I remember going to a therapy appointment quite a few years ago, flinging myself into the chair and promptly launching into a ten-minute-long tirade about how fat this complete idiot was making me. Didn't she see how huge I was? And she still wanted me to gain weight?!?

After I came up for air, my therapist looked at me and said with a voice that can only be described as overly saccharine, "Now, Carrie, we know that bad body image really isn't about how we look. Why don't you tell me what's really going on."

The reframe sent me further into a rage. Don't patronize me, I said. I'm feeling fat because I am fat and that's it. There's nothing more to it. Period. End of story. So why don't we talk about what we're going to do about my need to lose weight now that you've porked me up.

And so on. The session would not be classified as "productive."

With time, maturity, and proper nutrition, I've come to realize that my therapist had a point. I remembered her point today, when my work schedule can only be described as a game of Whack-a-Mole on meth. I'd send one email, and other editor would ask for art. I'd send some potential images, do the changes on the previous email. While making those changes, editor #2 would write back and say those images don't work, do you have any more? So I'd search for some, and then editor #1 would write back and...well, you get the idea.

I was stressed and on edge, almost ridiculously so. Perhaps not surprisingly (to my ex-therapist, at least) the feelings of body dysmorphia, body hate, and generally feeling "fat" came back. It got me thinking to something my friend Charlotte said about her daughter. Maybe the "fat" feelings weren't really about fat at all. Maybe it was anxiety that she was trying to translate the best way she knew how. Given our culture's general angst around food and weight, maybe this is how we make sense of anxiety. It's got to be about food and weight, right? What other explanation can there be?

Obviously, this isn't the only explanation, but the more I think, the more I'm beginning to understand the validity of this. My stress today had zero to do with food or weight. Zilch. And yet I immediately started fretting about what I was eating and what I must weigh. Logically, I know my weight is probably the same as it was yesterday, and the day before that, and... I know that emails from editors don't magically make my thighs expand (seeing how many emails I get each day, that's probably a good thing). But that didn't stop my brain from diving into those old, familiar depths.

I don't think that this is the sole explanation for body dysmorphia in eating disorders--one of the emails today was from a piece about body dysmorphia that's will publish shortly--but I do think it explains why stress is such a trigger for so many of us. Our brains are just trying to make sense of something we can't explain, so we do the best we can with the vocabulary we have. My own vocabulary happens to be marinated in the larger culture of diet obsessions. Maybe Catherine of Siena would have worried about her abilities to be holy if she were in my shoes (and they had email and Whack-a-Mole in the Middle Ages). That might have been how she made sense of her compulsion to starve herself. I have the same compulsion, but a very different culture that provides a very different vocabulary.

It would have been nice--and much less patronizing--if instead of just saying "We know bad body image isn't about our bodies..." with an unavoidable patronizing undertone, my ex-therapist had said that sometimes our brains don't translate anxiety properly. That sometimes we get confused and attribute worries about something else to worries about food and weight.

This past September, I upgraded my Blackberry to an Android. I love my new phone. The one problem I have is that the battery loses juice really quickly. I Googled the problem, and I found some apps that can shut down the other apps not in use that are slowing down the processor and sucking the battery dry.

{{In fact, my phone just eeped at me that it needs to be plugged in.}}

I was aware, of course, that apps run even when you're not actually using them, but I didn't know how much power they sucked up. On days when I'm not using my phone a lot--it's rare, but it happens!--the apps running in the background don't really pose much of a problem. I just plug in my phone before I go to bed like usual and all is well. Most days, however, I use my phone for pretty much everything, especially since I found a free Sudoku app, which keeps me entertained on my nightly Adventures in Insomnia.

I've been pretty busy with things lately, mostly work and writing stuff. I'm chugging along on my book, I've been freelancing, I've been crocheting, doing the recovery stuff. If I were my phone, I would be in a period of almost constant usage. It makes the ED stuff painfully obvious because there's not much energy leftover.

The danger zone for me is when I'm bored or work is slower. It's when the ED stuff isn't as obvious. The background apps suck the same amount of energy regardless, but it's harder to recognize all the time and energy it's using. The same for the eating disorder. Thoughts and behaviors suck up the same amount of effort whether I'm busy or not. I'm better able to recognize and fight them when I know there's lots of stuff on the line because I know I don't have that extra energy to spare.

Too much spare time isn't my friend. My brain is always working, always thinking. If I'm not thinking about nerdy stuff or yarn stuff or other stuff, then my brain will find other things to think about. Things like food, weight, calories, and exercise. It's hard to balance, since being too busy ratchets up the stress level to the point where I find myself reaching for the volume knob that is the eating disorder to turn down some of the stress.

Like so many things in recovery, it's a balancing act.  But this knowledge is helpful--I know that letting myself get too bored is just as bad as getting too busy. For now, being busy is good for my recovery. Not to distract me from anxiety, depression, and all of that other crap, but to make it painfully obvious just how much the ED takes out of me.

I'm currently on the road for one of my recurring freelance gigs. It's pretty new--I just started last month. I found out about the job from my science writing teacher, who passed along the job opening. I'm really liking it, and it pays really well.

Which brings about the point of the post.

I asked my teacher how much I should charge on my job proposal, since I really didn't know what the going rate for a freelancer was (generally, I'm paid by the job, not by the hour or month).  She told me what she knew, and my jaw dropped. It was a serious amount of money, and I hesitated for a long time about quoting that much.

I thought about it and figured it couldn't hurt, and I didn't even know that I was competing against anyone. And if it was the going rate...  I did put on the proposal that the rate was negotiable because I didn't want them to reject me outright because of my fees.  I'm not so comfortable financially that I'm unwilling to take a little less money with the knowledge that it was going to be a regular, recurring job (it's a MAJOR luxury when you freelance).

I fretted for days about the amount of money I was charging. I thought they would laugh me out of the interview room.

In the end, my fee wasn't mentioned. They hired me right after the interview, no questions asked.

My dad asked what I was making (he helps me with accounting), and I told him.

I also added, "I can't believe they're paying me that much! It's almost ridiculous!"

He said, "Clearly, that's what you're worth."

I said, "But it's $XX/hour!"

"You're worth it."

Obviously, I was. They wouldn't be paying me the rate I quoted if they didn't put the same value on my work.

It's something I have trouble with--valuing myself and my work appropriately. I think I inadvertently cheapen myself. I'm not that good and it's not that difficult or that much trouble.  Except that it is.  Or that other people think it is and are willing to charge for it and actually get paid for it.  I'm afraid of doing that--of finding and asking fair market value because I really don't think I'm worth it.


If I hadn't asked my old writing teacher, I never would have asked enough money.  I never would have valued myself properly (partly out of ignorance, partly out of fear).

It's a huge learning curve.  And it's scary to think that my skills are worth it. But I guess they are.