Because People Just Don't "Get It"

National Eating Disorder Awareness week is coming up next week and I have a post written and ready to go in its honor. But this week, it’s this post’s turn. This subject has been on my mind and on my heart a lot lately, bothering me is maybe more accurate, and it’s time I let it out and share it.

On this blog, I’ve talked a lot about things that I realized when I was in treatment and when I’ve come home. However, I haven’t really talked much about the transition going from treatment back to “real life” and the reality of how difficult that has been for me.

The last few months have been an emotional roller coaster, and I was on an emotional high when I came home. It has taken up until this point, two and a half months later, to come off of that high. I was so excited to get back out into my life and to live it and to do things different and be the real, authentic me that I had discovered in Arizona. Although I was nervous about going home, I was feeling pretty darn good about where I was at.

You see, when you’re in a protected environment surrounded by people who get it and therapists who are trained in it and in a place that is set up to make you “feel all the feels” yet also protect you from the cold reality of the outside world, it’s easy to think those things. To be excited. To be fearless. To be hopeful. To feel the anticipation. To be pumped to go out and live your best life. You don’t realize how sheltered you are in an environment like that, until...you’re not.

Photo by Raymond Lee. Posted on Tumblr by the US Department of the Interior, 8/2/17.

Before I start, I want to say that I have the best people. You know who you are. I have people that are geographically close to me, and some that are many miles away, but regardless of how near or far they are, I truly have the best tribe. I appreciate everything y’all have done and do for me on a daily basis. I really do. ❤️

In saying that, if I’m going to be completely honest, I’ve been pretty frustrated with many people since I’ve been home. The people that have been there through everything, that have loved me through it all, yet still don’t "get it." I’ve been told over and over that no one can truly “get it” unless they have lived it. I know this is true. But I still have struggled since I’ve been home being surrounded by people who assume they know and don’t try to understand, and those who are trying to understand, but just don’t know where to start. My Wise Mind knows that I can’t be angry at people for not understanding something that they don’t have the capacity to understand, but it's still been very frustrating for me.

With this, I've realized that I haven’t done the best that I can do on my part to help people to understand either. Even though reading this won't magically make people "get it," this post is me doing my part so that the pieces that can be understood are brought into light. I want to let you all into my brain, bring some of my struggles into the light, and give you an honest snapshot of what it’s been like for me during this rough transition from treatment to home.

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I’m going to ask you to do a lot of imagining, so bear with me. There is a method to my madness.

First, imagine this:

One morning, you wake up in this place. An absolutely beautiful, gorgeous place that looks nothing like home. You don’t want to be there, but at the same time, you know you need to be there. You are there, because you could no longer exist within the life and the choices that you had made. This is very humbling for you to realize. You are there to reevaluate your life and your choices and to learn new skills. This place is very structured. You are told when to wake up, what groups to go to all day, whether you can walk to those groups or if you have to be driven, when you can be outside, when you can go for walks, how long your walks can be and how fast you can walk during these walks, when to eat, what to eat, how much to eat, comments you can and can’t make, if and when you can communicate with people back home, what meds to take, when to take said meds, when you can go to the bathroom, when you can be in your room, when you can take a shower, and when to go to bed at night. Your day is so structured, it takes almost all of the decision-making away from you. Yes, you are uncovering hard things from your past, taking a hard look at your life, and feeling a lot of uncomfortable emotions, but you’re given support to deal with all of this and you are never alone. You’re surrounded by people with similar struggles as you and people that are trained to help you. This place is frustrating at times, but it’s safe. You’re safe. You get used to the structure, the people, the support. Then what feels like all of a sudden (even though it’s not), they decide you’re ready to go home.

Now, try to imagine this:

You wake up one morning in that safe, structured, protected environment. You pack your suitcases, jump in a van, and head to the airport with the driver you’ve seen only once before when they dropped you off, and to be honest, you don’t remember that very well because you were so caught up in the fact that you didn’t want to go that you don’t even really remember what your driver looks like until he shows up. He drops you off at the airport and all of a sudden, you are abruptly dropped back into the real world. You’re surrounded by people, lots of people, more people than you’ve seen for months. You are walking by restaurant after restaurant, store after store full of food, and no one is there to tell you what to eat anymore, or making you eat at all. You are completely overwhelmed by the noise, the people, the food, and the choices. And this is only the first few hours.

You finally get home, and everyone is so excited to see you for the first time in months. The phone you didn’t have access to for all this time is all of a sudden blowing up, and you’re trying to keep up with all the texts, calls, and social media that you missed when you were gone. New stuff is coming in all the time as people find out you’re home. Pretty soon, you’re so overwhelmed by this piece of technology you thought you couldn’t live without, that you have to put it down and walk away from it.

You go home to a quiet house, after being surrounded by and living with eleven other people for two months. There’s no one to laugh with or talk with or just sit in the quiet with. You’re alone in what feels like forever and your brain realizes it and tries to hijack all the hard work you’ve done. You miss the amazing friends you’ve made, the ones that you’re used to existing with, the people that just, get you, without even having to try. These people that you’ve become so attached to are all of a sudden hundreds of miles away.. You realize how lonely it is at your house as compared to the houses you’ve been used to living in.

You have a meal plan you need to follow, including menus, exchanges, times, and measurements. You’ve worked hard to be comfortable around food again, but you’re just not there yet. It’s still an uphill battle to fight the voice in your brain telling you not to eat and to instead do what your meal plan is telling you to do. Even though everything to do with food completely overwhelms you still, you have to walk into a grocery store and buy a lot of it, something that you haven’t done in a long time. You go down your list until it’s all checked off. The sight of your full cart makes your stomach queasy just looking at it, and the price when it’s all rung up makes your stomach feel even worse. It’s hard to comprehend that after not eating much of anything at all before leaving, you’re going to be eating all this food. As you put it away, you notice that your cupboards are full, a sight you’ve never seen in your house before, ever.

Word starts to spread that you’re home and people want to see you, but the thought of seeing people makes your stomach flip flop and your heart beat faster, not because you don’t care about them, but because you dread "that moment." That dreaded moment, where their eyes travel up and down your body and then say words such as “You look good” or “You look healthy.” You know they mean well, and they don’t know what else to say, but your brain twists their words so that instead of “You look good,” you hear: What do they mean by good? Did I not look good before? Are they just saying that now since I’ve been gone and they feel like they have to? Seriously, what does ‘good’ even mean?! Or instead of “You look healthy,” your brain interprets it as: Healthy?! Or do they actually mean fat? I’m sure they said healthy because it's a nice way to say fat. Your brain continues to twist their words and you end up feeling more self-conscious about yourself than you did before. Their eyes size you up and you start mind-reading and assuming they’re thinking things like, “She doesn’t look like she has an eating disorder” or “She looks fine, why did she have to be away for so long?” And all of a sudden, interactions with people, instead of being happy reunions, end up being overwhelming and frustrating.

On top of all that, the holidays are fast approaching, and what does that mean? Food. Most of our traditions and celebrations seem to revolve around food. To someone without an eating disorder, the food is often something that is looked forward to. Special recipes and treats that you don’t normally have during the rest of the year. However, for someone recovering from an eating disorder, holidays are brutal. There’s food everywhere, pressure to eat and be normal. Pressure to eat in moderation and stick to your meal plan. Everywhere you turn, someone is eating food, offering you food, commenting about how good the food is, complaining that they need to go on a diet after this holiday, talking about their weight, classifying foods as good and bad, and complaining that they are so stuffed but continue to eat more anyway. All of this happens just a few weeks after you get home, right when you were starting to get into a routine. The holidays are a nightmare, which makes you feel bad because you used to love the holidays, but instead, you’re just praying for them to be over.

You slide back into a new everyday routine including work and appointments. You’ve been home long enough that people assume you’re better, that you’re fine, and that you’re back to normal, whatever that means. Most people seem to forget you were even gone in the first place. People either don’t know what to say to you or have moved on and don’t ask how you’re doing anymore. You notice that people talk about food way more than you remembered and normal everyday things like meeting a friend to eat a restaurant and ordering off a menu, sitting in on a conversation about recipes or just eating a meal in general are really hard. The longer you’re home, the more the emotional high wears off and the harder it gets, yet, the longer you’re home, the more people think you’re ‘fixed.’

The ED voice in your head fights you at every meal, at every moment really, bossing you around, trying to get you to go back to your old behaviors of restricting, exercising, calorie counting and weighing. It tells you that you are out of control, and the only way to regain control is to start restricting and working off all the food you are eating. It tells you that you hate recovery, it constantly reminds you of how hard it is, and it gives you reasons upon reasons to not follow your meal plan and to not listen to your dietitian and therapist. Every moment, you are obsessing about when you need to eat, what you need to eat, whether or not you’re going to eat at all, and then guilt and ‘damage control’ when you do eat. Your brain is so full with food thoughts that there’s not much room for anything else, yet you’re expected to focus on your career, your everyday responsibilities, and be present in your life as a daughter, sister, aunt, granddaughter, team member, and friend. You never feel like anything you’re doing is right or good enough, ever. You obsess until you fall into bed every night, and every morning, you wake up and do it all over again.

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Making the transition home from treatment was tough. I’m over two months out and it still is. I’ve put on the smile and assured people that I’m feeling better and that I’m ok now. In many ways, that is true. However, I haven’t really let on how hard it’s been for me to assimilate back into the demands of daily life again, especially forcing myself to redefine what daily life looks now and trying to find a new normal. My goal has been to be more authentic, and I think I’ve done that in a lot of ways. But when it comes to these struggles, I have not. I haven’t spoken up and told people when their comments or conversations have been triggering. I haven’t been honest all the time when someone asks how I’m doing and I definitely have put on “a mask” (as my students would call it) when people ask me if I’m feeling better. The reality is, yes, I’m feeling better than I was before I left for treatment, but am I healed? Am I fixed? No way. I have a long road to go before I can truly say that.

So, having said all of that, I get it. No one can truly understand what it’s like to live in my life and in my brain, except for me. No one can truly understand what it’s like to live with an eating disorder unless they’ve experienced one. Just like I can’t truly understand what it’s like to live in any of your lives and go through any of your specific life experiences. And that’s okay.

It’s ok that many people just don’t "get it." However, I need to continue to remind myself of this, especially when my brain tries to fool me and tell me that people don't get it because they don't care. Realistically, I know that is not the truth, not at all. The people around me are doing the best they can to support me, with the knowledge that they have. I also have to remind myself that people aren’t going to learn, or become aware of things that are hard for me or things that bother me unless I speak up and say them. I hope this blog post can be the first step for me in doing so.

I'm so grateful to the people in my life that are in my corner and cheering for me in this messy life, near and far. Thankfully, they give me grace every time I mess up and love me through it. So instead of getting frustrated that they don't "get it," I need to give them grace just like they continue to give me. After all, we are all doing the best we can with what we have right now, and that’s the best that any of us can do. 💜