Battle Wounds

I used to love my battle wounds. Sorry Katie M, but it makes me laugh to think of how excited we were to come back from sliding down the glaciers on the top of Timp or hiking Mt. Olympus with all our scrapes and scratches. Maybe it made me feel tough. Maybe it was a visual reminder that I had done something really hard. Or maybe I'm just crazy because unlike most people I think blood and guts are pretty cool (hence, my job).

But lately I've been thinking about all the emotional battle wounds I carry around, and I'm not sure I'm so proud of these ones. I wish I could see these scars as reminders of what I've been through and as motivation to keep moving forward, but instead I'm afraid they keep me stuck. For instance, I've never been the most outgoing or popular person but I've always loved people and desperately wanted to have good friends and to be a good friend. But the many years I spent entrenched in my eating disorder changed me. While other people my age were out having fun and living it up, I was having dates with the the treadmill, the salad bar, the scale. I isolated. I pulled away. I found a false sense of security in letting losing weight be my best friend.

Thankfully, more like miraculously, I met my husband and somehow he saw through my facade. He loved me for who I was deep down inside, not for the shell of perfection I tried to portray. Being around him made me want to be a better person and I can honestly say dating and marrying him was a huge turning point in my recovery. But unfortunately love doesn't fix all our problems. There were (and still are) underlying issues that needed to be dealt with. There were deeply rooted insecurities and fears that led me right back to my familiar ways of coping. It wasn't until I began to really understand the functions and needs behind my behaviors that real, sustainable change began to happen.

If someone were to ask me how or when I recovered I really wouldn't know what to say, because in truth it has been a very gradual, slow process. Some days I still don't feel like I'm there yet. But somehow the desire to live--I mean really live, not just exist--became stronger than the fear of life. I started to care more about having the things that really matter (like having a family) than about the pain it would take to overcome my obstacles.

And step by step things have gotten better. I've come along way and I want to give myself credit for that, but sometimes I get really discouraged with where I'm at now. I spent so much time strengthening the wrong muscles that now that I'm trying to use the right ones I find they're weak and ineffective. I don't want this to sound like a pity party, but sometimes I feel like I've been left behind in the dust and I'm frantically trying to find my place again. Going back to the whole social thing, I still desperately want to be a good friend and have good friends but for some reason I feel like this is one battle wound that just isn't healing. I feel like I still have all the insecurities of a little kid--they won't like me, I'm not cool enough, why would anyone wan't to hang out with me, blah, blah, blah.

I know how silly it sounds, especially because most of you who are even reading this are family and friends who rarely see this side of me. It's not that I'm particularly shy or nonsocial when I'm around people, what bothers me is the fact that I rarely take the initiative to be social (mostly because I'm terrified of doing so). I know friendships and relationships change through different stages of life and I'm hoping that having a little kiddo will help me find other young moms who I can relate to and hang out with. And honestly, John is the best friend I could ever ask for, I have an awesome family, amazing in-laws, and I've always been blessed to have the most wonderful friends. It just frustrates me that I still isolate so much, that I'm still so wary of getting close to people, and that I'm not the type of friend I wish I could be.

I know all wounds heal with time. When we get cut or scraped we don't beat ourselves up when the scab remains longer than we'd like, we just accept it for what it is and wait for it to heal. Some injuries might require physical therapy, which can be painful, tedious, and physically and mentally exhausting (believe me, I used to go 3 times a week to get my arm put in a crank so that I wouldn't be walking around with my arm at a 90 degree angle for the rest of my life. The funny part is that they could never get it quite to 180 deg, that is until I went water skiing and let the boat yank it back into place!). Maybe we're left with scars or deformities or even permanent damage of some sort, but the human body has an amazing ability to adapt and compensate and pretty soon we're back to normal life.

So maybe if our bodies can naturally heal, our minds can too. Maybe I need to relax, let go, and let time do it's job. Maybe it's good that I notice my muscles are weak, because at least that means I'm using them. And the more we use something, the stronger it gets.