Fast Forward Twenty Years (My Eating Disorder Story, My Brokenness II): The Spark That Reignited ED's Fiery Rage Within
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TWENTY YEARS LATER
Fast forward through several career changes, geographic relocation, many local moves, extreme financial hardship, four children, health concerns, and lots of life....In the fall of 2015, several things in my life began to fall apart again, and I entered counseling in an effort to address some things going on with me and hoped that in turn, it would help my family. In these sessions, my therapist asked me some questions regarding my past that no one had ever asked me before.Within a couple weeks, self-harm and eating disorder behaviors returned. Seemingly overnight, I was back on that path of destruction. Within months, my weight dropped to a very unhealthy range, and medical professionals were warning that my health was at great risk. In late summer of 2016, it was determined that I was no longer safe to be living on my own, and my treatment team was insistent that I enter residential treatment.
THE CHOICE
You have to understand the panic that raged through my soul. Residential treatment?! I had a husband. I had four children from whom I’d never been away more than two nights. I had a full time job. I worked at a church – what would the leaders think?! We were building a home. There was NO WAY I could even consider such a thing. My heart literally broke into a million tiny pieces just imagining it.But my behaviors didn’t change. I got weaker and weaker. My mind got foggier and foggier. It became more and more difficult to put one foot in front of the other.One day at work, my phone rang. It was my therapist asking if I had time to come by his office. When I got there, my husband was there with him, and together, they shared that they had already worked out all of the details with work, home, and a residential treatment facility for eating disorders. They were preparing for my admission for residential treatment on Monday (four days later).To say the room spun is quite an understatement. I knew they loved and cared about me very much. Deep down, I knew they were right. But leaving my family – I just couldn’t. Tears poured from my eyes, and I hurt like I’d never hurt before. Somewhere during that time, my precious friend slipped into the room. The three of them convinced me that it was going to be OK and that I had to go. There was no other option. I was going to die.The next four days were a blur. I remember a broken heart, extreme dread, fear, and crying more than I’d ever cried in my life.Telling the kids was brutal. Kevin would just lay in bed and hold me at night while we both sobbed. My friend did anything she could to help and kept listening and encouraging. Somehow we got through those four days.On August 29, 2016, I entered residential treatment for an eating disorder for the first time, and it was absolutely, by far, the hardest day of my life. It shook my world and broke my heart in ways I never knew it could break. It was very literally traumatizing. But in hindsight, it was also, by far, the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I’m recording my journal entries from the treatment facility in two parts - Visit I and Visit II, with subsequent days following each. I’ll keep adding as quickly as I’m able. I pray you'll see the hope that lies ahead.Begin reading my journals here.