At 60, I have finished anorexia. Life had pushed me into a corner, no exit sign. I’d come a long way on my own but the roots of my ED remained alive within me. Inter-generational trauma proved to be the fertiliser for my ED. I was sub-clinical. The world saw me as normal, even enviable.
I lived a life that didn’t belong to me.
Winter brought illness. August brought respite, a trip to Africa. In Africa, I integrated seven months of therapy. Bouncing along the road, looking out the window; I gave myself time with me. In the process the shadow, my anorexic self slipped away. The revelation blew my mind. It would be rosy from here on, right? And that’s when I began living with a gap.
For a month, I held the space, I’d found in Africa. Confronted by my deteriorating hearing, eroded the peace I’d found splintered. I struggled. Familiar feelings of unease re-entered my predawn hours and punctured my days.
This time I saw fear clouding in on me. I swam in a swamp of uncertainty. The feelings were short lived, but potent. I had moved psychologically. Through mature eyes I watched the descent into fear. Its branding was so familiar: the fatigue, the aching knees, clumsiness, forgetfulness and stomach symptoms.
How many times, had I gone there?
Instinctively, I wanted to fight back, kill those bad boys. But this strategy had never worked in the past. So I recaptured Africa, sightseeing here in Australia by the sea. My husband and I walked and talked. Walking soothes me. Outdoors is best. The rhythm of my feet on the earth, untangles my emotional knots.
Places of beauty make it easier for me to enter the ‘now’ and the rubbishy chatter falls away. I’m changed. I’m choosing whats in and whats out. I’m blocked words and poems don’t want to be penned. My instagram of mainly nature photos is eerily silent. Some of the things I want to keep lie just beyond my grasp.
I’m a child with a new set of paints. I’m looking at the colours with wonder. The brush remains dry and the paper white. I’m emerging. Being not waiting. Patient not making. Seeing not doing. As I settle into this experience, I begin to silence the voice of guilt that urges me be more productive. The world revs past me.
I have let go of so much that I don’t recognise myself anymore. Finally, my decisions are conscious. My life is my own. Claiming it is odd. I have never done that before. Speaking up continues to be difficult but the ‘good girl’ has stepped out from behind her ‘shoulds’ and is claiming her life.
I was surprised by these events. I thought that I’d transition easily into the ‘new’ me. But I hadn’t designed the ‘new’ me yet, past some vague ideas. Part of me believed that once you overcome something in life, it gets easier. There are internal fireworks and praise from old friends. THE END. But life’s challenges continue.
