I’ve been standing on a lot of ledges lately, both literally and figuratively. I just spent some time in Arizona, and was able to go on some amazing hikes. On these hikes, I felt myself somehow attracted to ledges. The bigger and more dramatic drop off, the better. Which is really ironic because I’m afraid of heights (or used to be?) Anyway, regardless of this fear of heights that I have/had, I found myself edging over to any ledge and looking down in curiosity. Something about standing on a literal ledge just felt so much like the reality that I’ve found myself living for the past month or so. I’ve been standing on a figurative ledge for awhile, and on this trip, I’ve been very aware of the irony of my newfound ledge-looking, risk-taking Sedona hiking.
When Jenni Schaeffer, the author of Life Without Ed, came and spoke at the Ranch, she used a metaphor that really spoke to me: the ledge. I’m not claiming to be able to explain it just like she did, but I can explain it in the way that it has stuck with me and stayed in my thoughts. Your eating disorder and other negative coping skills lay over the edge of a cliff. The better you’re doing, the farther away you are from the ledge. From a safe distance away, you can still see the ledge, but you can also see how dangerous that ledge is as you look out into the abyss from a safe place. However, when life starts to get heavy and you start to use eating disorder behaviors, or your mental health is suffering in another way, you start edging closer and closer to the ledge. The closer you are to the ledge, the less you are able to see the danger and the more alluring the view gets. You completely forget how dangerous the ledge is, because you are so smitten with the view as you look out and down. You edge closer and closer and the view is so enticing, that you have a hard time staying on the ledge. As you look down, you see things that you THINK are beautiful, like control and lack of pain. Eventually, the time comes that you get too close, the view becomes too enticing to stay away from, and you jump off the ledge.
At the bottom of that ledge is pain and danger and lack of control. The tricky thing is, all those things are disguised as you look down on them. Only when you reach the bottom do you realize that things are not what they seemed as you looked down from the ledge. At the bottom, things are scary. What felt like control is suddenly feeling very out of control, and what looked like lack of pain is really just numbness from the bad but also from the good. You find yourself, yet again, staring up at the mountain that you will have to climb to get up out of the abyss. That mountain looks daunting, scary, and impossible. Although you’ve climbed it before, it doesn’t seem possible to climb it again. At that point, is where you start feeling trapped and stuck and afraid. The abyss is not beautiful, the abyss is ugly and scary and feels very impossible.
And that, my friends, is the metaphor of the ledge.
I’ve thrown myself off the ledge several times. A couple times when it came to my depression, which landed me in the behavioral health unit three separate times and treatment once. Most recently, I’ve thrown myself off the ledge two different times when it came to my eating disorder. Throwing myself off the ledge resulted in two trips to treatment in Arizona and long, strenuous climbs back up the mountain as I did the work in treatment and then outpatient when I got home. The brief moment when you forget how dangerous the ledge is and as you’re flying in the air over the ledge may feel good, but once you land at the bottom, life feels pretty shitty.
What I’m trying to explain is, I’ve lived life in all the places. At the bottom of the mountain, scared, sick and in pain. Away from the ledge, aware of the danger and out of harm’s way, feeling content and overall pretty happy with life. And standing right on the edge, toes hanging over, contemplating the false beauty of the fall down. Which area have I found myself living in the past month? Definitely with my toes over the edge, looking down.
Several times over the past two days, I’ve inched my toes to a ledge in real life. I’ve sat, looked down at the abyss that is actually beautiful, and contemplated my life. I stood there and thought about what I’m doing, where I’m going, what I want, and how all of it seems impossible right now. Again, the irony of this is not lost on me. I think I’ve been so enticed to the dangerous hikes because they do not feel nearly as dangerous as where I find myself in life right now. The real ledge does not seem nearly as scary as the metaphorical one.
As I stand here on the ledge, I have people safely away that are inviting me to take a few steps back. I have people reminding me that they care, and that I’m not alone. That helps. But I also know that I’m the only one that can choose to take steps back from the ledge. I also know that regardless of how far I move away from the ledge, the ledge will forever be there, trying to lure me back. I’m not sure what the future holds. I’m not even sure that I’m ready to take steps back from the ledge yet. But I will continue looking back over my shoulder at my people, and soaking in all of their love and support. After all, the ledge can be a very pretty place. But I know it’s not a sustainable one.
My trip to Sedona has been amazing. The views have been spectacular, especially the ones from the ledge. However, one day, I hope I can come back here and maybe be a little bit more reluctant to stand on the ledges, because I’ll no longer be standing on a metaphorical one anymore.
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