I was thinking a lot today about the way we use terminology, often without much thought, and the impact this can have. This then led me to think more broadly about how often we can find that with time find ourselves in places of progress and acceptance that once never felt possible. I saw a question today about recovery, and these three things inspired me to write again...
Clinicians, and especially academic clinicians often use terms like 'abuse', 'neglect', and various diagnostic labels rather readily in their formulations (both of psychological distress at a broader level, and at an individual level) without perhaps fully appreciating that whilst a common and relatively accepted language in many clinical/academic forums, when characterising an individual's experiences these terms can take on quite powerful and personal meanings (even if you also happen to be an academic or clinician). The first time the terms 'abuse' and 'neglect' were thrown my way in the context of my personal experiences I fell of the depression cliff in a major way. I had never conceptualised my experiences in that way and was not equipped or supported to deal with that. Neither my clinical or academic understanding helped - in fact they made it worse. People that I loved became alien, experiences and memories that were treasured became 'contaminated' and those I'd suppressed and forgotten bounced back at me like a hail storm. I could not make sense of my conflicting emotions - either 'abuse' and 'neglect' meant that people that I deeply love deem(ed) me unloveable or not worthy of their care, or they meant that these people were people I was somehow wrong for loving and so my problems were my fault because I pursued these 'bad' things. This took me to some terribly dark places that hung around like glue for far too long.... For a long time I believed that I had been depressed my whole life, would never get better, and was destined to die young. I could not conceive of happiness, and I could not think of a resolution to these conflicts in my relationships.
Well, I was ill and that was depression thinking, depression talking, but when you're in it, it's very hard to know anything else, it messes with your thinking so powerfully at it's extremes. But as a consequence of those experiences I think that I seize and treasure in ways that perhaps I otherwise wouldn't those moments in my life when my boyfriend spontaneously kisses me on a Tor and I forget everything but that moment, or when I watch the sun set over the sea in his arms and feel total peace and contentment in body and in mind. That is not to say that peace, contentment, invigoration, or mindful engagement come easy, but they DO happen, and pretty regularly. I would not say that I'm depressed these days and I'm certainly not in that black hole anymore.
With the terminology and my relationships, well I've come to accept that there is a world of difference between professionals using 'abuse' etc. to predict vulnerability to psychopathology, and what it means as a lived experience. In my case, my experiences no longer mean to me either that there is something wrong with me, or with the people who have been labelled with these things... I think now in terms of the most positive and constructive way of approaching these relationships - not what any of our pasts or limitations 'mean' about our worth. This works, mostly pretty well. We are close, but mostly they will neither share my highest highs nor my lowest lows, because they cannot tolerate my experiences of psychological distress in a way that is helpful to me and so they are not a safe place for vulnerability. But others can, and there are other places for me to connect in those ways.
So what does this make me think about recovery? Well the ED stats are depressing. But so are the chronic depression ones. Statistically I'm screwed. But I look back and my life has changed SO MUCH for the better - and in ways that I would never have believed possible. I could list all that, but that's what journals are for and why I keep one. To me the critical thing is that now there are highs and lows - bad stuff (and annoyingly incomprehensible sad moods) still happen, but so do joy, laughter, connections, and self-acceptance. Neither all the time, but that seems like a fair deal to me. I have accepted and moved forward with a pain that was so deep that it drove me to attempt to take my life, and also forgiven myself for having done so. If I can achieve all that with my depression, why should anorexia be so special? Who's to say that the things that I can't yet quite see with that won't one day be my every day experience?
With depression, I took things one day at a time, one quest for happiness at a time. I think that the same is true with anorexia. There have been times when I've been better, and times when it's slipped again... But I KNOW that I can shut that voice up, it will probably always whisper from time to time, but it's a whisper that I can shut down, like the whisper of depression on the mornings when I'm inexplicably sad - it doesn't have to get elaborated and I just need to be slightly more proactive about doing the good stuff to ensure that it doesn't become amplified. Personally, I think that one can't (and in my case I'm not sure that I'd choose to) erase one's history and experiences, but whilst the vulnerabilities may remain, they don't necessarily have to have so much impact. I kind of believe that a part of this puzzle (although not the whole) is that our emotions DO respond to our behaviour: if we behave as though we are better, with time, parts of our emotional experiences will catch up and change. It takes a great deal of persistence, determination, and distress tolerance, but I believe that it's achievable. And without a doubt, it's not worth giving up on. After all life is more fun when you let yourself laugh, and chocolate's more fun when you don't count the squares :-)
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