Rebuilding myself and my life after decades within an abusive family situation. I survived, but I plan to thrive … blogging about physical and mental health; wellbeing; social justice; creative arts; and more
I’m jumping back in where I am, and trying not to get bogged down by trying to fill in the gaps. This post will be part explanation and part celebration.
Why the celebration? Don’t get too excited, this won’t be the average person’s idea of celebration. This is a #spoonie celebration, that’s celebrating every achievement when times are difficult due to chronic illness to remind yourself that you’re a legend … 😀 ! This is particularly important to me because I have so little in the way of support, still waiting on social services – less said about that the better right now, and keeping going on your own in the face of so much can be very very tough. This is like being my own ‘cheerleader’ 🙂 .
I was woken by the phone just before 9am today. I felt dreadful. My night was a bit of blur but I remembered that it had been marked by nightmares and night sweats. I spent a lot of time going to and fro the loo, thanks to a bad bowel flare. I also felt nauseous and clammy, and the fatigue that has particularly plagued me recently was still present. Thankfully it wasn’t so bad as yesterday when I had to go back to bed at lunchtime because I couldn’t stay awake and kept falling over, but this morning five minutes or so of activity warranted rest afterwards.
I’ve just realised that my face is showing signs of that horrible flare up again, the one that happened several times a few weeks ago. At its worst my face ballooned and I could barely open my eyes. Earlier today I thought something didn’t look quite right when I glanced in the mirror but couldn’t pinpoint anything specific. Now it’s looking increasingly red, particularly around my eyes and mouth, as before, and under my chin, and it has begun to itch … *dashes off to take an anti-histamine*.
I do generally feel like a I’m in a ‘flare’ of some sort. I ache, I’m lurching between insomnia and the most crushing fatigue, I have too little energy (hence no treadmill tales of late – I’m desperate to run but at the moment have no capacity to do so) and my digestive disorder (Bile Acid Malabsorption) is seemingly flaring unexpectedly and very badly. There’s also the nausea, hot flushes, clamminess and night sweats, and I’ve been experiencing violent mood swings lately, not at all like me, resulting in sudden and very severe depressions. I lost six days to one last week, things got very desperate and I became actively suicidal at its peak. I’ll cover that a little more in a separate post. I strongly suspect at least some of the symptoms to be due to a hormonal issue, likely a particularly impactful perimenopause, but I don’t know if that’s true of all of them. I would like to know what’s going on and I’d certainly like to feel better. All recent blood tests apparently indicated that all is well …
I’m conscious of not wanting to make this a long post, and of the need to take off my make up and apply some of the dreaded steroid cream since my face has begun to flare again. I have no idea what is behind these flares, but still suspect something systemic. I wasn’t wearing any make up at the time of the original incidences of this, and today I’m wearing minimal make up, nothing new, that I’ve worn a lot recently without incident.
Too nauseous to eat breakfast but made a lovely post-therapy brunch
Answered the phone twice – first a wrong number, a lot of people seem to think that I am a fancy hotel in a neighbouring district (!), second time it was the tradesperson who’d arrived to carry out annual safety checks for my landlord but then couldn’t work out which entry buzzer was the one for my flat, so rang to be allowed in!
Created a new label for my buzzer on the door entry panel, to replace the previous one which had worn off, and stuck it firmly in place when I went down to take out my rubbish
Started an online art therapy course – completing the first six lectures
Did a lot of work in my bullet journal
Dealt with my pharmacy delivery – ‘Pharmacy Bob’ was as lovely as ever.
Emptied and refilled the dishwasher
Put on a load of laundry – phew, looks like I just escaped having to start going commando … !
Booked a cab to get me from a physiotherapy to a dental appointment on Friday. The physio is squeezing me in, it’s the only space she had, but it leaves me with just 10mins to get to my appointment at the dentist – hence the cab and a need for me to shout, ‘Step on the gas, my man!’ (not really 🙂 )
Still to do
Report leaking dishwasher
Make this recipe – hopefully it will be a bit of a treat
As at today, all Priority 2 tasks are now either complete or underway … yay! I have also taken a couple of tentative steps towards actioning some Priority 3 tasks.
I have had no further support since my friend’s unexpected intervention on the 10th June, except for the monthly visit of the woman I pay to help with cleaning tasks. I had three relatively good weeks then had three very challenging weeks due to a number of stressful events and by the end of the week before last was again struggling with suicidal feelings partly because I was overloaded and lacking support, but also because of the apparent impact of perimenopausal issues on my mood (I’ll cover this in a separate post). However, I managed to hold on and pulled through. Last week was altogether better and had a moment of real high! I’ll cover that in a separate post.
I am writing most days – if not here, then in my journal. I haven’t done any work on my novel project recently but still without support my capacity is much reduced and there’s only so much that I can do. I am doing as much as I possibly can.
I have felt much less lonely overall, although I am aware that I am still largely isolated. In the seven weeks since my friend’s intervention, I’ve had one other visit from a friend and maybe five phone chats. I have taken the initiative and I am connecting much more with friends (almost all of whom live at a distance) via social networks. I post daily updates. I reach out when I need support and usually receive comments with virtual (((hugs))). Sometimes someone will chat via a messaging app. I am keeping in touch and not allowing myself to withdraw. One friend hopes to visit in September/October which would be lovely. Today has been difficult. I reached out specifically asking for contact yesterday and today, but there hasn’t been anyone around for anything more than a virtual (((hug))) or wave. When loneliness creeps in it does make things harder, but I keep busy and distracted as much as my ‘spoonieness’ will allow. At the worst moments I hunker down for a while. My calendar is as full as I can sensibly make it for the coming month. Perhaps by the end of the month or the start of the next, we can hope, social care support will finally be in place to pick up the slack, allowing me more freedom to get and out and build more of a life, and giving me regular twice weekly contact at home.
Rarely are two days the same so daily routines do vary but are generally good now. I’ve only failed to shower on a handful of very difficult days. I am mostly on top of chores – but need help to catch up with the mountain of laundry and some cleaning tasks. Luckily, I am very tidy and organised and that helps a lot.
Self care has improved steadily in the last seven weeks and exponentially so in the last week following a couple of significant appointments (more in a separate post)
My ability to get out and about has also approved steadily and continues to do so. I am happy with my progress.
The routine inspection by my landlord’s agent was successfully carried out some weeks ago. My landlord himself, who lives overseas, will make an annual visit at the end of next month. If support isn’t in place in time, I will no doubt stress and overstretch myself ensuring that the flat is in entirely immaculate order.
I’ve been to the GP a couple of times and had the necessary tests. There are ongoing issues, I’ll cover that in a separate post at some point.
I am still without support for my eating disorder. However, I have made progress by myself. Progress has been steadyish and, more recently, certainly significant. I hope to join a local branch of OverEaters Anonymous but at the moment I don’t have the ‘spoons’ to attend its evening meetings. Evening outings are only possible if I rest for most of that day and each Tuesday I’ve had other commitments. I’ve recently discovered that Beat, the eating disorder charity, runs an weekly support group online. I’ve registered and I’m waiting for my registration to be processed. I will write a separate post about my weight and eating issues; they warrant it.
Psychotherapy/Trauma Therapy – there is a lot to say about that! Suffice to say for now that some significant progress has been made both in terms of provision and with my interim therapist.
I have resumed physiotherapy treatment – again a separate post is warranted. My treadmill routine got derailed by a lack of ‘spoons’ and being so busy elsewhere with appointments but I am determined to restart it on Monday.
I saw my dentist last week, had a fabulous appointment, I will blog about it soon and its relation to my recovery from abuse. I have a further appointment next month.
I’m due to have my eyes tested and get much-needed new specs next week.
I should be making a renewed application for Personal Independence Payments (P.I.P) in the next two weeks.
I have tried to return to a weekly support group for women who’ve experienced mental illness/trauma in the last couple of weeks but was thwarted by my ‘spoon’ count. Third time lucky this week, I hope.
Still without support, it is very difficult to keep all the necessary balls in the air. Some things are working well, while others are not. Some things work well for a time then fall by the wayside because something else has to take priority. The advent of support should see the emergence of some consistency and sustainability … both of which currently feel akin to the fabled gold at the end of the rainbow!
Thank you for reading. I’m sorry that this turned out to be more than a bite-sized post. Either I am just a waffler or there really is masses going on! I actually feel like I’ve written a lot but failed to convey all that is going on. Perhaps because I am tired.
Comments as ever are very welcome and appreciated. Do let me know that you are reading and that I’m not just talking to myself 😀 .
Day nine was a write off, as was Day seven as I said in my last tread report. It has been a challenging week on the #spoonie front.
Instead of increasing my session length by one minute each day from Monday, I instead increased by two minutes on Wednesday and again today.
Stats: Nine minutes at 3.1mph – 0.44miles in total. I did a very light jog for the first two minutes, which felt good, and the usual walk for the remaining time. I’ve also had a wee stroll up to the top of my road and back today, as I did on Monday. I hope I don’t pay for it with a painful night, as I seemed to on Monday!
Yesterday was, to be frank, a bit rubbish. Pain disturbed my sleep on Monday and kept me awake for the greater part of the night. Lack of sleep caused other physical symptoms to flare; this ‘symptom siege’ coupled with fatigue, felled my body but allowed my mind the freedom to perform a fandango!
a lively Spanish dance for two people, typically accompanied by castanets or tambourine.
an elaborate or complicated process or activity.
There were no castanets or tambourines. This was more lively storm, than jamboree. Grief was first to step onto the floor and whirled around with emotional pain, anger and depression in the ‘fandango’ that was my mind trying to process recent events and their relationship to the abuse and trauma I experienced in the past. This is, as I’ve said previously, a welcome process but it is painful. This is especially true when it occurs unbidden AND when support – which is twofold (someone/some people with the experience, professional or otherwise, to help you with the process and someone/some people who can listen, be kind and offer a hug – essentially comfort you) – isn’t readily available.
My interim therapist is on leave this week – 12-12:50pm on Wednesdays is my usual session time. I say interim because it’s not ideal. I’m accessing therapy via weekly telephone sessions via a mental health charity, while I’m continuing the, to date, 17 month wait for trauma therapy on the NHS. I’m due to be assessed on 10th July so that the NHS may decide what, if anything, will be offered to me.
I actually don’t have clear recall of all of the ‘processing’ that my mind got up to yesterday. A lot can happen in a short space of time – it can be a violent but relatively short-lived ‘storm’. My lack of recall could be because …
There was a lot going on – too much to fully take in
My memory was impacted by the low mood that came with the storm
In the absence of ready support, my mind ‘shut down’ or has ‘dissociated’ from the thoughts and feelings involved because of their traumatic/distressing nature
I know that suicidal thoughts occurred. Please know that on this occasion no action is required in response to those; I am safe. These were passive thoughts. There was no active planning, there wasn’t even a desire to die, this was a sense that perhaps suicide might ultimately be my only option because of the pain and the difficulties I face. The feelings passed and I don’t have any suicidal thoughts or feelings at the moment.
I know that I was at times distressed because of new understanding regarding my abuse. I know that I cried, which is still something I can’t do easily.
I know that at least one point I felt real anger about what was done to me. I very rarely feel anger. In fact, last year a psychotherapist suggested that I might translate anger into guilt and so feel that instead. This makes some sense to me but is something that I’ve yet to explore.
I managed to sleep better last night. I don’t know what caused Monday night’s severe pain. I don’t think I had done too much. The only ‘new’ activity was the wee stroll that I took up to the shop and the postbox at the top of my road. It won’t stop me trying again, but I have to be mindful that, at the moment, this may be a pain trigger.
I was able to get up within an hour or so of waking, and shower and dress. I was about to type that I was looking forward to a visit from a friend this afternoon … when she arrived an hour early … so here I am again, post-visit. We had a lovely afternoon, a really good natter and catch up. She brought fancy biscuits that went down well with our cuppas 🙂 and some lovely flowers. I really love flowers and was just thrilled.
We haven’t known each other very long, but I think this has the makings of a good friendship. I think of her as a ‘breath of fresh air’. It’s taken me a long time to understand that I have a tendency to attract people who are drawn to my energy and enthusiasm … but who want to ride on the back of it, weighing me down. This friend has energy and enthusiasm and a ‘grab life by the horns’ attitude to match mine. She’s keen to introduce me to some of her friends – one, a former GP, who writes and the other a fellow trauma survivor who loves arts and crafts as much as I do. I look forward to meeting them both.
I had thought of taking another wee stroll today, but decided against it, my friend was here for three hours. I’ve been doing laundry and chores, and writing, and I’ve still to do my treadmill time and prep a stuffed pepper to throw into the oven for dinner. I’m having it with some microwaveable broccoli ‘rice’… it’s good, honestly! Hopefully, I’ve just enough ‘spoons’ left to accomplish that.
I had some news earlier from the social worker that wasn’t great, but not terrible, we’ll cover that in another post.
With me, there’s ALWAYS a plan. I discovered Bullet Journalling last year … and was as happy as the proverbial pig in muck/mud/sh*t – however you choose to term it, having discovered a cool system to both simplify and maximise my planning activities!
I was in some pretty deep doo doo at the time and struggling to keep afloat, 2016 being my annus horribilis, but at least I had a ‘customizable and forgiving organization system’ to help me… And one, according to the creators of the system, that will ‘teach you to do more with less,’ surely that’s got to be a goodie for a spoonie?
Tea is oft purported to be the cure for everything. Personally, although I like tea, I think stationery is the answer to everything. A nice new notebook, PENS, lots of lovely PENS, and paper, and labels and stickers too … oh the joy! Give me those and I’ll scribble and doodle my way to a master plan. If you’re a stationery/planner geek, you probably already know the joy of just doing a Google image search for ‘bullet journal’ …
A Bullet Journal is essentially – diary/planner, journal, to do lists, notebook, budget tracker … and anything else you need … in one. For me, a bullet journal keeps me on track but does away with the need for a multitude of ‘systems’, and it’s simplified approach does allow you to ‘do more with less’. Click here for a quick lesson if you want to learn more or start your own.
I hadn’t named this latest plan until it just struck me that I usually do – others have been Operation Self Care and Operation Fight Back – and then I knew that I wanted this one to be called Operation Thrive. I feel a bit emotional having just written that, because thriving means so very much to me. I had a taste of it earlier last year – when I had some support for a time. I survived but I plan to thrive is this blog’s tagline. Thriving is my recovery goal. Abuse recovery to me = thriving. I can’t wave a magic wand and cure my chronic health issues but when I’m living my life to the fullest alongside them, that’ll do me! When I’m thriving I’ll know that I’ve won, that despite all the pain, and grief, and terrible terrible loss, and so much time spent just existing let alone living, I’ll know that I’ve made it. I know that I’m already a winner in that I’m not bitter, and because I’m a good person and I am, by choice. very different to the people who abused me. BUT thriving, that’s the ultimate WIN.
Operation Thrive – plan initiated 10th June, 2017
WRITING – finally this is coming top of the list and it’s staying there.
Ending isolation and reducing loneliness by increasing connection
Reinstating routine and regaining function
Being able to get out of my flat – and then get out and about locally
Getting my flat ‘immaculate’ ready for a routine inspection by the landlord’s agent
Re-engaging with GP and getting vital health checks done
Taking steps to begin to tackle disordered eating
Psychotherapy/Trauma therapy – it’s difficult to know where to place this because of difficulties/delays with the provision of it
Starting to rebuild fitness – and taking steps to resume physiotherapy treatment
Visiting dentist both to resume my treatment programme to restore my smile devastated by a dental phobia caused by abuse, and also to assess damage caused by latest crisis and create further treatment plan. (Delayed by illness and financial difficulty)
Optician – have overdue eye test and purchase new specs. – also delayed by illness and financial difficulty.
P.I.P – make a new application for Personal Independence Payments
PRIORITY 3: – can only be undertaken once a support worker/P.A. is in place (assuming the local authority awards funding)
Back onto a calorie counted diet
Increased exercise – talking walks and going swimming – and once physiotherapy is complete joining an 10 week exercise management programme for people with disabilities/chronic illness – assuming I can get onto it, if not I’ve got a Plan B 🙂 !
Getting out and about beyond my immediate area and support groups
Restarting hobbies, building new ones and making new connections – join a choir (September) and an art group
There are sub-categories to some of the above – but you get the gist as it stands! Priority 1 is all now either underway or complete.
Getting back to work is a HUGE goal, but as I am not to try to run before I can walk, for a change, I’ve not yet included it on this plan. Once I’m settled into Priority 3s, I’ll add more!
The bulk of my Bullet Journalling is at the moment centred on ‘Daily Logs’ – a list of what’s happening and what’s to be done on any given day, and daily recovery focused journal entries that I’ve called ‘Recoverlogs’ – a term shamelessly snaffled from mental health campaigner and vlogger, Jonny Benjamin. You may have seen the brilliant Channel 4 film Stranger on the Bridge about his own mental health story.
To do lists keep me on track but are also a great motivator. It feels SO good to tick … ‘done’ ! Budgeting goes in there too, shopping lists, ideas, thoughts and plans for blog posts, notes for and on therapy sessions, and so on. This plan is no small undertaking. There is no one working on it with me, no one to oversee it. My social worker is classed as my ‘key worker’ but is only involved with me as far as carrying out a social care assessment and managing the application for funding to pay for some support. My GP doesn’t know the half of it, as there is never enough time to fill him in on all that’s going on for me. I hope there’ll be an opportunity to share the plan with him at our next appointment on 3rd July.
I wish Admin. were an exciting place where I was having the time of my life.
Rebuilding my life after months in the depths of crisis is exciting. It feels really good to be making progress but, I’ll admit, the administration side of the process can be more wearying than any other – emails, calls, forms, research … chasing this person … approaching that organisation … researching grants … and trying to make head or tail of the personal budgets/direct payments system in the ongoing quest for social care support.
In the last couple of days alone I’ve …
sent three emails to my social worker
spent considerable time and ‘spoons’ researching support and treatment options outside of the NHS for my eating disorder. and drawn a blank beyond the one option I already knew about which may not be suitable.
sent two emails regarding a local women’s support group – one a brief testimonial to support the application for funds to keep it going – another to update on my circumstances and inform the facilitator when I hope to be well enough to return.
researched organisations offering grants for a convalescence/respite break, sought advice about my eligibility, printed application forms, and contacted health professionals to try to find one who could spare the time to make an application on behalf, as that’s how the system works.
undertaken an online ‘test’ for Personal Independence Payments and carried out various tasks in preparation for making a new application, having been turned down last year. For those to whom it’s relevant, the test is here.
spent time making notes and trying to prioritise the many current ‘hot potatoes’ and decide what to take to my therapy session earlier today, in order to make the best use of the 50 minute slot.
emailed regarding restarting vital dental treatment stalled by serious illness.
made numerous checklists to keep track of it all.
This week I still …
need to contact several organisations and another person with disabilities who lives locally to try to get some clarity over the best option for me with the (haha) administration of the personal budget/direct payments – and all this before it’s even been confirmed that my application for funding – made by the social worker after several hours of assessment – has been approved. This is because the process is lengthy, and I’m told it will be further slowed if I’m not ready to go if/when approval is granted.
need to keep in touch with friends – replying to emails, messages, tweets and so forth. This isn’t a chore. I want to be in touch, I appreciate their contact and it’s vital to my health and wellbeing, particularly as isolation and loneliness are a prominent factor in my life and have had a detrimental impact on my health. That said these tasks still take time and ‘spoons’.
need to contact the charitable body which, last year, granted me funding for physiotherapy – it wasn’t available on the NHS. I had an assessment in February and was set to have a further 11 sessions when crisis hit and it had to be put on hold. I can’t even begin to explain the admin. now involved in trying to sort out a restart – both you and I would lose the will to live.
there’s further admin. relating to budgeting and welfare payments
there’s a mix up with my energy supplier – which owes me money – need to try to resolve that
there’s an energy ‘switch’ to organise in order to avoid a price hike
there are trips to the GP and hospital which currently necessitate various emails and texts to organise advocacy support where appropriate, or someone to ‘chum me’ there if that’s necessary,
tomorrow there’s a visit from my landlord’s agent for a routine inspection.
Blimey, I feel weary just telling you about it, and that’s not all of it but you get the idea 😀 !
My limited ‘spoons’ have to go a long way. I wish the blessed admin would do itself and I could focus on everything else that needs my attention like therapy, exercise, my eating disorder and other aspects of recovery and self management, getting out and about, dental treatment, writing, etc, not to mention the mere basics of daily living.
I think I needed to get that off my chest. Thanks for bearing with me!
I do love that title but I can’t take the credit for it – thanks my friend for coming up with it, it’s inspired, you know who you are.
Well … what a difference a day makes!
Writing the post ‘Heart set on dying?’ on Friday was excruciating. On Twitter, I likened it to performing open heart surgery on myself. Certainly readers who are familiar with my blog noted it to be my most ‘raw’ post to date. It left me feeling very exposed. I even toyed with the idea of deleting the post an hour or so after publishing it, which is, I think, a first. I’m not afraid to explore difficult stuff, but I’ll do it with a smile, with humour, anything to deflect, otherwise I might be troubling you; you might judge or reject me.
You might think me weak.
I can feel a barrier in my mind when I try to really capture my feelings around that thought but I know this much; it’s a fundamental for me. Being consistently told when I was growing up that I was weak and lesser, in a multitude of ways, had a huge impact. I never wholly believed it, a life-saving grace, but I was deeply affected by my family’s apparent belief in it and it has left me with a deep-seated fear of being deemed weak.
Primarily, I wrote that post first and foremost to try to release the pressure in my head; its volatile contents were fit to explode. I did also hope to connect in some way, otherwise I could’ve just scribbled in a notebook. I didn’t, I chose to write here and publicly post. Secondly, I’m uncomfortable with the idea of dying without having put my ‘story’ out there, by that I mean without someone at least knowing what my life has really involved and who I really am. Third, I’d no expectation of being able to reach someone in a way that resulted in meaningful connection but the spark within that fuels me, held hope of it.
I knew there was every likelihood that my teenage best friend would read that post, as I introduced her to my blog earlier this year in what was a tentative step on my part to try to decrease the distance that I had put between us. I did not expect that she would read it late that very night and turn up on my doorstep the next day!
Yep, she did.
She lives almost 200 miles away – something like a six hour round trip – and we last saw each other in 2002.
We use a messaging app to chat. When, yesterday, a photo of my friend, who is not given to selfies, popped up, the background of which looked like the distinctive city where I live, I was a little bemused. I assumed I’d got it wrong, or that it was an old photograph. I could see that she was writing a further message and calmly awaited further explanation.
I am on my way to put the kettle on … it began.
I gasped, for a moment I thought she was kidding before swiftly considering that she would not joke having read that post, which I knew for certain she had.
So, we hadn’t seen each other for 15 years – we’ve known each other for 33 years.
I don’t think a year has gone by without some sort of contact, even if just a scribbled note in a greetings card. We perhaps connected on social media between three and five years ago, I can’t remember. We’ve certainly chatted frequently online for the last year, if not longer than that. I curse my addled my memory here for not being able to remember.
They say that the best of friends can pick up where they left off, no matter the time that has elapsed, as though it were only yesterday. I’ve heard this, friends have said it of my friendships with them, but I hadn’t seen it until yesterday.
“Let’s have a cuppa”, she said.
“I haven’t got any milk”, I said, genuinely appalled … and fearing that I could never again set foot in our Lancashire homeland having committed the cardinal sin of not being able to offer someone ‘a brew’.
“You have now”, said she, revealing a pint of milk with a familiar flourish, swiftly followed by teabags, coffee, a choice of sandwiches, strawberries, chocolate, fresh juice, and dinners for the following three nights courtesy of M&S. She’d remembered that I’m vegetarian. There was also tissues – in case we got emotional – and the softest, most ‘snuggle-up-able’ ‘comforter’ in one of my favourite colours. That girl got it covered!
If you read Heart set on dying? you can probably imagine that my socks had been well and truly blown off by this time.
Given the distance that I put between us, given that she was the friend that I seemed to have most feared confiding in as my ‘car crash’ of an adult life unfolded, I was staggered to realise that I felt comfortable, that there was not a moment of awkwardness. We chatted and meandered about my flat, like it was something we do every week.
That fear of confiding seems to have been rooted in shame, a perception that she must surely see me as a ‘failure’, a ‘dropout’ or a ‘loser’. She and I went through our teenage years together, closely entwined, with different dreams and ambitions but with a path mapped out through O level and A level examinations and on to the hallowed territory of university. Amid the abuse, I fell at the first hurdle and I had long been left behind by the time I fought my way back onto the path and ultimately made it to university. Perhaps I feared her reaction most because she mattered most, I don’t know. I am sure that it will be healing to explore those feelings in future therapy. For now, they are difficult to access, I’ve had to ‘shut down’ a great deal over the years in order to continue to put one foot in front of the other. Now I know that I am accepted, not judged but embraced. It’s a new feeling and I sense it will take some time to embed itself and take root.
I was shocked to be reminded that she knew more than I thought, as she recounted, among other things, my often reluctance, and fear of, going home. She knew, back then, that I was unhappy, and that my surviving parent was ‘odd’ to say the least, but nothing of the violence or details of other abuse that was the basis of my daily life. Abusers school in silence. This was the first time I’d discussed my situation, my abuse, in any detail with someone who was in my life at the time. It was emotional, it was powerful, it was tough but I was really glad to do it. It was validating, and it’s also helping me to begin to fit together some of the pieces of that ‘Ultra Jigsaw’. I’d like to write more on that, but I am time pressed today and I have a mountain to climb tomorrow and I need to prepare for it.
I wish I could tell you my friend’s maiden name. I have always known it but only this afternoon did it suddenly loom large in my mind making me gasp and then laugh. I am not superstitious but to think that through those terrible teenage years amid the horrors of my abusive home life, I had a best friend with a name to suggest that I should, that I could hold on to her. We used to read our horoscopes with glee and anticipation back then, and asked burning questions of a sort of a pendulum constructed of a necklace and a ring, you know that thing? You’d think they might have nudged me to note the obvious!
Thank you to those who read ‘Heart set on dying’, and sent messages of comfort and support. Please know that you are valued.
Yesterday’s visit meant more than I say and has given me yet more still. I began to capitalise on it immediately and when I’ve the ‘spoons’ , and the time … there is always so much to do, I will write here, in explanation.
Thank you, as ever, for reading. Comments welcome.
9:55am I’m in bed, heart racing and body exhausted as though I’ve just collapsed over the finishing line at the end of an arduous race.
I’ve just completed my first session with my trauma therapist since the 8th of February. I’ve phoned in for our regular session (this is a voluntary sector trauma therapy service that is delivered by means of a 50 minute weekly telephone call) most weeks in the intervening period but have been unable to utter a single word, not even so much as hello, and have felt utterly compelled to hang up. This is not a natural course of events for a chatterbox like me who is ordinarily an engaged and proactive therapy client.
Fear, even terror, and shame forced the silence, exacerbated by my having not yet established a relationship with my therapist, as I only became her client at the very end of last year. There’s much to unpick within that fear and shame. In the simplest terms, it’s fear that, after the terrible events of last year, there is now no hope of receiving any support, and shame at being who I am, where I am. The terror is at potentially being hurt again by a ‘caring professional’ and, worst still, that if no help is possible, my fight to not only survive but to thrive could have been in vain.
It’s taken a lot of work on my part to get to the point where I could today regain my voice. For a moment there as I wrote that I had the urge to cry hang out the flags … I did it!
I may write some more later about the content of today’s session but my focus here is on the result of the session.
I feel glad that I was able to reconnect with my therapist today. We don’t yet have any real connection and I wish we could have talked for so much longer than 50 minutes but it was something, and it was helpful if only in as much as I could share some things and feel heard.
I feel a renewed determination to try to finish the, to date, 75% completed pair of blog posts telling the story of the last year. In order to write about it, I must confront the events of the year and that is proving to be traumatic.
Realistically, I’m unlikely to wotk on those posts today as I’m shattered having only slept for 90 minutes last night. I’m genuinely struggling to keep my eyes open and my brain focused. I’m looking forward to an early night. I hope to work on completing those blog posts tomorrow.
Note: I wrote most of this post on Sunday but became swamped by trauma symptoms and wasn’t able to finish it until today, Wednesday 5th.
My belly is full of wholemeal toast, eggs scrambled with spring onions and cheddar, seasoned with a dash of sea salt and lashings of black pepper.
I’m not a food writer nor do I aspire to be one, but I am inspired by at least two of them. My favourites, Jack Monroe and Ella Risbridger started out as bloggers, before books and the world of traditional publishing beckoned.
Until I reached ‘middle-age’ I had no real cooking confidence. I blogged about that and how that changed, here.
I have a difficult relationship with food. I have an eating disorder. There, I’ve said it, that wasn’t all that difficult was it? Actually, you know what, it really was; it’s difficult for me to be open about it.
I’ve probably had a tendency to struggle with food for most of my life, but there have been two periods where that struggle became a full blown eating disorder.The reason it’s so difficult for me to discuss isn’t because I feel ashamed about it in myself. I recognise it as an illness and accept that the trauma and abuse that I’ve experienced lie at the root of it. However, I am aware of the stigma that it carries.
Many people, including some medical professionals, scoff (I know, I couldn’t resist the ironic pun) at the very idea that binge-eating disorderis described as an eating ‘disorder’ at all. I’m just fat and greedy, right? If you don’t agree with that last statement, you might be surprised by how many people would.
Beat, the UK’s leading charity providing support for, and campaigning about, eating disorders, has this to say: “Binge eating disorder (BED) is a serious mental illness where people experience a loss of control and overeat on a regular basis.” You can read more on the Beat web site, here.
In recent years ‘fat-shaming’ has become ‘a thing’ and some have fought back against those who seek to mock, deride or in any way bully someone who is overweight. An element of ‘fat pride’ has emerged, with a rise in plus-size bloggers and models.
I’d like to be fat and proud. That’s not because I’m happy being so overweight, I’m not in the least, and that’s entirely because of the impact that it has on my health and fitness. I’d like to have that ‘fat-pride’ while I remain this size because I do not want to feel shamed or otherwise negatively regarded because of my size.
I’m never going to be without curves, that’s the way I’m built. I’m a pear-shaped woman with an ample bosom. I’ll gladly celebrate those curves, in the way that I’d encourage anyone to be body confident; body positive.
I want to beat my eating disorder and lose weight. I want to regain, and revel in, my fitness because of the positive impact that is has on my life. I did beat the disorder the first time around. I did it without help, not because I was trying to go it alone but because I wasn’t offered any. After regaining some control over my eating patterns, it was some years before I was able to lose the weight I’d gained as result of the disorder. I did it between 2011 and 2012, losing five stone.
I was inspired by the ‘Hairy Dieters’ television programmes, they focus on that old chestnut, a low calorie diet and increased exercise. The hairy ones aim to make low calorie options that taste good and satisfy. It takes effort to lose weight and every bit of incentive you can muster really helps.
After leaving my husband, I took up running in early 2014. In reality I took to walking on my treadmill and slowly built up to being able to run a mile a day, but ‘I took up ‘treadmilling” doesn’t have the same ring to it. (Click on ‘treadmill’ in the tag cloud on my blog homepage, if you’re interested in reading about my route to running.) I’ve NEVER been ‘sporty’ but I really grew to love running, or more likely the endorphins that the activity released, that and the vast improvement in my fitness and my body confidence.
I’m probably not quite back at my heaviest ever weight, I can’t be sure because my scales have broken and I can’t afford to replace them, but as a result of this relapse into an eating disorder, and so months spent in the grip of compulsive eating, I’ve gained at least six stones in weight over a period of around 18 months.
Last year I asked for help via my GP surgery and the Intensive Home Treatment Team (mental healrh out patient crisis service) many times, and with increasing desperation. I knew that this time I needed help to beat it. Despite my massive weight gain in a short space of time and a new diagnosis of very high cholesterol levels, I’ve been offered no help ar all.
My trauma therapist said we could do some work around my eating issues, but given we already have so many other high priorities stacked up, that’s not practical. The Intensive Home Treatment Team psychiatrist promised to speak to the local eating disorders service about the possibility of support for me there. She told me that she’d get back to me. I chased it up when she didn’t and was rudely told that I’d already been told “NO”. I wasn’t in a position to argue and didn’t receive any fuller explanation.
At least my GP’s urgent referral for trauma therapy had got me onto a two year waiting list … I love the NHS but have long found its mental health services to be chronically underfunded and often poorly staffed, and it’s trauma services (that’s the psychological version not A&E) rarer than hens’ teeth. Again and again I’ve turned to the voluntary (charity) sector, itself often cash-strapped with services oversubscribed. As a result, services often receive scant advertising.Many hours of research can be required to uncover what might be available, and then often complicated application processes follow. Recently I bagged a place on a waiting list for a ‘trauma support worker’ – essentially, someone to meet once or twice a month who can provide moral support, guidance and practical help as you work to rebuild your life. I’m due to reach the top of that list in early 2019.
But back to the impact of the eating disorder, I think that I’m now the most unfit that I’ve ever been, and that does not feel good AT ALL. In fact, it’s really rather frightening, the detrimental impact on my health is evident.
I am beginning to cultivate a more positive connection to food, and the beginnings of this new relationship were nurtured by those food bloggers, Jack and Ella.
Jack’s engaging blog began when poverty forced Jack to feed themself and their toddler son (Jack identifies as non-binary and so prefers the gender neutral pronoun ‘their’) for £10 a week. Jack’s no-nonsense style and inventive recipes are budget-conscious and also an excellent resource for.anyone seeking the confidence to cook from scratch.
Ella’s writing is more lyrical, hers is the poetry of food writing. Sometimes high-falutin’ ingredients could be off-putting if you’re a beginner or more especially if you’re low on funds. I’ve yet to try an Ella recipe, but still I savour her blog. I’m along for the ride, vicariously living her altogether nourishing relationship with food and cooking, and learning from it.
What both Jack and Ella have in common is that they have both introduced me to the idea that preparing nutritious food for myself can be a healing endeavour. The process of preparing and cooking food, chopping, stirring, whisking, can, and should be, a mindful, meditative experience, allowing for calm concentration and a break from a traumatised, troubled, or simply busy mind. You savour the process as much as the end result. There’s also achievement and satisfaction in both admiring and eating your creation, however small or simple! Cooking for oneself can be a nourishing experience, not just for the body, but also for the mind.
I particularly enjoy making Jack’s easy peasy Coconut Milk Soda Bread. Jack’s description of rocking a warm, snuggly bundle is my idea of a great twist on ‘comfort food’!
This weekend I’ve discovered the joy of baked eggs all kinds of ways.
I also tried a Sainsbury’s recipe for a healthy snack – roasted chickpeas – simply a can of chickpeas drained, patted dry and mixed with a teaspoon of smoked paprika, a teaspoon of chilli powder and a quarter teaspoon of both cumin and ground coriander, then roasted in the oven I really fancied these savoury nuggets but was disappointed with the results. I’d been expecting the promised crunchy snack but in reality felt I could’ve been eating cardboard!
Put chickpeas to better use and make your own houmous, it’s a gazillion times more healthy than shop-bought versions and tastes great. The easy recipe in the Healthy Living Yearbook is another favourite of mine.
I may have Complex Trauma but I’m not a complex cook; I’m a ‘spoonie’! Unfortunately, cooking often falls off the bottom off my to do list when ‘spoons’- a.k.a energy and the capacity to function – run out.Quick and easy recipes are my way to go.
I’ll discuss my efforts to again overcome an eating disorder together with my hopes for and also my reservations about seeking support via Overeaters Anonymous, in a later post.