January 23
This day - January 23 - brings overwhelming emotions for me. There's just no way to describe what these "anniversaries" do in my head and my heart. I wanted to write about it in some way - to acknowledge the difficult emotions but highlight the positive ones; to honor the day, not for the emotions that it brings, but for the work God began in me on this day. So I've prayed over what I've written, and I'm posting in faith that God will use it to encourage people who are in treatment today. It's written specifically to the ladies who are at the residential treatment center where I sought help. But I know God can send it wherever He sees fit, if He sees fit. I'm posting in continued prayer that He will use it for His glory. If you know of a place where people may be encouraged by these words, please pass it along to them.
January 23, 2018
Dear Current Treatment Center Residents,
I feel pretty confident that I’ve never met any of you, but I’m equally confident that I know a lot about you because of the common bond we share. We’re all in recovery from an eating disorder.
I am picturing you now as you hear this letter being read to you in the pink room or on the couches in the house huddled under blankets – because it’s always freezing there. And Ms. Freeman is likely reading this to you. She’s pretty amazing, isn’t she?! Please give her an extra hug from me since I can’t be there to do it.
I’m not sure where you are in your recovery. You may not care about any of this. You may be praying for a glimmer of hope today. You may be at the end of your rope and feel you can’t go on. Maybe you’re done with all of it and are claiming treatment fatigue. Maybe you just arrived, or maybe you’re leaving soon. At any rate, I want you to know I am praying for you this morning, that God will meet you right where you are and strengthen you for this day.
January 23, 2017, was one year ago today. The tears are already streaming as I reflect on this day.
You see, this was the day that I said one final goodbye to each of my four children. It felt like a piece of me was being ripped out as our embraces were pulled apart. To hear the youngest two crying as they climbed in the truck and watch their sad faces in the windows as they were driven away to school and to hug my daughter and oldest son fearing the things they would face while I was away and seeing their pain - the hurt was indescribable. I didn’t think I would survive it.
I know many of you can so relate to this, and I’m so sorry for the pain I know you feel.
On that day as my kids were taken to school, I went back in our rental home. I wanted to make sure things were as good as they possibly could be when they walked back through the door that night and spent their first evening without Mama there.
Lots of meals in the freezer – check.
Valentine’s gifts purchased, wrapped, and hidden – check.
School Valentine's prepared and ready to go next month - check.
19th wedding anniversary gift wrapped and stored at my sweet friend’s house – check.
Plenty of sweet treats in the freezer so they still have home baked goods while I’m away – check.
As much as possible of the rental packed up – check. (You see, we had closed on the home we’d been building for over a year, just three days before this day. My husband would have to move everything from the rental and all of our things in storage the following weekend - without me. So much guilt for me…)
Time to lay out the little memoires I’d been preparing for the family while I was gone – a photo album of pictures with Mommy through the years, a framed picture of each child with Mommy that matched the décor of their new rooms, some notes, some treats…. All arranged on the counter facing the door, covered with love and many, many tears – check.
The rental picked up and cleaned, as best as possible – check.
All of my things packed and ready to go – check.
But as I stood in the doorway watching my husband load my things into the car, as hard as I’d worked to make things easier and feel more “okay” for me to leave, none of it seemed to matter. I thought the ache in my heart would surely cause it to burst. I was second guessing everything at this point.
My husband drove me to Tallahassee, holding my hand tightly, neither of us talking much.
You see, we’d been down this road before. Just five months ago. We both knew what was ahead of us, and it felt like more than we could bear.
As you’re all too aware, upon arrival, you sign what feels like your life away in a room with Mrs. Benson or whoever is doing intake that day. You feel numb as you hand over a check for thousands of dollars and you feel immense guilt, realizing all of the things your family could have done with that money had you not had to go to treatment. And then there are those awful, horrible, scary next words – “It’s time for (insert ‘your first session,’ ‘lunch,’ whatever is next…). I’m going to give you a few moments alone to say goodbye.”
And there are no words to describe the feelings that intensify to the point you literally feel every piece of your world shattering around you. You don’t think you will survive.
But… somehow you do.
I’ll never forget walking down that long hall - again - to meet the other residents. All the fears, worries, anxieties, guilt, and realizations of what’s ahead of you culminate and bring inconsolable tears.
But through all of that immense hurt, loss, fear…. God was working. I couldn’t see it, but He was working. You may not be able to see it now, either. But He is also working through your hurt and loss and fear and all of the other things you’re feeling. I know this because He has promised it, and He has been proven faithful over and over again, in spite of feelings that can’t fathom it.
I entered treatment this time with the mindset that I would release decisions regarding the length of my treatment to the team. You see, as I mentioned, I’d already been at treatment for several weeks that last fall. Although I was admitted willingly, I held tightly to the length of time for which I was agreeing to be there. I counted every day I was there and counted backwards from the days I was to stay. You can probably relate. I HAD TO GET HOME TO MY FAMILY. I would not take advantage of the grace I’d been given at work. I would not stay a day longer.
Those days came and went, and I was finally on my way home, against the advice of the treatment team. I was confident that this was the very best thing for my family. It didn’t matter about what was best for me. I’d just have to figure it out.
What I wasn’t taking into account was the fact that although I was home in body, my kids still didn’t have their Mommy. My husband still didn’t have his wife. Because within days, I was so overwhelmed that I was fleeing right back down that same path of destruction. And I know you understand all too well how that removes you from the present, and the pain and discord that it causes for everyone around you. It nearly destroyed us.
And within just months of my discharge, here I stood crying, with my world shattered around me, AGAIN at the end of that long hallway, meeting new residents - but in an even worse place physically, spiritually, cognitively, emotionally.
But this time would be different. Even though in so many ways it was one of the worst days of my entire life, it was also the beautiful beginning of the rest of my life. Because God took my open hands to the process and began the healing that was necessary for me to continue living.
If there’s one thing that I could encourage you with today, please let it be to TRUST THE PROCESS.
I KNOW it hurts to be there in so many ways. So deeply. I know you are living separately from those you love most in this world. I know it causes extra hardship for them. I know the ache this causes in your heart that no one else could ever possibly understand. I know the difficulties of being there. I know how seemingly impossible it is to eat. I know how awful it is to struggle so much with body image. I know it’s agonizing to process those things which you’re working through with Mrs. Gamin and Ms. Freeman. I know how badly you want to go home. Oh my goodness, I promise I know. IT IS AGONIZING.
But also, I know that you can trust them. I know that they truly care about you. I know they won’t ask you to stay one day longer than would be necessary. I know they want you to be home with your families. I know that God has given them the wisdom they need to understand eating disorders and to know what it takes to get you on the road to recovery. You can trust them fully.
I’m praying hard today that any of you who are giving it X and only X days will let go and trust the process. I’m praying hard that those of you who have thrown up your hands and assumed that you’re numb to the process will fight harder. I want this to be your last time in treatment. I don’t want you to ever have to come back. So work hard every minute of every day. Don’t waste a moment. Determine to not ask about timeframes or discharge dates; let them lead you through the process. Don’t allow the eating disorder to tell you that you can’t be helped, or you’re just over it and need a break. The eating disorder is a liar, and it wants you dead. Please keep fighting.
Here’s why -
Even though this is likely the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do and the most painful, it is so worth it.
You see, there’s a distinct difference in the person who came home last fall and the person who came home after their second time in treatment. The person who returned after their obligatory (although good intentioned) first stay at treatment was only beginning to see the chains that enslaved her. The person who came home after the second time in treatment not only saw the chains that were drawing her to her death; she also saw each link on the chain and was learning what the links represented in her life. But it didn’t end there. She was also beginning to understand how to release those shackling chains and walk in freedom.
Your chains have grown longer and longer with each passing year. You can’t fully identify their links in a short timeline that you establish according to external factors. Give yourself the time you need to work through each one so that you can get to a place that you can walk away from them.
And you deserve time to heal. Your soul, your mind, and your body need that time. Your family needs you to take that time. And you’ll be so thankful you did.
Since I was discharged from a higher level of care, I’ve been able to do so many things that I otherwise would have missed.
I've been able to make my new house a home for my family.
I’ve watched my son graduate from high school and hosted a party in his honor.
As a family, we have been able to begin to work through some of the past hurts and scars.
I was able to be with my son when he had surgery.
I’ve enjoyed shopping with my daughter.
I’ve savored every minute of snuggling on the couch with my youngest two.
I’ve baked and decorated cookies with them. And I even ate AND ENJOYED some with them.
I’ve been able to watch my youngest son’s beginning phonemic learning take root as his reading skills just skyrocketed.
I've tucked my kids in at night, and lingered a little longer.
I’ve enjoyed real ice cream cones with my family.
I’ve enjoyed holidays and all the wonderfulness that comes with them.
I’ve been able to be at my youngest son’s birthday party. I missed the other three’s birthdays. I was in treatment.
I’ve grown even closer to my best friend, because God has used the struggle and my ability to share it with her to deepen our friendship.
I began a blog.
I’ve been able to lead in worship.
I've been able to work hard on my recovery and actually see that it's working.
I’ve enjoyed vacationing with my family.
I’ve seen the beauty of God taking my pain and using it to help in the lives of others, for His glory.
I can sit with my family at the dinner table and eat what they’re eating (and play treatment table games ☺) and actually enjoy it.
And for most of these things, I’ve been present. And that’s something I haven’t been in a really long time.
I can actually enjoy the little things in life again.
And I can think clearly. I have energy. I’m beginning to find the real Amie.
Has it been perfect? Good heavens, no!! Far from it!! But I certainly wouldn’t be in the place I am to stand back up after a slip and keep walking towards recovery had it not been for treatment and my surrendered mindset to the process and the time.
I guess that's why this "anniversary" is so bitter-sweet. I remember so clearly the hurt and pain I walked through those doors carrying. I remember the love I was surrounded with while I was there. I remember the way those ladies literally held me up emotionally, and on some days, even physically. I remember the agony of being away from my family. I remember how good it felt to be understood and to have someone acknowledge my pain as we drudged up deep hurts and scars. I remember how wonderful it felt to receive their grace and love and encouragement. I remember how unworthy I felt of all their love and support. I remember those really, really, really gut-wrenching individual sessions. I'm still amazed at the breakthroughs God gave me while I was in that house.
I think it's just too many emotions to feel all at once. It's hard to remember, but it feels good to remember at the same time. And it's empowering to know that I now have the tools I need to walk in freedom. But my, have I cried today!
I WILL NOT give up. I believe full recovery is in my near future. And it can be in yours, too.
My heart is burdened for you today, because I know just how you must be feeling. And I wish I could make it all go away.
But I can’t.
So while you’re there, as hard as I know it is to do in the moment, try to see your treatment stay as a gift. Because even though it’s indescribably hard, there is so much good there, too. And it is just that - a gift. You just have to look for the blessings each day brings. It doesn’t make the hurt go away, but it changes your perspective.
Thank God for the time He has given you to rest. And rest.
Be grateful for the people that are nourishing your body properly while you can’t do it for yourself.
Take a moment to thank the people who sit patiently with you through every meal and snack with so many difficult emotions which bring out sides of us we didn’t know we even had. Not always pretty…
Thank the people who clean your bathroom and vacuuming your carpet and mop your floors and run you back and forth to the doctor and labs while you focus on your recovery.
Thank the dietary team. They’re not perfect, but neither are we. And they have a lot to keep straight. And they give their time to prepare food for you and do their best to make it tasteful. You don’t have to lift a finger, because they want you to focus on your recovery.
Go hug the dietician. Lord knows she has the hardest job of anyone there. But she truly only wants what’s best for you, even though she seems to always be the bearer of bad news. Bless her heart.
Your individual sessions are truly gifts. See them as such and dig deeper. Your therapists are absolutely phenomenal - treasured gifts. And that’s an understatement. Please give Mrs. Gamin and Ms. Freeman my love. I don’t know who the others are there now, but give them some extra love today, too.
Thank God for the wisdom He has given the techs and nurses and all of the clinical staff, and take every advantage of them being there, day and night. They are there for you and your recovery, not to babysit.
See your down time as the gift that it is. A time when you can continue working towards your recovery. A time when you can get alone with God. A time to process hard things that you probably wouldn’t be able to do at home in the busyness of our world.
We can talk about so many difficult things about being in treatment, but there are so many wonderful gifts there, too. You just have to look for them. And we should talk about them, too. Not just the hard parts.
I could go on and on. I just wanted you to know, on this monumental, bitter-sweet day for me, that you’re going to make it. You’re going to be OK. This really can be the beginning of the rest of your life – a new life without the eating disorder – if you’ll trust the process and allow it to be.
I’m living proof. And I’ll forever and ever be grateful for the way God used the residential treatment facility alongside my treatment team at home to save my life.
Let Him use it to save yours, too. Just let go, and trust the process. You don't want to have to do what I did and walk through this pain all over again. Do it now. Remember to look for the gifts today brings. And remember I'm praying for you, and I believe in you!
With love and prayers,
Amie
