made for this

For the longest time, I lived my life a certain way. I lived defensively. I wore everything that had hurt me like a badge on my chest. I thought I had to. I thought it was necessary to my survival.

And maybe it was. For a while, at least. Maybe that’s what got me through. But that is no longer my truth.

It’s been almost a year ago since I got new insurance and had to switch over all of my mental health providers. I was so so upset and anxious about the prospect of losing all the history I had with my providers from ERC (formerly CED). Knowing that I could no longer seek treatment at a higher level of care at ERC was also a little bit scary. But mostly the entire experience has been freeing.

Sometimes what we really need is a fresh start. I mean it was good to work with people who knew my past and how my symptoms manifest and what works and what doesn’t. It was good to have people on my side who knew what my patterns looked like. But I think it also limited me. There was an invisible barrier between me and my healing. Created by definitions and diagnoses. None of my providers were capable of seeing me as anyone other than a damaged, traumatized girl with an eating disorder. No matter how much they cared or tried to help, I would always be that twenty-something year old incapable of growth and healing.

This past year was remarkably average, which is what made it so great. It has mostly been about redefining myself. My identity. Not as a sick person, but as a living one. I used to spend so much time seeking a purpose and getting super depressed when it eluded me. I’ve discovered that there is a difference between identity and purpose. I’m hopeful that digging into my identity will lead me to my purpose, but that is no longer my only goal.

I made a conscious decision that I would take strides toward freedom. And yes, I started with selecting providers that would look at me comprehensively. People who would keep an eye on me and my behavior without placing me in a box. I intentionally sought out community and relationships outside of a “recovery” environment. I set boundaries with people who refused to allow me to be anything other than the “sick one” in our friendship.

I tried something different. Rather than leaning into an identity rooted in illness, I chose to embrace one full of hope and joy. It was a different kind of vulnerability. I’m not denying my past or hiding it. I am not lying about who I am. I’m just deciding to align myself with the positive because—let’s be honest—life is so much better that way. My past is part of me, but it is not who I am. My past has shaped me, but it does not define me. I get to decide which parts I carry and which parts I lay down.

I am 100% amazed by Skylar 100% of the time. And the changes that I have made over this past year have allowed me to be more engaged and present with my daughter than ever before. Different parents have different opinions on which ages are the most enjoyable and/or rewarding ages to raise their kids. And then you have the people that say every age is their favorite.

My journey through parenthood has been a rollercoaster (as most parents will say, I’m sure). It would be easy for me to wallow in deep regret over the times I have not been as present and engaged in my daughter’s life as I would have liked. I even had a christian counselor tell me how many opportunities I had missed and how that was detrimental to my child. But that is not a very productive way of thinking.

After much thought, I have come to this conclusion. I am profoundly grateful that if I had to be in a “good place” for any time period of Skylar’s life, THIS is the period I would select. Today. Right now. In these messy moments. Sure, I know and recognize the importance of a loving and encouraging childhood. And I know with all my heart that she received all the love and encouragement a child could require, even if it wasn’t always directly from me. But these high school years. Man am I grateful to be present for these.

Everyone talks about the importance of leaving a legacy. For a long while, I was almost as obsessed about my legacy as I was about my purpose. But in these first few months of Skylar’s time in high school, I have decided that purpose and legacy can be a lot simpler than we make it out to be.

Over the years, I had become very resentful of my high school and early college years. Everything I had once loved, everything I had once dreamed of, everything I had once worked towards became a source of bitterness and resentment. I pushed it all away because it was just too painful. I saw no purpose in that suffering. It had brought me nothing but depression and poor decisions.

But over this past year, my heart has opened. I’ve been able to remember those times with fondness. I’ve been able to remember those people with love and gratitude. I’ve been able to see that even pain has purpose.

It was in separating myself from my illness that I have been able to relate to my daughter in meaningful ways. Before, I only remembered all the reasons why I hated high school. I only remembered the physical pain I endured during college. I only remembered the unbearable loss I experienced throughout my early twenties. That caused me to wall everything off, which prevented me from relating to others.

But in allowing myself to see the good, everything about me has softened. It’s like my ability to see, give, and experience love has been dialed up a bit. My heart bursts when I see my puppy run to greet me whenever I return home. I enjoy looking through old pictures. I swell with joyful remembrance when old friends reach out. I look forward to and celebrate everything that excites me.

And I want only “better” for my daughter. I don’t mean better in the traditional way. I want to share with her my experience in the hope that she will be free of the struggles that made my life miserable for decades. I know I cannot save her from everything. I know that she will face her own challenges. I know that she will struggle in her own way. But these years are formative. In them, she will learn how to chase her dreams. She will learn how to handle stressful situations. She will learn how to navigate difficult relationships. She might learn about love and loss. She will learn who she is and start to figure out who she wants to be.

I wasn’t very good at play time or story time or scheduling playdates. But this. This I am well prepared to do. It is not easy and I am not perfect. There have been evenings where we’ve both sobbed ourselves to sleep. And I’m sure there will be other challenges down the road. But as challenging as these years are, I know that THIS is what I’ve been groomed for. THIS is my purpose. SHE will be my legacy. And gosh does that make me joyful beyond belief.

There are a handful of people who I will carry in my heart forever and they will probably never know the profound impact they made on my life. Some are alive and some have passed. Most I haven’t spoken to in years. They might not even remember my name or my story, but I will remember them until the day I die.

They are my motivation to redefine myself. To recreate my identity. To strive for something more than survival. To tell my story from a place of victory rather than victimhood. To be vulnerable in a new way. To become the person they believed I could be.

It’s easy to look back on the past and say, “I think I wasted all the time I was supposed to be happy.” I have frequently believed statements like this. But I don’t believe that anymore. I believe that there is no limit to joy or happiness. I believe these things are a never-ending source of strength. But I don't believe they come from moments of radical realization. I believe they come from the mundane and everyday. They come from little moments of awe sprinkled through life. Some seasons have more joy than others. That is a fact. But there is more than enough joy to go around. Don’t be afraid to take your share.

magic is real

As many of you know from stalking me on social media, I went on a trip to Orlando, Florida last week. And it was truly amazing.

The trip was a HUGE milestone for me. I celebrated ONE YEAR in recovery from my eating disorder. I did most of my adventuring totally by myself. This meant navigating the unknown while flying solo. Something that previously would have 100% given me a full-blown anxiety attack. Sure, I got lost a few times. I got overheated and tired. It was expensive. But I did it. Cheerfully and with excitement. Because the experience I worked so hard to allow myself to have was totally WORTH IT.

I was in good enough condition mentally, emotionally, and physically to explore all that Universal Studios Orlando had to offer. I enjoyed delicious food and beverages, I walked miles and miles and miles each day, I made decisions, I navigated feelings of both excitement and anxiety, and I listened to my body.

I got there when the park first opened and I actually ended up leaving at around 1pm both days. It was so so hot and humid. I decided it was better to call it early and thoroughly enjoy my time at the park than it was to force myself to stay all day to “get my moneys worth” and be miserable. And I am entirely satisfied with my decision.

I mostly went to Universal to visit the Wizarding World of Harry Potter and it did NOT disappoint. I (of course) got myself a wand at Ollivanders, which made the experience even more awesome. I visited all the shops. I drank a butterbeer BOTH days (cold, not frozen…it tastes JUST like cream soda, which is my favorite). I sent Skylar a card from Hogsmeade. I rode the Hogwarts Express. I witnessed the fire-breathing dragon at Gringotts. And I got plenty of awesome pictures.

My second-favorite thing was the Jurassic Park section of Islands of Adventure. It was an awesome atmosphere full of photo-ops. I got a video and plenty of pictures of me meeting Blue the velociraptor. Definitely a memory I will cherish.

The only bummer?

I got covid. Luckily it didn’t hit until the day after we got back home. But boy did it knock me out. I seriously felt like death. Like I couldn’t even watch TV I was so useless. I ended up canceling EVERYTHING I had planned for this week. I’m definitely on the upswing now, but those first few days were NOT cool. When I went to urgent care on Saturday, they prescribed me Lagevrio (Paxlovid interacts with one of my medications) because I’m part of an “at risk” population. But today is Wednesday and CVS STILL does not have the medication. Which, you know, is just fabulous.

But. Even in the miserable moments during those first few days with covid. I do NOT regret my decision to travel to Universal. It was so much more than a trip to an amusement park for me. It represented a major victory. It celebrated freedom. It gave me hope and excitement for the future. It convinced me that ANYTHING is possible.

That magic…

is real.

memories and moments

The last week and a half has been like a blast from the past. In ways that I both love and hate.

I spent a decent amount of time in our basement going through boxes and boxes and boxes of stuff to throw out or donate. But there were a few treasures in there that I could not bring myself to part with. Vision boards circa 2002. Momentos of years spent traveling around the state, country, and globe. Photos, posters, and drawings of dear friends from my elementary years, cross country team, and a high school musical, just to name a few. Journals upon journals upon journals. Cards of encouragement sent to me in troubling times. A favorite bookmark. A memorable card game. To anyone else, they’d be junk. To me, they are precious memories that remind me that life wasn’t always difficult. Yet in some ways it was.

Having a bff in early childhood is everything and more. Saying goodbye before you’ve even formed an identity of your own is devastating.

Dreaming big is encouraged…even pushed on an overachiever. Falling short is earth-shattering.

High school friendships and extracurricular involvement form a teen’s understanding and perception of the world. Yet they can so easily destroy one’s self-esteem, confidence, and trust in others.

Journals remind me of the joyful experiences that life has brought. But they can make my body tremble with phantom pain and suffering from hurts endured long ago.

I feel like a ping pong ball bouncing off the walls of my past. Chucking most of it in a trash bag but holding tight to bits and pieces. Even the painful parts.

Most of the memorabilia I tossed into my studio, which is now a wreck and in desperate need of organization itself. Why did I add to the clutter? Why hold onto these memories and use them to decorate my studio? Because the things I kept make me FEEL. Deeply. And that, my friends, is what I call inspiration. You can’t have art without emotion. These things speak to my soul and allow me to access portions of my memory and experiences that would otherwise be deemed off limits by my brain. These things provide me direct access to my heart. They allow me to bypass logic and limits and enter into a realm that took me years to even know existed. It is integral to my survival.

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Several of my bingo friends from the senior center were admitted to the hospital this past week. A reminder of our mortality. A reminder that every single person I know. Every single person I love. Will die. Some will pass quickly and others will suffer. It is a sobering realization indeed. One that, like, we know. But we don’t really let ourselves KNOW. Because it’s painful and sad.

There were other moments like these. Moments that strike us across the face with the brutality of our humanity. With memories that sting and bring tears to our eyes. Memories that were forgotten or buried or sometimes never even realized until moments like these. And suddenly the world is different than it was 45 seconds ago. And it will never be the same.

Moments that call to our attention that we are never alone. That we never operate in isolation. That we each impact one another in big and small ways. And it’s up to us whether our impact will be one that brings pain or one that brings solidarity. Not even hope, not even joy…just…the kind of presence that lets another know that you exist in their space…in their world…for better and for worse. That something like that can make all the difference. Because it can.

Moments like these make me see the joy and pain that I have brought to others and the power of their unconditional love in my life, which in turn enriches theirs. The interdependence of it all is quite startling and rattles me deep. One missing link is devastating to the chain that connects us all. I think that’s easy to forget in the busyness, chaos, and suffering of life. But it is so so true. And not something to be played with and taken lightly.

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I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. This year has brought me a deep appreciation for the people in my life and the small moments that are cause for celebration. And a week like this does nothing to change that state of mind. If anything, it just broadness the scope of my gratitude.

For years I have struggled with my memory. I have felt that I lost so much of my past experiences due to a combination of trauma and ECT. But I find myself remembering more and more these days. It is both exciting and scary. Joyful and tragic. But mostly it is encouraging. I feel like it means that I am healing and my brain has decided it is safe to slowly break down walls and reveal “me” to myself. If that makes any sense at all. I don’t know. Maybe you have to have lost yourself to understand just how overwhelming it is to find yourself so many years later.

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Time is flying and I wish it would slow down. Because all I want is to appreciate every moment and right now I feel so rushed. There isn’t enough time in a day to experience each moment to its fullest. And it sometimes causes me to burst in a way that does not accurately reflect my actual feelings. It can look like anger or irritation at times, when really all it is is a desperate attempt to pause and spin around in a circle, then stand in awe of life in all of its glory. Sometimes I have to take a nap because it’s all so overwhelming.

When you go from numbing life in every way possible to welcoming in every experience life has to offer, your system can go a bit haywire. Things just don’t compute. And it takes a bit of time to work out the kinks.

Here is what I have found. I walk through life with open hands. Sometimes my knee-jerk reaction does not align with my point of view, my values, or the situation. In cases like those, I take a moment for self-reflection and I do not hesitate to ADMIT MY ERROR and APOLOGIZE. I have found much satisfaction in operating this way. It enriches my relationships, it helps me to see other points of view, it makes me more accepting, it reduces anger and resentment, and it simply makes life better. Sure, it isn’t always an easy pill to swallow, but it is always worth it.

People are what matter. At the end of the day, people is what we are left with. Relationships shape our identity and become our “why”. I will do anything to preserve and improve the important relationships in my life. If my experiences have taught me anything at all, it is this simple truth. People are what matter.

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“Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember.”

— Seneca the Younger

the sweetness of victory

Well here we are with just a few days left of the 2024 Paris Summer Olympics.

I LOVE the Olympics. I always have and I always will. I find it inspiring on so so many levels. I live for the stories of athletes from all different sports and all different backgrounds and all different countries. It just gives me a thrill when records are broken. And to see the way athletes from all walks of life come together to support one another in difficult moments and times of victory alike. It’s just humanity at its best in many ways and I think it is precious and beautiful and uplifting and brings hope to my heart.

Unfortunately with social media comes a TON of spoilers. I am very intentional about not using social media on days that I want to watch Paris Primetime to see my favorite events. I want the suspense and the thrill of not knowing what the result is even though I could very easily look it up.

I noticed something interesting about humans very early on in this year’s games. I was spending time with someone and a news notification appeared on their phone with a spoiler. They read the spoiler headline and put their phone away. Then they asked if I wanted to know what the notification said. My response—of course—was NO!

But in that moment I knew. I knew the result of the event I anticipated watching that evening. Because there was no clicking or great interest in the article. It was simple and clear cut. Team USA had won gold.

I knew because the same response would not have occurred had Team USA lost. If we had lost, that would have meant that an athlete made a mistake or not performed as expected. That would have been a STORY. That would have required clicking deeper and deeper looking for a REASON. That would have induced a search for an EXPLANATION.

Victory is sweet and beautiful and celebrated, but tragedy brings the headlines. Like a train wreck, an Olympic medal lost is what REALLY gets people talking.

I know a lot of people are tired of hearing about Simone Biles, but let’s talk about the GOAT for a moment here. 3 years ago in Tokyo, the world watched in shock as she walked away from competition to address her mental health. You had some people who admired her for taking care of herself and many people who called her a QUITTER for letting down her country on the Olympic stage. The story of Simone Biles stepping back from the competition made HEADLINES and created a debate that way outlasted any of the medal announcements that week.

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I’m saying it’s an interesting thing. That so many people are more interested in consuming information about people’s struggles, challenges, and “failures” than we are about celebrating their victories. Even in many of the autobiographies and memories out there, most of the book is filled with all the things that almost killed you in pursuit of your dreams. Very little of the book contains an explanation of how you celebrated your success and how you let that success/achievement/victory direct your path moving forward.

I think it’s because everyone can see themselves in the struggle. We identify with struggle SO MUCH. It touches us and makes us feel less alone. More like our experience is universal to humanity. Which, though struggle sucks, is somewhat comforting. Right?

Victory seems a bit more distant. Not everyone tastes the sweetness. Success is not universal in the way that people interpret the word to mean. It is less relatable. Not everyone can win an Olympic Gold. Right?

Well. If you go with what we’ve accepted as conventional success and victory, you’re right.

But what if we adjusted our definition of success and victory? Because not everyone starts out with the same advantages. I’m not sure how great Shakespeare would have been at the shot put. Or if Mozart would have demonstrated an affinity for basketball. Would Picaso have been a world-renowned surfer? Mostly we will never know.

We each have a unique set of skills, challenges, traumas, support systems, educational opportunities, physical limitations, mental/emotional obstacles, passions, and economic resources. These differences mean that our victories look unique as well:

• Athletic Podiums

• Grammys, Oscars, Emmys, Tonys, etc. etc. etc.

• Artist Residencies

• Museum/Gallery Displays

• The New York Times Bestsellers list

• A significant number of followers on a social media platform

• Sold out concerts

• Making name partner

• Graduating from:

  • High School

  • Community College

  • University

  • Grad School

  • Med School

  • Law School

  • Nursing School

  • etc.

• Quitting:

  • Smoking

  • Drugs

  • Alcohol

  • etc.

• Getting a promotion or a raise

• Surviving:

  • Trauma (physical or emotional)

  • An Eating Disorder

  • ANY Mental Illness (depression, bipolar disorder, anxiety, BPD, schizophrenia, DID, etc. etc. etc.)

• Getting up after falling down

• Buying a home

• Advocating for yourself

• Refusing to accept less than you deserve

• Finding your tribe

• Getting out of debt

• Having a birthday or anniversary (of any kind)

• Fighting no matter what

• Not letting your illness (physical or mental) define you

• Winning an election or competition

• Finding a passion

• Pursuing a passion

• Becoming a parent (to a furry friend OR human OR both)

• Leaving a toxic relationship

I mean I was nervous to start the list because making a list means that something would inevitably accidentally be left off. And really, there isn’t ANYTHING that CAN’T be counted as a victory.

There is ALWAYS a reason to celebrate, guys. I’m serious. If we don’t celebrate what we might view as the “little stuff”, then we very well may end up with very little celebration in our life. It is up to us to recognize when we are successful and to build ourselves a monument to celebrate and commemorate the achievement (or…to do so for others…sometimes a friend pointing out a victory and planning a celebration is a super awesome gesture). Because it’s true that there are often more struggles than victories if we look to the world for definitions. And that’s no way to live.

Celebrating the “little stuff” creates an excitement and leads to more “little stufF” to celebrate. Which eventually becomes the “big stuff.” But even THAT doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter whether it is “big stuff” or “little stuff”. What matters is that it’s the “sweet stuff” that makes life worth living. And nothing says sweet like a celebration :)

PLEASE SHARE A FEW THINGS THAT YOU CONSIDER VICTORIES.

I want us to generate a HUGE list!

aliveness

I’ve had a lot of good days. Maybe hard. Maybe challenging. Maybe bits were filled with rage or frustration. But overall, I’d say they’ve been good.

But today was a sad one. A raw one. The kind of day that makes my voice quiver as I call the Bingo numbers at the senior center. The kind of day that gives me an incurable nagging headache. The kind that makes me sentimental, nostalgic, and just kinda blue.

When the world wreaks havoc on one of your most favorite people in the universe, I guess you get a day like that. And everything that was once sad becomes sad again and brings a fresh wave of pain. A trickle effect. Both throbbing and stabbing if that’s even a thing that can happen.

In my life I’ve experienced tremendous physical pain. For sure. But the ache I feel in my soul on days like today is one that cannot be dulled. And honestly, I’m not sure I’d dull it if it can.

Going through life without experiencing any pain would mean a life without relationships (both romantic and platonic), without companionship (both human and animal), without passion, without attachment, without purpose. Essentially, without joy.

Having these things means we can lose them. Which is what creates pain. And it sucks. A lot. Especially on days like today.

But losing them means we had them to be begin with. No matter how short that time might have been. It means we had some joy in our lives.

Does the joy these things bring us outweigh the pain of their loss?

Today is a sad day, but still my answer is yes.

I think having a companion for a period of time is better than being alone forever. Even though loss and grief are devastating.

I think having passion and purpose is necessary and beneficial. Even though shattered dreams cut deep.

I continue to believe that pain reminds us that we are alive.

That we have loved.

That we have been loved.

That there is joy and happiness in the world.

That we can be fulfilled.

That every being we touch leaves a mark on our soul.

And if that’s true, it means that I leave a mark on the souls of others as well.

Just my existence.

It matters.

It’s all important.

In infinite ways that we cannot even begin to comprehend.

To change any of it would alter the course of the universe.

So even though it’s painful and even though it’s sad and even though it means that not every day is filled with optimism, I think it’s all still worth it.

A day to hold the fragility of it all in the palm of your hand and acknowledge that the world is messy and hurtful in catastrophic ways.

A day to remember all that has been lost over the years will inevitably remind you of all that you stood to lose to begin with. All the joy, passion, and hope you experienced through the “aliveness” that ultimately brought on the pain.

And the things that felt like they were holding you back yesterday, become the things that fill you with gratitude today. A reminder to never take my “aliveness” for granted when I can help it.

delightful

I really don’t have much to say this morning, but I did want to take a moment to hop on here and share some very exciting news:

Yesterday I went swimming for the first time in 3 years.

This probably doesn’t sound like a big deal, but it shows HUGE progress for me. My body image issues have been so paralyzing. For years I have been unable to do things that I enjoy because of the clothing required to do them. Swimming included.

I decided several months ago that I wasn’t going to let my fear of clothing, my body, or perceived judgement stand in the way of me engaging in enjoyable activities.

I bought clothes that fit and that I felt comfortable in, even if I don’t love the way I look.

And I make sure to take pictures of me having fun with the people I love. Sometimes I even post them on social media. Even though I’m not super excited about how I look.

Because I’m not going to let those things steal my joy or prevent me from fully experiencing my life ever again.

Yesterday it was hot, I was sweaty, the pool was there, I had a swimsuit that fit adequately, so I went ahead and I got in the water and swam.

And it was delightful.

power

Recently, I’ve been very focused on the process of taking charge of my own life. It started about a year ago. I was in treatment and my assigned psychiatrist was one I had worked with several years ago. I was concerned that she would only see me for who I was back then. I worried that she would let that overshadow who I am today. But the reality was quite different from my expectations. She definitely remembered who I was and used her knowledge of “Past Brittany”, but not to judge and pigeonhole me. She used it to understand me and speak to my soul. I think she is probably the only person in the world who could say what she said without me completely loosing my shit.

She compelled me to engage in some deep introspection. She asked me why I was who and where I was. Point blank. And I realized how long I’ve evaded both responsibility and adulthood. It was embarrassing and shameful. Even now, I can’t believe that I’m writing about it on the internet. Because it is so not cool to admit. Even to myself. That I have been running and running and running for years. Away from everything. Never towards. I had been overwhelmed by fear for over half my life.

Looking back now, I do not blame myself for doing so. I had many reasons and some of them were good. But they were not doing me any sort of service. My inclination to run was only holding me back from leading any sort of life worth living.

And it was in that moment in a cramped office staring at my psychiatrist with tears streaming down my face that I admitted what she already knew. I was the only one standing in the way of the life I hoped for myself. I was the only person holding me back from realizing my full potential. I was the one sabotaging recovery year after year. It was all me. I had no one else to blame.

But the way my psychiatrist led me to this conclusion allowed me to do so with self-compassion. Not judgement of myself for lost time, lost relationships, lost experiences, and lost love. But with a desire to change myself for the future. For today. And in that way, she empowered me like no other provider ever has.

Like I said, that was a year ago. The process is slow, but I have broken down so many barriers. I have let myself feel sorrow and experience grief. I have surrendered myself to rage and explored my anxiety. And by diving into all that is difficult, I have paved a way to joy, contentment, gratitude, and hope. Things I really thought were not in the cards for me.

The biggest hurdle that I have faced for decades has been finding a purpose. I lost everything in college. All that I had worked so hard for. All that I had dreamed of. All that I had hung my future on. It all vanished. Part was taken and part was surrendered of my own accord. I have come to terms with the past and realize that my college years and all that has followed ultimately became the foundation for my new hopes and dreams.

I have spent decades searching for my true passion. Something that excites and directs me. I never ever dreamed it would take so long to find something like that again. Something that gets me excited enough to risk the unknown and the inevitable challenges ahead. But I have. I finally have. And I received the full support and encouragement of people who had seen me at my worst when I discharged from treatment last year.

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My life changed drastically in February of this year. The mental health providers that I had seen consistently for the last 15 years were no longer covered by my insurance. I had to find a new therapist and psychiatrist. If I ever have to return to treatment, it will not be with a familiar program. These things may not seem substantial, but they rocked my world for sure.

I found new providers and I have been unimpressed. My appointments with the NP who manages my medication last 5-10 minutes. Luckily I have been stable and on the same meds for a year, so it is no biggie. But I do occasionally worry how he will help me if I start to struggle again. The therapist I started seeing was truly terrible. It was all virtual visits and they were also very short. She didn’t really stay in her lane very well and always had an incredibly unhelpful opinion to offer regarding medical and dietary concerns. So much so that I avoided talking about such topics and would even occasionally lie to avoid her unhealthy views and judgements surrounding food. And that is 100% not like me. I know that therapy is only effective if I am truthful and vulnerable. It was not a good situation.

Luckily my insurance switched yet again on June 1st. One of the therapists I worked with when my “real” therapist was on maternity leave yeeeeeears ago opened a private practice and he accepts my new insurance. YAY!!! I dumped the crappy therapist last week and saw my new therapist yesterday and it was so so refreshing.

He sees patients both in person and virtually. I have not been to an in-person therapy session (outside of treatment) in over a year. Others may disagree, but I think something is lost when therapy is done virtually rather than in-person. Sure, there are benefits to having the ability to meet with someone virtually. But there’s nothing that replaces a face-to-face therapy session.

He is willing to meet me where I am right now and help me grow and walk into the life that I envision for myself. And I am so excited.

We talked about how paralyzing my anxiety used to be. And when I say paralyzing, I mean paralyzing. Life-altering. Incapacitating. He asked me how I overcame that.

And I didn’t have a good answer for him. I told him that was one of the things that worries me. The fact that I could not tell you what set of skills helped me to navigate and overcome that anxiety. It is worrisome because I won’t know how to overcome the anxiety again if and when it returns.

He asked me about mindfulness. And I said no, I don’t really practice mindfulness. Unless you count playing the piano.

On the drive home, I continued to think about our conversation. I remembered that mindfulness is simply being in the present moment without judgement. And I realized just how much I have practiced mindfulness in the past week.

I wouldn’t have called it mindfulness in the moment. It was busy and loud and overwhelming. But boy was I present.

The number of times that I paused, closed my eyes, took a breath, and felt joyful tears in my eyes over the last week? I can’t even count.

Thursday night. Closing Ceremony. Watching the little Primary kids sing their hearts out. Remembering Skylar at that age. Wondering how time could fly by so fast. Watching the Middle Schoolers perform a self-choreographed dance. Hearing Skylar give her speech. Her saying thank you. Realizing that maybe I’ve done something right. Seeing the graduates embrace each other before escaping offstage. Realizing that we made it. That Skylar is turning into a super stellar human and that the fun is just beginning. Realizing that because of the choices I’ve been making, I get to be a part of it. A part of her future. A part of who she continues to become. And just how lucky I am to do so.

Thursday night. Again. Dinner with 30+ people. Talking to parents. Being a part of a celebration. Despite not being able to hear myself think. Despite not hearing half of what the other people were saying. But being included. Having something to talk about. Being a part of the conversation. Not just there but present. What a gift.

Friday morning. Annual Picnic. Not worried about the weather or my outfit or the endless amounts of food. Just spending time with friends and enjoying the fellowship of the people who have been instrumental in Skylar’s educational experience over the past 9 years. Basking in friendships and good food in the shade of the trees.

Friday afternoon and evening. Hershey Park. Strolling. Laughing. Eating. And just being. With teenagers and adults who truly enjoy each other’s company. Who are authentic and genuine and comfortable and accepting.

And at every event and in every way I was present in the moment. Basking in the beauty of all that life has laid before me in simple and complex opportunities. I would truly pause, close my eyes, and say to myself, “Wow. Isn’t this something.”

To see myself move from purposelessness to where I am today in just one short year…I have much to be thankful for. I have much to live for.

And while I am thankful for family, treatment teams, friends, and God…I think it is equally important for me to be thankful to myself. It is my hard work. It is my tough decisions. It is my ACTION that has moved me so far down the path of healing. And it’s important to acknowledge the role that I have played in doing so. Because life isn’t some passive experience. The choices—big and small—that we make each day are what makes life fulfilling, passionate, rich, and joyful. And to deny or minimize the impact of what I have done for myself this year would be the equivalent of running and giving away my power. Something I sincerely hope to never do again.

I love this life far too much. I love my people far too deeply. I love my future far too fiercely.

To ever give away my power again.

poked

I don’t have anything earth shattering to share today, but I have something to say nonetheless.

I had to get labs drawn yesterday for a routine doctors appointment. They were fasting labs, so I went early. I don’t use the word “trauma” lightly and I’ve never 100% understood what people meant when they say they experience medical trauma. But I do now.

I have never really been bothered by the process of having blood drawn. It’s just a part of life and has never actually hurt. But yesterday I almost had a panic attack during my blood draw and I can tell you exactly why.

When I was in Texas for inpatient treatment in January 2023, one of my electrolyte levels was dangerously low. There was a period of time when I was having labs drawn 3 times a day. And each draw took at least 3 tries. They stuck me all over my arms and hands. I was bruised everywhere and every stick hurt. It got to the point where I would just sob during the attempts because my tolerance to being poked was totally maxed out. Even drinking 16 ounces out of water 6 times a day did nothing to improve the situation. It was seriously terrible. It was traumatic.

I used to be a very easy stick. I’m not entirely sure what has happened over the last few years, but that is no longer the case. When I had labs drawn yesterday morning, it took the phlebotomist 3 tries to be successful.

I started out telling her that my hands are usually where phlebotomists have the best luck. She said she doesn’t like to use hands if she can help it.

She was having trouble finding a good spot and asked me if I had consumed any water that morning. I said yes, I am very diligent with my water consumption, especially prior to a blood draw.

When she was finally successful, she told me 2 things:

1. “You need to tell the phlebotomist to use your hands.”

2. “You need to drink water before your blood draw.”

Ok…

A…I DID tell you to use my hands. You just didn’t believe I knew what I was talking about.

B…I DID drink water before my lab work. I drank so much it made me sick to my stomach. I TOLD you that, too.

She was gaslighting me into thinking that the mistake was mine. It was MY fault that it was so difficult for her to draw my blood.

WHAT?

Medical trauma and gaslighting by medical professionals are real. No wonder so many people don’t get the medical attention they need. They fear judgement, pain, and the reality that their struggles may not be validated.

I’m lucky in the fact that I am aware of these things and don’t allow them to prevent me from seeking the treatment I need. But it can be exhausting. It can be stressful and anxiety-provoking.

If you are facing similar struggles, please remember:

• You know yourself and your truth better than anyone else. Even a super-special-specialist. Don’t let them tell YOU how YOU feel.

• Bring a list of symptoms/concerns that you have. Take the list out and go through it with them.

• Bring a list of detailed questions. Once again, take the list out and ask every single question. Write down the answers!!

• Listen and be open. They are the experts in their field. You are the expert on you. Collaborate and work together to solve your problems!

• Rinse and repeat. If you do not feel comfortable with the provider. If you do not receive recommendations that adequately treat your issues. If you do not feel heard or understood. GET A SECOND OPINION.

Your health is precious and deserves A+ care. Only you can ensure that you receive it. Advocate for yourself relentlessly. It is well worth the effort!

happiest of days

Well today is May 18, 2024. It is exactly 1 year since my most recent treatment admission. It is also exactly 2 days after my 38th birthday. And I have a lot to be proud of.

Many people my age have a serious aversion to celebrating birthdays anymore. Aging gives them all sorts of negative emotions. And don’t get me wrong, I do have the occasional… “I seem to get older faster every year and I’ve barely accomplished anything of note in my life” moment. But. More than anything, I am filled with gratitude and awe. Which allows me to more fully celebrate and embrace every single precious moment. Which I think is actually pretty cool.

FIRST:

• Last year I spent my birthday dinner in intensive outpatient treatment at Center for Discovery. Earlier in the day I had called Eating Recovery Center and planned my residential admission for the 18th. I spent most of the night sobbing.

• This year, my dad and I went to Crumbl Cookies to snag birthday treats, treated ourselves to Starbucks, and drove to surprise my birthday buddy with some gifts after she got off work. Then Dad, Mom, and I went to Beck’s in Sykesville for a delicious dinner. I enjoyed every bite, every sip, and every breath I took.

SECOND:

• Last year, I missed out on hearing all about Skylar’s school Adventure Trip. I was never available when she called from Chicago. I was not able to welcome her home due to my residential treatment admission. I said goodbye to Skylar on Monday, expecting to say hello in less than a week. I didn’t see her again for 2 months.

• This year, I was home for every phone call and looked forward to her updates. Their plane from San Diego landed at 10:10pm yesterday. Way past my usual bedtime. But Dad and I went to pick her up and I was bouncing with excitement. Because I got to be there. I got to give her a huge hug and welcome her home. And my heart nearly burst. What a gift it was to simply exist in that moment.

THIRD:

• Last year, I dreaded leaving the house and having to interact with the other parents at school or Girl Scouts. I felt inadequate, overwhelmed, and exhausted. 24/7.

• This year, I have eagerly anticipated all the activities that signal the end of our MSW era. The Middle School Play was a real treat. I can’t wait to hear Skylar speak at the Closing Ceremony. I’m looking forward to the Annual Picnic. I’ll even tolerate the terrifying spinning wheel of death. The trip to Hershey with the Springdale-bound crew is something I’m excited for.

And that’s really just the start of it all. I haven’t felt this ALIVE in such a long time. I mean it’s certainly no cake walk. I’m still figuring out a lot of stuff. I have days that I just need to rest. So I do. I’m really just focusing on taking care of myself in every possible way. Which allows me to more fully engage with the people I care about the most.

I am more and more amazed with my daughter by the day. Watching Skylar grow is truly one of the greatest joys in my life. She is just an overall super cool human and I consider myself incredibly blessed to call myself her mother. I can’t believe we are where we are. In time. In our relationship. I mean the whole thing really is just one huge miracle that I’m surprised an overwhelmed by daily.

I guess what I’m saying is that my heart is filled with gratitude, which is really the best gift that I ever could have received for my birthday. I am blown away with the love, acceptance, encouragement, and support that I have received from everyone I encountered on my journey this past year. I wouldn’t be who or where I am without all the experiences and all people that I stumbled into.

All my love,

Brittany

the long haul

It’s been a little over 6 months since officially discharging from treatment. Which might not sound too significant. But to me it is. And it hasn’t been 6 months of a struggle just to hang on. It’s been 6 months of healthy choices that cumulatively are leading me to a life worth living. A purpose and—often—a joy. Both of which I thought I’d thrown away my right to years ago.

Recently on Facebook I’ve been bombarded by photographs from 10 years ago. Our family trip to Disney World in 2014. And all the pictures have gotten me to thinking about how much my life has changed in 10 years. It feels so recent yet so distant simultaneously.

In 2014 we spent Spring Break in Disney World. I graduated with my AA from Carroll Community College. I began a job that I kept for 7 years. I stood by my sister as she got married. I admitted to relapse and sought treatment. I said goodbye to a very dear friend and later to an incredible support system that had lifted me up and encouraged me to be my best self.

I won some and I lost some. Things happened in 2014 that will truly define this period of my life for eternity. I’ve lived the past 10 years in an echo chamber erected in a year of joy and pain.

But now I have a choice. I mean I’ve always had a choice. I could have made this choice at any point in the past decade. But anniversaries have a tendency to afford us the opportunity to reflect and commit to change. So recently I’ve made a choice. To move towards the vibrancy and life I existed within during this time 10 years ago.

When I had just gotten back from an incredible vacation. When I was preparing myself for the celebration of graduation…truly a victory. When my relationships were deep and enriching. When my future looked bright and shiny and exciting.

Knowing that the joy and potential will be laced with struggle and sorrow, but deciding to embrace the future anyway. To recreate the mindset of endless possibility within the brokennness.

I have spent the last 6 months moving towards this new reality. Volunteering at the senior center, making music, reading books, writing, addressing health concerns, spending time deep in thought, creating art, re-establishing relationships, cooking, baking, attending church, and day-dreaming of what I envision for myself and my family both today and in the future.

I have a picture in my mind of what all of this looks like to me. But I also know that plans are made to be wrecked. So I hold it loosely in palm of my hand and allow it to morph daily in a way that gives me hope.

I know that our time on earth is finite, but I also know how foolish it is to limit myself on the basis of my age and milestones I have failed to achieve during my brief existence on this planet.

I embrace all that I have. Supportive parents, an incredibly kind and smart and funny daughter, access to healthcare, adoring pets, a strong foundation in recovery, and a dream to leave a legacy. With a confidence that I have the ability to achieve and fulfill my potential. A confidence that was lost just about 20 years ago.

Which means facing a lot of fears and doing a lot of hard work. Treatment is just the beginning. It unlocks a path to any future you yearn to create. But the real work begins once you realize that what you want is more than what you have. That you don’t have to settle for the cards you were dealt. That you are meant for more. That pain and suffering is NOT your legacy. That freedom and purpose and unconditional love ARE.

So I’m on this path for the long haul. I decide to gaze at my destination only briefly. Long enough to fuel my desire without being overwhelmed by the timeline and the brush that covers portions of the trail.

Surely this path can be no harder than the battle I’ve fought for my life. And surely it will be a sweet sweet victory to reach my destination. Which will only be yet another beginning.

streams and streaming

I’ve cried a lot in the last 24 hours.

Every once in a while, I’m blindsided by the rawness of life. Not in a bad way. At all. Just in a way that kind of shakes me. Wakes me up. Alerts me to the fact that life is happening to and around me. Every day.

I think days like yesterday are a good thing. Crying reminds me that I’m alive. Very much so. Just like a giant belly laugh. It’s a multi sensory activity. My eyes see something incredibly moving. My ears hear music or poetry that strikes deep in my soul. I feel a tear fall down my cheek. And my body trembles with emotion. It’s like an earthquake to my senses. Everything shifts internally. Physically, emotionally, mentally. Sometimes spiritually. I am brought to a new place. A fresh place.

And there is something cathartic in an experience like that. A good cry leaves you both exhausted and refreshed. It’s a unique experience. In fact, humans are the only animals that shed tears as an expression of emotion. Now isn’t that something?

So what brings on an episode of reflection such as this? Yesterday it was multiple streaming services. That’s right folks. Netflix, Disney Plus, and Youtube cracked me in half yesterday. Honestly, there was no response that felt correct other than a flood of tears.

The shows I watched on Netflix and Disney Plus reflected real life issues in a not-so-subtle way. Illness, death, brokenness, healing, hope, pain, and love. All aspects of the human experience. All expressed in the context of a very tangible version of reality.

Sort of. I mean it’s television, right? Obviously nothing in real life is packaged so neatly. The brokenness recovered in such perfection is a silly notion indeed. But the feelings are there and left me vulnerable to something that is very real indeed.

We turned on a Youtube video. One we’ve watched before. One that is moving beyond words. One about a real person living a real struggle with real hope and purpose in his very real life. The story of a hero who is around my age. Whose passions were not all too different than mine. A desire to serve fostered in the hell our country faced during our time in high school. A desire that set our lives on a different course than we had ever anticipated.

We were injured within days of each other. And while my injury derailed my dreams in one way, his injuries were far more traumatic than mine. And to see his journey. His fight for independence. His positive attitude. His hope for the future. It moves me every time I watch the video. Deeply.

I know for a fact his journey has not been an easy one. Our fathers were very close friends. Which makes him and his fight even more real to me.

It shakes me. My lip trembles at first. Then my whole body. I’m reminded of all that has been lost. And all that we stand to recover. The hope we stand to gain. The independence we stand to achieve. The life we stand to live.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the sorrow and broken dreams that occurred when we were so young. But I look at this man who lost everything and I see vibrance. And he reminds me of how little I lost in the grand scheme of things, you know? Of just how much I was left with.

Usually I would feel a little bit guilty about the pity parties I’ve thrown myself throughout the years when compared with someone’s true suffering and loss in service of our nation. But last night I just allowed myself to feel the tears and the deepness of feelings I cannot even name. Pride, sorrow, gratitude, shame, hope, grief? None of those words feel right. I just sat in it. Whatever “it” is.

And then I pick myself up. I remind myself of all I have to live for. All I’ve been given. All I’ve survived. And the future that is spread before me. Open and full of possibility.

I can see my life in a multiverse type of situation. The life I’ve lost, the life I’m living, and the life I stand to gain. And it’s all kind of beautiful when everything collides.

I do have hope for the future. A hope I rarely thought possible. A hope unrestrained by my past. A hope filled with new dreams, fresh passion, and a steadfast purpose.

Knowing that mine is a life worth living.

seriously lucky

Well a lot has transpired over the last week or so and I have failed to write on any of the events that are significant to me.

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ONE: Last week was Eating Disorders Awareness Week.

I might not have written, but I certainly did a lot of reflection. I really gave myself a lot of time and space to process all that has transpired over the last 14 months. Actually, it’s more than that. With the exception of two 2-3 week breaks, I was in eating disorder treatment for 17 months straight. June 2022—October 2023. I hit all levels of care (most more than once) including inpatient, residential, partial hospitalization program (PHP), and virtual intensive outpatient program (VIOP). Eating disorder treatment has completely dominated my entire life for over a year. And now I’m in the next phase of things.

It’s hard to go from an environment where you completely surrender every single aspect of your life to one of freedom. I’ve been doing the treatment thing for many many years now. But I can honestly say that this last stint was life-changing. I was blessed with incredible treatment teams that made a lasting impact on my life. I discovered hard truths about myself and the choices I have made in my life. I realized that every day I have the opportunity to choose differently. Hour by hour, minute by minute, second by second I get to pick where I go. I have so much more power than I ever realized. And I’m not just talking about whether or not I decide to act on eating disorder behaviors. I mean EVERYTHING. There is a WHOLE WORLD out there that I had all but abandoned.

I had very nearly surrendered my life to darkness, misery, sickness, and hopelessness. But I have—repeatedly—for years now—picked up the phone and made the call for help. I scheduled a level of care assessment. I answered the difficult questions. I purchased a plane ticket. I overcame my fear of not knowing how to summon an Uber or where I was going in a new and scary city. All to get myself the help I needed. If I’m willing to do all of those challenging things to get myself to treatment, than I should be able to take the difficult steps towards the next phase of my recovery.

I have been out of treatment for 4 months now and I feel…different than I have in the past. I don’t feel like I’m heading down the same old path, destined to land myself in yet another treatment center. I have no idea what’s next for me. I just know that my eating disorder is no longer welcome in my present or my future. I have lost far too much of my past—of my life—to let it steal away any more.

So I’m thankful for the past 20ish months. I have come to know myself deeply. I went through darkness, pain, paralyzing fear, and monotonous days that I truly thouht would destroy me. Sometimes physically, sometimes mentally and emotionally. But those times opened my eyes to the joy that is simply life outside of treatment. Freedom and the opportunity to find a purpose and a life worth living.

My view from the ERC apartment in Chicago: June 2022.

TWO: Last Thursday was also Rare Disease Day due to it being the rarest day…February 29th…Leap Day…the Day of the Zebra!

I have a “rare disease” called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. EDS affects the connective tissue in your body: skin, joints, and blood vessels. There are several different types and the types vary in severity. There are also many co-occurinng conditions that present along with EDS in some patients (POTS, MCAS, etc). My personal symptoms include overly flexible joints, stretchy/fragile/translucent skin, and other random things. It explains why I’m so easily injured, why wounds take so long to heal, and why I’m always finding massive bruises in random areas of my body.

I’m actually of the belief that EDS is far more prevalent than we might have believed several years ago. I have met a good number of people who also have EDS with varying presentations. Providers are slightly more knowledgeable of the condition than they were even 5-10 years ago. Unfortunately access to providers who are equipped to diagnose and truly HELP is extremely limited. I have been on the waiting list to see a geneticist for over a year now and they still have to idea when my name will float to the top of the waitlist.

So I do what I can on my own and limit those things that make my condition worse. My biggest problem has obviously been my hips. I’ve had many surgeries on both hips over the years. Repeatedly experiencing the same injuries. I have recently noticed that my fingers bend in terrible ways that are starting to impact my ability to perform certain tasks. So I did some research and found a website that sells custom swan neck splints for the joints in your fingers. I ordered a few to try out and we’ll see if I experience any improvement. Right now—for me—EDS is about educating myself as much as possible and setting myself up for success by finding providers and tools that will help me to reduce pain and injury in my daily life.

So excited to try my new swan neck splints from Zebra Splints!

THREE: Yesterday was Skylar’s 14th Birthday and it was so so sweet to get to spend the day with her.

Unfortunately, I spent her 12th and 13th birthdays in treatment centers so getting to be fully present, take in the moment, and celebrate one amazing kid was such and incredible gift. I made sure to really soak up the day and the blessing that she is to myself, our family, her friends, her school, her Girl Scout Troop, and honestly to the entire world. She is amazing in so many ways. She is kind, caring, smart, funny, and just generally brightens up any room. I can’t believe she starts HIGH SCHOOL in the fall and I’m excited for her to have new experiences and opportunities. I have seen her grow SO MUCH over the years (in both height and personality) and she continually surprises and amazes me. I consider myself one lucky mama :)

Dad took a picture of me and Skylar yesterday to commemorate the occasion :)

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Hmm. That was a little bit longer than I intended. But it’s been an eventful week and I have a lot to say. I guess the gist is the fact that I am seriously lucky. I’m lucky that my eating disorder didn’t kill me this year. I’m lucky that I have people who didn’t give up on me and who walked with me towards recovery. I’m lucky that I’m finally free enough to be able to focus on other aspects of my health. I’m lucky that I’ve had the resources to treat the conditions that have been caused by EDS over the years. I’m lucky that I have access to information and support to help me navigate my diagnoses. And I’m lucky to have a really amazing and loving kid. I’m lucky that we’re both alive and thriving. And I’ll never ever take any of this for granted.

reality check

It’s been a while since I last posted. I wanted my previous post to be what people saw when they visited my site via the link I sent out in my Christmas cards. “Wait,” you might be saying. “I didn’t receive a Christmas card.”

Don’t feel bad. You’re in good company. I wrote most of the cards but had a few stragglers, which resulted in me…failing to mail the cards. To anyone. They’re still sitting on the corner table awaiting completion. Collecting dust.

And now it’s practically 2 months after Christmas and I feel like I miiiiiight have missed the window.

Just know it’s nothing personal.

I’d like to announce another disclaimer before I get started here. My keyboard has recently decided to be weird with its “n” key, so there might be some extra “n”s sprinkled throughout the post. Of course I’ll proofread before publishing, but I inevitably always miss something. So there. You’ve been warned.

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Lately I’ve been having EXTREMELY vivid dreams. So so vivid. And strongly rooted in events/circumstances that I have ACTUALLY experienced. Some in the very distant past. Others relatively recent.

One of the more frequent subjects of these dreams has been the time I spent in NROTC and on the ODU sailing team. Memories from nearly 20 years ago flash through my dream state as though they are happening in the present. And I wake up absolutely 100% exhausted. Nostalgic. Disappointed. Wistful.

Each night is filled with vivid details of the people, places, and experiences I encountered, causing endless “what ifs” to rise to the surface of my consciousness once I wake. I feel things like anxiety, pride, excitement, disappointment, fear, joy, and grief. Like, in my dreams I feel these things. And then I awake and remember and continue to experience these intense emotions.

And then I step back and take in the fact that it is 2024. And my life is very very different from what I pictured for myself 20 years ago. Which I’ve discussed in the past and feel no need to rehash right now.

The last couple of weeks I’ve been in a slump. My motivation and energy have significantly decreased. The degree of fatigue I experience seems to increase with each passing day. I don’t feel depressed. I’m not super sad or bursting with anxiety. I’m just…overwhelmed maybe? I don’t know. That still doesn’t feel like the right word. I’ll let you know if I come up with something better.

Anyway, in order to make myself feel better, I remind myself of how much better my life is today thank it was a year ago. This time last year I was living in Plano, Texas at an inpatient eating disorder treatment center. I was very sick. I experienced interventions I had never before encountered. It was difficult and lonely and scary. It also saved my life.

Although that’s as far as I will go into detail-wise in this post, the vivid details that I experience in recollection of my time in Texas rattle me to my core and are recently always present.

The juxtaposition of the NROTC dreams (NOT reality) and Texas (100% a REAL experience) is striking.

My current dreams are a reflection of the oh-so-short amount of time I was blessed with getting to live my dream of training to serve my country in the U.S. Navy. When I was kicking butt and journeying towards greatness.

My memories of Texas remind me of the depths to which my illnesses can take me. They remind me of how far I’ve come and how hard I’m willing to work to stay here. Here or better. Never worse.

The NROTC dreams make me nostalgic, but will never ever become reality. Which makes me sad.

The Texas memories are traumatic and have the potential to repeat themselves if I’m not vigilant with my recovery. Which makes me fearful.

The intensity with which I experience both the dreams and the memories can be paralyzing at times. Maybe that’s why I’m so exhausted.

But I think I’m using them to gather fuel to propel me into my future. A future full of brightness and joy rather than darkness and depression. A future that will have pain but not suffering. A future that embraces challenges knowing that defeat is never eternal.

So I take the good with the bad and figure out how to transform it into something even better than 17 year-old Brittany could have imagined. It might not happen today or this week or next month, but I’m hoping it will happen sooner rather than later.

Until then, though my sleep is restless, I’ll remain forever grateful to lay my head on a pillow in my bedroom here in Maryland rather than a hospital room in Plano, Texas.

Grey.

Well guys. It’s almost Christmas. We are less than a week away. Which means the new year isn’t much further. And it sure is giving me the feels.

This last year has been…a journey. A long, hard, exhausting journey. I have endured things I never thought I’d face. I have fought battles in a war I never thought I’d win. I have cried tears into an ocean deeper than my soul could reach. And yet I survived.

I won’t go into details. I’ve sought treatment and healing in many places this year. I’ve surrendered hope and mustered strength more times than I can count. And yet I’m still standing.

I lost myself, then found myself. More than once.

I am 37 years old. The last few months have made me…nostalgic I believe is the word I’m looking for. My dreams are filled with memories. I wake up exhausted and sad. Yearning. My life is not what I imagined it to be 20 years ago.

The other day I went searching for something in the basement and I came across a wardrobe. I opened it and began flipping through the hangers. A white robe. A Bull Run t-shirt. A variety of NROTC uniforms. A red cape. Countless formal gowns.

Tears shed for a life forfeit. A life lost. A life missed.

A life oh so desperately missed.

I’m reminded of my hopes and dreams. None of which were achieved. None of which CAN be achieved.

And I feel lost. Sad. Hopeless. Defeated.

Those memories feel like a lifetime ago. Where did the last 20 years go? What do I have to show for myself? What forward movement have I made? What have I accomplished?

This is not what I envisioned for my life. This is not how I pictured my future.

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It’s easy to get discouraged, so I frequently do. It’s hard to stay positive, so I frequently don’t. It’s difficult to see my successes or visualize my purpose, so I fail at those things more often than not.

Most days I feel blah. Which sounds depressing. I know. But hear me out.

Feeling blah means NOT feeling:

• Anxious

• Depressed

• Ashamed

• Disgusted

• Stressed

• Fearful

So even though I may be lacking in joy and hope and inspiration, I am filled with gratitude for the things my “blahness” limits me in experiencing.

Right?

I mean, anxiety used to paralyze me. Depression has nearly killed me. Shame has isolated me. Disgust has caused self-hatred. Stress has resulted in nervous breakdowns. Fear has brought me to my knees.

So a life with a limited experience of these emotions certainly feels like a victory to me. It’s certainly a gift I will accept with open arms.

We often see things in black and white. I am happy or I am sad. I am beautiful or I am ugly. I am healthy or I am sick.

And I think this prevents us from being content. From appreciating the moment. The people. The life that we have. The now.

Just because I am not joyous does not mean that I hate my life and am depressed. Just because I don’t like the way I look doesn’t mean I have to be ashamed of my appearance and fearful of judgement from others. Just because I have a million medical appointments doesn’t mean I can’t be thankful for the things my body CAN do.

Just because I’ve spent so long living in the black, doesn’t mean I can’t learn to live in the grey.

Years ago my room used to be painted a dark red. I spent a lot of time trying to decide what color I wanted to repaint it. I ultimately settled on a light grey. I found it peaceful and serene. Calming. Neutral.

I painted a dark, depressing red room that felt as if it was closing in on me a light and peaceful grey. And I felt a sense of accomplishment and serenity.

I let my daughter help, so between the two of us there are many imperfections. Then I put a dent in the wall when I moved my desk back into place. So it’s not a perfect paint job for sure. But it’s better than it was. MUCH better than it was.

Painting is hard work. It requires a lot of preparation and can be frustrating at times. But the end result is very rewarding.

I feel like I’ve been engaged in the act of repainting my soul over the past 20 years. It took me a while to figure out what was wrong with my soul. That I didn’t like the color. I didn’t like the way the color made me feel. And at first, I didn’t realize that I had the option to change the color. I didn’t just have to live with it. And then I spent all this time trying to figure out the easiest way to repaint. I didn’t want to move the furniture, tape the trim, use the ladder, and put the effort into completing the job myself. I certainly didn’t want to paint 2 coats. I wasted a lot of time waiting. And I regret that. But eventually, I realized that the only way things were going to change was if I painted the room myself. So I did.

And now I get to live in the grey. The work was worth it. The effort was rewarded. And doing it myself makes me value, cherish, and appreciate it even more than I would have if someone just waved their wand and done it for me. I have more gratitude in my soul and I fight harder to keep things from getting too dark again.

Now, when I have extra time or money, I spend it cleaning or buying a new decorative pillow for my bed. I get to spruce things up and make the room a little more pleasant and welcoming to exist in. I like to play music in my room or wrap myself in a cozy blanket.

Like my room, my body and soul are a more peaceful place to be now that I’ve traded darkness for the color grey.

Sometimes I let things spiral out of control. My room becomes cluttered and I neglect to vacuum or dust. Just like I sometimes neglect doing the things I know enrich my soul. I fail to write or create and socialize or fully embrace the life I’ve been given. And I become overwhelmed, restless, and disillusioned. But then I step back and notice what has happened. I bring in a trash bag and throw out the garbage. And I start again.

It makes me sad that it’s taken 20 years to learn that grey is okay. It makes me sad that it required the loss of so many things. So many hopes. So many dreams. So many people. So many memories. So much life and soul and joy and laughter. It has cost me much. I don’t know if that hole in my soul will ever fully heal. That is something I must grow to accept.

But the journey has taught me much about myself. About the world. About my loved ones. About who and what I really am. And that is something that cannot be replaced.

Had I succeeded in achieving my hopes and dreams, my life would look very different than it currently does. And when I get too nostalgic, I try to remind myself of the grey. That while that alternate future might have brought me joy, it would have also brought me pain. A pain that I might not have been equipped for had I not experienced the injuries, abuse, loss, and failure that I endured in those first 2 years of college. 2 years that changed the course of my life forever.

Sometimes the nostalgia makes me sad. Sometimes it makes me uncertain. Sometimes it causes me to wonder. Sometimes it brings me hope. And sometimes it serves me with a healthy dose of gratitude.

This season brings something that I know many people take issue with. Christmas cards. Holiday greetings from close family and long lost friends. Personally, I love it. I love being reminded of the people who made an imprint in my life. People I may not have talked to in 20 years, but who brushed my life in monumental ways. Most of them have no idea of their impact. But those cards flood me with memories and gratitude. And are therefore one of the most special parts of this season for me.

I know this post got a bit long. And I know the path took a lot of sharp turns. But I really have been overwhelmed by this sense nostalgia and this desperate need for the past to hold meaning and for that meaning to give purpose to my future.

I am thankful for the hard times that make the good times sweet and sunny. I am thankful for the black and white, for they give birth to grey. And I am thankful for the chance to live in the in-between. In a state of contentment and gratitude. Fully.

A Fresh Start

Well hello, and welcome to my NEW WEBSITE!!!

I know that it has been awhile. I have my reasons for neglecting the blog and I’ll explain a bit more as we move forward. For now, I just want to share my excitement with some of my favorite people: you, my readers!

There were many contributing factors that led me to give the blog a fresh start. For one thing, Wordpress was driving me CrAzY. I dreaded logging in and trying to compose a post or newsletter, so I just…didn’t. As a result, I decided to switch to Squarespace to host and design my website. It is SO MUCH better. I’m happy and I hope you are, too. Please let me know if you have any feedback and I will do what I can to improve the user experience!

Another reason for the switch was my desire to lock down on my exposure. Which is tricky. My goal is to reach as many people as possible. But in migrating my content, I came to some realizations. I started questioning myself. A lot. Was being so vulnerable on a public platform really so wise? Was it worth it?

At first the answer was no. No, I was not willing to make that sacrifice anymore. My solution was to withhold information about my new website from social media. I would make a Facebook/Instagram post encouraging folks to reach out to me personally for the URL to my new website and then subscribe to my newsletter. I would not share new posts to my social media profiles. People would have to subscribe to the newsletter to receive these updates.

That was my plan. I even shared this plan on my Instagram stories.

But now I’m not so sure.

I feel like doing this would really really narrow my audience. Which stands in opposition to what I’ve worked so hard to create over the past 10ish years. Not cool.

Am I really going to let a few experiences destroy my passion? Will I really let them win? Will I surrender my power to hose kinds of people? Will I really give up that easily?

I’ve always walked a fine line in publishing this blog on the world wide web. I strive for transparency, vulnerability, and honesty. Yet I fear what potential employers, romantic partners, or my own daughter might think of me should any of them stumble across my little portion of the internet.

I do not fear judgement. I fear the idea that other people may use my own words against me in some way in the near or distant future. What kind of repercussions will my words have?

So the question remains. Do I continue to expose myself to these potential consequences?

Hmmm.

Wow.

That’s a good one, Brittany.

I think the answer is yes. I mean…the damage has already been done, right? And my ultimate goal is to publish a book. Which would not be censored. Obviously. So…what’s the point in destroying the audience that I’ve generated through my efforts thus far?

So instead, I’ve locked down my social media accounts a bit. But to those of you who I already consider friends or acquaintances, I will still be sharing blog updates as they are published.

The only part of my original plan that will not be executed is a link on my old blog to my new blog. For reasons that do not need to be explained.

I’ve spent the last several weeks migrating every archived entry onto this website. The only things that will not be visible on this website are comments made on the old website. All other old content should be available here, at The OG Brittany B.

And yes, if you haven’t noticed yet, I have changed the name of my website. I wanted leave The Realistic Optimist Blog and its footprint behind. I wanted a fresh start. I wanted a new beginning.

To close, I’ll leave you with 2 requests:

1. Please please SUBSCRIBE to my newsletter to stay up-to-date with new posts, photos, and other information you won’t want to miss!

2. Please please SHARE my new website and posts as they are published. I want my vision to come alive. I want to give other people hope, but mostly I want people to know that they ARE NOT ALONE. In my experience, this has been the most powerful ripple that my stone has caused in the lake of life. People want to feel heard, understood, and supported. My story has proven to provide such things. I promise you. If you share this website with others, you become part of the ripple. You could even help save a life. I know it sounds dramatic, but it’s true. You never know.

Thanks for being loyal readers and stay awesome, folks.

Stay awesome.

Something To Show For it All

On or around Thanksgiving, my right hip started bothering me. More and more each day. Until I caved and scheduled an appointment with a local orthopedist. I say local because, traditionally, I see an orthopedist in Arlington, VA for all things hip. I say traditionally because—in case you’re new here—this ain’t my first rodeo.

I had my assumptions. It felt like it’s felt before. A labral tear. That was my gut. I figured I needed an MRI and rather than drive down to Arlington to be told just that, I decided to see someone local. Someone I could get a same day appointment with.

That was 2 weeks ago.

Sure enough, he ordered an MRI. But not any MRI. An MRI arthrogram. The kind where they stick a nice long needle into the hip joint and squirt in a bunch of contrast in there before running the MRI.

Not fun.

I know because I’ve done it before.

I’ve had 2 labral repairs and 1 labral reconstruction on my left hip. 1 labral repair on my right hip.

The MRI arthrogram was this morning. I had convinced myself that it wouldn’t be that bad. That I was just remembering the worst parts of a bad experience. So I went in this morning with some anxiety, but I was able to eat a normal breakfast and not feel like I was going to puke.

Boy was I wrong. It hurt. SO BAD. I like to think that I have a pretty decent pain tolerance. But damn do I hate that procedure. It’s the worst.

I was there for THREE HOURS. First you wait. Then you get the injection. Then you wait. Then you get the MRI. Then you wait. Then you receive the CD with the images on it.

There were some other embarrassing moments that I will skip over for the benefit of my male readers.

Anyway. What a long, horrible, very bad morning.

I got home and had some lunch and decided to log into my Advanced Radiology account just for kicks. They say it takes 2 days to post results, but I just had a hunch.

And there it was. My radiology report.

Repeat labral tear confirmed.

My gut was right. It usually is with hip stuff. I’ve done the dance enough to know.

I wish I had more to tell you, but I don’t see the doctor until Friday. It’s someone new. The guy I saw 2 weeks ago doesn’t do hip arthroscopies, so he referred me to another orthopedist in the practice. He’s local. Like a 5 minute drive from my house, which is nice.

I don’t know what he’ll advise. He might want me to try physical therapy first or he might recommend surgery. I have no idea.

If he recommends surgery, I don’t know if I’ll give him a whirl or if I’ll head down to Arlington. Arlington is far, but I trust Dr. Ochiai completely. He knows my (complicated) case and makes accommodations for my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome in his treatment plans. He’s familiar, kind, and talented.

But I’m also tired. God am I tired. I don’t know that I have trips to Arlington in me right now. And I don’t know that he’d even agree to operate for that matter. I’m a train wreck. I have torn every single one of his very excellent repairs. Would he be willing to cut into me for a sixth time? (I say 6 because he also removed the hardware in my left hip…most of it, at least)

So there’s a lot up in the air right now. I’m trying to bench it until Friday when I have more information to work with. Writing is my way of doing that I guess. Getting it out of my system. Out of my brain and onto paper (or my iPad in this case).

To say I’m discouraged would be an understatement. I am so so careful, yet this crap keeps happening. This is my THIRD injury requiring an MRI this YEAR. It’s ridiculous. Seriously out of control. I don’t even remember DOING anything for this to happen. We did some restorative yoga in VIOP a few weeks ago, but I used a TON of pillows so as not to overextend my joints in any way. That’s the only potential cause that I can think of.

It drives me seriously crazy.

The only good thing I can think of is this: at least I have something to show for all the pain and suffering I endured this morning. At least I have results to share at all. After all, you’ve gotta find some humor in things. Right?

tms and life and such

Today was my second to last TMS treatment. And I don't want to sound dramatic, but TMS has changed my life.

What is TMS, you might be asking? Well. TMS stands for Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. It is a treatment for depression in which they stimulate the mood regulation areas of the brain with magnetic pulses. There's a lot of sciencey stuff that goes into it...obviously. Check out the Greenbrook website for lots of info and videos and stuff if you're really interested in finding out more.

Anyway. I say that TMS has changed my life, and it has. But let me rewind a little bit. I mean, why would a girl need a life changing treatment for depression in the first place?

It's been a rough year. I'm not going to get into the nitty gritty of it. I'm just going to say. It's been a rough year. Mostly I just haven't been able to catch a break health-wise. Sick this, broken that, broken this, sick that. There and back again. And before you know it I find myself at the Eating Recovery Center in Chicago for 6 weeks. While in Chicago I was introduced to TMS, but only got 3 weeks of treatment in, which isn't ideal by any means. Insurance cut my eating disorder treatment short and thus my TMS treatment ended and I was sent home. I crashed. Hard. Core. My mood plummeted and I became a zombie. I did intensive outpatient for my eating disorder, but things quickly fell apart in that department as well.

My psychiatrist suggested I pursue TMS again, so I did. The process to pursue TMS was tedious. Lots of appointments and waiting to see if insurance would approve the treatment. At the same time, we decided it would be best to step up to the partial hospitalization program (PHP) for my eating disorder. I just needed more support overall. Everything eventually came together. I started PHP and then found out I was approved to begin TMS treatment, as well. TMS is 5 days a week for 6 weeks. PHP runs 8am-6pm. That meant I went to TMS at 7am, then drove straight to PHP every weekday. Long. Days.

But worth it.

I started noticing small differences at about 3-4 weeks after beginning TMS treatments. I had a little bit more energy. A little more interest in things. And slowly things began to turn around. I just felt...lighter. I didn't have those ugly thoughts that haunted me every. single. day. I had the desire to clean my room and make plans with friends and do the things that once brought me joy.

I'm not cured. My anxiety is still a HUGE obstacle I have yet to overcome. I still feel sad sometimes (like any normal human does). I still struggle with motivation and concentration and I love my naps and such. BUT. I feel a MILLION times better. Like. I don't feel like a zombie any more. I feel alive. And I had gotten to the point that I wasn't quite sure that was in the cards for me.

So. I am a believer in the power of the magnetic morse-code-like tapping sensation on my skull 5 days a week, despite waking up at 5:30 am for 6 weeks to do so. After the 6 weeks, I did a week of 3 days, a week of 2 days, and then next week I'll go in on Monday and then I'll be done!

I did PHP in Maryland for 8 weeks and discharged last Thursday. Whew. What a ride.

I've been in treatment for a total of 5 months so far and I'm now doing Virtual IOP Monday, Wednesday, Thursday 11am - 2pm.

This has been a long run of treatment for sure and I'm still on the roller coaster. Just when I think I'm stable, something throws me for a loop and I need to get my bearings again. I don't know why, but it's been really challenging this time around. But I'm hanging in there and learning new skills and trying to apply them daily. I feel much stronger than when I started and with this boost in my mood, I am in a much better place to make positive changes in my life.

I have been so blessed with an amazing support system through this journey. There is no possible way I could have gotten this far without them. You know who you are. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

So basically there were a couple of points to this post. One was to give you an update. It's been quite a while since my last post and I owed my readers some material.

The other point is this. It's to offer some hope. That even when things seem dark and desolate...like you're out of options...you're not. There is always hope. Just keep searching. Looking. Don't give up. There is something out there for you. I promise. I'm not saying it's TMS. I mean maybe it is. It certainly could be. It's worth checking out. But it's something. There is SOMETHING out there for you.

P.S. I meant for this to be a bit more creative. I know this was kinda bland. But I'm a bit under the weather (go figure) and my creative juices have been zapped up along with my voice. Still, I felt compelled to write, and I haven't felt that in forever, so who was I to deny Wordpress its calling? I'm not making any promises, but I do hope to make another appearance in the near future with something a little more...Brittany. So stay tuned.

What’s Next?

I know it’s been a while since I’ve last written. And my last post was kinda depressing. I was going through a lot. Well I finally went back to work on May 1st (after recovering from a broken foot, gallbladder removal, and septic bursitis) and I was so excited. It was great to see everyone again and have a purpose to my day. Structure and people are good. Despite being exhausting, I loved it.

And then came Mother’s Day. I went to fix an early lunch so I could go shopping and completely twisted my OTHER ankle going down the step from the kitchen to the dining room. What are the chances, right? Actually, not all that unlikely given my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome diagnosis. EDS is a connective tissue disorder. I have the hyper mobility type, which means I am prone to injuries such as this. I elevated and iced all day Sunday and Monday and saw the orthopedist on Tuesday. He put me in a boot, put me out of work for 2 weeks, and ordered an MRI. I had the MRI yesterday and actually got the results pretty quickly. Unfortunately I don’t see the orthopedist again until Tuesday to see what kind of treatment I’m in for. Meanwhile I’m Googling the MRI findings and trying not to get ahead of myself. Good luck, am I right?

On Wednesday I finally had the follow up with my GI doctor to review my endoscopy…which I had in DECEMBER. Yes, 5 months later and we’re going over the biopsy results and my symptoms, etc. I love her. She is great. Well worth the wait. Very attentive and proactive and thorough. She diagnosed me with EoE, which is eosinophilic esophagitis. It’s basically an allergic reaction that happens in your esophagus. There are 6 types of foods that could be the culprit: wheat, dairy, soy, eggs, nuts/seeds, and seafood/shellfish. The treatment is an elimination diet. Basically you cut everything out and then slowly add foods back in until you figure out which food(s) trigger an episode. There’s also a version where you start out eliminating 2 of the foods (dairy and wheat) and then move on the 4 of the foods, and then move onto all 6. Due to my eating disorder, I’m sure they’ll want to do the progressive version. I see my dietitian next week, so we’ll have plenty to talk about.

I can tell that I’m in a good place with my eating disorder recovery. The eating disorder would LOVE the EoE diagnosis. A really great reason to cut out foods and restrict like crazy. But I’m more upset than excited. I keep thinking of all the yummy foods I can no longer eat. This SUCKS. But so does feeling like crap. So I’m happy we have some sort of diagnosis and treatment plan, but I’m bummed it means no longer eating some of my favorite foods.

Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome and EoE have changed my life this week. And not in a good way. It’s easy to lay on the couch and utter the words “why me?” Sometimes I feel sorry for myself. I feel like I’ve had a really long string of bad luck. Between injuries and illnesses, I’ve had a rough 5 months. I just can’t win. But then I remember how lucky I am to have access to care and treatment. And my amazing family. And my adorable pets. And my supportive friends. I remember the things that make me smile. That having answers, even if they’re not great, is better than the unknown. At least there’s something to work towards, right? And definitely something to live for.

So I’ll live and fight another day.

Why Not?

Well we’re a month into 2022 and it’s been quite a year thus far. I started it off sick. Not Covid. Probably the flu. That put me out of commission for a good 2 weeks.

Then I fractured a bone in the top of my foot at the end of January. No work for 3 weeks. That ends 2/14.

But. Then I have my gallbladder removed on 2/15. No work for 2 weeks.

I also happen to be in the midst of a hypomanic episode.

And I just failed the practice assessment for my Intermediate Accounting II midterm.

I feel out of control and at a complete and total loss. A failure. Hopeless. Basically all the crappy words and feels.

I start and stop 50 things a day. I get 4-5 hours of interrupted sleep a night. I am restless and exhausted simultaneously. It just totally sucks.

When I found out I wouldn’t be working during the month of February, I decided to dedicate my time towards knocking out a decent amount of school. Well that is practically impossible with my brain in the space it’s currently residing.

So I basically have doctors appointments, try to study, and attempt to follow my meal plan. I’ve made lunch and coffee dates with a few friends this week to create some structure and get me out of the house. And of course because they’re really cool peeps and I miss them.

I just feel like such a slacker. I’m really getting down on myself and I know that’s not helpful, but it’s where I am right now.

On the plus side, my animals make me smile. A lot. And Skylar is a good kiddo who has helped me out a lot. And my parents are the best. And we might not have reached our Kickstarter goal, but the support that Fractured received BLEW MY MIND. I have the most amazing support system ever. So I know I’m lucky. I know I have a lot to live for. A lot to be grateful for. I make a 5 item gratitude list every morning as a reminder. I try to surround myself with things that make me smile. But it’s just really hard right now.

I’ll end with another big struggle I’m having right now and a little reframe that I (re)learned today. I have gained a lot of weight in the last year. And it’s really really hard on me. It’s a daily struggle. A major one. None of my clothes fit, I hate how I look in pictures, and I just generally immensely horrifically intensely dislike my body. But I was doing a Bible study today (not something I do on a regular basis honestly) and I was reminded that my body is a house of God. The Holy Spirit resides in me. My body is sacred. Not to be hated. To be honored and cared for. To make space for my creator.

And I’ll just leave you with that. And a picture of me with Chloe. Because I love her and I’m trying to love myself, so why not?

6 Days and Counting

Hey ya'll, your blogger friend Brittany here. This will be quick, I promise.

Fractured is reaching the end of its timeline with only 6 days left to back the Kickstarter project. We are just over 1/6 of the way there meaning we've raised over $1,000 which is AMAZING. Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who has backed and/or promoted Fractured. I really truly am amazed.

For those of you who don't know, Kickstarter is an all or nothing platform. That means if we don't reach the $6,000 goal, all pledges are forfeited and the project gets nothing.

So that means we have 6 days and $5,000 to go. Kinda daunting. But everything in me said this was a good idea and I really believe that anything and everything is possible. But I need your help.

I COMPLETELY understand if you are unable to back Fractured yourself. It's a lot to ask and I get that. But if you could use your social media platform(s) to promote the project, I would super duper appreciate it. Just link the page and tweet, post to Facebook, share on Instagram Stories, etc. My network is fairly large and if my network could reach their network...I really believe we can make this happen.

I have the best support system imaginable. I am so very thankful for every single one of you who have encouraged me in this journey. And if we don't reach $6,000, that's ok. I'll just figure out another way to make this dream a reality. It might take a bit longer, but it will happen. It won't crush me if we miss the goal, but I figure it's still worth a try, right?

Love ya'll,

Britters

Fractured Link: Fractured