WWAV/ SD?

Hello, all. It's been almost exactly one month since I last wrote, and the only reason that I am able to write today is because I decided to skip my morning work out so that I could get to work early so that I could leave early so that I might still be able to attend my own party. It's been busy, the type of busy that gets into your bones. The type of busy that turns on all the switches in my mind that activate a myriad of coping mechanisms with innumerable precipitations, sometimes helpful and sometimes detrimental.

I accepted a full-time, salaried position in Denver. Of course this position presented as soon as I had declared myself Miami-bound: I was sick of looking for jobs in Denver and ready to embrace my true gringa. In Denver I was strategic with my applications; however, I was also starting down a new path of self-employment, where I made ends meet by signing up for contract work, promotional gigs, and creating my own Business Development Consulting company. I recognized that this was not sufficient means to meet my ends; in fact, it wasn't even sufficient to move out of my parents house. But each lead brought me a little closer to some connection. The lifestyle was exciting and creative and it involved a lot of fun coffee and lunch meetings. Plus, I work well independently.

Then, a very good friend told me that her sister's company was hiring. I went in with a "what-the-hell" attitude; I was moving to Miami, and if I wasn't moving to Miami I was making it on my own in Denver and enjoying (albeit onerously) doing it. Still, I was earnest during the interview. Considering my limited working experience, my constraints limitations as a business development consultant were glaring. Plus, it was good practice.

A week or so before my interview I had had an enlightening meeting with a business consultant who recommended that I look less desperate when I go into interviews; she thought it might be showing. That must have worked because they offered me the position on Friday, February 13 and I started the following Monday.

Except that I still had two contract gigs during both weekends and was still "working" as a consultant and contract employee for other companies. It was like down-shifting when you're driving full-throttle and not bothering to slow the gas: everything was grinding and I was expending massive amounts of energy but going very slowly.

The job that I have accepted is perfect for many reasons. It's a new start-up on forefront of it's class, full of 12 other young, fun people. There are committed to transparency in their business so I get to watch the start-up process from the front seat; hell, I even get a chance to be a driver. It's fascinating to me and information that I will use for the rest of my life. Then there's other things, like the fact that I can walk there and that I finally have a customer service position on my resume. But boy, it's kicking my ass.

I have never been salaried before and I didn't realize how easy it was to never leave the job when you're being paid a flat-rate, versus hourly. I invoked the sort of dedication to efficiency that I pursued under hourly income. After 10 hours on the job this renders me completely exhausted. I've learned a helluva a lot this year yet this is the first time since graduation that I've had to learn new information, per say: facts, logistics, metrics, processing, etc. This really doesn't feel anything like the psychological insights I gained at the ERC, that's for sure. Every employee stays long past their hours; 10-hour days are common, and since we're on customer service that means sitting at a desk in front of a couple of monitors for the entire time.

In some ways I'm still clinging to my old lifestyle, which invokes all sorts of secondary emotions of guilt and shame- after all, I prayed for this job for so long, how can I be unhappy with it?! I miss blogging. I miss feeling proactive and successful. I miss being able to find endpoints. And I'm tired: right now I've started a new job, I'm house and dog-sitting, I'm trying to find a new place to live, one of my best friends is coming in for a visit, I'm hosting a party, and I still have other contract gigs running their course.

I think my primary emotion at this point is, once again, fear. This job scares me because it's a commitment to staying in Denver and to living this new salaried lifestyle. It means lots of sacrifices, but I'm not sure what sacrifices are forever and what just needs to happen now so that I can weather the transition. I get so much fulfillment from the volunteer committees that I'm on and from going to lunch and coffee with friends and from blogging and from exercise. My lifestyle is beginning to look like it did at the height of my disorder, when every hour of every day was spent in attempt to accomplish something: work, exercise, eat, sleep...work, exercise, eat, sleep. No social life and the constant humming in my head: Have you done this? Will you do this? You must be forgetting something!

The job has also been difficult on my eating disorder and I'm pretty sure that I've lost some weight. I eat constantly throughout the day at my desk because it gives me an excuse to move around, and I am proud of that, but I still don't think I get the calories in that would send a smile across the face of my nutritionist. I am aware that everyone else at the office notices this because they comment on it, which makes me feel self-conscious. Every morning I wake up at 4:45am so that I can get to the gym because I think I may go crazy sitting for 10 hours and not getting a work out in.

Right now I'm trying to focus on recognizing the patterns in my mind and pursuing those ones that will allow me the most peace and fulfillment. I know that it's natural to want to exercise when I sit for 10 hours; however, that doesn't mean that I need to pound out each workout with the ferocity of a lion on the prowl. I also know that I will make mistakes as I go through this learning process; that doesn't mean that I need to engage in useless comparisons wherein I wonder if everyone else made as many mistakes as me or if the new girl will be better at picking up the processes than me. And just because I need to sacrifice some of my personal life right now doesn't mean that I won't be able to pick it back up when the dust has settled, so to speak. In fact, that's a perfect reasonable thing to do. Finally, I don't need to spend time at my desk wondering if my coworkers like me, or if they think I'm doing a good job, or if I'm proving my worth.

Because: My name is Emily Stewart. I am a dedicated, ambitious person, with many skills and the capability to learn more. I am devoted to living my life in a happy, healthy, way, where I take opportunities and listen to my heart. I know that people want to be around me because they tell me so and I know that I can trust people in their actions because they also want to live honest, fulfilling lives. I know that my work is not a demonstration of my character but actions by it. And I know that if I live with my heart shining outward and an open smile on my face that good will come to me.

Tonight I'm hosting an event: The Totally Rad Females Idea Party. When I didn't feel prepared enough for it I almost canceled it. Then I thought of two of the women who inspired me to host this event: Sarah Casewit and Auntie Val. Both of these women share the same divine ability to surf the waves of the world. They make the term "fly by the seat of your pants" seem like artistic instruction rather than negative disorganization. They would show up to their own party, put everything together on the spot, and laugh about it; they would use that disorganization to entertain the crowd. And they would know that that little stuff doesn't matter- what matters is the vision, which is to join so many spectacular women in one place and get them a little tipsy.

WWAV/SD (What Would Auntie Val/ Sarah Do?) Throw their hands up and giggle.

About a Mom

Once upon a time there was a young woman with brown hair and an Italian nose. She was fiercely independent and considering becoming a politician. She did well in high school by being active in student leadership and forming many positive friendships. At the end of high school she met a young man who looked like James Dean and tried to act like him, too. Their fated relationship was the pebble dropped in the pond, causing ripples that spread for years thereafter...

The young girl graduated and left for college at Colorado State University. She spent a semester there, struggling to adapt to her new surroundings and unsure of what she wanted to study. Frustrated and lovesick, she moved back to Denver to be closer to that bad-boy fellow of hers. She enrolled in university in the city, got herself an apartment and a roommate, and was just settling into the swing of things when...

Something swung right into her. She was pregnant. It was the worst possible news at the worst possible time in the worst possible situation. She was broke, young, and unhappy; her relationship with the bad-boy was exactly as one might expect- bad. He was unkind on a level for which the term "unkind" does no justice. Her parents were strict Christians who would surely disown her for her indiscretion. Should she decide to marry her boyfriend, she would fate herself and her unborn child to a broken, abusive life. But what other options were there? Having an abortion was out of the question; she was staunchly pro-life and couldn't imagine losing her child. Putting the baby up for adoption was an alternative, but when she thought about the beauty and potential of the life inside of her she knew there was no way she could give birth and then let it go. Yet raising the child herself seemed the most fearful option of all: she was poor, uneducated, single, and could barely count on the support of her family (at first, that is).

What did she do?

Twenty-three years, four months and nine days later another young girl sits in a small corner cafe, wasting an hour between promotional work at crowded Saturday-night clubs. She sips tea, snacks, and reads a magazine she "borrowed" from a nearby stand to occupy herself. She absentmindedly turns to an article about a young woman who was forced to give her child up for adoption after her husband revealed that he had led a double life. Like the first young woman, the woman in the story was forced to determine the best possible decision regarding her future and that of her unborn child, a decision whose importance bears unfathomable consequences. The woman in the article decided adoption was the best choice; the first young woman kept her child.

Now that same child sat in a cafe, sipped tea, snacked, and looked at her reflection in the dark windows around her. She looked at her eyes and saw the iris of her mother; looked at her nose and saw the same Italian curve; listened to her heart and felt its courageous beat, knowing that the blood that pumped through it was a gift from her mother's life-giving blood.

My mom chose to keep me. She made the perfect decision, which is the best decision, which is the decision made from a careful analysis of all current data. My mom's heart, soul and circumstance instructed her that raising me was the right thing to do. Regardless of whatever decision she chose, it would have been right, because she was courageous and thoughtful and selfless and genuine in doing it.

Right now my mom is sitting away from me, reading her favorite magazine in her favorite chair with her favorite glass of wine. I love the way her hair looks in the soft light behind her. I love how humble and smart she is, that she reads every night and lets herself relax into it. I learn so much from my mother, both by watching her today and wondering about the woman she was before I was born. She reminds me that we can only make the best decisions and after that we just have to trust them and move forward. That risks can be taken and improved upon. And that love is the reason any of us are here at all.

I love you, Mom.

One Request

If you're going to deny me a job, please don't do it on the same day as someone else.

And on the same day that I take off exercise.

I feel like this:

But less cute.

What it Feels like to be Really, Really Triggered

One aspect of being disordered that I think is difficult for many of the non-disordered to understand is the causation, function and outcome of being "triggered." According to the Eating Disorders Glossary (access online), a trigger "Refers to a person, place, thing, event or emotion that sets an eating disorder in place. This is a controversial term, and used in several ways that can be confusing. The word 'trigger' is very often confused or conflated with 'cause,' leading to more confusion. In much of the eating disorder community, trigger is used to describe things that are upsetting and lead to eating disorder behaviors. It is common to hear a patient speak of being 'triggered' by specific foods, situations, and interactions. Another school of thought and use of the word is to describe events that lead to actions or emotional states that activate an underlying brain disorder. For example, people often refer to dieting or athletic activities as triggering an eating disorder biologically by putting a person into a state of malnourishment or negative energy balance." This is one of the best definitions that I've ever heard for a trigger because it encompasses both the emotional and physiological aspects of being triggered. One can be triggered to act out on their disorder by some outside event and then become further triggered by the physiological reaction to eating/ acting disordered. It's a cycle.

Last week I was triggered multiple times in the span of 48 hours and then was dumbfounded when I awoke from a series of frightening dreams in a state of deep depression. After a useless day, I realized that my mental capacities were totally drained by the emotional roller coaster. What's difficult to understand is how such a variety of seemingly unrelated things can become so passionate and convoluted in the disordered mind. Let me walk you through it.

I can break triggers down into two main categories: historical danger zones and spur-of-the-moment explosions. The first of my ill-fated series of triggers was a weekend full of drinking, eating, and celebrating. In fact, one of my greatest prides is my re-incorporation of drinking, dining out and celebrating into my life; I can weather these events with barely an emotional tug, but it still takes considerable self-coaching to do so. Still, it's easy for me to justify working out a lot and eating less when I've got a party every evening to attend.

I got through the weekend of historical danger-zones. Then, the day after the last party a close acquaintance accused me of restricting my carbohydrate intake. She had mentioned that I was looking a bit thinner, which I appreciated so much. But when I felt like she was watching everything that I was eating I was appalled; since she didn't know dietary exchanges she also had no idea how many carbohydrates I was actually taking in. The most triggering aspect of that conversation was actually the fact that I had watched her skip dinner the night before. Comparisons are another historical trigger.

There are some times when the world presents triggers and other times when you pick up the gun and load it yourself. I can explain to you the difficulty in weathering triggers and the many things that can set me off but I cannot explain to you why sometimes I seek to be triggered, why I let myself go into those dark places knowing full well the havoc they may wreck on my soul. I'm sure it's the same reason an alcoholic takes a sip. Something drives us to hurt and test, and yet we become completely ashamed when we don't pass. We set ourselves up to fail and then hate ourselves for doing so.

One thing I've never been able to let go of is breaking up with my ex-boyfriend nearly two years ago. Whether it's relevant, I place so much of the blame on my eating disorder. I feel more guilt and shame regarding that break-up and am still in love with him (ouch). For the past two years I've followed his and his new girlfriend's blog. It had been several months since I'd opened that wound. Then, one night last week I was a little bored and curious. "I'm over him, really, so it won't do anything," I convinced myself.

BANG! goes the trigger, historically dangerous but with spur-of-the-moment damage. His girlfriend's latest post was about his style, featuring pictures of him wearing clothes that I had bought him. It was like jumping out of a hot-tub into the snow, except I was not partying with friends in a cute bikini. My little world turned into a black pin-prick. As I drove to my next event, I missed two exits and have no idea what was on the radio.

My next meeting was a focus-group. Focus-groups are another one of my "funny-money" income sources. I walked in with my head in the clouds and then got hit by a passing plane: someone from my high school was there. My cheeks turned bright red and my intestines fused with my kidneys. What would he think about me, former student body president with a destiny to rule the world, attending a focus-group for extra money? I spent the evening darting behind various tall people and pieces of furniture to avoid having to speak with him. Surely he pitied me; I pitied me at this point. What if he asked me if I was still dating my ex? O my god, he looked like me ex! BANGBANGBANG.

The next morning I woke up. I rolled over and went back to bed. I woke up again and completed a robotic work-out, far from my body. I tried to work on proposals and strategies for my clients but felt too frail to render any creative energy. I mostly ate fruits and vegetables and cake. It was one of those days when nothing I did was enough and yet I didn't have enough in me to do anything. I just counted the hours until I could go to bed. I gave up on the day. It was just depressing.

The next day I woke up bright, shining, and ready to go. The storm had passed and I was grateful for having let it do so. Still, I can't afford to allow triggers to render me useless for 24 hours straight. I look back and wonder what I could have done in the moment to handle the emotions rather than retreating into my safe warm hole once the predator was already hovering over it.

When I was sick and these days happened I would judge myself for them. I'd hate that I became so crippled, willing myself to work harder and be stronger. Now, I am proud of the self-care that I undertook and proud that I rallied so naturally once I gave myself the space. Actually, writing this blog has made me (dare I say it?) excited for the next trigger. I know that my hand will not be on it and I know that I will recognize it when it comes. Can I act in the moment, rather than after the fact, to take care of my bleeding heart? I know I can. We cannot undo the experiences we've had, but can only learn from them. I'm excited to see what the world fires at me next.

Response/ Comment Confusion

Dear all,

I just finished up a meeting with a friend of mine who mentioned that he had e-mailed me responses to my post. The e-mail was one he found on this blog- some sort of "noreply." I can't figure out where he got this link. Moreover, I haven't received any of his comments to my e-mail or on this post.

I LOVE hearing from you! If you've ever tried to e-mail me to a "noreply" account, please let me know where you got the address and if you received anything back? If you are unable to post directly to this blog, please e-mail me at emilytonellistewart@gmail.com

Thank you so much for your continued interest!

A little quote for today:

"We are God's gift to the world; what we become is our gift to God."

Sarah Casewit Photography:

The Obesity "Epidemic"

One of the things I'm currently fascinated by is the media's preoccupation with the obesity "epidemic." In fact, there is mountain evidence against such claims. Health journals and works like "The Obesity Myth" increasingly attribute the obesity epidemic to analyzing statistics are being causal, rather than correlative, and exaggerated. More evidence points to the fact that there are a wide range of BMI's that produce positive health benefits; that there is little relation to high BMI and high mortality; that it is more detrimental to one's health to be five pounds underweight than dozens of pounds overweight; and more. What I truly hate is that "health" today is intrinsically tied to "thinness," to the point where anyone perceived as being "overweight" can expect the suffer the sort of hatred and judgment that is deemed "prejudice" in other facets of our society. I recently read a friend's blog that ranted about having to pay taxes to maintain the health of the obese. It's sad and scary that we've plunged so deep into this unsupported and unhealthy measure of "normal."

Here's one article, from obesitymyth.com:

"Overweight" and "Obese" Celebrities and Sports Stars

The federal government defines "overweight" and "obese" using the body mass index (BMI), a simple calculation based only on height and weight. "Normal" weight is defined as a BMI between 18.5 and 24.9. "Overweight" is defined as a BMI between 25 and 29.9. "Obese" is a BMI of 30 or higher.

Actor. Govenor. Fatso? Are these classifications meaningful? According to the government standard, Tom Cruise, Sylvester Stallone, and Mel Gibson are technically obese. So are sluggers Sammy Sosa and Barry Bonds, boxer Mike Tyson, quarterback Donovan McNabb, and wrestling superstar The Rock. And if politics is your thing, it turns out that California Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger—a bodybuilding legend—is obese, too.

It’s not just the official category of obesity that has been affected by numerical hocus-pocus. Thirty-five million Americans went to sleep one night in 1998 at a government-approved weight and woke up "overweight" the next morning, thanks to a change in the government’s definition. That group includes currently "overweight" celebrities like Will Smith and Pierce Brosnan, as well as NBA stars Kobe Bryant and LeBron James. It even includes George W. Bush, considered the most fit president in U.S. history. "Overweight" had previously been defined as a BMI of 27.8 for men and 27.3 for women; in 1998 it was lowered to a BMI of 25 for both genders.

The 1998 redefinition prompted a group of researchers to criticize the new threshold in The American Journal of Public Health. They wrote:

"Current interpretations of the revised guidelines stigmatize too many people as overweight, fail to account for sex, race/ethnicity, age, and other differences; and ignore the serious health risks associated with low weight and efforts to maintain an unrealistically lean body mass … This seeming rush to lower the standard for overweight to such a level that 55% of American adults find themselves being declared overweight or obese raises serious concerns."

A research letter published in JAMA (the journal of the American Medical Association) reported that 97 percent of players in the National Football League are technically overweight and more than 50 percent are obese. The NFL responded by calling the BMI "bogus," since it "doesn’t consider body muscle versus fat."

"Before calling it an epidemic, people really need to understand what the numbers do and don’t say."
— Rockefeller University professor Jeffrey Friedman in The New York Times, 2004


National BMI Distribution By redefining the definition of "overweight" the federal government made more that 35 million Americans overweight - more than doubling the size of the category. In 2004, the redefinition counts an additional 22% of Americans as officially fat.

Bi-Weekly Patience/ Communication Practice: Staying in Topic

You'll notice two updates to the Patience Practice Series: 1) It's bi-weekly, and even that's subject to change, should I feel the need to be particularly patient; 2) There is also a focus on communication, because I believe my difficulties in each realm are intrinsically tied to and demonstrated by the other. Finally, it's obvious but still of-note to mention that I will continue to live with the mantra "Pick Your Battles" painted in my mind. The idea is that these practices will become habit. Feel free to remind me of them at any time.

This next practice is one I decided to do without outside research. I do think it's highly valuable to research these practices from external sources. Like most people, the problem is not knowing where my flaws lie but figuring out what to do about them. Still, I am aware of the fact that in conversations I often jump between topics. The source of such hyperactivity is anxiety, curiosity, a desire to keep the conversation flowing, and hyperactivity itself. I have had several people comment on this fact, more proof that it is actually a huge detriment to discourse. Plus, it makes me look like a kindergartener on cake. Or like I have an eating disorder (and Lord knows I don't want to look like that).

So, over the course of this next two weeks-ish I will concentrate on staying on topic in my conversations. I think the best way to achieve this is by allowing the conversation to naturally dawdle and waiting for the other person to offer a new topic when it does. Potential landmines include silent time, censuring my ideas, and the desire to ask more questions. It will also take a lot of energy: I'm so used to putting in new ideas that it actually takes far more energy to censure myself than keep chatting.

Through yoga and treatment I've learned that one of the best ways to stimulate more energy is actually to foster internal repose, to water the energy inside of you rather than ripping out the seeds and trying to plant afresh. By relaxing in conversations, really listening to what the person is saying, and identifying my own responses before I say them, I believe I can cultivate the internal energy required to be blabber-free. My mantra: "pottum," which in Tamil means "enough."

Give me a call! Invite me to lunch! I can't wait to listen to you. Maybe we'll even sit in silence.

Free of my own loquaciousness.