Definition of acceptance. 1 : an agreeing either expressly or by conduct to the act or offer of another so that a contract is concluded and the parties become legally bound. 2 : the quality or state of being accepted or acceptable. 3 : the act of accepting : the fact of being accepted : approval.
Going to start this off with an enormous cliche: Change is hard. Nothing you’ve not heard before. I, personally, am not one that is comfortable with change. Some changes, though seemingly innocent, can bring about horrible anxiety, or what may be perceived as anger and/or annoyance. Some changes just take time to accept… And sometimes, acceptance is even more difficult. My doctors say that I’m too “rigid”, and I suppose we all are in a way. We each have instances that we will not, no matter the cost, bend on. But I have instances that I have difficulty bending on that could, legit, cost my life.
A couple of years ago, after several tries at the inpatient/partial hospitalization/outpatient stints where I receive treatment for my ED, I managed to get to, and maintain, my goal weight. The weight that a woman of my size and age “should” be at. The weight determined by doctors without my consent. As difficult as this weight was for me to carry, it ensured good health, cardiac stability, longevity. It was a weight that I didn’t necessarily “accept”, but one that I could tolerate. A year ago, that tolerance began to question itself.
The weight loss began innocuously enough: a migraine that forced me to stay bed and consume less than my prescribed caloric daily intake; a wretched flu that left me feverishly delirious, losing calories with each trip to the bathroom. And then I stood on that slippery slope. The initial few pounds lost brought a feeling of surprise. The next couple left me delighted. And then a slow pattern emerged. Consume less. Keep the weight off. Enjoy it. I’m ashamed and horrified at this behavior, but it’s my reality. For the time being at least.
I attended the National Eating Disorders Association annual convention this past weekend. I learned a lot. I listened to stories of recovery. I sat in sessions that informed me that once the neuro-pathways of the brain were altered by an eating disorder that it takes enormous amounts of time to return them to “normal”, whatever the fuck that means. My pathways have been altered for more than 25 years. It makes me wonder if there’s even a chance of being normal ever again…
The state of recovery is different for each and every person that has suffered and endured an eating disorder. For some, it comes easily. Others need a life or death experience to commit to change. Others just accept that recovery sucks but move on with life without the disorder. I keep asking the universe to help a sister out and just let me accept that there’s no room in my life for this horrible disease. I look to my children and imagine their lives without a mother. I look at my wonderful husband, the man that has continued to support me and love me and has helped me in every capacity he can muster. I have much to motivate me; now to find the courage to accept change.