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💃

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/

Morning Journalling

Awareness note:

Because I need more reassurance that lowering my cortisol is vital ATM…

Why minimize stress? My body is in fight or flight mode- literally surviving and just trying to get my nutrients- it’s like “screw gut comfort”- all that isn’t the priority bc priority ATM is energy- the higher functions won’t even work. Hunger is skewed bc of hormone and high endorphin and emotions all whack. Must minimize stress so I can calmly eat, calm my gut-be in a state where my body has enough energy to create a peaceful digestion. Then I can explore my mental capacity and life purpose capacity and all life (refer to picture). Now priority is de-stress: lower cortisol.

How “Self-Love” Heals Anorexia

IMG_3162In reading excerpts from “The Evolutionary Bases of Consumption” By Gad Saad research points to the self-explanatory reasoning for the basic cessation of period via self-starvation because of a conscious or subconscious belief that the woman doesn’t want to procreate.

Reading this, and knowing this (because of my own self-analysis of my eating disorder, I had an “aha moment” regarding this whole “self love” concept.  Self-love self-love, all over the mindfulness blog posts etc.  But personally, it’s a vague concept to me.  I realized something though: growing up, all the comments, all the words, all the mirrors, and combined with being a sensitive woman, I somehow cultivated enough self-hate to determine that I wasn’t worthy of procreation.  Therefore; self-starvation was my means of continuing a half-life, while self-punititive for my imperfections

Maybe self-love is the idea that I am beautiful as I am, and that in itself is enough for me to be “worthy” of creating life!  I’ve always shunned the masochistic view of femininity, never one to quote Women Who Run with the Wolves and feel right about using the term “divine feminine” or “goddess”…So in my own words, the idea of being beautiful is innate, it’s a feeling more than a thought.  And I’m realizing that if I believe it truly, regardless of the mirror, then all of my actions stem from that space of being nice to myself and treating myself with the most care that I have the current knowledge of to simple feel good.

I’ve realized that my subconscious harnessed this self-hatred while my conscious mind was in denial.  I wasn’t acknowledging my past history with men, boys, rude asshole comments while I would be running outside, going to Western , living with 7 girls who were all trying to find themselves in a sea of image-conscious youngins wearing uggs and raybans….being a perfectionist, and being bullied.

I pretended that it didn’t matter that the girl at the bar last night was wearing the same dress as me, and her “crew” was picking at comparing our bodies,  that a man yelled that “if you ran more, your thighs’ll look better”, or that I was “ok-looking”.  That shit hurts, though!

Somewhere along the way, I was in so much hidden pain, feeling alone, and without an outlet of expressing it, that I cultivated the belief that I needed to stop myself from being healthy enough to further the human kind because of unworthiness.  WOW.

So now, with instagram, facebook, snapchat, and all the other forms of social media, I’m pretty sure that it is of utmost importance that this issue be brought to light for girls, AND guys, from a young age. There’s gotta be mindfulness and awareness brought to the detriments of negative self-talk and societal perfectionism.

So that sums up the idea of “self-love”: having a strong enough self-image that the outer voices don’t have the power to shake us.  To be able to block of the outer noise, knowing deeply and having that sense of security in ourselves and the innate beauty that we all have.  “Divinity” or whatever you want to call it, everyone deserves to feel that.

I’m going to go meditate on this.  Maybe this is my calling right now.

I’m a High Performance Nutrition Coach, here’s why I won’t prescribe meal plans:

My relationship with food has been one hell of a rollercoaster. I’ve tried heaps of diets; from being a 5-year vegetarian, to the slow-carb, low carb, Paleo, Keto, GAPS, and more than I probably can know the names for. Result: none work. Lots of those were purposed towards weight loss since high school when my relationship with my body grew in a mean self-deprecating kind of way. As I controlled more, my body rebelled more, and the self-hate built more resilient. Only through untethering from these diets and rules, am I understanding that when I stem from inner harmony with my organic needs, and a place of compassionate self-inquiry, does the self-love blanket me in glowing health and goodfeelz.

IMG_1208What I’ve realized is that the key to finding the perfectly tailored meal plan for me is to tune out the noise and look inwards. That’s why I won’t be prescribing meal plans to future clients. I’m in the process of silencing the noise of my tunnel vision, guiding myself towards and away from different foods; dubbed “forbidden”, or condoned.

My goal is to help be a catalyst for discovering one’s own intuition. As I learn how to discover my own, I want to research the ways in which space opens up for attentive observation. I want to feel more than think, and trust myself. One day, I want to help others to do this.

I guess that’s all I want to say:

Listen to yourself, screw the noise.

Meditate and take like, 30 seconds to feel out where you feel hunger, and what it means, when it hits. Plan ahead a little, once you’re able to decipher the sweet whispers, and as they grow(l) louder. But be a receptive student, open to the fact that there are no rules, what might sit well one time, might not another. No absolutes, no definites, no “for sure”, because we are dynamic beings, always shifting, adapting and changing. Therefore, our needs for sure follow suit, shifting, changing.

The gut is an obnoxiously loud tool. Use it.

It’s like an MD with a speakerphone, often pretty damn hard to silence. When gut’s out of whack, bitch please you KNOW, right?

So, instead of getting angry, frustrated, and straight up pissed off, why not listen to what it’s asking? Use it as a tool. Do you need to do child’s pose or wind relieving? Legs up the wall? Do you need a tea or some prune juice 😉 Protein, or calming oatmeal? Chamomile, or Cabernet? It’s a balance man, turmeric’s great, so is kefir, and kraut, but not all of the time.

Listen.

Be aware.

Feel.

 

That’s where I’m at.

Feeling

The past two weeks are nuts, I don’t know the catalyst, maybe meeting Jill (hypothalamic amenorrhea warrior and spokesperson), or deleting my facebook and instagram accounts after reccos from my naturopath, or just being so fucking sick and tired of being tired and sick, and the warm weather having me craving LIFE (patio caesars, group trail runs, camp fire hangs, going out dancing round town like #awomanofthenight and doing the damn hair whip or something, the sexymenoutofhidingsportingmanbuns n tingz….but I am aware of my feelings more than ever.

I am so sick of analyzing my past and seeing why the hell I starve myself or control my life so damn much, but I want to live by my intuition, not self-inflicted routines implemented by my mind.  I know what I want:

Use my mind as a tool to listen to my bodytalk.

I haven’t been so vocal about this experience of change because it’s overwhelming me in emotions and feelings vs thoughts and words.  It’s the experience of living through my body instead of my mind.  I am frustrated though because in this process I have such overwhelm of #mymindisfulloffuck like, just #ALLTHEFEELS #nahmean?  People will only understand if they have gone through this stuff.  It’s so blinding where I came from and so enlightening and fear-free where I’m going.

I had a rad experience yesterday at the Telus store at Dufferin Mall.  I met Shad (ifyoudon’tknow…yourewelcome).  It was great, he’s a solid dude, great flow, and a local from London, ON.  We had a great conversation about life concepts, starting with the addiction to being online.  I bluntly told him about my struggles with Disordered Eating, and he was so honest in expressing how the stigma against body image talk was so prevalent among males that it isolates, and shuts off any feelings men might have.  The alientation and disregard of body image among men is huge.  I can’t imagine, because even as a female, I feel as though the talk about body image is big online, but unless you’re a member of a specific group, day-to-day talk is slim (nopunintended…thistime…).  And it’s fucked because it starts from a small seed of self-harming beliefs at a young age, and catapults.  I want to help girls to recognize early on this habit, and help initiate body-mind-celebration to infiltrate a healthy seat of soul.

It was so warming to hear such an icon like Shad expressing vulnerability and that he too has experienced and observed insecurity and self-deprecation among men.  It’s a thing, and I know that my disconnect from my own feelings are what led me here.  Reconnecting through FEELING is important.  I am currently fighting by telling myself “don’t think, just do” because as soon as my monkey mind starts to implement self-doubt, I make harmful choices.  When I observe a feeling, I say “don’t think, just do” and follow through.  For example, after my training, I’ll immediate come and eat something.  I know that if I think, I’ll easily talk myself out of it, but by breathing and saying that mantra, I act on the impulse.

That’s what’s up.

Feel me?

“Healthy” isn’t so scary

Change is hard.  If you think about how hard it is to try to change ourselves, it’s even more challenging to attempt to catalyze someone else’s change.  All we can do is try to emulate inspiration and channel it through our own desire to ameliorate ourselves.

I want to heal from anorexia.  I’m at a point of less thoughts, more feelings as I act before my mind has time to dictate choices based on ingrained, non-serving patterns.

Many mantras I’m summoning after thoughts deter me from health;

Will this help me win a 10k?”

What would someone who loves themselves do?

is “healthy” so scary?

“THINKOFTHECHILDREN” (getting my period back…)

But my recent endeavour is in acting on intuition before the mind engages in its games.  Ex: Fuelling right after training, no thoughts, just feelings.  Or eating before my routinized mealtimes, based on hunger.  I know that the emotional healing is also integral, but at the moment, proper nutrition is so vital, because I’m skinnier than I’ve ever been, and I know that I will be more able to act rationally and use my mind instead of it using me, as I have enough energy.

That’s it that’s all.

(I’m also making tshirts and merch with puns on them….)