Note #1: I’m thinking about giving away a free product to you … if you’re potentially interested. It’s going to take some time to put together, so I want to make sure you’re interested before I go crazy making it. I want to make sure you want it (so I don’t feel like an idiot). More details at the bottom of this post.
Note #2: This post is a follow-up to this post from yesterday that got so many wonderful comments. I am completely blown away by your love, support and trust in me ~ thank you ♥
The story of how I ended up re-inventing myself
Some of you who have read my blog from the beginning will be familiar with the story of how realising I had bulimia and deciding to get well was the turning point in my life. What I haven’t told you is what is was really like. Here is the true (and complete) story of that day [*warning: may be triggering if you have an eating disorder — just scroll down to the next heading].
The Last Binge
At 4.55am the cramps in my stomach wake me. Leaning over to switch off the alarm clock they get worse. I only just make it to the toilet in time. I suppose taking three times the recommended dose of laxative will have that effect. Luckily J. has left for work already so I’m not disturbing him.
In the bathroom I look in the mirror. My eyes are ringed with dark shadows, my short hair sticks out at odd angles and my skin has creased into wrinkles where I have buried my face in the pillow to drown out the sounds of my husband’s snoring. My face is puffy and bloated, my eyelids swollen like I’ve cried myself to sleep. The veins in my feet are no longer visible, my ankles have disappeared and the skin on my calves is so stretched it threatens to burst like the skin on a sausage cooking under a grill.
Last night I lost control. It all seems like a bad dream – or I was possessed by a force that wasn’t me. But it was me, no-one else was inside my head, no-one else kept going back to the kitchen again and again to get another ‘treat’.
People say when they binge they go into some sort of catatonic state and don’t remember anything until they come to their senses later surrounded by food wrappers. Not me. I am aware of every single thing I put into my mouth. And while my mind is screaming stop doing this I just keep on going, shoveling sweet things into my mouth until it gets too much and then switching to salty chips and raisin toast drowned in butter. No amount of will power or rational thought can stop the urge to eat that possesses my body. The exquisite taste of the food is accompanied by an equally overwhelming sense of self-loathing and even when the disgust outweighs the pleasure I continue on, powerless to stop.
I look at the silver digital scales on the floor next to the toilet. I’m not standing on them today. I can’t face it. The number will be at least a couple of kilos heavier than yesterday morning. I need to undo the damage.
In the spare room, I pull on a crop top, leggings and joggers and step onto the deck of the treadmill. I crank up the speed and incline and start to run. Today is not cardio day but running is the best way to burn up calories. The treadmill is cheap and nasty and the hard surface makes my knees hurt more than usual. I know the treadmills at the gym are more forgiving, but there is no way I can leave the house today. I’m too fat and ugly to be seen in public. Here in the privacy of the spare room I can run as long and as hard as I like away from those thin hipped girls who gaze at me in pity. I ignore the pain.
After an hour on the treadmill I’m drenched in sweat and nauseous. Back in the bathroom, I step over the side of the bath into the shower a little shaky on my feet. The extractor fan is not on so the mirror fogs up hiding from view a body ravaged by the effects of weight loss and two bouts of competition body building. I’m glad I can’t see the stretch marks — white lines tracing grooves on my hips and inner thighs. I will never be free from the dimpled cellulite and the sagging skin of a woman in her forties. The hot water from the shower rinses the sweat from my body but does little to wash away the despair in my heart. I cry for a long time.
I dress in a black baggy sweatshirt and my favourite track suit pants, the black ones with their white waistband stained by fake tan. My need to be close to the toilet and my self-disgust mean work must be missed. The email tells the lie of a migraine.
I curl up on the overstuffed blue couch in the lounge room and start crying again. I’m so tired of measuring and logging every morsel of food and drink that enters my mouth. Lifting weights and running for ninety minutes a day seven days a week is wearing me down. This has to be the last time I wake up in a haze of loathing after eating until I make myself sick. I’m broken and it’s time to try to fix myself.
The healing begins
The above story took place in September 2009. Over the past two years I’ve fully recovered from bulimia, left my old body, name, address, relationship and job behind and I’ve become a more joyful, confident, relaxed, and courageous person.
I discovered a way to live authentically even when the unimaginable happened — my heart stayed open and loving even in the midst of the trauma of my husband’s suicide.
But I didn’t do it alone. I worked with Renée Stephens and learned her meditation, NLP and EFT techniques. I read hundreds of books, I got certified as a NLP coach and hynotherapist, I attended seminars with Esther Hicks, Marianne Williamson, Louise Hay, and Deepak Chopra, I delved into writing therapy and I’ve recently been training in ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy).
I’ve totally immersed myself in every process that aligns with my guiding belief — I am a divine creation of the Universe and connecting with others gives life meaning.
Here’s the deal
I’ve been so privileged to connect with so many of you over the past few years and especially those of you who have travelled with me on my journey of transformation. You have also been my teachers supporting me through some of the darkest days of my life. For that, I want to say thank you.
I know you’re here because you want to stop beating yourself up for not being perfect and you want to be brave enough to do what you’ve always wanted to even though others might disapprove or not understand.
I really want to help you become that confident, relaxed, compassionate woman you are deep inside. I long to give you all this knowledge and experience I have in my head in a concise package that won’t take you two years to digest!
I’m thinking of making a 100% free thing that teaches you how to become a confident, warm and open woman who’s comfortable in her own skin, and uses her short time on earth to do what matters rather than please others.
Before I do that though, I just want to get an interest list and see if you even want this to begin with before I spend a billion hours making this.
Plus, I don’t really want to publicize all the details of my intimate relationships on this blog. I figure an email or two to a small group of those who are hungry for more would be safer than publishing everything here. And I don’t want to annoy all those people who aren’t interested in this by blogging about it more than necessary.
So here’s what I want you to do
If you think you might be interested in finding out exactly what approach I used to transform into a joyful, confident woman full of self-love and living on purpose, just click here or enter your email below.
~The interest list is now closed~
Then in the next few days I’ll be in touch with you and we’ll get this started.
If enough people sign up, I’ll go ahead and make the free thing.
If you don’t want it, no worries. I still love you 😀