Kiki & Bug

There seems to be this constant pressure to have a perfect life or to be perfect. So why do we insist on holding ourselves to such an unrealistic standard? I think this is a question we all ask ourselves at some point in our lives. Maybe not all people feel this pressure, but I’m sure there are quite a few out there that do. I know I always have. Some of that may stem from my anxiety disorder and possessing this need to please others and always do the right thing and present myself in a way that looks put-together or perfect even if things are falling apart behind closed doors. It’s something I wish I didn’t feel. A realization that certainly has its tolls. But it’s taken me six years to get here and finally I can say I don’t have a perfect life nor do I want one.

My journey began at 15 years old when I was starting to really struggle with my anxiety. By 16, my anxiety disorder had manifested in a whole new way, leading to my eating disorder. I thought about not publishing this, not sharing my truth with whoever is out there reading this right now, but then I thought, I’m not being honest. I’m not sharing my story in hopes of helping other young men and women out there share theirs. So, I said “fuck it”, its worth it to me if someone can benefit from my experience or somehow feel less alone and isolated from the rest of the world.  Perhaps showing such raw vulnerability in my own life will allow for a deeper connection with others, letting them see my imperfections and feel accepted.

No book I ever read about eating disorders made me feel understood or heard. It just felt like doctors explaining the diagnosis and laying out the steps to recovery. When I was going through the darkest times of my life, I felt like I had no one to turn to. I felt ashamed, depressed, and unworthy of help. There weren’t many books published at the time sharing experiences of young women like me, even though I knew they were out there. It made me feel crazy, like I was the only one struggling with something so consuming.

“My story is not a sad story. Its a real one. its a story about a girl who fought through a storm she thought would never end.” -HANNAH BLUM

LET’S START FROM THE BEGINNING.

I remember the day I decided to tell my mom about my eating disorder. I woke up, ate breakfast, purged, went to school, skipped lunch, and came home. I made it upstairs to my room where I paced back and forth, for what seemed like an hour. Finally, I worked up the courage to go downstairs and break my mother’s heart. I knew what I was about to tell her would change the way she looked at me. Not the way she felt about me, just perhaps her perfect image she once had of me. It would be shattered. But I decided that my fear of hurting her could not overpower my fear of what could happen if I didn’t. So I walked downstairs and turned to face the doors of her office and before I could even get a word out I just started to cry. I hadn’t cried in probably a year. I had somehow learned to shut down those emotions and not allow myself to cry or feel bad for myself because I had somehow convinced myself that I chose my disorder and that the behaviors I was exhibiting were a choice. A choice that I could stop making at any moment. I later learned how false that was.

I sat down on the floor of my mom’s office crying as she looked down at me confused. I couldn’t bear to look up at her when I said the words so I just mumbled them through my tears and said, “Mom, I think I need help.” She looked at me and asked what I needed help with. I told her I hadn’t been eating and when I would eat, I would get rid of it. That’s when she started to cry. She held me and we cried together and she said, “Of course, we’ll do whatever we need to do to help you. Everything’s going to be okay.” Little did either of us know how long that journey to becoming okay would take… Everyone is different. My road to recovery wasn’t as simple or quick as I may have liked but I made it here, and I’m proud of myself.

In the aftermath of me telling my mom about my disorder, we began looking for a therapist to help me. At the time, there were very few psychologists that specialized in eating disorders and even worse, very few insurance companies that deemed my disorder worthy of coverage. There were no residential facilities in the state of Texas dedicated to helping people with eating disorders and in some ways it just confirmed how I already felt about myself and my disorder. Insignificant and alone. After a few weeks of searching, finally, we found one.

MY FIRST THERAPY SESSION.

I remember sitting outside the waiting room, not wanting to go in. I kept thinking this can’t be my life. How did I end up here? And if I’m honest with myself, do I really want to change? Do I want to fix this? These were questions I asked myself daily after confessing to my parents what I was going through. I knew some part of me must have been ready for change or I wouldn’t have told them, but the disordered part of my brain was telling me it wasn’t time to let go. What most of those books on eating disorders don’t tell you is that your disorder becomes a friend, a safe place. It’s hard to explain it in any other way to people because otherwise how could you justify wanting to continue living your life that way.

I sat down in the therapist’s office and didn’t say a word. She introduced herself, asked me how I was doing, the normal conversational pleasantries. I wasn’t interested. As soon as I stepped foot in that room my disorder took over and made me resistant to everything she was about to say to me. She could’ve told me the sky is blue (a known fact) and I would’ve resisted. After a few minutes of her asking me a question here and there she wanted to know some background things about me. Family, friends, hobbies, etc. I spoke and she listened. I can’t quite remember the conversation and truthfully it’s all a blur but I will never forget when she chimed in with this statement, “You’re a bit of a control-freak, aren’t you?” I immediately combated her assumption and said, “Excuse me?” She went on to explain how some of my answers must have led her to that conclusion and combined with my anxiety issues, my need for control manifested in creating my eating disorder. I remember letting her words sink in for a moment and then letting out a huge exhale. I felt less crazy, like there was a legitimate reason for why my life had taken such a turn and that it wasn’t my fault. It started to make sense. For all the things I could not change or control, like my anxiety attacks, the way my body looked or my depression, I finally had an antidote, a place where I could be in control.

I’m not writing this to make anyone feel pity for me or to understand my struggles. I’m writing this in hopes that the 15 year old me finds this and reads it and finally feels a little less alone and that she WILL get through this. It’s only temporary, and you’re stronger than you ever imagined. You are beautiful, loved, worthy, strong, courageous, and vulnerable. Vulnerability is the hardest of all things to be but it takes the most courage and at the end of the day I’d rather be courageous enough to share my experiences than to feel like everything I went through was for nothing. Maybe this blog or whoever is reading this right now are part of the reason I went through what I did. So I could ultimately end up here, imperfect, and the sometimes seemingly endless journey it took to become more accepting of those imperfections. It’s a process and I may never fully arrive at the destination of total self-acceptance but I’ve made tremendous progress over the years. I’ve come to accept that I may never get there, but that’s okay. Recovery looks different for everyone. I plan to share more of my healing process with you all but I wanted to start with this. I took this leap in hopes it may help others heal.  

“You are afraid of surrender because you don’t want to lose control. But you never had control; all you had was anxiety.” –ELIZABETH GILBERT

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I know it can be incredibly difficult to share but I’d love to hear from you if you ever want to share something and be courageous with me! You can email me at: kikiandbugblog@gmail.com.

You can also reach out to the National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA) for additional resources and finding help near you.

Till next time, y’all!

xoxo- Kristen Jean