were led by good clinicians who could keep things on track.  Other groups I went to outside of treatment were at best a waste of time and at worst directly harmful.

So yes, I was wary, both from ED-related reasons and from experience.  I tried to remember that the ED blog community is kind of like group therapy (well, there is a group of us and blogging is therapeutic), and I've never regretted getting involved in that.  TNT asked me to commit to one month, which I did.  I figured if things really went to hell in a handbasket, I could discuss it with her and leave sooner if I really had to.

The women in the group ranged in age from mid-twenties to mid-fifties.  And the wonderful thing was that we all related to each other so well.  I didn't know anyone's diagnosis, although after the first few weeks I had a guess.  In the end, though, it didn't really matter.  Not age, not diagnosis.  Many of us had similar problems in figuring out life after the eating disorder.  How do you manage urges?  How do you decide who to tell?  How do you handle the holidays? 

I'm going to miss my group.  I actually began looking forward to Monday nights.  TNT tried to find someone else to take over the group after she left, but she couldn't find anyone.  There's no group closer to home--at least, no other similar group.

I'm really grateful I got this chance, though, and maybe one day I'll get another chance.

I had my second appointment with Dr. H this afternoon.  Don't get me wrong--I like Dr. H.  She has a Keurig coffeemaker in her waiting room, so there's no way I couldn't like her. And I like how she approaches therapy and she seems to "get" me.  That's no small order.

But she's not TNT.

I don't miss the hour-long drive each way to go see TNT, but I really did like the work we did together.  She's helped me feel a lot more secure about my recovery.  TNT talked me down from a number of psychological ledges.  We did some work on body dysmorphia, although it's still majorly present.  Nonetheless, although the dysmorphia itself isn't any better, I'm able to overlook it a bit more.

I do like Dr. H, though.  When I asked her what her philosophy was, she said that she mainly did CBT.  She followed this up with the comment that she doesn't see herself as just a therapist, but she also sees herself as part coach and part cheerleader.  Thankfully, she doesn't wear short, polyester skirts or insist that I wear them, either.  Keurig be damned, that would be a deal breaker.

It's hard to adjust to the change.  It's hard for me to adjust to any change, let alone something major like this.  I think I've been lucky overall with finding good therapists, especially recently.  I had a few doozies in my time (like the one therapist who told me, in all seriousness, that "I just needed to get laid." Well all righty, then), but I've mostly found good clinical support.

I think Dr. H will work out just fine, but making the transition is tough.  I see TNT next weekend for one last group therapy session, and then we're done.  I'm trying to remind myself that this is a chance to learn from someone new, to get a new perspective on my recovery.

Also, the Keurig.  Let's not forget the Keurig.

I'm a few days late in posting this (then again, I posted the Sunday Smorgasbord on Saturday night, so let's just say that my timekeeping this week totally sucks), but I figured better late than never.

It was New Year's Eve, and I was thinking about resolutions.  I don't really like them--I've never really made one--in part because they're all about stuff you don't want to do rather than stuff you DO want to do.  The joke among parents is that the easiest way to get a kid to do something is to tell them not to do it.  And adults are just old children. 

Yet I like the spirit of self-improvement, of making a goal and working towards it (this got very hijacked in the AN, but I do my best).  And goal setting has been a really useful recovery skill for me.

The problem with goal setting is that we often settle for really vague goals and don't map out a plan to get there.  Either one of these can set you up for failure.  Lots of people use weight loss goals, but if I see another ad or story about dieting, I think I'm going to stab myself in the eye.  How many Weight Watchers points are in an eye, anyway?  I digress.

So let's use smoking.  Quitting smoking isn't a vague goal, but unless you know how you're going to quit and how you're going to cope when you want to start lighting up again, it's going to be really hard to stay quit.  Recovery is something similar.  "I want to recover!" is awfully vague--what does that mean to you--and it also doesn't help you plan how you're going to get there.

It's where I ran into problems.  Occasionally, I told myself that I was going to quit all behaviors and embrace my thighs and blah blah blah.  If it lasted a day, I was doing well.  Vague and directionless is pretty much the way to get nowhere.

On Twitter (do you follow me on Twitter? You should. I keep you posted on my near nightly consumption of nature documentaries and other nerdy fun, as well as ED research), I started a hashtag called #recovery2011, where I encouraged people to tweet their recovery goals for 2011.  They didn't have to be specifically food related--an ED takes over your entire life, and recovery is about more than just food.  I told everyone that I would share the responses on my blog, which I am doing here.

• Try learning hunger cues again and accepting them as they are not as something to fight with!
• I'm changing my relationship w my body. I'll try not seeing it as something that could be smaller & just as something that is
• Food is great & all, yet not worth all the power we give it. Hoping 2011 brings food enjoyment & fuel yet time spent on more.
• Hope 2011 allows u 2 b open & trust your body's wisdom: hunger/fullness/cravings communicate your food & movement needs.
• I'm going to practice being relaxed and joyful around food, with the idea of "fake it till ya make it."
• I intend to be fully present in my life rather than obsessing over what has been or will be.
• Learn to love myself, even if it means by Dec 2011 I have learnt to love only my little toe, accept that, love that, be that!
• Try something new and scary. Take things in stride. Embrace the present while looking forward to the future.

I would love it if you, my readers, would share your own recovery-related goals in the comments section.  Be specific.  Not just "Be mindful about eating." but "I am going to concentrate fully on at least one meal every day."

So go for it! What's your goal?

Now that I've closed on my house and am waiting to hear about several writing gigs in the near future, I'm sitting with a lot of anxiety.  Like many people, especially those with eating disorders, I find change difficult.  The thought of change makes me nervous and apprehensive--what if things don't go right?  What if they do?

Then there's the simple fact that I don't like change.  It's a fact.

Let's face it: I'm moving from an environment with a built-in support system to living on my own (albeit only fifteen minutes away).  I have some career uncertainty, and with that comes financial uncertainty.

In the past, I have tried to cope with change in some, shall we say, less-than-productive manners.  I have too much on the line now.  I don't want to go back to the eating disorder.  Which means I am going to have to figure out some way to cope with the change.

Basically everything in my new place will be familiar, as I already have most of what I need.  I'm having a new sofa delivered tomorrow, but that's pretty much it.  I will also have mostly the same food around, and use tried-and-true recipes.

Oh yeah--I'll also have the same cat. :)

In the past few months of freelancing full-time, I've come up with a solid daily routine. It can be a little unusual (I hate mornings and don't expect that to change), but it works for me.  So I have that to rely on, too.

What has helped me the most is reminding myself that I have the skills and strength to cope with these changes, even if they do go pear-shaped. That I've coped with it in the past and I can do so again.

Change does stir up a lot of ED crap.  The body dysmorphia has never really gone away, and the chattering has gotten a little louder recently.  I've started to fantasize about having my own exercise equipment--what fun I could have!  I know that's a Very Bad Idea, and even if I didn't, I don't have the spare change to buy it anyway.

I have to keep telling myself that these thoughts are just a sign that I am stressed, not a sign that I am a fat, lazy cow.  Having a thought doesn't make it true. {{See, TNT, I really was listening!}}

I also have to keep telling myself that it's normal to feel apprehensive at times like these.  When I was first diagnosed with anorexia, I was told that I was having trouble "individuating" from my parents.  Aside from the fact that, outside of my mental health issues, I was handling my own life just fine, thank you very much, didn't seem to matter.  I've been itching to start my own life for months now.  But with the privileges of adult life (you mean I don't have to go to bed on time?) come the responsibilities.  Paying the bills is a pain in the ass.  So is emptying the dishwasher and taking out the trash.  As much as I hate the fact that I'm currently living with my parents, I also know that I've had things pretty plush.

My goal for the transition is to establish healthy new routines so that I can stay sane and stay on track with my recovery.

I've never really gotten in touch with my inner child, but TNT is having me work on getting in touch with my inner parent.

The fact is, I'm not that good at parenting myself.  It's not that I didn't have good parents--I did.  My problem is that I never learned how to treat myself any way but harshly.  Call it the remnants of being a ruthless perfectionist, but much of my inner dialog is scolding and criticizing myself.  This frequently horrifies people, but it's rather true.

Along with the perfectionism comes black-and-white thinking.  I would seesaw between taking huge amounts of time to make the bed "perfectly" to not bothering to make it at all because it wouldn't look right anyway.  I've been known to procrastinate on doing anxiety-provoking things (like making phone calls) that nonetheless need to be done immediately.  It's all an opportunity for me to harp on myself and my carelessness, my procrastination, my anxiety, my willingness to pay a fine in lieu of making a simple phone call.

I babysat throughout 8th grade and then high school for the same family.  The two girls were more like my little sisters than the two kids I watched for a few hours every week (the oldest is now in college, which makes me feel practically ancient!).  I had to prod them into brushing their teeth at night, into washing their hands, and then read them to sleep.  They pulled some crazy stunts, as kids are wont to do.  I remember one incident where the youngest girl spent over 20 minutes "washing the soap" because it was dirty.  But I didn't yell at them or scold them.  I just kept encouraging and occasionally (metaphorically) strong-arming them into doing what needed to be done.

Although I have mixed feelings about whether I want my own children, I do know that I have parenting skills. I do okay with other people.

But with myself?  That's a different story.

For me, it helps to imagine what I would tell Aria to do.  If skipping a meal or snack would make her sick, then I would insist she eat.  It would be nice if she volunteered, or if she grew a pair of thumbs and opened the damn can herself, but if she doesn't, I would make sure she ate.  I need to learn how to do that with myself.  Be gentle but firm.

As for the criticizing bit, that's a whole 'nother story.  When I was talking to TNT yesterday, she said "Gosh, you are really hard on yourself."  And I was all "Ya think?"  People have always told me to be gentle with myself, but it's not something I've yet figured out how to do.  It's like all I can see is people who are doing more, who are more successful than me, and I feel that I "should" be doing all that and then some.  I've never learned how to give myself props, that reassuring pat on the back that I've done a really good job.  I can do that on occasion--I've finished a story recently and loved how it turned out--but not consistently enough to make any sort of difference in my day-to-day life.

That's one of the things I still need to work on, those "adult skills" that I never quite picked up.

What are some of the ways in which you have learned to be a good parent to yourself?

I'm a writer, so it might seem kind of odd that I have trouble expressing my emotions verbally.  But there you have it.  It drives my mom bonkers that I don't like to talk when I'm upset.  She wants to help and I'm as closed as an emotional clam.  This isn't always good--I often hold things in until I snap--but I often find that I don't need to process emotional stuff out loud.

I've never been one to wear my heart on my sleeve.  I'm a terrible actress because I find the thought of being emotional in front of others terribly embarrassing.  So verbal displays of emotion with anyone besides my cat is pretty darn rare.  When I used to read those little magazine articles about "How to communicate with a human male" or how men respond to problems, I always laughed, because they seemed to be describing me.  I enjoy helping others with their problems, and listening and problem-solving, but when it comes to being the actual person with the problem?  I'm not a talker. 

For the therapeutically inclined, not liking to talk about your feelings is pretty much anathema.  Maybe it's why I like CBT, DBT, and ACT so much.  But this recent thread got me thinking about how I can express myself non-verbally.

For one, I've always been better at writing about my feelings than talking about them.  For another, there are so many ways you can deal with emotions, even strong intense emotions, without words.  Some people love art.  Others clean when they get stressed.  I like to crochet or blog.  I also love cleaning out my drawers, closet, etc--it's like emotionally purging.  Getting out on my bike really helps clear my mind and let's me be more rational about what's upsetting me.  Being outside period is therapeutic.  So are crafty things like making jewelry and sewing (I swear I'm not a reincarnated version of Donna Reed. I swear).

Some of my old therapists liked to link my seeming emotional constipation with my eating disorder.  If I could just talk about my feelings then I wouldn't need to use ED symptoms.  Except, of course, I did my best to hide the ED symptoms, which meant that I couldn't be using them to communicate.  Nor did anyone bother to ask whether I was this way about emotions long before the eating disorder surfaced.  But I digress.

Rather than expressing emotions, I think the important thing is to accept, understand, and process them.  Verbally is fine.  So are non-verbal methods.  What do you think?

How do you deal when words fail? Share your thoughts in the comments!

The last week or so has been one massive slog through writing, editing, revising, interviewing, and writing some more.  It is, in a sense, a very good sign that I'm rather swamped with stuff.  It tends to make paying the bills easier (although some of that writing is for a freelance gig that I'm "auditioning" for at this stage, and therefore no payment is guaranteed. But it's a great career opportunity, and I'm excited about it).  I have a headache, I can barely keep my eyes open, I want to beat my head against my desk in frustration half the time as I'm trying to write about science I can't quite wrap my mind around.

I'm simply exhausted.  I just want to nap.  I took an hour or two this afternoon to read, as I had a brief reprieve in the never ending gauntlet of deadlines.  But tonight it's back to the computer and work, followed by more of the same for tomorrow.

This kind of grim exhaustion, followed by the deep inner sense that I have a job to finish, reminds me of eating in the early days of recovery.  I would have gladly eaten all of my exchanges at an all-you-can-eat buffet first thing in the morning so I didn't have to worry about eating the rest of the day.  I was just so sick of the endless slog through meals and snacks.  I wanted it to go away.  And that's what this is kind of like, although I do actually like writing, which I couldn't say about food back then.  It's this numb exhaustion, combined with the knowledge that the end result is rewarding.

Today's work really hurt my brain, as I'm trying to write smartly on science I'm not exactly sure I understand.  In fact, I'm pretty sure I don't understand it one bit, and I had to eventually phone the researcher and ask him to explain his work using words with no more than three syllables.  I still don't think it worked.

And this exhaustion has led a slight uptick in feelings of depression.  It's more of the anhedonia and apathy caused by being too tired to care much rather than an actual "I hate my life" feeling.  I used to deal with this in a very ED way.  First of all, I better not be tired because I still had to get through my exercise routine, and I was never too tired for that.  The exercise also served as a little pick-me-up, and as a vent for my stress.  It's hard not to turn to that when I know it's so effective--at least for the short term.

I suppose this is part of what recovery and life are all about. Surviving the crappier times without resorting to unhealthy behaviors.  Recognizing that said crappy time won't last forever.  Integrating self-care into your life (such as my reading and blogging this afternoon).  And the acceptance that the ED won't change your current situation for the better.

"Do something every day that scares you."
--Eleanor Roosevelt

If recovery had a quote, this would definitely be it.  Recovery is about pushing yourself and challenging yourself every single day.  An eating disorder traps you in a world of fear and anxiety.  Yet to break free, you need to experience even more fear and anxiety, and learn how to live in tandem with that fear and anxiety.  I've been an anxious person all my life--I was before AN, and I am after.  I worry and get fearful rather frequently, usually about pretty minor things.  Much of the AN helped me avoid these fears and anxieties.  I didn't have to worry about social rejection because I never went to parties because there would be food.  I didn't have to worry about not doing well in school because all that mattered was sticking to my eating/exercise routine.

Recovering meant not just embracing food anxieties (it wasn't easy, but it was relatively straightforward) and learning how to live with the more existential anxieties.  Things like: who am I? What do I want to do with my life? What do I want to do with my free time? What do I want to wear?

Recovery means that I am risking being wrong.

That scares the snot out of me.

The safe protected life that my anxieties would like me to live (the one where I eat the same thing, wash my hands in Clorox, and check and re-check everything) isn't always the life that I want to live.  It's not the life that I know would be fulfilling and make me truly happy.  That means I have to push myself.  Every day, I have to do something that scares me.

Sometimes those scary things can seem silly.  Things like just relaxing.  Or saying hi to someone.  It can mean leaving the house when I feel disgusting.   Answering the phone when I want to isolate.  Or not answering the phone when I don't feel like talking right then.

Life is fraught with uncertainties.  I can say that and say that, and it still doesn't get any easier.  Nor do I like it any more.  But there's also that radical acceptance that uncertainties are the price I have to pay for a life well-lived.

So I keep pushing.  And being scared.  And pushing again and again.  These things don't get less scary, but the thought of pushing myself does.  Part of the mental "game" of the eating disorder was seeing how long I could go without eating, how much I could exercise, how little I could weigh.  So I try to remind myself that meeting challenges is something I thrive on, and it's something I do well.

Lest I drift into the category of unbelievably sappy, I'm going to stop here. :)

My friend Charlotte had posted about how far her daughter had come in her fight against anorexia over the past year.  In an email to me, she asked me to post this on my blog:

This time last year (3rd November, 2009), my daughter's anorexia had changed my warm, funny bright loving daughter into a cobra with PMS, my other daughter was crying hysterically, my husband was as angry as a hungry grizzly and I have never felt so hopeless and helpless in the whole of my life. So, taking courage in both hands and laying aside my uptight English reserve, I posted on the ATDT forum asking for help.


And through them, I found Carrie.

A year on, a lot has changed. My warm, funny, bright, loving daughter is back. My other daughter only cries when she gets moisturiser in her eyes. My husband is back to his habitual horizontal position and I feel empowered and useful.

And, I still have Carrie.

We talked about how far we have come in a year and for both us, looking back, has been cathartic and hopeful.
 
I feel like I've known Charlotte for so much longer than a year.  She has truly become a dear friend.
 
And yet, looking back over this past year, I realize how far I've come.  I've actually embraced the concept of recovery, not just to get my parents off my back or to make my therapist happy.  There are still parts of recovery I hate, but I'm starting to really accept them.  I do still miss the eating disorder at times, but I also have other times when it's not at the forefront of my mind.
 
If you would have asked me last year what I would be doing in November 2010, I wouldn't have told you that I would be trying to buy a condo and working full-time as a freelance writer.  That I would actually be showing signs of success in my career.  To be honest, back then I wasn't really thinking of the future.  The future consisted of trying to weasel out of the next meal or next snack.  It consisted of dreaming and hoping and wishing.  Yeah, it would be nice to kick this ED to the curb, but it would also be nice if pigs would fly and my coffee cup magically refilled itself.  That didn't mean it was going to happen anytime soon.
 
My life isn't what I anticipated it would be before I got ill.  I didn't expect to be still living with my parents at age 30.  I didn't expect to have more health problems than I care to count and know that padded rooms on psych wards actually exist.
 
Yet time passes and things get better.  Until I got into this conversation with Charlotte, I didn't realize just how much progress I have made.  I am, by no means, totally recovered.  I still struggle with ED thoughts, but I find it getting so much easier to keep the behaviors in check.  Thinking of a life beyond the ED isn't just a pipe dream anymore.

Laura's post yesterday on eye damage and eating disorders got me thinking.  When I read articles about the health dangers of eating disorders, I almost have to laugh.  Not because it's funny, but because of the tone of many of these articles, as if these straight-laced doctors can knock some sense into us silly ED patients, then the problem would be over.

Here's the thing: we are often well aware of the dangers.  This isn't that we don't think it won't happen to us, or we've got it under control or we're not that bad, because we do.  At least, I know I did.  I was in the ER numerous times for low potassium from purging and dehydration.  What did I do when I left the ER?  Purge.

Yes, there's a bit of a disconnect.  But in the moment, the dangers are irrelevant.  What I always sensed as far more dangerous than heart failure was what would happen if I didn't purge, if I did drink that glass of water, if I ate that plate of food.  Death was far-off.  The food was right there in front of me.

My ability to ignore the medical issues wasn't a sign of how much I valued thinness--I knew water didn't have calories, but I was tremendously afraid of consuming anything.  It added "weight" to my body, and that totally would freak me out.  I took pathology, physiology, biochemistry classes as an undergrad and grad student.  I knew exactly what was going on.  And yet my eating disorder raged, raged against the dying of the light.

Sometimes, over the very short term, minor health scares would shake me up enough to get me to rein in at least the more flagrant of my behaviors.  But these changes rarely lasted.  They did nothing to arrest my illness.

I do think psychoeducation on the dangers of EDs are important, as is learning to deal with a wrecked body.  I still blame myself for my crumbling bones, my uncertain digestive tract, my history of seizures.  I know that I had an illness.  I wasn't being stubborn or stupid or vain.  Yet the pervading medical culture holds that if only I wasn't so freaking dense, I wouldn't have damaged my body.

I need to take charge of my health from here on out.  I eat plenty of dairy and take a multi-vitamin.  I take calcium chews when I remember.  I keep my weight healthy and I take my Prozac every morning.  I am well, now.  Or at least more well than I was.  Rather than wasting time scolding people, help them stop their symptoms so they don't have to face the health risks.

Remember this: we're not stupid. We're scared.  There's a difference.

While I was posting from NYC earlier this month, someone mentioned that staying in recovery while traveling is really hard.  I totally agree- traveling (as much as I love it) is also a really big trigger.  For me, it's the breaking of my routines.  Then I start missing meals and snacks, or the food fears kick in and I start ridiculously overestimating what I ate.  Or I'll end up in a situation where nothing really "fits" my meal plan, and then I get the all-or-nothing thinking that since it's not perfect, I may as well just skip dinner.

I do much better on the road now, in part because I've learned lessons the hard way.  Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.  So here are a few of my hints for hitting the road and keeping your recovery in one piece.

1. Plan ahead.  Pack extras with you.  I always take protein bars, packets of Carnation Instant Breakfast, some instant oatmeal, and little packets of almond butter.  If I'm going by car, I might throw in an Ensure.  They've helped not only when snack time comes mid-flight, but also when I'm feeling anxious and unsafe eating food I'm not familiar with.  I've smiled and faked my way through events, with a decoy plate of food, and then had my snack back at my hotel room.  Perfect?  Nope.  But it worked.

2. Let go of perfection.  Recovery is learning about how to live with stuff that is less than perfect.  Life is flawed.  There will inevitably be times when you eat too little or too much, through no fault of your own.  Do what you can to avoid those situations, and then roll with it.  Traveling is supposed to be fun.

3. Tell your travel companions about your nutritional needs. No, I'm not talking about sharing your meal plan or having your boss remind you about afternoon snack.  Ideally, you'll be with someone who you feel comfortable mentioning that you need to eat regularly.  They don't need to know why.  I realize that when I traveled for work, I was often on my own, which made it much tougher.  It might help to check in with someone back home or even a member of your treatment team while you are gone.

4. Keep extra food with you.  Lots of people do it, so carrying a protein bar won't make you look like a freak.  Carrying your own food is often cheaper than eating on the run, so it's good in two senses.  That being said...

5. Try to sample the local cuisine.  I realize that traveling to Podunk, West Virginia may not open up any opportunities for new cuisine (possum-fried pizza, anyone? Honestly saw that at a restaurant in West Virginia, though sadly I didn't have my camera with me to document it.) but if your trip does and you're not going to use the experience to indulge the ED, then try some of the new foods.  I really enjoyed being able to try new things when I was in Europe- as much as my poor beleaguered stomach would allow.  It's one of my favorite parts of traveling.

6. Have a contingency plans.  Know ahead of time what you're going to do if things start to get pear-shaped (even outside the ED).  How are you going to contact friends and family if traveling internationally?  What's the information for your embassy?  What prescriptions are you taking and what is your doctor's phone?  If you need to get home early, what are your options?

7. Do some research before you go.  Look for restaurants, eateries, and grocery stores that are near your hotel.  The hotel staff can also be really helpful, but knowing ahead of time what's nearby can help you pack better.  Not sure if you'll need all 10 protein bars and space is tight in your suitcase but there's a CVS down the block?  Bring 5 bars.  You can always buy something when you get there.

8. Individual serving packets help.  Generally, I buy in larger packages because it's cheaper, and then I just divvy it up when I get home.  But those individual milk or soy milk boxes, the packets of peanut butter, the individually wrapped Oreo cookies--all of these are great for travel.  Keep in mind that nut butters are considered gels by the TSA, so pack it in your checked luggage or take the individual packets in your carry-on.

9. Don't be afraid to stay home. Traveling is super stressful.  When I'm in the throes of the ED, every trip has been a total disaster.  If you're uncertain about travel, don't go if you can avoid it.  Your recovery comes first.  You will have lots of time for trips when you are well.

10. Practice.  Traveling requires a lot of eating out, and the best way to know if you're ready is to practice before you go.  Take one day and "pretend" that you're on the road and eat the food you would likely have to eat while traveling.  That way, you will know ahead of time if one restaurant chain doesn't work for you, what issues will arise, and how to cope.

I hope you liked the tips.  Let me know if you would like to see more tips like this in the comments section.

It's true that I go to the NEDA conferences every year to stay on top of the latest research and findings, but after so many years of going, the main draw for me is to see all of my friends.  Many of them, I've met before, but this year was especially nice because I got to meet so many new people.

It's odd, meeting people you've only known over the internet, people who know more about you than 90% of your "real life" friends.  Yet I couldn't pick some of these people out of a police lineup.  It was just lovely to be able to put names and faces together after (sometimes) years of online correspondence.  I'm sitting in the lobby of my hotel next to the lovely Melissa of Finding Melissa.  I spent a lot of time with Laura and the other moms of Around the Dinner Table--you know who you are!  My mom and I got to meet Marcella, who first met my mom back in 2001, shortly after I was first diagnosed.  They had been friends for years but never got to meet.

I also got to be with the ED recovery Twitteratti, which included Kendra, Rachel, Jenn, Claire, and Julie (among others).  I had more than a few laughs with Susan Ringwood of B-EAT and her charming husband and Becky Henry of the Hope Network.  I also saw David again, and finally met Sarah Ravin in person.

It was a lovely time, being with everyone.  I truly felt at ease and comfortable in my own skin, even in some overwhelming and demanding social situations which doesn't happen very often!  It was nice to have my blog and all of the work I've done here over the years to really get some good recognition.  I didn't need it, and I would have been fine without it, but it's always gratifying to know that my work has impacted others.

I fly back to Virginia tomorrow, and this will be the last time I see a lot of these people until the AED conference in Miami next April (if my proposal is accepted) or next year's NEDA conference in Los Angeles.

(Sorry if I forgot to mention anyone- my brain is pretty much frazzled right now!)

The "It Gets Better" campaign is geared at gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgendered, and questioning young people who might be struggling with the issues surrounding coming out to friends and family.  It was started in the wake of horrifically common bullying and rejection that these teens face, to let them know that life does eventually get better.  It's a wonderful campaign and a wonderful message.

If there was only one thing I could tell my readers who are struggling with ED and recovery, it would be that it gets better.  It really does.

I didn't know that I would ever be able to look forward to a meal with friends, or buy a pair of pants without a major meltdown in the dressing room.  I didn't know that I would ever be able to exercise without being obsessive and compulsive, or put butter on my bread.  I didn't believe that I could get through a meal without wanting to jump off the roof because the anxiety and guilt were so horrific.

It took far longer for the pain to ease than I thought it would.  I had stopped believing that things would get better.  But eventually, with more work than I thought possible and the healing hand of time, things did start to get better.

The waiting was the worst part.  The waiting and the not knowing if it would get better.  It was something I had to tell myself, over and over and over again.  Recovery is terrifying, and I had been so battered by the eating disorder that I didn't think I would make it through recovery. 

But then I got to the day where I realized recovery was almost a default.  Eating wasn't scary, it wasn't an effort to haul myself off the treadmill.  My life was my life, and I had an existence that honestly had nothing at all to do with my eating disorder.  It took me a long time to realize that this "getting better" wasn't going away.  The hard work had finally, finally paid off.

I am not, by nature, a very confident person.  I doubt myself.  For that matter, I doubt everything.  And so, like many people with eating disorders, I doubted my ability to get better.  For years, I thought I was too messed up to ever return to anything called normal.

I was lucky.  I had family and friends and a treatment team who believed in my ability to get better.  As much as I hated being strong-armed into treatment, I realize now that it was a sign of how much they believed in my ability to overcome anorexia.  They (rather smartly) didn't try to make me become a prima ballerina because the odds that the class klutz could manage a pirouette were pretty slim.  I think they knew, deep down, that I could get better if I had the chance.

There were many things that made a different in my recovery, but I think that was one of the big ones.  I needed someone else to believe in me until I could believe in myself. I tried to get better numerous times, but I could never shake that monkey on my back.  And so each effort, I had less and less belief that it would actually work.  Not surprisingly, each effort had less and less effect on the ED behaviors.

Some of the clinicians I saw doubted my ability to get well.  I was "chronic" and "long-term" and "unlikely to recover."  I had no reason to disagree with them.  But those treatment providers who did continue to believe in me provided me with a ray of hope.  That ray of hope wasn't enough for me to kick anorexia on my own.  I had to be strong-armed into treatment one last time, but nonetheless.

It's hard for people to balance their confidence in your ability to get well and the extreme difficulties that getting better actually takes.  The Pollyanna-ish "Oh, you'll be fine, dear" struck me as rather fake.  An eating disorder isn't a cold.  It's not a take two and call me in the morning illness.  Yet in order to do the hard work, to go to therapy week after week and take your pills and eat the damn food (all that damn food!), you need to know that, somehow, you will get well.

I think people underestimate the effects of confidence.  I finally have confidence in my own recovery, after years of doubt and disbelief.  By giving me no other choice that complete wellness, I could finally get healthy enough to see that recovery was possible.  It sounds almost paradoxical, but it's true.

This quote from Around the Dinner Table has to be THE BEST explanation of the saying "An eating disorder is not about the food."

It's often said that it's not about the food, it's about the feelings, but it really is about the food, it's about eating no matter how you feel.  That's what recovery is.  And finding a new way to deal with feelings.  I guess that's sort of like telling an alcoholic that it's not about the alcohol, it's about the feelings that lead you to drink!  You still have to eat or stop drinking either way.

Yes, this.  This is exactly it.  No, an eating disorder really isn't "about" the food, but you also can't ignore the food at any point in recovery, whether it's at the very beginning or you've been doing well for years.

I ate lunch at Panera today, and there was something new on the menu: calorie counts.

It didn't mess with my head as badly as this prior experience, nor did it rattle me for very long. It annoyed me and upset me a bit, in no small part because I wasn't expecting it.

The calories were listed on the right-hand side of the menu, next to the price. The description of the food was listed on the left. When I was deep in the ED, I would have picked everything out beforehand if I couldn't weasel my way out of the occasion, so I could make absolutely sure I wasn't eating one single calorie more than I had to. I would have asked for the chips (if my meal came with that--it threw people off my trail) and saved them "for later," neatly disposing of them when no one was looking. Early in recovery, I would have made a minimal attempt to ignore the information, and then have found the lowest calorie item and ordered that. I would have gotten the apple or the carrot sticks as a side dish, but I would, in fact, eat these.

I was able to be much more calm and rational. Instead of finding the item with the lowest calories and then deciding if I would order that (as long as I didn't hate anything integral to the dish), I looked at the different dishes and then checked the calories.

In an ideal world, the calorie information would just be numbers, like the metric tons of methane produced by flatulent bovines. "Party facts," my undergraduate advisor called them. But over a decade of an ED means that facts aren't just facts. They're very emotionally charged facts. They're not just numbers, nor are they going to BE just numbers any time in the near future.

Given that fact, I did the next best thing: I tried to make the (irrelevant) information as small a part of my decision as possible. I did order a yummy entree salad with a hunk o' bread on the side. It fulfilled my meal plan requirements. The number was also within the "acceptable" limits. Was there something else on the menu I might have liked more? Probably. Were the calories a factor? Yep. Were they the only factor? Not really.

The big difference wasn't that I overcame my calorie-counting compulsion* and felt the shackles fall from my ankles. The difference was that I could be much more rational and healthy about my decision-making process. I could focus on what I might want to order AND the calories. Usually the first factor was almost completely ignored. As long as I didn't hate the lowest calorie item, that was what I ordered. I freaked out and all semblance of sanity went out the window. This time, it didn't. This time, I was able to step back for a second, take a deep breath, and do what I needed to do.

*I get obsessive about numbers in general- the OCD and the AN pretty much fed the compulsive counting.

I was catching up on some blog reading just now, when I stumbled across this wonderful post from Nattie about all of the ironies in recovery. I can't improve upon what she wrote, so I won't. I'm just going to cut and paste what she said:

So yes. I've mentioned in previous posts that TNT talked me into joining an online dating site, and that the wonderful folks at Jezebel interviewed me about it.

Thus far, the dating thing has been a bit of a disappointment. I went on one date, which led no where. Other than that, I have pretty much zero response. Well, there was the one 52-year-old who contacted me with a message that said "UR Pretty. Wanna go out?" Needless to say, it wasn't that hard to turn that particular offer down, even knowing there weren't any waiting in the wings.

I've pulled back a little bit- I still check my account, but I'm not as...how shall we say...enthused as I was at the beginning. I haven't given up entirely, but I'm feeling more than a bit pessimistic about the whole thing. Part of me is relieved because this dating thing is so damn stressful, and not really from an ED standpoint.

What stresses me out the most about dating is the spending money issues. Long before I restricted food, I restricted spending money. This hasn't been all bad--I have money saved up for a down payment on my first place--but it's more of the mindset that's problematic. I feel tremendously guilty for spending money. Some of you have paid witness to my recent Twitter recriminations about $1 in overdue library fines. I remember going to the mall with my friends in high school, and I almost never bought anything. I had two part-time jobs at the time (in total, I worked about 20 hours a week), so it wasn't like I didn't have the money. But I hated the idea of spending money.

My one area of weakness is books. But other than that...

Dating costs money, and that stresses me out. Yes, money is tight because of my recent transition to full-time freelancing, but it's not the math that's stressing me out. It's the idea of spending money, or doing something different, that really freaks me out. I equate spending money with guilt.

Both of my parents were frugal before it was cool to be frugal, and I know that played into it. But neither of my parents seem to have this guilt-ridden relationship with spending. To me, spending money brings up the same kind of guilt as eating used to.

Dating has thus been a very complicated, interesting process. It's brought up way more issues than I even thought it might. From a recovery standpoint, I'm doing okay (well, based on one date I'm doing okay). That's been the least of my concerns, oddly. But we shall see what happens.