Mother's Day

This year is my third Mother's Day. My first one with a child I can hold. 

I have the day off from work- but not because it is Mother's Day- I am off because it is Sunday- and I have 99% of Sunday's off. 

I asked for one thing for Mother's Day. A day where I can go downstairs, play music, get drunk & paint. A day to do the things I used to do. 

Camerin works. So my carefree day of drinking, painting and being "old chelsea" will have to wait until another day. I have full confidence that I will get that day- it'll just be a few days late.

This Mother's Day- will just be Sunday. And honestly- that's fine. 

But that reality has made me think. In many conversations with mothers about Mother's Day- most of them said that all they wanted was a day off. And through reading countless articles & comments sections- it seems like this is a rarity for them to actually receive. 

Women are scrutinized for apparently never saying what they actually want- but yet- when they do- it seems like they don't receive it. 

They receive flowers, chocolates, stuffed animals and other shit that they don't really need or want. 

What mothers actually need is a fucking break. 

I would bet money that most won't get it. 

I was talking to my mom & she said something about how now I understand why she isn't ever really pumped for Mother's Day. As a kid- every Mother's Day was spent going to two different family functions. She usually had to help provide some sort of food and had to get me & my brother dressed up and all that jazz. For the most part- regular everyday shit- but it was Mother's Day- and she is a mother- yet- it was never about her. 

What I'm getting at is that Mother's Day is kinda bullshit. And isn't really about mothers. It's about making everyone else feel good about the fact that they took one day- out of 365 in a year to really tell their mom that they appreciate her. When she spends every day living for them. 

Your candies, cards, flowers, etc are all great. But if you really wanna show you appreciate her- do her job for a day. Give her a break. But that's not reality- because- honestly- no one wants our job. Not even for one day. 

Moms are the most badass people out there. I have the privilege of working with a lot of moms. All of us from different backgrounds, all of us with different situations and struggles- and every one of us is a fucking bad ass. Every one of us is giving our absolute all every single day. I've never worked with anyone who works harder then a mom. We all deserve one day off. A lot of us won't get it- but that doesn't mean we don't deserve it. 

I'm not upset that I won't get a day off on Mother's Day. I've been conditioned to understand that a day off isn't reality. And even if I did get a day off- I probably wouldn't know what to do with myself & I'd probably miss the shit out of my kid & spouse. 

But it's nice to dream. 

#mombod

As a woman- our bodies are almost constantly scrutinized. From an insanely young age we are fed this idea that our value is dependent on how we look and what size we are. 

This idea is something I've struggled with my entire life. At 10 years old it was brought to my attention that my body was wrong and that it wasn't ok or acceptable that I didn't look like the other girls my age. 

I went on my first diet in 6th grade. I was on a diet pretty much constantly until I was 22. At around 25 I entered treatment for an eating disorder and became enlightened to the fact that I had had an eating disorder most of my life. I vowed to beat it and never look back. 

That's impossible. 

4 years later I still struggle everyday. I day dream about starvation and compulsive exercise. I count calories subconsciously and have disgust for my body most days. Thankfully I have learned too much to fully engage in eating disorder behaviors most days- but the thoughts are always there. 

They only got worse after having a baby. Charlie is the greatest gift I've ever received- but the pressure for perfection is even stronger now. But with age & experience- comes new perspective. 

I have a love hate relationship with my body. It loves me & most days- I hate it. 

I treat my body terribly. I have most of my life. I've starved it, taken laxatives, physically beat it, cut it, and more. I've talked bad about it & had disgust for it for as long as I can remember. Never once has it failed me. I've let it down multiple times- but it has never let me down. My body isn't perfect & I don't love the way it looks- but it's strong as hell. It's survived years of an eating disorder, years of self harm, fertility treatment, and pregnancy. It never once faltered. It's time for me to be gentler to it. It's time to treat it right- build it & make it stronger so it can relax a little. It doesn't deserve to work so hard while I tear it down. The first 30 years have been far from easy- and I'm sure the next 30+ won't be either.

I don't need to look like the other girls- in fact- I don't want to. I need to learn self love. To practice the things I preach. To take my own advice- and love the skin I'm in.

Our bodies take such good care of us- and most of the time we repay them by tearing them down, trying to change them & mold them into what we think they should be. Instead of embracing them for exactly what they are. I'm trying to do that. 

I want to exercise & get stronger- but not to change my body- or hurt it. To make it stronger- so it can take a well deserved break. It's carried me through hell & back- being gentler to it & taking care of it is the least I can do. 

Recovery

Recovery is shitty.

Don't get me wrong. I love that I have "beat" my eating disorder. But recovery really sucks sometimes. 

I find myself daydreaming of my sick times. Daydreaming of binges, restrictions, starvation, calorie counting, diet obsessing, over exercising. All of it. And often times it actually seems fun. 

Somebody I spoke with recently said "it gives me something to do" when talking about calorie counting. I couldn't help but relate to that, agree with that, and be a bit envious. 

In this haze of post pregnancy life I feel like I have nothing that is mine anymore. My existence as chelsea, just chelsea is gone. And in those moments- I dream about my eating disorder. The glorified portions of it. The "good" things I got out of it. In those moments it's hard to see the sickness for what it is. 

But I'm "recovered" now. Even if I were to engage in any eating disorder behaviors- they wouldn't work. They would only end up making me feel worse. The thrill is gone. The high I used to get when I hadn't eaten for days is a thing of the past. Sometimes that makes me sad. Sometimes I miss the way it felt. The so-called control I had.

Because even though it was destructive- it was mine. 

Inevitable

Some things are just inevitable. No matter how you try- they are gonna happen anyways. That's how I feel about relapse. 

I fantasize about my eating disorder. I dream about it. I long for it & I crave it. I am aware that my resistance will only last so long. Relapse is inevitable. 

The sad thing is- I'm not even upset about it. I'm actually kind of excited. Something familiar sounds good right now. Something that makes sense. Something that is mine. 

Right now my entire world is Charlie, working, and taking care of the house. I literally do nothing else. I can't remember the last time I painted or created something. I can't remember the last time I sat down and no one needed me. 

And really that's all I want. Just like one day where no one needs me. 

This lack of having anything- of feeling routine, and not really in control- leads me to obsess about my body. Which will in turn lead to relapse. 

I don't even care anymore. 

Cry

All I want to do is cry. I want to get a hotel room, by myself & lay in bed all day and cry. 

I hate my body more than ever- and on top of that hate- I feel guilt for hating it. My body brought Charlie to life- yet I still hate it. 

I never want to eat again. 

It's been 2 weeks since my doctors appointment. 2 weeks of working out& trying to be healthy. 

My body hasn't changed at all. In fact- I'm pretty sure I've gained weight. 

It has me broken. All I want to do is cry. 

I don't have anything else to say. 

8weeks

I wish I could say it's gotten easier. 

Charlie is a dream. A pretty much perfect baby- and being a mom is hands down my favorite thing I've ever done. 

But the voices haven't stopped. I'm back on my anxiety medicine- so the voices are quieter- but they are still there. 

I have been eating as intuitively as possible- but am still skipping meals. I want to say it's not intentional- but it probably is. It's so much easier to just not eat. It's not the answer- but it works. And it's even easier with the distraction of a baby. He takes up most of my time- so really- when do I have time to eat. 

At my 6 week doctors appointment she told me that I had lost a third of the weight I gained. Everyone is telling me how great that is. But in my head- guessing what I gained- I really only lost the weight of Charlie. So I don't feel like I've accomplished anything. 

She told me to walk. Try and do 5,000 steps a day. Naturally I am trying to do 10,000. I bought an eliptical, dance and walk while holding the baby and make as many trips as I can while doing all chores.  I hang up each item and put them in my closet one at a time. Just to take more steps. 

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little obsessed. But I think I've balanced that voice a little bit (the obsessive one) 

I've allowed myself to not reach my goal. But it feels like shit when I don't. 

This process is gonna be a lot. 

Relapse still looks like the better option. 

Postpartum

5 weeks since I had Charlie. 

Id be lying if I said the past 5 weeks have been easy. And I'm not talking just about taking care of a baby. That part is hard- but nothing compared to the voices in my head that have pushed me to the edge of relapse. 

Everyday I have to remind myself to eat- because it is SO easy to forget right now- and most days I would like to forget a meal or two. Maybe then the weight would be gone- and I could stop obsessing about my body. 

I know that's not the answer. But it seems really nice some days. Most days. 

I don't know what I weigh- or how much weight I gained while pregnant. I haven't known my weight for over 3 years. What I do know is that my clothes don't fit. And that I feel super out of shape. 

Every time I try & talk about this and my feelings- I get told "it's only been a month" or "you look great" etc etc. while I appreciate the compliments, they really don't mean anything. It's mostly people saying what they think they should say. It's just like how everyone says "I can't even tell you're pregnant" when you are 8 months pregnant and huge. 

People say those things to be nice. Because they think they should say them, and while the sentiment in sweet- it would probably be better to say nothing.

Why would it be better to say nothing? 

Because I know you are lying. And when people lie to me- especially about my body or my mental health- it makes me feel really sick- and like a burden. It actually makes me feel worse. About everything. And it makes me want to never open up again. 

It's gonna be a battle- like everything else for the past 3 years. And honestly- I'm tired of fighting. So giving in & relapsing- doesn't sound so bad. Like just stop eating for awhile- lose the weight- get my body back- and then work on recovery... Again. I've done it before- I can do it again... Right? 

There is a sick comfort in these thoughts. They feel safe. They feel like home.