Don't Let Your Thoughts Ruin Your Life
A lesson on Mindfulness and Recovery
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There is a journal prompt and gentle yoga class at the bottom of this post. Happy reading. Happy moving. Happy writing.
*Please note that I talk about overcoming an eating disorder.
Also, it’s a full moon in Virgo and I have stayed up all night writing this. If not now then when…right?? Thanks Virgo energy, thanks 🥴 🌚 ♥️
Firstly, take a deep breath with me.
Inhale…Exhale…
And so it is. Enjoy this Sunday story.
My Dad would often remind me in times of stress that “life is hard, Sara.” He’d drag out the ‘a’ in “hard” for emphasis, often while slowly and empathetically shaking his head. What I didn’t realize until I was older was that a lot of my suffering originated from my thoughts thus making my life hard.
It was the summer after my freshman year of college. I returned home with an eating disorder. You see, my mind had become a war zone. The hatred I developed towards myself was debilitating. Experiencing racism while growing up in a predominantly white suburb of Northern Maryland along with experiencing a sexual trauma that happened during my first semester of college changed me. It created a wound so painful that unconsciously I began punishing myself in order to find something to control. Except, the eating disorder viciously took control over me.
One auspicious night while back in my childhood home during that summer break, I planned to binge and purge crackers with peanut butter. This was a haunting new habit I developed while having no access to a gym like I did on campus where I would over-exercise every single day for hours. I now binged and purged to fill the void and to feel a false sense of control. As I was spreading a thick layer of Jiffy peanut butter onto a Keebler Townhouse cracker a voice lovingly whispered, "There is more to life than this and you have things to do in this world. What you are currently doing is not it!” I remember bawling my eyes out during this epiphany.
I decided to gather some courage and let my Dad know what was happening as he too was up late that night. I inherently knew that my new “habit” was not normal. Two days after my confession I was an inpatient at a top hospital for Eating Disorders in Maryland. The wing was in the psych ward. Had I gone crazy? Perhaps. But I was also privileged. People of color are half as likely to be diagnosed or treated for an eating disorder versus their white counterparts.
At the time my thoughts were incredibly harmful. If I missed a day at the gym or if I consumed what I thought were too many calories my mind would literally make me feel like I would die. I desperately wanted to be a size zero but really, I wanted to disappear. My suffering was painful. I wrote a journal entry that summer expressing how I wanted to cut off my legs because I hated them so much (and my lack of a thigh gap). That was how distorted my thoughts had become. I wanted to dismember my precious body rather than enjoy it.
Most of the women in the recovery program were repeat patients. Many had relapsed more than once. This terrified me. I knew from day one that I never, ever wanted to return. I wanted to heal. I had a life to live after all and at the time I was only 19 years old. I knew recovering from my eating disorder would be an incredibly difficult addiction and illness to overcome. I couldn’t cut food out like one can with alcohol, another beast of an addiction. I had to face my illness every single day.
Yes I was terrified but I also wanted to beat the odds. Over 3.3 million lives worlwide are lost because of eating disorders. I often fearfully asked both myself and my therapist, who was I without this addiction? What would I have to feel? Could I handle the healing process or would it be too much to bear? In order to figure this out I had to fall on my face a couple of times only to rise again a bit stronger.
I found my breath during my recovery. I realized that I was more in control of my thoughts than I realized. I became the witness, not the victim. I didn’t know back then that I was practicing mindfulness. As I re-learned how to eat without having a panic attack and how to move my body without extreme exertion, I would breathe deeply to slow down my panicked, judgmental mind. My breath allowed me to pause, pay attention to my thoughts and rewrite them whenever needed.
I often refer to the practice of mindfulness like this:
Imagine a dear friend sitting down with you or calling you on the phone to check in. They lovingly ask how you are doing and they listen intently to what you have to say without any judgment. They are present with you and full of empathy and compassion. Now imagine using this same energy of awareness for yourself. You are your own best friend. You care about what is happening to you with non-judgemental awareness. You assess what you need with love and curiosity. You speak to yourself with compassion. And then, you take action.
With a new budding relationship with myself, “I trust my body,” became my mantra. I was learning how to speak compassionately to my entire being. I was learning that when I had the urge to purge, I could focus my thoughts and remind myself that this too shall pass. I chose to believe that my body only wanted the best for me. I trusted that I could overcome this monster of an illness one thought and one breath at a time. It was an intense battle but I won. Some psychologists call recovery the process of creating a life worth living.
Even now when there’s a voice telling me to “burn it all down,” or to sabotage it all, my breath becomes my anchor. I remind myself that not all fires are meant to spread. Not all fires are meant to destroy, dear Sara. Fire can also light my path. I fought hard for my liberation and realized that I did indeed have so much more life to live. Without the eating disorder as my numbing agent I learned how to feel my feelings. And you know, there was so much wisdom and joy waiting for me on the other side.
I will practice mindfulness until the day I die. It holds me accountable. It keeps the illness I overcame in check. Mindfulness keeps me curious about my journey ahead. Life is indeed hard, but it is also magical.
This is why I teach. These practices saved my life and they must be passed on.
Moral of the story: You are not your thoughts. Recovery is possible. Ask for help, healing takes place when you are ready. Take it day by day, breath by breath. It’s ok to fall but always get back up.
A deep bow to anyone battling an addiction. A prayer to anyone who has a loved one battling an addiction or experiencing a relapse. You are not alone.
Let’s Practice Together
Mindful movement such as yoga was part of my healing journey. Enjoy a short and sweet gentle yoga class designed to support bringing awareness to your body and your breath. Click the above image to begin.
Writing allows Spirit to speak. See what wisdom is revealed as you write.
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