What seems like a very long time ago, I went to treatment because I was mad (my favorite British term for what Americans might call off yer’ rocker). After four years of working my way through a successful and expensive bachelor’s degree, my days were an exhaustive, obsessive, manic mix of waitressing, internships, and thesis statements. Secretly, I cowered in a tiny psychological corner, spending every free moment exercising and counting calories. Finally, with the love and support of friends, families, and a couple strangers, I entered mind-body-soul treatment at the Eating Recovery Center in Denver, CO.
Everything I need to know I learned in treatment. My experience there was a personally and globally enlightening opportunity. In treatment I found my “human being,” who I am when I am not consumed by “doing.” The skills I learned in treatment teach me how to live effectively in an international setting today. Here I explain the insights my foibles allowed me. But this post isn’t really about me. The post is, ultimately, about you. Edify yourself in your own life experiences.
In THIS recent article, Bren on the Road states that “people travel to find themselves.” You might consider my walk from my parent’s front door to the sliding-glass of the hospital’s as traveling to find myself. Bren says that travel provides the opportunity to explore oneself unfettered by minutiae. That's exactly what treatment is, too, so I feel like I got a jump-start on self discovery. Treatment was my babies’-first-bath kind of cool water plunge. I emerged with a cleaner, thicker, wiser skin. Today I travel to be myself, not to find myself. I put down roots, seek high ground, because that’s what’s good for me. And I know how to cope when I smell the sickly scent of dilemma. I’m the baby whose mom dipped her toes in the water first. I learned to plug my nose.
Every expat-local is different. We have our own histories and comprehensions, our own biases and awareness. We have habits and coping mechanisms. We use these tools to navigate our situations abroad. Reflecting on such psychological methodologies is a key expat-local skill; it helps us find what works in any locale. Use my treatment-induced compass to explore the lessons I live by. Use it as a road map to find your own compass.
I don’t care so much: This isn’t the term they used in treatment. They called it letting go. But to me not caring so much or maybe throwing one’s hands up and exclaiming, ‘Ah, what the hell!’ are more apt statements. When I was sick I lived an outcome-based existence where I cared extremely about everything. Everything was personal, profound, and prioritized. I lost my ability to see the forest for the trees. Treatment helped me clarify my values so that I could trust my own mindset. Now I draw effective maps for day-to-day living despite feeling scared, guilty, overjoyed, hopeful, and a million other emotions. I focus on what really matters (being a good person). Other useless mental chatter floats by like a leaf on a stream (or, at least I can see the chatter clogging my drain). Now that I know it’s silly to try to force the world to operate my way, I find that its people and processes naturally help me. This ability to let go of things that I simply don’t have the time, space, or ability to try to effect allows me to appreciate what the world gives, no matter where I live in it.
I can find bemusing adventures in unlikely places: During my first few months of treatment we were allowed outside a few times a day to socialize in pseudo-boredom on a rectangle of manicured patio. No, it wasn’t Shawshank. We were on a refeeding program where too much movement both represented obsessive-compulsive exercise, a misplaced anxiety-buster, and a detriment to weight gain. To entertain myself and other patients I developed scavenger hunts. Passerby attempted not to ogle when they witnessed a mismatched bunch of people squatting on the cool cementscapes, rifling through pebbles, investigating blank patches of grass, and turning their heads toward the heavens, scavenging for whatever theme I deemed scavengable that day. We found delight amongst decorative rocks and green metal tree fences. A family of ladybugs became our favorite finds, inspiring one of my in-patient friends to gift me a pair of ladybug socks. I stored our bounty in a scrapbook I named Book of Found Items. As I progressed through the stages of treatment my travel options expanded. Soon I was allowed to walk down the street, navigate our out-patient apartments, and attend yoga classes. Then I was an “extended outpatient,” living with my parents and exploring their immediate vicinity. Each stage opened a new world of the most hyper-local, never-before-seen, insider-access adventures, the size of a city block (or less).
I know I’m not THAT powerful: This is one of the most liberating lessons I learned. It is oxymoronically empowering. A regular trait of people who enter treatment for disorders and addictions is deep-seated guilt about not being good enough. I thought that even my small decisions really totally profoundly forever-ly affected people around me. When disordered people try to inhibit guilty emotions by using their addictions an endless cycle of guilt and coping develops. They’re actions harm their relationships, leading to more guilt, and so they act out again. What is the fundamental assumption here? The idea that we have a constant, consistent, and comprehensive impact over the mindscapes of others.
In fact, we’re not that powerful.
Yes, we are loved and give love. We have the ability to create dramatic relationships, helpful or harmful. But just as we control our own actions and reactions, so do others. We’re profoundly resilient animals, capable of learning and forgiving.
I find this lesson particularly helpful when I feel guilty about leaving my friends and family for an international life and also when trying to manage mutual expectations during my return visits. My grandparents struggle a lot to accept that I’ve left. My parents, sisters and I loathe the waterworks that drip from our chins at departure gates. But as I fly to a full life, so they drive to theirs. I feel guilty that sometimes it’s just too chaotic to see every friend when I go home. But I remind myself that there are many ways to communicate, many ways to show love, and will be other opportunities. Our lives go on.
I can find bemusing adventures in unlikely places: During my first few months of treatment we were allowed outside a few times a day to socialize in pseudo-boredom on a rectangle of manicured patio. No, it wasn’t Shawshank. We were on a refeeding program where too much movement both represented obsessive-compulsive exercise, a misplaced anxiety-buster, and a detriment to weight gain. To entertain myself and other patients I developed scavenger hunts. Passerby attempted not to ogle when they witnessed a mismatched bunch of people squatting on the cool cementscapes, rifling through pebbles, investigating blank patches of grass, and turning their heads toward the heavens, scavenging for whatever theme I deemed scavengable that day. We found delight amongst decorative rocks and green metal tree fences. A family of ladybugs became our favorite finds, inspiring one of my in-patient friends to gift me a pair of ladybug socks. I stored our bounty in a scrapbook I named Book of Found Items. As I progressed through the stages of treatment my travel options expanded. Soon I was allowed to walk down the street, navigate our out-patient apartments, and attend yoga classes. Then I was an “extended outpatient,” living with my parents and exploring their immediate vicinity. Each stage opened a new world of the most hyper-local, never-before-seen, insider-access adventures, the size of a city block (or less).
I know I’m not THAT powerful: This is one of the most liberating lessons I learned. It is oxymoronically empowering. A regular trait of people who enter treatment for disorders and addictions is deep-seated guilt about not being good enough. I thought that even my small decisions really totally profoundly forever-ly affected people around me. When disordered people try to inhibit guilty emotions by using their addictions an endless cycle of guilt and coping develops. They’re actions harm their relationships, leading to more guilt, and so they act out again. What is the fundamental assumption here? The idea that we have a constant, consistent, and comprehensive impact over the mindscapes of others.
In fact, we’re not that powerful.
Yes, we are loved and give love. We have the ability to create dramatic relationships, helpful or harmful. But just as we control our own actions and reactions, so do others. We’re profoundly resilient animals, capable of learning and forgiving.
I find this lesson particularly helpful when I feel guilty about leaving my friends and family for an international life and also when trying to manage mutual expectations during my return visits. My grandparents struggle a lot to accept that I’ve left. My parents, sisters and I loathe the waterworks that drip from our chins at departure gates. But as I fly to a full life, so they drive to theirs. I feel guilty that sometimes it’s just too chaotic to see every friend when I go home. But I remind myself that there are many ways to communicate, many ways to show love, and will be other opportunities. Our lives go on.
I care about keeping a healthy appearance: Visualize this lesson with me...You’re driving past the bus station during one cloudy sunset. A pallid backpacker with sunken, twitchy eyeballs careens through the parking lot. She flags you down, mumbling a request for directions. She looks hungry and wears too many clothes.
Now, imagine the same situation but with a rosy-cheeked, perky, strong backpacker. She smiles at you; her shoulders are visibly more relaxed. Which one are you more likely to help? I bet you even offer backpacker #2 a ride.
Since I didn’t move abroad until after I was years out of treatment and healthy, I glean this expat-local lesson from the reactions I received from Americans when I was sick in the States. During that time I was constantly told things like, “go eat a burger” and “you exercise too much.” I didn’t know why I was continuously denied jobs. One acquaintance told me that a potential employer called me “the anorexic girl” after my interview (I wasn’t hired). People seemed hesitant to approach me, diverting their eyes like a dog that shies away from its owner after getting into the trash. Seemingly, they didn’t trust my intent and worried about my reaction. Why did I let myself look that way? they seemed to ask.
As an expat-local, I give my host citizens plenty of reason to doubt me (see my series, “Drunk or Foreign” for proof). I refuse to add my physical appearance to their list.
I prioritize self-care: Even as I sit writing this article I feel guilty for not writing paid articles, promoting my book, managing my other writers, blah blah blah. “Be effective! Every minute counts! What’s the BOTTOM LINE!” my sick and American-dreaming neuroses scream. Then I remind myself that taking the time to write is one of my methods of self-care and that when I don’t pursue self-care I am much less effective. Treatment taught me that self-care comes in many forms. It’s obvious things like massages and movies. But it’s also decorating one’s space with silly posters, even if only living there for a short time. Or paying for a long, luxurious dinner while reading a fairy tale. And going to the mall with a new friend when you have no money to your name. The ability to recognize what does and does not feel good, then choosing to act in a way that promotes good feeling, is a method of self-preservation applicable across borders.
Friends come in all shapes and sizes: Treatment brings together a multiplicity of former hermits (isolated by their disease). Despite common stereotypes about eating disorder sufferers, we come from all socio-economic, geographic, and mental landscapes. We connected because we were genuine and willing. And, yes, because we didn’t have a choice. We respected one another’s individuality. We fell in love with each other’s quirks. Every person was a blank slate; I observed them like a child realizing the existence of his own hand. Just like I learned to recognize my human being from my human doing, I now strive to perceive a greater self in others. That, my friends, translates very well.
Now, imagine the same situation but with a rosy-cheeked, perky, strong backpacker. She smiles at you; her shoulders are visibly more relaxed. Which one are you more likely to help? I bet you even offer backpacker #2 a ride.
Since I didn’t move abroad until after I was years out of treatment and healthy, I glean this expat-local lesson from the reactions I received from Americans when I was sick in the States. During that time I was constantly told things like, “go eat a burger” and “you exercise too much.” I didn’t know why I was continuously denied jobs. One acquaintance told me that a potential employer called me “the anorexic girl” after my interview (I wasn’t hired). People seemed hesitant to approach me, diverting their eyes like a dog that shies away from its owner after getting into the trash. Seemingly, they didn’t trust my intent and worried about my reaction. Why did I let myself look that way? they seemed to ask.
As an expat-local, I give my host citizens plenty of reason to doubt me (see my series, “Drunk or Foreign” for proof). I refuse to add my physical appearance to their list.
I prioritize self-care: Even as I sit writing this article I feel guilty for not writing paid articles, promoting my book, managing my other writers, blah blah blah. “Be effective! Every minute counts! What’s the BOTTOM LINE!” my sick and American-dreaming neuroses scream. Then I remind myself that taking the time to write is one of my methods of self-care and that when I don’t pursue self-care I am much less effective. Treatment taught me that self-care comes in many forms. It’s obvious things like massages and movies. But it’s also decorating one’s space with silly posters, even if only living there for a short time. Or paying for a long, luxurious dinner while reading a fairy tale. And going to the mall with a new friend when you have no money to your name. The ability to recognize what does and does not feel good, then choosing to act in a way that promotes good feeling, is a method of self-preservation applicable across borders.
Friends come in all shapes and sizes: Treatment brings together a multiplicity of former hermits (isolated by their disease). Despite common stereotypes about eating disorder sufferers, we come from all socio-economic, geographic, and mental landscapes. We connected because we were genuine and willing. And, yes, because we didn’t have a choice. We respected one another’s individuality. We fell in love with each other’s quirks. Every person was a blank slate; I observed them like a child realizing the existence of his own hand. Just like I learned to recognize my human being from my human doing, I now strive to perceive a greater self in others. That, my friends, translates very well.
I could go on. This is the type of post writers love to hate, because it pours from a reservoir without a dam. I could continue examining all the ways that one powerful time in my life profoundly ties to this powerful time in my life. But the point of this post is to encourage you, reader, to reflect on your own expat-local journey, whether on the next block, in the next city, or the next country. What lessons from previous hurdles boost your jump today? What irritations can your healthy coping mechanisms help you overcome, recognize, or just not care about?
Please share your story by commenting below!
Please share your story by commenting below!
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Rebecca said:
Thank you so much for writing this beautiful post! I, too, spent a fair amount of time at ERC about a year ago. Reading your journey, your thoughts, your perspective is truly encouraging. Keep pressing on and living a beautiful life!
Cindy Wells said:
Emily this is a beautifully written article. I love the way you were right and I particularly love the content of this writing. I applaud your work and your courage in doing what you do. Being so far from home, the people that you, family and all things familiar takes a very special kind of courage. Identify with many things that you call me tonight and particularly the importance of self-care. I agree that this is not something that will happen without complete participation. I have a friend that I check in with several times a week for the sole purpose of how I am practicing self-care. We help hold one another accountable for this most important act. Thank you so much for sharing with me. Sending you a hug.
Cynthia said:
Emily, I am so glad that you are doing well. I pray that you keep on keeping on and live the life you so much deserve. I think it takes a very strong person to write about their journey with ED. It gives such insight and hope that there is a light at the end of the tunnel and that recovery is very possible and does happen. I pray often for every woman and yes, the males out there that struggle with this disease. As I have found out, that ED does not discriminate, he will take anyone that allows him to enter. I have not been in your situation Emily but I do have a daughter that struggled with ED. Her name is Sam. She is doing very well now, thank God, but not before her battle nearly took her life, not once but twice. She had a relapse and was taken down an even darker road. I am so thankful to say that she is embarking on her 1 year anniversary since leaving the ERC in Denver. The treatment team literally saved my daughter. They are the most awesome and caring people I know. They definitely know what they are doing in order to get our loved ones on the road to recovery. I also thank her friends that she met there, all the support that they have for one an other. I have noticed that she has found her voice and even though there are still days when she questions herself and struggles, she is also getting stronger and stronger every day, every meal. She is living a life that she knows that she deserves. She too prioritizes self-care. That is one of the most important things that she did learn to do. She is allowed to exercise now and does it for the enjoyment instead of the need or feeling that she has too. I see that beautiful sparkle in her eyes now instead of that distant look and when she smiles, she literally light up the room instead of that forced smile I saw back when she was battling that terrible disease. As a mother I have to say that ED not only takes away everything from the person battling, it also takes away everything from loved ones that have to see their loved ones struggle. Our hands are tied and we are trapped feeling like we are on the outside looking in and wondering what can we do. It was a hard road, something we never in a millions years thought we would all go through, but it has not only made her stronger, it has made us stronger too. It has also showed us that we cannot take life for granted and that we should cherish every day with our loved ones, for we never know what we will be facing or be thrown with day to day. Sure we still watch for signs and are scared because we never know what will happen tomorrow, but we as parents are allowing ourselves to get back to living our lives too. We always pray that she stays focused and stays on that road to recovery, we stay hopeful because of our journey and where it has led us. Stay strong Emily and God bless you and keep you strong!! Thank you for sharing your story, take care, Cynthia
Erin said:
Emily, this post is lovely, genuine, heartfelt, and for me, timely. I will be celebrating my fifth anniversary of discharge from the ERC in Denver this year. It's caused me to become very reflective on how such a relatively short time in my life has had such a profound impact on all the subsequent ups and downs in my life. Even after leaving the ERC years ago and living in "recovery", that single experience is still so vivid, so impactful, and still emotional. I struggle to put those sentiments into words. But you've just that in this blog post here, and it's touched me so very deeply and sincerely. Thank you. Keep writing and keep inspiring. Sending you big heart from your fellow traveler.
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