As you know, I’ve not been able to exercise since being sick with H1N1. This means I have not moved since my 4.5 mile walk (in heels) through Detroit Metro airport Tuesday night .. six days!
Seriously, unheard of for me.
I admit that for a fleeting moment it drove me a bit batty to realize I’m not burning*anything* through physical activity — all I’m doing is moving from the couch, to the tea kettle or fridge, to bed, to the toaster.
But I quickly got over it when my rational brain spoke up and said, “Hey, you’re sick, cut yourself some slack. The gym will be there next week.” (or whenever).
I love Stephen Colbert and his “The Word” segment. I’ve decided my “word” for 29 will be SAVOR. It will be my mantra for my 29th year on Earth.
Today I officially bid 28 adieu, at 2:17 p.m.
This is the last year of my twenties, and I have to say, they’ve been pretty darn remarkable.
In this decade, I’ve made (new) best friends, studied abroad in Argentina, fallen in love, graduated college and graduate school, interned at some pretty amazing places, began my career, traveled to Europe three times and Central America so many times I can’t count, gotten married to the man I fell in love with at age 21, bought a house … it’s been a very fulfilling decade, both personally and professionally, and I’m excited for what’s to come.
Of course, there have been some unpleasant parts of the past ten years that I don’t even need to go into here … and obviously my anxiety and disordered eating issues came to a head this decade.
On Wednesday, I did a number on my hand in the name of beauty, scorching my middle finger and thumb with my ridiculously hot curling iron.
As the white hot pain shot through my body, all I wanted to do was scream bloody murder — and I did. Sure, I had burned myself before, but never to that extent.
All day, I couldn’t use my right hand, and felt pretty paralyzed (a la my husband this past summer with his broken right wrist!).
But two days later, ice bags, ice packs, burn pads and antibiotic creams have helped my wounded skin on the path to healing. Already it’s less tender to the touch; I can type again. And by next week, I bet new skin will be growing back beautifully.
It made me think, “If only healing from disordered eating were so simple.”
I’ve made a lot of progress, but I’m not out of the woods just yet. And it’d be cocky to think so.
Though I’m supremely proud of the fact that I’ve now made it eight straight days without a chew-and-spit incident, I know that disordered eating — much like its eating disorder counterparts — doesn’t necessarily go away; it might linger, it might fade, and one day it might truly be gone. But there are no guarantees. Continue reading “Healing, One Day at a Time”→