Video of Rocki’s journey to recovery.
My Dearest Victoria,
The hardest part about writing a testimonial is knowing where to start. How do I thank you for taking a chance on me when I didn’t even believe in myself? I decided to write you letter. You can decide if you want to use any part of it or not.
The obsession. All I ever wanted was to be skinny, lean. Why couldn’t I have that, be that? I felt pretty when I was thin. I felt desired, noticed. People didn’t dismiss pretty ladies. I kept up my looks. I looked younger than my actual age. I dyed my hair, exercised, got my nails and brows done. I even waxed regularly. I dressed casually but expensive, and dare I say sexy at times. People often referred to me as pretty and cute (I hate that word). Puppies are cute. I had a short but succesfull career in real estate. I’m even educated in criminology! But what I never was, was skinny, lean. I’m an athlete with an athletic body, aka curvy or mid-size. I’m 5’0 and weigh approximately 140lbs (I’m guessing). I’m far from looking like a dainty, thin lady.
The life. I love my life. Always have. God richly blessed me with a wonderful man and healthy children (pup included). I live in a beautiful house, drive a european car and, together, my husband and I are financially stable. There’s nothing I could want and not have. I couldn’t, however, be present for them or appreciate this phenomenal life I had. Instead, my days obsessively revolved around food: bingeing and purging, restricting and denying, compulsive exercising. 30 years of chronic dieting. 30 years of waivering self worth, shame over my eating disorders, and years of weight fluctuations. All I knew was I was exhausted of rules regarding food. Labels of good, bad, fat, skinny, safe and organic. My body was straining to function due to long term laxative abuse. My brain was foggy and I struggled cognitively. My muscles atrophied and my body of 51 years was falling apart.
The abuse. I don’t know when the shift happened, when I conceeded, but it didn’t happen over night. I remember journaling one morning, not on anything particular, just free flowing. I thought about the abusive actions and language that I used on myself. For the very first time, I felt pain for her, for the wonderful woman I knew I was. I was funny. I was a good listener. I was an exceptional mother and loyal partner. More times than not, I’d cook. I wasn’t lazy. I kept up with the house cleaning. I was kind hearted and good natured. I was even a decent friend. But I wasn’t kind or even decent to myself. I treated my body so abusively when all she ever did was fight to keep me alive even after years of restriction. I called her digusting when she beautifully carried and delivered two strong, healthy girls. I had a heart of gold that fiercely loved my family yet loathed the woman in the mirror. I was smart but too caught up in shame to know my value, my self worth. I became a shell of a good woman.
The inquiry. I was tired, nearly at ground zero when I stumbled across your podcast. Two weeks of non-stop listening to your no-nonsense approach to food freedom and body love (acceptance), I knew you were my last hope at beating my life long battle with anorexia and bulimia once and for all. I made that first inquiry that would finally save my life. No more residential treatment centers. No more therapists, ED specialists or psychologists. Just you and me. We were going to do this. You promised freedom as long as I showed up. And show up, I did.
The work. Two months into active recovery I wanted to quit. I was angry because I was gaining weight and resentful because I knew this was the only way. My body image was poor before. Add in all the extra weight and I was beyond mortified with the change. Extreme hunger was a nightmare. I thought it was NEVER going to end. I cried into my food, hated mirror work and refused to go through the modules on my childhood. I couldn’t handle the changes in my body, the heaviness in my bones, bloating, swelling of my skin or fullness in my face. I hated every single part of recovery. The laxative withdrawal was equally horrible. My bowels didn’t know how to contract and I was constipated for days at a time. And the scale!!! Ack!!! I was so close to relapsing I had to make the concious decision to throw it out and move forward. I was so ashamed about the weight gain that I refused to leave my house. I was so afraid of seeing people who could possibly comment on my “healthy” appearance (which, by the way, did happen). I didn’t want people to stare, gossip or judge me. I didn’t want anyone to ask questions about the drastic weight gain (48lbs in 4mos.), which someone did ask. I couldn’t stop the ever growing size in my clothes. I cried everytime I learned another piece of clothing no longer fit. The truth was I wanted to recover but in a thin body. Why did I have to “grow” to grow? My recovery stalled because of my resistance. I had too many reservations about the success in my recovery and too many consessions I was willing to make with God if I could get through this in a thin body.
The recovery. I was already half way through recovery when I realized that if I didn’t go through with this there was a real possibility of living with an eating disorder for life. That scared me back into active recovery. The cost of going back was not the price I was willing to ever pay just to be thin. I wanted freedom more than I wanted skinny. I wanted body acceptance more than body hate. I wanted to take back what I knew was mine: my life. I wanted to live and show up everyday as the best version of myself. I owed it to myself. To my family. It was time to stop hating myself to skinny and start loving myself to health.
The influences: I did as you suggested and started following women my size. I noticed their confidence, their acceptance and even love for their mid-sized bodies. What???? Women who were mid-size were actually happy and proud of their bodies? I couldn’t believe it. These were gorgeous women celebrating their real bodies in evey shape, form and size. They were healthy. The exercised for strength rather than for calories burned. They ate what they wanted because their plate had room for every flavor, every ingredient. They were authentic women living their best lives. I wanted that. I wanted what they had. After years of coveting a thin body, I can honestly say women with curves are far more attractive and sexier than women without.
The acceptance. I started to accept my new body. It’s new size. I bought new clothes, clothes that fit rather than squeezing into a size I refuse to give up. I bought clothes that flattered my body. It still takes getting used to seeing my body in a larger size. Truth is, I still struggle with it but I’m working on it. I no longer loathe the body in the mirror. I’m starting to love her. I started eating my binge foods. I eat heartily until I’m satisfied. Extreme hunger eventually subsided and my body began craving all foods, which I give freely and without guilt. I still have days when the voice of the eating disorder screams, but I’ve learned how to silence it and re-write the narrative. I started exercising again. Although I feel the compulsion for “more,” I know when to stop and go home. When to appreciate what I gained rather than I what I used to obsess about. I am laxative free. My body is slowly strenghtening the muscles it needs to move everthing along smoothly. No more running to the bathroom or waking up a million times a night. No more embarrassing accidents. I’ve started menstrating again. Most women would rather skip this but I don’t. It tells me that my body is reparing itself and on the road to recovery. I feel emotions (other than anger). I am genuinely happy. I am finally at peace.
The gratitude. Omg the gratitude! How can I ever thank you enough for not giving up on me? For taking me on and leading the way to busting through the brick wall of all eating disorders. Cheering me on when I felt like giving up? When I questioned extreme hunger and set point weight therory? The modules, the work, the deep diving into trauma. The effects of PTSD of childhood trauma. Learning what true trauma is and working through it. Moving forward when I kept taking a step backward. Thank you for holding my hand through the most challenging project I’ve ever had on my self worth. For reminding me that my worth is not defined by the number on the scale. That external beauty is the least important thing about me. That my light has was never fully out, just dimmed.
Thank you, Victoria.
Rocki’s ‘previous’ and ‘now’ scores:
Video of Rocki’s journey to recovery.
My Dearest Victoria,
The hardest part about writing a testimonial is knowing where to start. How do I thank you for taking a chance on me when I didn’t even believe in myself? I decided to write you letter. You can decide if you want to use any part of it or not.
The obsession. All I ever wanted was to be skinny, lean. Why couldn’t I have that, be that? I felt pretty when I was thin. I felt desired, noticed. People didn’t dismiss pretty ladies. I kept up my looks. I looked younger than my actual age. I dyed my hair, exercised, got my nails and brows done. I even waxed regularly. I dressed casually but expensive, and dare I say sexy at times. People often referred to me as pretty and cute (I hate that word). Puppies are cute. I had a short but succesfull career in real estate. I’m even educated in criminology! But what I never was, was skinny, lean. I’m an athlete with an athletic body, aka curvy or mid-size. I’m 5’0 and weigh approximately 140lbs (I’m guessing). I’m far from looking like a dainty, thin lady.
The life. I love my life. Always have. God richly blessed me with a wonderful man and healthy children (pup included). I live in a beautiful house, drive a european car and, together, my husband and I are financially stable. There’s nothing I could want and not have. I couldn’t, however, be present for them or appreciate this phenomenal life I had. Instead, my days obsessively revolved around food: bingeing and purging, restricting and denying, compulsive exercising. 30 years of chronic dieting. 30 years of waivering self worth, shame over my eating disorders, and years of weight fluctuations. All I knew was I was exhausted of rules regarding food. Labels of good, bad, fat, skinny, safe and organic. My body was straining to function due to long term laxative abuse. My brain was foggy and I struggled cognitively. My muscles atrophied and my body of 51 years was falling apart.
The abuse. I don’t know when the shift happened, when I conceeded, but it didn’t happen over night. I remember journaling one morning, not on anything particular, just free flowing. I thought about the abusive actions and language that I used on myself. For the very first time, I felt pain for her, for the wonderful woman I knew I was. I was funny. I was a good listener. I was an exceptional mother and loyal partner. More times than not, I’d cook. I wasn’t lazy. I kept up with the house cleaning. I was kind hearted and good natured. I was even a decent friend. But I wasn’t kind or even decent to myself. I treated my body so abusively when all she ever did was fight to keep me alive even after years of restriction. I called her digusting when she beautifully carried and delivered two strong, healthy girls. I had a heart of gold that fiercely loved my family yet loathed the woman in the mirror. I was smart but too caught up in shame to know my value, my self worth. I became a shell of a good woman.
The inquiry. I was tired, nearly at ground zero when I stumbled across your podcast. Two weeks of non-stop listening to your no-nonsense approach to food freedom and body love (acceptance), I knew you were my last hope at beating my life long battle with anorexia and bulimia once and for all. I made that first inquiry that would finally save my life. No more residential treatment centers. No more therapists, ED specialists or psychologists. Just you and me. We were going to do this. You promised freedom as long as I showed up. And show up, I did.
The work. Two months into active recovery I wanted to quit. I was angry because I was gaining weight and resentful because I knew this was the only way. My body image was poor before. Add in all the extra weight and I was beyond mortified with the change. Extreme hunger was a nightmare. I thought it was NEVER going to end. I cried into my food, hated mirror work and refused to go through the modules on my childhood. I couldn’t handle the changes in my body, the heaviness in my bones, bloating, swelling of my skin or fullness in my face. I hated every single part of recovery. The laxative withdrawal was equally horrible. My bowels didn’t know how to contract and I was constipated for days at a time. And the scale!!! Ack!!! I was so close to relapsing I had to make the concious decision to throw it out and move forward. I was so ashamed about the weight gain that I refused to leave my house. I was so afraid of seeing people who could possibly comment on my “healthy” appearance (which, by the way, did happen). I didn’t want people to stare, gossip or judge me. I didn’t want anyone to ask questions about the drastic weight gain (48lbs in 4mos.), which someone did ask. I couldn’t stop the ever growing size in my clothes. I cried everytime I learned another piece of clothing no longer fit. The truth was I wanted to recover but in a thin body. Why did I have to “grow” to grow? My recovery stalled because of my resistance. I had too many reservations about the success in my recovery and too many consessions I was willing to make with God if I could get through this in a thin body.
The recovery. I was already half way through recovery when I realized that if I didn’t go through with this there was a real possibility of living with an eating disorder for life. That scared me back into active recovery. The cost of going back was not the price I was willing to ever pay just to be thin. I wanted freedom more than I wanted skinny. I wanted body acceptance more than body hate. I wanted to take back what I knew was mine: my life. I wanted to live and show up everyday as the best version of myself. I owed it to myself. To my family. It was time to stop hating myself to skinny and start loving myself to health.
The influences: I did as you suggested and started following women my size. I noticed their confidence, their acceptance and even love for their mid-sized bodies. What???? Women who were mid-size were actually happy and proud of their bodies? I couldn’t believe it. These were gorgeous women celebrating their real bodies in evey shape, form and size. They were healthy. The exercised for strength rather than for calories burned. They ate what they wanted because their plate had room for every flavor, every ingredient. They were authentic women living their best lives. I wanted that. I wanted what they had. After years of coveting a thin body, I can honestly say women with curves are far more attractive and sexier than women without.
The acceptance. I started to accept my new body. It’s new size. I bought new clothes, clothes that fit rather than squeezing into a size I refuse to give up. I bought clothes that flattered my body. It still takes getting used to seeing my body in a larger size. Truth is, I still struggle with it but I’m working on it. I no longer loathe the body in the mirror. I’m starting to love her. I started eating my binge foods. I eat heartily until I’m satisfied. Extreme hunger eventually subsided and my body began craving all foods, which I give freely and without guilt. I still have days when the voice of the eating disorder screams, but I’ve learned how to silence it and re-write the narrative. I started exercising again. Although I feel the compulsion for “more,” I know when to stop and go home. When to appreciate what I gained rather than I what I used to obsess about. I am laxative free. My body is slowly strenghtening the muscles it needs to move everthing along smoothly. No more running to the bathroom or waking up a million times a night. No more embarrassing accidents. I’ve started menstrating again. Most women would rather skip this but I don’t. It tells me that my body is reparing itself and on the road to recovery. I feel emotions (other than anger). I am genuinely happy. I am finally at peace.
The gratitude. Omg the gratitude! How can I ever thank you enough for not giving up on me? For taking me on and leading the way to busting through the brick wall of all eating disorders. Cheering me on when I felt like giving up? When I questioned extreme hunger and set point weight therory? The modules, the work, the deep diving into trauma. The effects of PTSD of childhood trauma. Learning what true trauma is and working through it. Moving forward when I kept taking a step backward. Thank you for holding my hand through the most challenging project I’ve ever had on my self worth. For reminding me that my worth is not defined by the number on the scale. That external beauty is the least important thing about me. That my light has was never fully out, just dimmed.
Thank you, Victoria.
Rocki’s ‘previous’ and ‘now’ scores:
