**** I’m starting to rediscover the glory of weekends. When you’re in school, you can’t appreciate weekends as much as when you’re working because you still have papers to write, topics to research, pages to read. But now that I’m “working,” I love not having homework. I love the feeling of accomplishment after a workday, driving home knowing that I have several hours to just kick back and enjoy. And if I have to work overtime, I get paid. So either way, it’s a win-win.
Anyway, I just wanted to let you know that I’m having a glorious weekend right now. Just came back from a Costco trip with Mimi, and tomorrow I’m excited to attend a new Korean church my friend recommended me. Also, I’ve got “1776” on Netflix, a three-inch thick book to finish, and tons of snacks from Costco to much on. Life is good! 
But for now, a trip back into the past…It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve written a Weekend ED post. Sorry! ****
My last ED post was pretty dark. I didn’t want to leave it that way, but obviously you know I’m fine.
But I wasn’t fine mentally, physically or spiritually at that time. Especially spiritually.
It was November 2007. About three months I had been living by myself. During those five months, I was attending community college and applying to different universities again. Not Northwestern, obviously. I was certain if I ever wrote to them again they would put the letter through a shredder. Or perhaps they have marked the name “Sophia Lee” in their records as “PARIAH.”
Whatever, I thought. By that time I had long let go of Northwestern. I researched on a lot of other schools that had good journalism programs and most importantly, far far away from here. I was sick to death of the DC area. I wanted to be gone and never come back. I wanted a fresh start. So not surprisingly, a lot of schools I applied to were California schools.
Ironically, however, I was slipping deeper and deeper into my eating disorder. I think I changed the most during these five months, probably because I was estranged from my family, socially secluded and extremely bitter and despairing. Even as I was writing my college application essays on how I had big dreams, great passions, blah blah blah, I felt a malicious person inside me cackling at me.
“You liar!” That malice shrieked with delight. “You dog! You realize what you’re doing, aren’t you? You’re writing all this bullshit with an empty, tumultuous stomach, itching for the clock to hit 7 p.m. so you can binge and puke your guts out. You sure you want to go to college? How will you keep up with this routine then?”
During such moments, I had to pause and take a deep breath and just blast loud music to keep myself distracted from this scary truth. I knew how ridiculous all this was. I was doing all this self-damaging behaviors, bingeing and starving and purging late into dawn, because I was mad and crushed by the fact that I was basically kicked out of college—and here I was, once again applying to colleges, still hoping to be accepted again, even while doing everything possible that got me kicked out of college in the first place.
I knew the irony of this. I knew it. I just didn’t want to listen to it. Because if I did, that meant I had to make a choice: my life or my eating disorder. College or my eating disorder. Health or my eating disorder. Happiness or my eating disorder. My family or my eating disorder.
And this sounds crazy, but I think I would have chosen my eating disorder. Even now, I cannot understand the magnitude to which the eating disorder appealed to me. I had given up so much for my eating disorder! I was doomed to die one day having lost every single thing I loved in my life, just to keep my eating disorder safe. This horrible truth was something even at that despairing stage, I couldn’t bear to acknowledge.
So half-heartedly, I applied to colleges. I had to. Otherwise, I would be accepting my fate as an eternal slave to ED. At least, the fact that I was applying to colleges kind of gave me a deluded sense of hope that maybe…just maybe…one day…hmm…
Ha! It was a joke. Because I had lost more than 20 pounds. Because I found it harder and harder to walk uphill, and I woke up feeling like my blanket was smothering me. I was so fatigued that I could sleep past 12 hours and still feel exhausted. No way this body could go to college. I would be kicked out again the moment I step foot on campus and reveal my gaunt, ghoulish face.
There were moments when I felt a stab of fear. What if I died in my sleep? But that would quickly be followed by some sick curiosity. Ooh, then my landlords will freak out! What will they do? They don’t even know my parents’ phone number. What would happen to my body? And then a sudden crazy thought: Aw, but then I’d die never having gone to college…Yeah, even while imagining death, I was wondering about college. I’m kind of a nerd.
To be honest, I think if I had lived just a couple more months by myself, continuing on with my self-destructive cycle, I may have died, or at least severely damaged my heart and digestive organs.
But something happened. My roommate got word that her father was sick and her parents wanted her back home. Since she was barely present at our new abode anyway, she decided to back out of the 12-month lease contract she made with our landlords and return home to her family. Which meant I had to move out, too, because there was no way I could pay a $900 rent by myself.
I was livid at first. And then scared. And then relieved. And then angry and terrified again. I really didn’t know what to think or feel. I think the overwhelming thought I had was: NOOO!! What about my routine?! But at the same time, there was a small prickle of relief: Does this mean this shit is going to be over? Does this mean I’ll finally stop all this?
At first I frantically began searching for a new place to live. I scoured the Internet and newspapers hoping to find another roommate or a cheaper place to live. But I couldn’t find anything. And gradually, as the novelty of the idea that my days of “independence” was over wore off, I grudgingly accepted the fact that I will have to go back home.
And as clear as if He was speaking to me directly, I heard God’s voice in this. He wanted me back home. It was like He was saying, “Okay Sophia, you’ve had that taste of “freedom” you wanted so much. How did that fare for you? Now it’s time to lower your stubborn head and return home.” Of course, He was saving my life too.
I called my parents and told them I was moving out of my house and moving back in with them. I could hear the relief in their voices, and I cried when I realized that they had never stopped thinking and caring about me. Guilt, shame and gratitude washed over me. Oh why, why was I so stupid and childish and stubborn? Why didn’t I go back home earlier? Maybe they could have prevented this from happening. Maybe I wouldn’t have descended to the awful state I am now, physically and psychologically.
My parents came and helped me move out. There was no condemnation in their eyes. Not once did they say something like, “I told you so,” or “I knew it” even as they took in my frailty, the way I got dizzy easily, the shuffle of my walk because I didn’t have enough strength to life my legs fast enough. They observed, and they wept inside, but the overall look they gave me was that of love.
Have you ever heard Jesus’ parable of The Prodigal Son? It’s about a pampered son who demands an advance inheritance from his dad so that he can leave home and do anything he wants to do without having to worry about his responsibilities or his dad’s approval. He basically wanted freedom to live as he wished, but he quickly got reduced to a famished, broken down beggar. Only when he got so destitute to the point that he was stealing feed from the pigs, that he gathered up his courage to return home, only to find his dad already waiting outside the house for him. He comes back guilty and ashamed, but his father sprints out to embrace him, overjoyed to see his son back.
I was that prodigal son. All the while, my parents had never stopped praying for me. God had never let me go, He had been watching over me even while I sinking into the darkness, and He kept hold of my hand tightly so that I never did get lost completely into that pit. I was bruised and battered, but I was still alive. And when I returned home, my parents had the bed warm and ready for me, my desk cleaned and wiped, the floor vacuumed and dusted.
It was an entirely humbling experience. I knew I wasn’t worthy of such love. But love me, they did. How petty, how immature I was to even think that they would forget me, that God would abandon me to be torn apart by the wolves.
I wasn’t ready to start changing completely yet. But I would never forget that day, the day I came back broken and drained, expecting contempt and disappointment, only to be dressed and fed. It was just the beginning, but it was the beginning to a journey of understanding the power and miracle of love.
Questions to Ponder:
1) Do you believe in love? What kind of role do you think love plays in recovery?
2) If you have a loved one suffering from a mental disorder such as EDs, when you feel helpless in what you can do to change them, how can you show them love?
3) What is the best way to love somebody, even someone who exasperates and disappoints you?
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{ 29 comments… read them below or add one }
I do indeed believe in love- especially the unconditional love my parents have for me. Love was seeing them put everything on hold and do whatever it took to get me the best help they could possibly afford regardless of expense or time commitment. Love was my mother bringing me home from school every day for lunch so that she could make me a nutritious lunch, support me as I ate it, making sure I ate it, and dealing with all of the drama that came with mealtimes.
Love is very important in recovery- knowing someone loves you enough to fight the eating disorder and do what it takes to make sure you don’t go down with it was a huge component of my recovery
Love lifts us up where we belong – all we need is love!
OK, someone may have already trademarked those words, but I deeply believe them. I think love is paramount in recovery, it’s the pillar of strength and hope, it’s a definite motivator and it’s the surest support. Love is our saviour and it comes from such unexpected sources. sometimes it’s tangible, like a mother’s tender care. Sometimes absolutely ethereal, like god’s unconditional love. We are blessed since we have those all!
The best way to love? Fully, openly, sincerely. without judgement or trepidation. Love abundantly.
I’m pretty sure it’d make people sad, but I don’t understand what people mean when they say “I love you” or what live is. I mean, i’ve had random glimpses of it, but it only happens, or I can only say I loved something or someone when..um..well, my dog is dead, I can say I loved him now. but not when he was alive. I know that is sad. I can’t say I love anyone (becuse what if I’m wrong?O_o). I think genuinely caring and compassion play a major role in recovery..understanding where the person is at and not getting mad because they can’t do what you want or think they should be able to do. Not sure what else to say… It just makes me very sad becuase I feel I don’t have anyone. I mean, I’ll call my mom and she’ll just tell me we have to stop talking becuse i get her angry, but she’ll end with “I love you but I don’t know what to tell you” and hangs up..*sigh* I think love and understanding are crucial for any development and being healthy in life period… I wanna see what other peoples responses to your third question are, ’cause never known a right way..
Dear Sophia,
I bookmarked your blog a couple of months ago and have been checking it on occasion. Wow, what an amazing testimony you have. Thank you so much for sharing. You are so right. God never leaves us or forsakes us. He is always 100% right with us. We’re the ones that stray. You’re an amazingly courageous and strong girl. I can’t say that I have experienced ED but I know what it’s like to need God’s help and it’s something we need daily. God loves us so much and He would do anything to bless us, it’s just us that lacks the confidence, strength and will power. But isn’t it great that God is a forgiving God? Also just like the prodigal son, I’m so happy for you that your family was there for you with open arms. That is unconditional love. So glad that you going to try out your friends church. It may not feel like home at first but like all things it may take a couple of tries to get used to. Stick with it and go for the right reasons (not for our own selfish reasons which we sometimes tend to do). At church, God will be waiting for you with open arms as well. I pray that God renews your heart, gives you an abundance of strength and the love for Him that you have never had before. There may be days that it’s tough…what would life be without a few bumps and challenges, right! But on those days, blast some Brit Nicole songs. I LOVE her music. My personal favorites are “The Lost Get Found” and “Walk on the Water.” Anywho, will continue to check in on your blog. Stand proud and be strong for YOU ARE A Proverbs 31 lady!
I don’t have children yet so I can’t imagine how it would feel to be the father of the prodigal son. I would hear that story in church and just be like… “Uh… hello?! WHY are you celebrating? Don’t you think you need to teach that son of yours a lesson for being so irresponsible?!” But of course, God is always a million steps ahead of us with his compassion and love. My parents are exactly the same whenever I come home. We just have to be in their shoes to understand.
I think each time I let my family down by lashing my anger on them due to no apparent reason, they would shower love in return, by not shooting harshly back at me, or scolding sternly of my outrageous behavior, however ignore the far from amiable words I blurted out of flabbergast and leave me alone to allow a moment for me to cool down.
Little did I know, it’s my family’s way of loving me. They want to shape me as a nifty and peachy young lady even if not close to perfect, they want to bring me up as the girl whom everyone is happy to socialize, and not scurry away when seeing me because of my acrimony that annoys them.
They do everything in hope to guide me back to the noble path, and when I again and again disappoint them, they would lecture me acutely. With that, I’ve learned to let go at times.
I think we’re both lucky girls, having such lovely family members who love us unconditionally, no?
This is such a powerful post. It is definitely one of my favorites.
Unconditional love, You are very blessed.
I love that parable too! It’s that kind of unconditional love that not everybody has been fortunate enough to experience. I mean, even today, there are plenty of parents who would turn away there own children because of their choices. It takes a special kind of love that makes someone never give up, never give in or lose hope. To be there for someone NO MATTER WHAT, is the only way to show them love. Sticking by them through thick and thin. ED had a way of testing every relationship I’ve ever had with anybody. And very few are still in my life afterwards. Those that loved me, are still there. Including God! Great post Sophia!
<3 Tori
I do believe in love, and I’m a definite believer in the love is patient, love is kind thing.
I do think though, that there are different kinds of love you can have for people and different ways to express love, and that because it’s a different form of expression doesn’t mean you love them any less.
Love melts everything!
Hopefully not ice cream…I don’t like melted ice cream…:-p
Oh Sophia. I almost started to cry while reading this. I’m so happy that I know that you’re safe and happy and okay. I think this really just goes to show you though, that the only real way to support someone with an eating disorder is to love them and just let them know that they’re there for you, even if they can’t really understand and even if you’re not ready to recover.
I think, like you said, the fact that you were applying to colleges (even half-heartedly) meant that you didn’t want this to be your life. You knew you wanted and deserved better. I think sometimes we show signs of strength but we don’t always recognize it until we look back. I think applying to schools was such a strong thing for you to do!
I remember when I was working and going to school how much I dreamed of a time when I was just working. And now I totally miss all the free time I had during school when my schedule wasn’t so rigid and I had breaks!
this post has affected me more than any other you’ve written, especially in conjunction with your previous weekend ed post. god! how i see myself, both now and as i have been before. i know what it is like, that need and desire to be free while logically recognizing that you are incapable of achieving that state, of supporting yourself physically, mentally, and financially. after my third hospitalization, and after regaining a sufficient amount of weight, i dropped out of high school to go to college and live alone; i nearly died. again, i dropped out of a different college– too weak and tired even to maintain a presence in class despite the fact that they were all online and i never actually had to go to campus. time and time again, my mother and stepfather have given me another opportunity to recover at home; this time, however, they say is my last. if i decide to continue on as i had before, they can’t and won’t support me any longer. their love for me is immense, and has been sufficient to give me numerous “second” chances– but there comes a time, i know, when those chances become enabling rather than helpful.
my friends, though, are a different matter. they are done with me, and it hurts me more than i can express that i have lost them because they are tired of wondering whether this is the year that jessica finally gives out and dies. unfortunately, this also hurts me in the less emotional and more practical sense that i am more socially isolated than ever– and as you, and probably anyone who has or has had an eating disorder knows, isolation can lead to relapse quicker than you can say “re-hospitalization” five times fast. today, for instance; my mother and stepfather are golfing, which leaves me at home on a rather cold and dreary spring day: too cold and wet to garden, or sit out in the sun, and all my usual weekend errands and chores are done. so what should i do with myself now? mostly i stay home and brood, despite the fact that i actually have a car for once (one of their cars is in the shop which means that every day except one i am transportation-free, and on that day i have a million errands to do) and could see friends or go to the bookstore or get a cup of coffee somewhere nice. i wouldn’t know where to go, really, or what to do, because even if i do go out i am still stuck alone with the same old thoughts cycling and re-cycling through my head…
and the pressure is on to make sure i am well enough to start college again in the fall, at a new school (which i haven’t even applied for yet), doing god-knows-what for an as-yet undecided major. i feel hard pressed to care. there are so many things i want to do, places i want to go, knowledge i want to acquire– but though i know i am capable of all those things and more, i know that i’m not. not yet. not until i have this thing beat, and i’m still in the dark as to how to kick it.
thank you as always for your honesty, and the love and attention you put into your posts. they have been good for me, i think; they make me take an honest look at myself, and make me recognize the behaviors that continue even now that i am working so damn hard on recovery. i hope someday i will be lucky enough to meet you.
wow, i so can relate to a ton of what u say Jessi P.
Wow.
Ohh Sophia, so so so glad you made it out of that dark hole. I just knew your parents would be there waiting to take you back into their loving arms!
I absolutely believe in love!
Speaking of love..I LOVE that parable of the Prodigal Son. So humbling/thought provoking. It’s incredible just how powerful the love of a parent is!!
Especially when God is that parent!
This is beautiful sophia. the story of brokenness that leads to humility. GOd’s plan is always perfect. Can you believe the love that he showered on you. And just at the right time. WOW! Thank you for sharing this.
Love never fails! I think that for a person in recovery from a personal struggle, love from family, friends, and God can be difficult to accept. That’s where learning self-love comes in. How does the saying go? “We accept the love we think we deserve.”
Thank you for sharing. Your family sounds truly amazing — a real blessing.
I haven’t heard of that saying yet, but that is SO true!
I’m commenting from my iPhone which makes typing slow but I wanted to tell you how beautifully this was written. Your parallel to the prodigal son was awesome. Though I’ve never struggled with an ed, I feel like I was right there with you as I read your story. I’m so glad that after all you’ve been through that you’ve moved beyond that dark place in your life. You are strong and beautiful. <3
So powerful!
This experience is not so different from my own. Unconditional love is pretty amazing, huh? You write about it eloquently.
I almost shiver reading this story about the Prodigal son….oh man, i fear it relates to me so much…now
but i don’t really have anywhere to go…everyone has given up on me (i’m30 years old)…the onlly place that would be open to me is too scary (emotional memories not good).
I dontknow Sophia…i mean i don’t exercise at all…for over three years…my digestive and heart is alrady on the crap
the thing is that i do eatand always have (not anorexia)…i’m so short, ubut i take in calroies galore compared to others…my metaboism must be shot since i’m so old and been up and down so much
its like i guess its not enuf…but calorie wise…man, i swear
just dont get it
but i’m so sick of this sophia
and worse is that walking is a labor,,,and my “exercise” for years now is only one, short, slow walk…no energy,,,i think its more depression than anything…everyone exercises, feels hunger, etc…i don’t get it and i’m overwhelmed and sad
I never “not ate” either, even in my anorexia. I don’t think anorexia is just about denying food, it’s about the habits and obsessiveness that comes with it. For example, eating too much fibrous vegetables and fruits, or in my case, lbs and lbs of nuts (which are high calorie but at some point my body just couldn’t digest all that junk). I’m so sorry you’re having a hard time, but please please don’t lose hope. Depression in a way is just dwelling in negativity and despairing of any hope or life. You cannot give up on yourself, when God has not. Otherwise, you still wouldn’t be alive right now. You still have your life. So use it, and allow God to bless it.
The best way to love someone who exasperates and disappoints you is unconditionally.