I really don’t know what to write anymore. I was thinking that if I just sat down and clicked “New Post,” something would come to me–ideally, something better than a bland “how things are going” post.
It’s an okay start, I guess.
Things are going well. Very well, actually. I’m probably just feeling extra-damn-good because I’m sleeping well. My mom is in town, and she’s watching Boo, so anything that doesn’t get done before I leave for work can be delegated to her…and I can sleep until 6, which is downright luxurious. And, of course, I have tons of backup after work. It was hard to adjust to going from “okay, at 6:30, my backup arrives” to NO backup. I don’t think I have fully, but at least now that I’m letting go of some control, I can see that he’ll help out in any way he can.
It’s funny how people turn their backs on unhealthy behaviors once they shed them. I used to negatively judge people on TF who seemingly pulled themselves up by the bootstraps without retaining the ability to empathize with people who were still anorexic. I actually found it kind of suspicious–I thought that maybe they had “recovered” in a borderline/black-and-white way, but their issues were lying dormant and capable of being reactivated at any time.
Then I got better, and I could easily be the same way. The difference is that now I realize that I wasn’t actually alive when I was sick. I was constantly passively suicidal: whether or not they realize it, someone who undertakes an eating disorder is accepting the possibility that it’ll kill her. The only times I even feel the slightest bit of a siren call is when I’m feeling particularly empty, and those times are exceedingly rare. Once upon a time, I used to self-injure, too, but I can’t remember the last time that was even low down on the list of ways to deal with feeling overwhelmed. Out of eating disorders and self-injury, I think I’ve done a better job of retaining some sort of memory of what it was like, but those things are as far of the “menu” of ways to deal with life as they should have been the moment I started with them.
Recovering from the eating disorder happened gradually as I was doing “weight restoration” with my OB in an attempt to avoid another miscarriage. I just kept catching myself more and more keeping up with that mentality even after he said my weight should be high enough to support a pregnancy. And then, I caught myself eating foods that were “forbidden” without even thinking about it….and then not feeling guilty or beating myself up…and then just not having a desire to return to it because I was much, much happier without it. Eventually, I was even able to find ways in which I was “special” that didn’t involve starving myself to the point at which I was pretty much hallucinating the existence of angel wings on myself.
The other behaviors went away by conscious choice. When he left, I basically had two paths: fall apart, or cut the shit and get my act together. I did the latter, obviously.
I’m much happier. I look back at myself, though, and I’m kind of horrified. I know he looks back at the person he was with me, and he sees someone who was not true to himself, who was not whole. I see something similar, but I don’t place the blame on him. I’m my own person, I’m an adult, and I clearly was always capable of being happy and healthy. I just didn’t do it. I happened to be with him, but he wasn’t stopping me from being happy. If I’m not blaming him for how fucked up I was, I’m also not giving him credit for forcing me to make changes that should have been in place for years.
Well, maybe a little. I do see the breakup as a good thing now.
Where was I? Oh yes…having trouble empathizing with things I’ve actually experienced. I’ll find myself being amused, or even amused, by some of my parents’ mannerisms that I know I used to have. My mom was hurt that S’s sister didn’t say a word to them at Boo’s birthday party. I got a little impatient with her for taking things personally that aren’t personal…I’m sure it’s just a coincidence because she was focused on the kids playing. Why would she have beef with my parents if she doesn’t have beef with me? But I know that, once upon a time (not even long ago), I would have noticed and taken it personally. I think it pushes my buttons even MORE because (1) I hate that I was ever like that, and (2) I hate seeing people I love continue behaviors that are stopping them from being happy.
There was something else. Monday, my parents were going to go into the city, and Boo was going to be with Daddy (sleeping over Sunday night, and then staying there until she got antsy to come home). Sunday, they’re like “well if the weather is like this, we’re not going in.” I’m like “well, did you check the weather? Is it supposed to be like this?,” and they’re like “well, yeah, it’s supposed to be fine,” and I’m like “well, then why are you saying that if the weather is gonna be fine?” And then I’m like “well, that’s going to be awkward if you’re here and he needs to bring Boo home.” They acted a little butthurt about it and, in a show of nerve the likes of which we have never seen before, I said, “Don’t even act like you want to see him any more than he wants to see you.”
It’s the wishy-washy-ness, catastrophizing….ugh. But I used to be the EXACT same way, so it’s kind of crappy for me to get annoyed about it. I just see it, and I see how much better I am when I’m NOT doing that, and I want the same for them. I’m not sure how that translates into being annoyed and talking shit about them on the internet, though.
I hate it whenever I catch myself being “unempathetic.” I hate it every time I have to truly experience something for myself in order to empathize…I feel like as a non-practicing social worker, I should be better than that. So I pick it apart and hope that the next time I would be doing that, I find a way into the other person’s shoes.