Food Council Maintains Meal-Time Regulations, Despite Minor Rebellion from Patient #00-03-96

This Just In!

People with eating disorders (ED) use certain coping tactics to deal with the anxiety created by food and eating. Thus, meals here are highly regulated. While this makes sense to anyone with a minimal comprehension of the world of eating disorders, I realized (in talking with my parents) that many people are completely unfamilar with ED strategies. Having rules help to alleviate the stress and inclination to ED habits but seem totally absurd to others. To me, patient's coping strategies are actually a demonstration of the wonders of the human cognitive processes. The strength these people show in their resisting or altering their meals is awe-inspiring. It makes you wonder the other amazing things they could acheive, if only they could direct that strength elsewhere...If there's one thing I've already learned, it's that ED patients aren't weak. They're just mis-allocating their resources.

Every day we eat three meals and three snacks. After every meal we sit at the table and go through "process," where we discuss the table ambience (was it conducive to eating? Were there triggers?), the challenges and successes of the food (I mentioned the copious amounts of butter I consumed this morning), and our feelings. In the morning and evening we include with our "intention" for the next hours (a goal) and in the evening we meet before the meal to discuss our fears and intentions for dinner in particular. Dinner is the hardest meal of the day: we're tired from the day's emotions and may still be struggling with something that came up earlier. Plus, we might still be full from earlier meals.

As you can see, meal-times are immensely stressful situations for people with ED. In the hours before patients obsess about the meal, stressing about it's contents and trying to come up with little ways to eat less, burn calories when they do it, cut it entirely, etc. Meals themselves bring so many emotions: some people feel like everyone is watching them eat. They may be given a food they deem "bad," something so morally degradable that they literally feel worse having eaten it. Or they may be hungry, and resent themselves for feeling like they "need" something. They may want to keep eating and eating until they "finally feel full," having no understanding of their body's true needs. And that's only three of the possibilities. For me (so far) finishing and enjoying my meal is no problem. Outside of lockdown, I tried to eat only as much as a I needed, the bare minimum to propel my internship, exercise, and activities. In lockdown I am so dedicated to gaining weight that I finish every meal "100%." It's easy because I don't have any other options, and that's easy because that's the option I chose. It's actually been such a liberating experience: my day used to be dominated by my obsessions over the time, nutrition and content of my next meal. In here I can focus on what makes the obsessions instead of using the obsession as distraction. But that fact is what makes me scared: when I leave here I will have other options, like eating less and exercising more. I will learn how to navigate the temptations. For now, watching the other patients fight every bite makes me feel so strongly for them, but eating my whole meal and distracting them with conversation and support is something that I will be forever grateful to have experienced.

As you can expect, I've learned most of the meal-time rules because I've broken them. Being that I don't have a specific food-related ED I do things normal eaters do without thinking, like putting my cheese on my crackers and dipping my Oreos in my milk. People with ED use tactics like these to eat slower or burn more calories or buy time. Playing with food, hiding food, scraping your food across the bottom of the plate, etc., are all ways ED patients cope with the anxiety of the meal and try to eat less. So, we're relegated to eat in a way that eliminates these possibilities. Hands, napkins and utensils are always kept on the table; only salad dressing can go on salad and milk in cereal; you can only cut your sandwiches once and must eat them with your hand; you can't break up anything that doesn't need to be broken; condiments can only be put on the appropriate food; and there will be no talking about food or our ED for the duration of the meal.

Last night with dinner I got Oreos. I haven't had a guilt-less Oreo in three years. The last one was with Maggie, when I decided to sacrifice my diet in order to teach my sister one of the finer things in life: Oreas in peanut butter. Last night, 4 delicious, crunchy, frosting-filled cookies centripetally pulled at me for all dinner. I finished my sandwich, picked up an Oreo, dunked it in my milk, and took a bite. Then, I understood: it's not the marketing that keeps people eating Oreos. Um, they're like, yummy. We eat our meals with aides who are there to facilitate conversation, help struggling pateints through, and act as the food police. My food police watched me eat one Oreo, milk sloshing up my grimy paws. As number two hovered above it's milky bath, she sweetly said, "Emily, I can't let you do that." Bummer. "Okay, I get it, but what about if I twist it and suck the frosting off?" That didn't fly either. When I told my parents and Maggie the story they balked. "That is so not fair!" I agree; dunking Oreos in milk is practically an American pastime. But I can't feel resentful or irritated by this. To the other patients here this simple action can trigger a myriad of emotions and actions.

The fact that any action in life can be so utterly effective is awesome in its own right, deserved of the utmost respect. That they have the mental capacity, capability and willpower to infuse a passing gesture with such intense emotion is not a testament to fallability but the dynamism and power of the human brain. So while I might have felt a little self satisfied in my attempt at rebellion, I am more than happy to respect the regulations of treatment.

In lieu of psychology, I learned some very intriguing information on the cranal processes of ED patients in comparison to all you "regular" people. When a person with ED looks at food, especially if it is a trigger food, they analyze the food using their cortex. This is the outside edges of the brain. It takes information sent from the inner core of the brain (where the spinal cord meets the mid-brain) and categorizes it, objectifies it, and relates it to other understandings. When a person without ED looks at a food, they only use the core area of the brain to think about it. People with ED don't simply see and comprehend food; they attach it to all the other ideas in their cranium. This is where I most relate to the other patients. I don't simply see food; I see and think about it, categorize it, deem it good or bad based on the other factors in my mind or day or life. It's the same with exercise. I don't just feel the exercise or enjoy it, I think about it and plan it and desire it and hate it and use it. We just think and think and think and think. All this thinking requires energy, which we get from the nutrients in food, or in the case of ED patients, don't get. It creates this perfect storm of thinking too much and not getting enough and then we're huge jerks and totally erratic. And tired. Which is why I'm ready to stop. It's fascinating to learn the science behind the process. It's also inspiring and beautiful to see others on their path to recovery. Although I'm not proud of the state I've brought myself to, in some ways I am so grateful for this opportunity. How many people can say they've lived all over the world, graduated college, enjoyed an amazing set of family and friends, and, oh, yah, been to treatment? I can!

Te quiero, mis amigos.

All the Things I Thought I Knew

What is wrong with these people?! (Pun intended). Here I am, thinking I've got this whole treatment thing covered even in the first 24 hours, and they continue to surpirse me. Let's explore the little lessons so far. First of all, I may actually be addicted to gum and coffee. Before, I might have cited myself as a "connessuer" or "lover" of all things dark and hot or chewy and mint. Here, they let us have one cup of coffee in the morning and no gum. The very first thing I want after a meal is a piece of fresh, chewy Extra, Spearmint falvor, please. Instead, I realized a half hour after lunch that I had some panini crusted on the side of my mouth and onion breath to match. Embarrassed, I hid in my room, looking out the window to distract from my minty demise. I was pleased to note that I could practically see my parent's house from my bedroom window, but as I scanned the landscape, the gravity of my situation hit: I was directly across from the Starbucks and the Einstein's espresso bar across the street. "That's purgatory," my sister said. Must. Get. Better. If not for me, for all that coffee, just wasting away... Another thing I've learned is that I'm not so clever. Here I am, thinking that I'm going to wake up early in the morning for a little quiet time, sticking to my routine. In actuality, this place is a hive in the morning- everyone seems to have the same idea. Looks like I'm going to need to come up with a new routine! In continuation, I have learned that although I am completely inflexible right now, flexibility is something that treatment teaches and I seem to be picking up. They have a daily schedule mapped out for me, with corresponding times and personnel, but that schedule is subject to change. The clock is only as good as the half hour to each side, and to me this to be incredibly refreshing. I've already found myself saying things like, "take your time" and "when it happens, it happens." It feels so nice to be relaxed in this day. I think a lot of it has to do with the giving up to treatment. They choose my food, my classes, my meetings, my life. It's easy to be flexible within that sort of safety. I worry that when I leave here I might go back to my old controlling ways. Practice makes perfect, I guess? One lesson is long overdue: lo and behold, self-censureship is a good idea! As you may know, I don't have much problem talking (one of the questions my psychiatrist asked was, "Are you shy?" I chortled, and we skipped to the next page). Because I'm so dedicated to this process, I was rather upbeat the entire first day, cracking jokes with the other members and laughing a lot. But I found that there are some things that may be "funny" in the real world and not so funny in treatment. For instance, when I joked that I may "make a run for it to Einstein's," hahaha, and later found out that's exactly what Jane in '99 (names and years have been changed) did. Or when I asked the other girls if they needed my mom and dad to bring fresh supplies when they come to visit, "like nail polish, or cotton balls...a knife..." *Silence* Or when one of the patients says, "My mom sent me here because she doesn't like me" in what I felt was a sarcastic way, and I attempt the equally sarcastic response of "Really?!" and they look at me and say, "Really." Mothers know best? Finally, my insurance obviously doesn't know the reality of the situation that I'm in. Because this place rocks. We have our own masseuse and can get one massage a week. We have a bathtub with big jets (no bath salts or bubbles allowed, though) and this big spa that they call a "restroom." Our beds are comfortable, we get to do art, and the food is delicious: I get to choose my meals off of a menu of options like salmon and tofu sandwiches. And dessert is mandatory! I'm telling you, this whole "eating disorder" thing isn't so bad (this is one of those times when the black "CENSURED" label may be in accord). To summarize: caffeine works and fresh breath is a privelege; other people like to wake up early in the morning, too; flexibility can be learned, although it must be practiced; thinking before one speaks is a good idea in a place where emotions and sensitivty run high; and even the most difficult situations have a silver lining, or at least Omega-3 fatty acids and a nice massage chair! I'm off to my day. Every morning we have to get our vitals taken (heart rate, pulse, urine tested, etc). One of the requirements is a "jump test," when, in the nude, we have to do a jumping jack in front of our aides to make sure we're not hiding anything. All the women out there understand that a bra-less hop is no comfortable feat. I believe they do this for another purpose: to replace the coffee, provide a little oomph to our morning routine. At least that's how it feels to me! Gooooood mooooooorning! I love you all very much. I have phone access between 7 p.m. and 10 p.m.- feel free to send a message or call! I also have spuradic internet access throughout the day. Drink a cup and do a hop for me!

The quirkiness of this life (at times more aptly named irony) continues to baffle me. By 4 p.m. yesterday I was in bed, fully clothed, watching the Travel Channel, totally resigned to staying there until someone forced me out. I didn't have the strength to do anything more than brood between the blankets. My entrance counselor hadn't called yet so I was facing the prospect of another week of waiting, and this time I hadn't filled my schedule with artificial busy-ness. So I was going to bed and screw Namaste and I wasn't hungry and good luck trying to move me.

Then, my phone rang. The voice on the other side said that a spot had opened and I could be admitted the next day if I was ready. If I was ready. I stammered through the rest of the call, glancing at the clock. Almost 5 o'clock. Are you smiling?

Then I became temporarily paralyzed. One moment ago I was committed to horizontal defiance and now I wanted to jump up and get prepared but I couldn't seem to break the sheets that had transformed to steel during the course of my conversation. The cranial vortex of to-do items multiplied, choking me. This was it, I was finally going to go, and I was very, very scared. I looked up yoga schedules for the morning, committing to the intense weighted class and maybe a second class after. Two hours would suffice.

I decided not to go to yoga this morning. The old Emily would have gone to the weighted class, dealt with the stress of this morning by working out, and then tried to pack/shower/get to the clinic in a stressed, frenzied fashion, never pausing to actually think. The old Emily wouldn't have taken the time to blog or enjoy these last cups of coffee (they limit us to one a day!). As soon as I woke up, I knew that weighted yoga was the old Emily and that there were much better ways for me to spend these arduous hours. Decision One to be Proud of Today.

Many of you have been asking about the logistics of the treatment process. I don't know many details; I started to look at other blogs of patients past, but decided against it. This is my journey and we all know the danger of expectations. I'll tell you what I do know:
1.) There's no set time for treatment. My loose plan is to be in residential for a few weeks until I've gained sufficient weight. Thereafter I will slowly move toward a normal living situation, probably moving back in with my parents and being in treatment all day. Then, maybe 4 days of treatment, then I can intern/ work again and go to treatment at night, then exercise a couple times a week, then teach classes, etc. By my guesstimations I will be dedicated to this process for just about the next year of my life. If in a year I can say I've kept on the weight, that I'm not obsessing about food, and that I've got a happy, healthy, flexible exercise schedule, then I've accomplished my goals. Next step: "Bienvenidos a Chile!"

Many of you have said, "You'll be out of there in no time; you're strong and I know you can get over this ASAP." Your words are super encouraging but not quite in line with how I want to take on this process. This is an adventure, another "temple," and it deserves its due time and respect. I will only do this once in my life so I want to do it right. Luckily, insurance covers everything, so I plan on letting life dictate it's own end points. In reality, I will be battling the demons of obsession my whole life. I, like so many others, have got the bug, and there's no shot for this strain.

2.) Treatment consists of forcing me to sit down all day, eat three meals with snacks in between, and spend the day in different group and personal therapy sessions. We will cover many topics of eating disorders, interpersonal and intrapersonal alike, and we get to do things like art and a little yoga. I will have a personal therapist, a family therapist, and a dietitian. It kind of sounds like preschool. Which is exactly what I want.

I am very good at making decisions. In fact, I decided that I only wanted to eat healthy and that I wanted to be in the best shape possible and a year later I'm still deciding that every hour, every second, every minute. I do what I say I will do. But when do I say I won't do? In going into treatment I'm forced to put my decisions in the hands of others, to give myself up to them. I'm forced to trust them. And I'm forced to relax in that trust. This is the challenge, the lesson in letting go. I'm excited (and not excited at all. But mostly excited. Right now. I think.).

3.) Treatment isn't pretty. One of the things I'm least excited about is the "re-feeding process," something akin to stuffing me like a Thanksgiving turkey. Every single patient goes through this yucky stage where their belly and face gain weight first, and it can take months for the weight to redistribute. Exercise doesn't help. You've got to suck it up and let it hang out. I mentioned to my mom that it might be funny to take pictures of it, like an expectant mother. She said that this wasn't funny at all. I understand, but I'd like to point out that this is likely the only bun-in-the-oven she'll get from me. Still, I've decided to forgo the "stages of growth" album. Try not to be too let down.

4.) I will have access to communication. I can bring my laptop and cell phone and use them during designated hours. E-mail is the best way to reach me and reading this blog is the best way to stay informed. While in residential care I will have family visiting hours that I think anyone can attend (my parents will have more information on this). Per their usual level of unprecedented support, my parents have offered to field calls and questions when I'm unreachable. Feel free to contact them.

In closing, I'd like to again express my gratitude for all of your support. I have received e-mails from families and individuals, from former employers to friends who I can't believe are still willing to be my friends considering the level at which I alienated myself from them. Even though I sometimes don't have the energy to respond to your e-mails and calls, I want you to know that every inspiring word is like an energy-shot to my soul. I wish I could say "thank-you" enough.

Stay tuned! It's 5 o'clock, somewhere, and the drama's about the unfold...

Salvador Dali: "The Cosmic Athlete"

The 5 o'clock Shadow

One time of day seems to be the most difficult, and that's right around 5 p.m. Every day at that time I start to lose steam, the world gets very heavy, and I wonder how many more minutes are in the night, how much more time until the next book-end in my world of perpetual waiting. I feel best in the morning when I wake up, get some "to-do" items done, maybe go to yoga or for a walk, and indulge in a little coffee. But in the afternoon my demons come back. How many calories have I eaten today? What should I be doing right now to keep up the optimal level of productivity? Why don't I have any energy? When am I going to get into treatment? Why am I so selfish, putting this burden on my family? The thoughts hum in my head and I usually find myself in a chair somewhere, simultaneously whimpering like a child and cursing like a sailor. 5 o'clock steals my ability to make a decision; a good friend yesterday said, "just let me know what will make you feel better." I had no idea. I think everyone has their rough time of day. It's 8:49 a.m. and I'm looking at the slug of my sister curled up on the couch, eyes half open, staring at cartoons. This is her's. In about an hour she'll be a bouncing butterfly but right now I've just got to let her simmer. At 5 o'clock she'll do me the same honor.

This morning I took a yoga class that uses weights, burns calories and is more intense than the ones I've been relegating myself to this week. I mostly chose the class because it fit my schedule, but I would be lying if I said the intensity of the workout wasn't appealing. As soon as I had those weights in my hand I felt the familiar pride and endorphins that "hooked" me in the first place. But as I watched myself pump the iron, the guilt threatened to pull my downward-facing dog all the way to the ground. "I shouldn't be doing this" chattered in place of om in my 1st chakra (the brain, for you westerners). My muscles filled me with shame.

And then came the resentment. Why, I balked, should I be ashamed of this body, this awesome achievement that I've worked so hard for? Why should I feel guilty for doing what doctors and society has been hounding us to do for years now: eat healthy and get in shape. Why was this a "problem?"

Even though I do yoga, I'm not flexible. Like the poses themselves, everything is upside down and backward in my mind. I'm a pretzel within the confines of my own imbalance. I've lost all ability to live in the moment, to take the lemons that life hands me without mashing them into a senseless, sugarless, low-fat pulp. That's why. I'm not following doctor's recommendations but my own strict paradigm, my own warped sense of what's "good."

The emotions that envelope me at any moment can almost always be divided succinctly in two: the desire to gain weight and recharge my life and the fear of losing control, the self-doubt, and the guilt and loathing. Yin and yang sans positive connotations. It is this Cold War that makes me tired at 5 o'clock.

The likely reason for my weighted transgression is the fact that I find out today if I can get into treatment tomorrow. If I can't, there's still the option of Wednesday; if neither of those work then it could be over a week until the next possible opening. Thinking about another week of waiting can only be related to the movie Castaway. I want to go to the ocean, make best friends with a volleyball, and never speak English again. Yet, I know that time still ticks in the ocean. I can't run from 5 o'clock.

But! It's 5 o'clock somewhere, right? Interestingly enough, I am not whimpering in a chair. I'm babysitting my sister and looking forward to spending time with my friends. Eventually, my entrance counselor will call, and she will tell me something, and I will deal with this something, and 5 o'clock will come and go, and tomorrow and the next day and the next day and some time from now, I will be happy and healthy and teaching group fitness classes in Chile in Spanish. That's that. Those are my options. Wonderful, simple, and like the tree pose, both flexible and balanced.

I'm sending you love at this 5 o'clock hour.

Holy Frijoles! (And fruits and whole grains and NOT cookies...)

Check this out! I had no idea that this "disease" even existed, but it feels so much like what I and many others struggle with. The modern emphasis on healthy eating and exercise leads to extremes for so many people. Look at this wikipedia.com entry on "Orthexia nervosa":

Orthorexia nervosa (also known as orthorexia) is a term used by Steven Bratman to describe people who have developed a fixation with healthy or righteous eating^[1] and has been referred to as a mental disorder.^[2] It is not a medically recognized term.^[a]

Steven Bratman claims that in rare cases, this focus may turn into a fixation so extreme that it can lead to severe malnutrition or even death.^[3] Even in less severe cases, the attempt to follow a diet that cannot provide adequate nourishment is said to lower self-esteem as the orthorexic blames themselves rather than their diet for their constant hunger and the resulting cravings for forbidden foods. ^[4]

The term orthorexia derives from the Greek ορθο- (ortho, “right" or "correct”), and όρεξις (orexis, "appetite"), literally meaning a correct diet. It was introduced in 1997 by Californian Doctor of Medicine Steven Bratman, to be used as a parallel with other eating disorders, such as anorexia nervosa.

...Bratman describes orthorexia as an unhealthy fixation with what the individual considers to be healthy eating. The subject may avoid certain unhealthy foods, such as those containing fats, preservatives, man-made food-additives, animal products, or other ingredients considered by the subject to be unhealthy; if the sufferer does not eat appropriately, malnutrition can ensue. Bratman claims Orthorexic sufferers have specific preferences about the foods they are eating and avoiding...

...In addition, he claims that "anorexic orthorexia" can be as dangerous as anorexia. However, he states, "the underlying motivation is quite different. While an anorexic wants to lose weight, an orthorexic does not desire to become thin^[6] but wants to feel pure, healthy and natural...

As another good friend once said, "All I want you to do is eat a big, juicy, burger." Hmmmm....

"Jessica's Daily Affirmation"

My best friend, Laura, first showed me this youtube video. Just watch it and you'll know why I posted it here!!

Jessica's Daily Affirmation

Something to be Proud of

A good friend of mine recommended that I find something to be proud of every single day. This actually isn't too hard when you have very low expectations. Like, eating the sample of sushi at Queen Soopers (yes, Queen Soopers in the ghetto gives out free sushi samples. And half of you are still sheltered in the burbs!). That was formerly an off-limits food, and I ate it in one gulp. Or the pizza we made last night- I invented a Thai shrimp Boboli that was to die for. And accompanied it with three glasses of wine.

What may seem like a typical night for most can be extremely difficult for people struggling with eating disorders, and last night is a great example. The extremes that are felt during a single moment like that are limitless: at one point, I was proud of myself for eating pizza and enjoying the moment, but as the night wore on the guilt set in, and then dessert happened, and then I started doing what they call "engaging in behavior:" I signed up for an early-morning workout class and planned how I could secretly get in as much possible activity during the day. I got irritable and anxious- practically chewed a whole pack of gum, for goodness sakes. And I just wanted everyone to shut up.

But guess what? I didn't go to the workout class (let's chalk this one up to willpower, not wine...)! And guess what? I'm going to go to Ethiopian food with my Professor today! And guess what? I'm going to stop worrying about this stupid stuff because it made last night less fun and makes this beautiful morning, with the sun coming in the windows and my coffee brewing, less valuable. And we all know that if there is anything in this world that deserves its due respect, it's the wonderfully legal drug known as coffee.

A note on lunch: I am going with the Professor who oversaw my Partners in Scholarship Research Project, A Case Study of the Colorado Refugee English as a Second Language Program. He's was so important to my work and an absolutely brilliant man, and this is our celebration of me having finished my project. I also presented the project to the CRESL school for the first time a few days ago. If they like it, they are considering using it in their curriculum, and it could end up at the desk of the Denver Commissioner for Refugees. I am so proud of the project and so honored to have worked with my Professor, the teachers at CRESL, and the refugees. If there's a place to give me a little perspective on my "issues," I think refugee programs are it! Too bad they're on Spring Break!

Thank you to everyone for your responses, both here and on e-mail. I cannot fathom how I became so lucky as to live in a world with you people. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I'm praying for and thinking about and love you, too! And I'm wishing you the very best morning: coffee (decaff black tea for Alison and green tea for Uncle Dave), maybe a little bit of quiet, and an honest day. Cheers!

A New Direction

Originally, I created this blog as a means to document one of the biggest, most exciting times in my life: my study abroad experience in India. It was a means to share events and ideas with my friends family, helping us to keep in touch at a time when it was either difficult or taxing to contact individuals. Many people, some of whom I had no idea were following, expressed that they appreciated the blog and felt as connected to me as I felt to them, even though we were so far from one another. It's been sitting here, untouched, ever since; I've been wondering if there might be a time when this page could come in handy. I think I may have found it.

As many of you are aware, I have decided to enter into the Residential Treatment Program at the Eating Recovery Center of Denver. The ERC is one of the premier eating disorder care programs in the nation, attracting men and women from many different states. Unfortunately, that means that there is a waitlist, and I'm on it, doing just that- waiting...and waiting...and waiting...and thinking, way too much. In some ways the wait is beneficial: it means that when I enter the program, I will be truly committed and ready. However, I feel so sure, confidant and ready to make this change, that the waiting feels useless. Hopefully I will get in sometime early next week. I'll keep you posted (cue drums)!

Many people are wondering what exactly "I have": anorexia? Bulimia? Exercise bulimia? And how it developed. I am an obsessive-compulsive exerciser: I never feel like I've exercised enough and always want to be in the best possible shape. It's an escape mechanism and a way of making me feel proud and accomplished. In this disorder, I exercise for upwards of 3 hours a day, and it's taking it's toll on my body, my mind, and my sanity. Along with the exercise is obsessive eating: I only want to eat the "healthiest" possible food and as much as it takes to propel my exercise schedule. I have never worried about being fat or had a problem with my body; in fact, body confidence is something I've only lost because of exercise (I wish I still had a booty!) and I can't wait to get my rounder figure back. Truly, the food and exercise come back to the same basic premise: I want to be the best I can be, in every way, at all times.

I once read a quote: "Attempting to be superhuman will only result in being sub-par." Oops.

So, after about a year of this behavior, the impact on my life is obvious and atrocious. I have lost the majority of my friends (I was unwilling to go out, potentially gaining weight and feeling too hungover to work out), my health, several jobs, my boyfriend, and caused limitless worry to those who I care most about. Moreover, I feel like I've been wasting my time. It's silly and fruitless to live this way, obsessing about what doesn't matter because I stress myself out over what does. Hiding behind the disorder is no longer effective, and I'm ready to make the change.

My goals help drive me through this process. First, I want to go to Chile, working with a U.S.-based company who has partners or branches in the region. I want to get my graduate degree at the University of Santiago there. I want to eat Chilean food and dance the salsa and flirt with cute Chilean boys. I will do this, and I will be healthy.

I want to be an inspirational group fitness instructor. After years of considering it I had finally earned my certification a few months ago and was working with a couple different Boot Camps. I adore teaching fitness- it's so much fun to help others find their healthy selves, and I get a kick out of cracking jokes and jumping around like a squirrel on ADHD meds. It's just for me, but unless I can maintain a healthy self, how am I supposed to be energetic enough? I refuse to be a hypocrite.

I want to be spiritual. Exercising has taken the place of my self-awareness, my feelings of self-worth, and my emotional connection with those powers outside of myself. I don't have the energy to consider greater beings, and in this realm I have lost one of the most important aspects of being a human being. I can't wait to reconnect with the Emily that is in Jesus or darma or Shakti or whatever else is out there. They know I'm there and they will show me myself.

In conclusion, I'd like to offer a warning to any reader of this blog: it could get ugly. I am hoping that people from all parts of my life, from mentors to Uncles, can read this to stay up-to-date with my (sure) progress when I'm inaccessible. I also think it could end up very, very interesting. This might be my only chance at 15 minutes of fame: Celebrity Rehab! I'm going to give it a try. If I feel like it's getting too invasive at either end of the screen I'll cut it. For now, please comment, respond, and ask questions. I love you, and I want you in.

Wish me luck!