“FINE, body!”

A great athletic therapist I’ve seen once suggested that when my body speaks and asks for nourishment, and my mind rebels- when there is that tug-of-war between my heart and head- she suggested observing my body and reacting with compassion. 

She suggested that I respond by taking a second (like when I hear hunger strike at a “non-delegated meal time”) and responding with semi-exasperated albeit compassionate communication: “fineeee, body, OK, body.” (Minor eye roll)

That helped me put it into perspective, minimizing the struggle of “letting go”. As if it’s some kind of competition and instead of letting my mind “lose”, I just let the body be and surrender.

This helped me when I woke up at 3am famished and didn’t feel like a snack to tide me over- bitchwantedbreakfast…so:

After my abs n shit


I ate: very unphotogenic smoothie so I deleted it.

And then after I did my ride, I lay down for a bit. But was hungry for “lunch”(?????) at like 9!?

Egg avo hummus sesame seeds nooch. Also: my plates usually look like this with an array of condiments around them- I make it simple for most pics but like, secondsaregood.


I guess this is like the “pre-elevensies”…

So that little sentence helps.

I have a job interview today at a fruit market, that’ll be sweet because I am so needing work. 

And probs camping next week in boonies for peace.

Challo 👩🏼‍🌾

Can I eat dinner at 4:30?

Yuuuuuup! 

Salmonskinisbae

Egg avo sauce: mooch, almond milk, smoked paprika, salt, Sriracha

A Glimpse into my head

(thatswhatshesaid)

I wake up without an alarm at 4:45am, it’s the fifth time I’ve woken up throughout the night.  Often to use the bathroom, anxiety runs rampant even in sleep.

Before moving an inch, I recite the mantra “I love and accept myself” in my head, an affirmation slowly slowly coming to fruition.  Never am I deterred to its slow power, even in the long process of this journey through “fucking life”.

I open my hips, left, right, both crack like rice crispies, along with my knees.  Elbows next; crack, crack.

I roll over and make it to the floor; 23 pushups, up to 20, then three “zeros”.  It used to be 60 before I broke my rib and pulled my intercostal.  Straight arm plank, elbow to knee, 30 reps.  Hold plank, no time in mind, just until my arms give out…they give out before my core.  Onto elbows.  Side to side, back, forward, circles.  Arms give out…onto knees, 10 circles each side, up down.

Stretch legs.  Runner’s lunge.

I’m up.

Then prep morning tea…and brush teeth wash face.

Abs, round 2.  Onto the back.

Then breakfast.

Today’s no different from every other morning, in the beginning routine.  But what’s an invisible illness is the amount of anxiety and stress I feel in my body.  I inflict it on myself.  I’m so looking forward to the wedding today, my dear cousin’s celebration in London, ON.  Tomorrow is also a rest day, I’ve finally gotten back to the divine honouring of this need of mine.  I probably need like, 7 rest days a week….for weeks in order to heal from Hypothalamic Amenorrhea, but fuck man, one day a week is all I can handle with the amount of monkeying my mind does. Right now. (But I’m considering forcing rest on myself by boonyingit and camping for a week real soon, like, August- accepting available companion friends who might be keen- let me know! Or else alone).

The more my mind moves, the more I want to move my body.

I am authentically an athlete.  I know this.  But atm, I’m abusing my body so much.  I move it to escape.  I move it even when my muscles are screaming for stillness.  I move it to the point of breaking my bones (stress fracture this past January).

Everything hurts, all the time.  My knees have fluid in them.  I no longer am properly released in my tissues from a foam roller; I use a PVC pipe and lacrosse ball instead of tennis ball. I write this pose in pigeon to release my chronically tight ass.

I miss running freely.  My cortisol is so high right now, and I’m in such a state of fight or flight, that my digestion sucks: it doesn’t work.  My body is so much trying to survive that the hierarchy of needs is halted at the gut because that comfort is a luxury I have no energy to attend to right now.  Nutrition and energy go towards keeping myself alive.  Already my nails are literally eating themselves, I pretty much don’t have a thumbnail on my left hand, or big toe.  The protein is spared, purely for nutrients in order to keep my heart beating.

I know I’m skin and bones.  I don’t like it.

Imagine being so anxious that you can’t breathe or bend down because you’ve got chronic burps.  Imagine doing 52 minutes anyways on the helliptical (that piece of shit machinery/blessing somehow because running would leave my feet with cracks in my bones atm).

20 mins warm up
20 mins (1 min ez/ 1 min sprint – hoe dryheaves)
5 mins tempo
2 mins easy
2 mins hard
2 mins cool down

And in my head, this is “nothing” when what I used to do when training for Triathlon was so much more.  Or running, so much more.  I would do my masters swim workout, then the grouse grind, on the reg.

Heart pounding, catching burps of Gerd coping in between rest.  My body is so stressed.  I consider the elliptical “nothing” training, and am so chronically exhausted that anything I do leaves me wiped, but I know my heart is one hell of a fierce muscle, in my SOUL.  I’ve got that kick, man, and when healthy, I can win shit.

I’m not there right now.

I went to the wedding after this, and it was hard.  I let go of controlling the food there, I let go of yoga on my rest day (can’t even imagine doing anything that Sunday- stress from the emotional whirlwind of Anorexia monkey mind games left me zeroed). I let go of going to bed at a precise time.  I let go of my breakfast (always either a smoothie or berry omelette).  

Hotel breakfast, not bad!!


I let go of “free range organic non-GMO”) and had pulled pork, eggplant parm (I YOLO’d and scraped the coating off the fried eggplant and no dairy right now bc my skin’s not loving it), veggies with who knows what kind of dip, hummus, nuts, salad, some lumps called “dressing”. 

Bitch brought my own salad. Left in hotel fridge


 I brought snacks, but nothing near compared to the anality of what I did when I went to Mumbai, India some years back for my Yoga Teacher Training (holy shit man, I dehydrated cabbage with nori-rolled nut filling and bought “no-sugar-added” beef jerky, beet veggie leather, collagen powder….chia seeds! (and more).

I packed a big cauli salad.

I usually have early dinner, and then snack pre-bed.  I rarely eat out.  I control everything.

After my morning breakfast, gym, and packing and lunch, my parents picked me up, and after packing all my monkey-mind things, I totally flopped my body into the car seat–wiped as hell.

They next few hours would be more stress though.

We got lost, I miscalculated when dinner would be, yadda yadda yadda: I CANNOT CONTROL LIFE!

We got to the wedding and I ended up calling before hand, to see if my plate could be saved in the chance that food was served and we weren’t there….”God” would’ve had it though, that right when we got there, our table was called for food.  (jah bless).

And I ate, I ate till full, normally I withhold so I can control when I’m hungry for “snack”.

Fuck it.

Me n mum

My aunt, the mum of the bride, me, mum


And then I danced, I danced with my dad, it was so fun, I danced and learned some linedancing (reminded of hip hop dance class circa grade 6…sosorryforthebellbottomsandtiedyeglittershirtsmiddriffcutoff- am I right Nikki miggle and Alley*Cat? Genevieve?! dirrrrrryPOP)

Anyways, I requested Africa, the goddamn remix bc thatshitsgold (but yes Jen, you’re right, Toto is Original Bae).

DJ delivered.

Liz, the bride, was resplendent, absolutely a vibrant beauty, not only in the dress and smile, but in that lady’s soul.  She lives in the moment, you can see “presence” in her eyes.  You can feel as she listens to you speak.  She is there, not in yesterday, not in tomorrow, or even the next breath.  She rides life’s waves, and survives ticklish toes for a pedicure (although the rad woman wore cowboy boots!!!!!!!)

That’s how I want to live my life; present.  I want to not control life, but adapt to its ebbs and flows.  I can’t control the river’s path, because sooner or later, it forces its own direction, and I abide.

It’s events like this that teach me these lessons.  I let go, I let be, I trust that I’ll be supported by this earth in one way or another, because I was born for it.  We are born to flow with Life.

This shit’s hard.  I don’t know exactly how I got here, only that it was a compilation of moments leading up to maladjustment and pain and trauma slowly compounding.  I will come out of it the same way, slowly, compoundedly, adjusting.

Thank you all who are supporting me, honestly, your words of love and empathy envelop me in a cloud of safety and compassionate peace.

And here’s a plea for celebration and rest to all suffering from Eating Disorders, or any other coping mechanism that Humans face.

We are not alone.

Huge

I made dis💃

Recovery is Messy

Recovery is messy,

Confusing up down stressy,

Gut-wrenching and pesky,

Is this meal brunch? Linner? Breaky?

Hotel continental breakfast salad-version at Best Western. Didn’t feel right eating the meat there…left only the saucisson.


HoWent to cousin’s beautiful wedding yesterday #bitchdidwha

Challenge and good.

Rest day today, hard AS 

Marinating on it, and sharing allthefeels soon.

Much love to whoever reads this, (I love you)

Look at those grins!


Can I eat dinner at 4:30? And I enjoy chicken skin, bone marrow, cartilage from da bird #exvegetarian

An Apology Letter To The Girls Struggling To Love Their Beautiful Bodies | Thought Catalog

Needs a repost

An Apology Letter To The Girls Struggling To Love Their Beautiful Bodies

By Shani Jay 

I’m sorry you’ve been convinced that the body you live in today doesn’t quite measure up. That you now believe your breasts need to fill a certain cup size, that your thighs must not meet each other, and your frame needs to mimic that of the women you don’t know but scroll past on Instagram every day.

I’m sorry for all the times you get out of the shower, catch a glimpse of your naked self in the mirror, and look at the reflection starring back at you in disgust, before instantly diverting your eyes elsewhere.

And I’m sorry that you’ve been made to see those dimples etched on the back of your thighs, the stretch marks trailing your belly, and the imperfectness of your body as ugly.

I’m sorry that you’re now unable to enjoy food the way you did as a little girl. That your mind is constantly obsessing over every calorie consumed, counting every bite that you take in, and panicking about gaining the tiniest bit of weight.

Maybe food has now become a go-to comfort for you, a drug that helps you temporarily feel better and forget about how deeply unhappy you are within yourself. Or maybe it has become a source of control, and you’ve learned to ignore those hunger pains, which grow louder every day.

I’m sorry that you spend the majority of your day feeling un-desirable, un-worthy and struggling to fit in to this world.

I’m sorry for all of those times someone said something cruel to you about the way you look, and that you decided to believe them. And I’m sorry that you carry around all of those words in the back of your mind today as a constant reminder that the woman you are is not, and will never be, good enough.

I’m sorry that you don’t believe your body is deserving of love. That you think you have to settle for anyone who takes an interest in you, because who are you to think you can do any better than that?

I’m sorry you now allow people to mistreat you and cause you pain because you think it’s your fault. You think that if only you had a smaller waist, a slender figure or a flatter stomach then you’d be deserving of someone better – someone who truly loves you for all that you are, inside and out.

But it’s not your fault. It’s not your problem. It’s our problem.

It’s our problem that women die every day from starving themselves because they believe they need to be thinner.

It’s our problem that young girls are made to feel like they need to crash diet or get cosmetic surgery so they can look like the models and celebrities they see on social media.

It’s our problem that most women are unhappy with their bodies.

And it breaks my heart that chances are you are one of them.

Because it shouldn’t be this way.

We shouldn’t aspire to look like clones of one another. We shouldn’t be unhealthily obsessing over our figures, and mutilating our bodies in order to mentally go from an average 7, to a 9 out of 10. We shouldn’t be placing so much value on something that isn’t going to last and has no real bearing on who you really are. 

So I ask you today to remove yourself from this competition that none of us women ever agreed to in the first place.

I ask you to love your body exactly as it is today, and remember all of the wonderful things it allows you to do.

And I ask you to make a promise to yourself to be more tolerant of those bodies you’ve been taught to recognize as ugly – especially if that body belongs to you. TC mark

Shani Jay

https://thoughtcatalog.com/shani-jayawardena/2017/07/an-apology-letter-to-the-girls-struggling-to-love-their-beautiful-bodies/

Yam Chickpea Curry

Homade curry #bitchdidwha

Thanks, Ange (“oh she glows”…she “glistens”/glows/gluts…glutes?)

Sweet potato chickpea coconut curry


When I bought this from Sorauren Market, it was a challenge. It’s easier to buy these things than make them bc when I make them I skimp on shit freely (sub yam for like, cauli or some shit…) but bub DELIVERED and made this: with ghee bc #OGHEE

have to say…”oh she glows” is a rather irritating name for a blog (sorry Angela #imhonest), although so is “halfbakedunrealist” (SOMEONE HELP me WITH MY WEBSITE IVE BEEN TRYING TO CHANGE THIS ANNOYING NAME FOR YEARS). Buttttt woman has some real good recipes (minus so much soy) esp when trying to eat more carbs.

My house smells great, this curry will be yum. 

Also, instead of the chilli flakes, I used a green chilli that I snagged from the planter at Reunion Island #thanksAdam (againwiththehonesty) #willrepaywithbasilmojito

Didn’t want to do my ride. Legs like “wtf”…Did anyways. One day, I’ll learn.

Wif dem Konjac noodles and cilantro


Also came across two inspirations: Coach Tawnee (this article was amazing in depicting the internal dialogue around food with anorexia…bless) and Tina Muir (fucking fast AS chick and wicked woman, Hypothalamic Amenorrhea overcomer, inspiration, support).

There’s support out there and it feels so good to know I’m not alone.

And this: https://m.youtube.com/watch?ebc=ANyPxKpOVgaIzTAFb0MhpTEVYTRaKw1x0c8iwks-uhqj1-pT5VYkMhLoMdDG0Q3P4eHkWWTwbiRp2s6yuP7iGNsiI1uvgoX6iA&v=S77zUWqawag

Food Challenge: Poké

I’m hooked…#delifish

Sorauren Market is great, today, I am pokémon:

Made a meal out of it #andcamebackformore

Mixed fish with spiced mayo, sesame, nori, veg yum


Great convo w Hooked staff, Jon/Pat(? Probablyneither imshitwnames) about body image/health. So prevalent, I honestly don’t know a single person who hasn’t been touched with body image/food related confusion in life.

Poké.

Also I unplugged for most of the day and it felt great!