How’s Your Recovery Going, Nan?

The thing I haven’t mentioned…

Today, I’m publishing my 50^th essay on Substack. I realized the other day that I haven’t written much about my recovery lately. There’s a reason for that. I haven’t been doing so well with it, the food thing. When I first started writing this column last January, I came in with a desire to chronicle my healing process in 12-Step recovery. I was on fire, lit with excitement by the growth I was seeing in myself. I wanted to share my experience, strength, and hope as a way of doing service.

I’ve been having a hard time the past 5 or 6 weeks since we got the news that the world is about to go upside down and I’m trying to accept that I’m powerless to stop it. I’m angry and I’m scared. I give myself pep talks about accessing my Higher Power and staying present, grounded in the here and now. I keep telling myself that whatever happens next won’t hurt me as long as I’ve got Higher Power in my sights. As long as I’m staying honest, going to meetings, doing the work, I’ll be okay. I think that’s true up to a point, and that’s when fear and doubt creep in and I backslide.

This isn’t new for me. Disordered eating and other maladaptive coping mechanisms are smart and sneaky. I’ve been on this roller coaster for much of my life. Things go well for a time, and then they tend to fall apart.

I thought I was doing all the right things. I go to the meetings, and I work with my sponsor. I read 12-Step literature. I’m in a fellowship called ACA: Adult Children of Alcoholic & Dysfunctional Families. The meetings I attend focus on healing my inner children and learning to be my own loving parent. I need that. My disordered eating behaviors originated in childhood trauma, of that I am sure.

Lately, my inner children––my little Nan and my teenage Nan––have been running the show. And adult Nan has been allowing it. And it just doesn’t work. Self-compassion doesn’t come easily to me, and when life gets stressful, it’s even harder to access. I shut down emotionally and comfort myself with food. I want to be kinder to me and I’m often at a loss when it comes to putting that intention in place. I can’t think myself into being compassionate. It’s not an intellectual exercise. It’s an exercise in trust and faith. It’s an exercise of the heart.

That leap of faith. That’s where I begin to lose the thread. Because healing the disordered eating behaviors––especially when it comes to eating too much sugar––isn’t about willpower––that fails every time. It’s about engaging with my higher power and making it my superpower.

The piece that’s so hard for me is surrendering to something I can’t explain.

I want to understand everything with my rational mind. And this one, this one is beyond that kind of understanding. So, for now I’m placing my trust in the advice of folks I admire in my meetings; they tell me to “fake it ‘til I make it” or “act as if.” I’m trying to let go even though it’s completely foreign and vaguely suspect. That’s going to take time. I have time.

I’m gingerly experimenting with prayer. I’m sure I’m doing it wrong, and I feel silly when I try. Every time I do, I find myself looking over my shoulder to see if I’m being watched and judged. The only one who’s judging me is me. I worry about what other people think about my trying to embrace the prayer thing. I worry it’s not cool. I worry that people will laugh at me if I write about it. I don’t want to be thought of as wacky or woo-woo.

I want to believe. I pore over the ACA Big Book and other recovery literature. At night, I do a written inventory of my day, of things I could have done better and things I did well, I check in to see if I owe amends and if I do, I make them. Before I go to bed, I make a list of at least 10 things I’m grateful for. It’s a reminder that I have a beautiful life.

But I’m scared of a lot of things right now, especially when I dwell on the state of the world, the state of this country, and I’m grasping for old behaviors that used to help me self-soothe. They only work momentarily, and it doesn’t make anything better, ever.

One of the issues I’ve identified is my discomfort with success. I’m succeeding as a writer, and in the new business I launched here on Substack. I’m making wonderful friends. I’m busy, I’m productive, I’m earning. My days are full, and I’m never bored. I feel content most of the time, even happy. I’m “winning.” The things I always wanted are coming true for me.

The things I always wanted are coming true for me.

Maybe that’s the problem? There’s fear that I’ll run out of things to write about, that I’ll lose my connections, that if I show up here and show you more of my flawed self, I’ll be perceived as a failure. My fear of failure is the very thing that kept me from writing in the first place.

Then I remind myself that my path in life has always been paved with obstacles. Obstacles that present themselves, as they tend to do for all of us. And obstacles that I’ve placed in my own way, as I tend to do, too often.

I’ve fought for myself for so long, I’ve overcome major hurdles, and this last thing, the food, somehow feels elusive and unconquerable, my last holdout. Maybe it’s not something to be conquered. Maybe it’s not a battle at all. Maybe it’s about waving my white flag and surrendering to joy, to life. Maybe that’s the thing to do. Thrive.

This past year has been the best of my life, and it wasn’t an easy year. I opened to my writer self and have been showing up every week with a new story to tell, and even though I came in with the intention of just telling recovery stories, I’ve broadened my scope and I’m telling all the stories, because I’m a whole person, I’m not just an eating disorder. I have stories that are worth telling. But I also know that it’s time to circle back and let you in on what I’ve been going through. I don’t want to hide, even though it’s one of my oldest, greatest superpowers. Hiding. From you and from myself. It’s time to give that one up.

In meetings, we talk about “getting current.” Today, I’m getting current with you. It’s the next right thing for me to do.

I haven’t wanted to share any of this because I don’t want to be judged. I have a lot of shame about it, and I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me, and if they do, I don’t want to know about it. The shame just exacerbates the behaviors. But more importantly, I cannot pretend that everything’s okay when it isn’t. I’ve spent way too much time in my life making believe everything’s fine. I was brought up in an environment where we all pretended. It wasn’t healthy for anyone.

The shame I feel keeps me from participating fully in my own life.

There's a part of me, my inner teenager––the cynic, who laughs at all the woo-woo. But there's another part––the part I need to heed––that desperately wants all the woo-woo, she needs to surrender, she needs to say to my angry, rebellious teenage self, “Babe, I know you're struggling to grow up, to learn how to do it all on your own, but you're missing the point. You’re not meant to do it alone. You need the support of your inner family––the ones who love you the most and know you the longest and the best––to bring together the disparate parts that make you who you are. We don't have all the tools yet, but one day we will. It’s about staying honest, being soft, not rigid or defensive. It’s about embracing all of our parts with love and compassion, and showing up every day, especially when the pull to hide is overwhelming. It’s about surrendering to a faith we’ll only ever know with our heart. We need to invite Higher Power in to join us, even if we’re not sure yet, what that means. It’s time to suspend our disbelief and know that it’s okay to not understand.” That leap of faith.

And I say to myself and my sweet teenage Nan, we have to be patient. When the urge to self-harm comes up, we have to reach out for support. There’s no quick fix for this and recovery is not a straight line.

I’m learning to be my own loving parent. I’m learning to be an adult. To be present to all the inner kids that live inside of me, who fight to be seen, to be accepted. Together, we’ll learn how to pray and to put our trust in something greater than ourselves.

And we’ll make progress together.

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Huzzah!!

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