2020
requires wearing
sodapop glasses
and
quarantine
is trying
to figure out my prescription.
That’s it. xx,
Your Custom Text Here
2020
requires wearing
sodapop glasses
and
quarantine
is trying
to figure out my prescription.
That’s it. xx,
ED = Erectile Dysfunction
ED = A short lived television series
ED = Short for Edward
ED = Eating Disorder
I do not have a penis. So no experience with the first ED. I absolutely enjoyed the television series ED and was sad it had a short run. I didn’t help with its ratings, as I’m a pretty horrible TV watcher. I only recently learned how to binge watch. And for now, it’s my new weekend hobby. I’m totally going strong: Broadchurch, Tiger King and Wild Wild Country the past 3 weekends. Taking suggestions for this upcoming weekend; please comment below. My name is Rebecca Michelle Creed Nimrod, I didn’t name either of my boys after my Great Grandpa Ed, which is my connection with the name short for Edward. But, Eating Disorder, I have a very close relationship with this ED.
I’m going to type and share, not much editing. I’ll reread or skim and hit publish. If I don’t, I may not ever share these words and I’m believing they are important and need to be shared. Today I sent an email to a friend and in that email I told them how words have been my savior. From the Scriptures to published to handwritten, or private, words, they save me. These words shared are helping to save me.
Inhale, pause, exhale, pause…here I go.
I am bulimic.
Recovered. Relapsed. Recovered. Currently Struggling.
Last week, Glennon shared THIS* and I re-shared it on my insta story, followed by something about…hell, I’m not sure exactly what I said, but I said I too was struggling. I’ve not relapsed, but daily it is an option. After I shared it, I almost deleted it several times. I almost deleted it for these reasons:
Shame Naturally, shame because who wants to admit their weak? Who wants others to know they binge and purge? Noone wants to be watched when they have to pee midmeal or answer the question, “You really induce vomiting,” followed by something like this, “I hate it when i vomit. It’s awful.” Yes, many, many times this has happened when I’ve shared this part of my story.
My work I’m a certified holistic health coach, lead retreats, teach yoga and meditation classes, a practitioner of reiki…all the “healthy”. ED is not healthy.
The Problem Solver Text You know the pals who have a solution to all of your challenges. The ones who believe they know what is best for you, how you need to handle it, overcome it and add in the “praying for you” at the end of their solution. I’m not being an asshole and I appreciate the prayers, but sometimes you don’t need someone’s advice. Especially someone who doesn’t know the struggle, as you do not know theirs.
Sharing part of my story with people who are not worthy. I do not believe all parts of my story are for all people. There are parts of my story and yours who others do not deserve to know or hear. Why? Because people can use it and abuse it or truly don’t give a shit. YOUR story is NOT for everyone. And this is absolutely ok. It’s more than ok, it’s safe. It’s boundaries.
My family…I want(ed) to protect my family.
Why I didn’t delete:
My boys I want them to know the struggle. I want them to know their mum presses in, does the work and changes her world. She breaks the patterns of the past and moves forward believing in freedom. Even if it’s over and over again.
Bella and __________ <— those who messaged me who are also struggling.
I’m 44 and it’s present. It’s not something in my past I can forget. I have weeks and months where it’s not in the forefront or much of a struggle, but there are times, like now where it’s 50% of my thought pattern.
It’s time. It is time.
I vividly remember sitting on a bouncy gym floor at summer camp in listening to a thin, beautiful, twenty something share about her freedom in Jesus from an eating disorder. I was prepubescent, athletic, thin and ate like a teenage boy. It peaked my curiosity. What was this anorexia and bulimia; unaware and now curious. It didn’t seem good, but it was ok, because Jesus saved her and now she was fine. Repeat every summer until I was 17. The story a little different, but what remained the same: 20 something, thin, beautiful, saved by Jesus.
A tween now and I watched the television, as the character hid her jars of vomit in her room. Thin and beautiful, accepted and wanted, the star of a movie. Saved by a therapist.
Walking down the hallway at school. Tall and thin, wearing navy leggins and an oversized V-neck sweater from The Limited and an older boy whistled, as I walked down the hall. Noticed.
Gym class. Grey shorts and a navy blue t-shirt. Butterfly stretch. A dimple in my thigh. Fifteen. Still very thin. Also: Smart. Creative. Christian. Volunteer. Pretty. Leader. Friend to all. Kind. Servant. Pleaser.
Twenty-five and pregnant with my first child. Horrible morning sickness. Daily vomiting that did not disappear until week 34ish, then reappeared around week 38. This vomiting was ok.
There are other details which I am choosing not to share. (Revisit bullet point number 4 of why I almost deleted.) The bulk and history isn’t what is important in the moment. What is important is the ferocious resurfacing I am and others are facing. Not only are we learning a new way of living, many are faced with old patterns which are trying to make their way into this new way. What do we do to keep the past the past, not allowing it into the present?
I’ve sat with it for a week. I’ve asked myself hard & easy questions. Some I’ve answered and others I’ve not. I have journaled. I’ve meditated and prayed. I’ve cried. And cried more. I rode my bike and spent time on my mat. I slept. I’ve kept my nose in book after book. I sat with it and accepted it was back. The most important thing I’ve done was this: I talked with 3 people I trust. They listened and did not offer solutions. They loved me and accepted me in the midst of the struggle. They said they loved me and were sorry and would be there to listen again when I needed. They gave me the freedom and the space I needed and the ability to try to figure out why the anxiety and bulimic thought patterns were more present now, than in all my years of recovery.
Since being home for nearly a month my inbox has been flooded with “offers” and my insta feed is full of memes about the COVID15 and QuarantineDiets to avoid weight gain. This celebrity trainer has a way to keep the pounds off and that supplement company does too. TRY IT NOW FOR FREE! How in the heck did they ALL get my email address? I was asked to join this fitness challenge and try a class with this celebrity trainer. Meanwhile, this recipe and that recipe and ohmigod, these cookies and that cake are a must try & gluten free. Oh and I can’t leave out the how to publish your book and song and gain a million followers in just 2 weeks. Now you have the time…you CAN do it all.
I call BS! I can’t. I can’t so it all, because I’m too busy in my head.
Now that I called bullshit and I’ve shared a small part of my story and my current struggle, I want to sit with others who are struggling too. I am not willing to hide this part of me or be afraid it will negatively impact my career and future. I will remain open to myself, open to you, love and acceptance. This living of life is a gift, even when it’s painful and hard and icky. This pain and challenge has called me soulward, in the direction of the healer within. It is also calling me to that which is the the healer with-out, the one on the outside, the one within you. Anyone want to share? Are you open to join hands, sit, accept, holding on together. We can make it! Comment and let me know what you are thinking and how we can do this.
PS I’ll be partnering with a local Woman Owned business to raise funds for mental health, bringing specific awareness to ED. Hint: Podium & a bike.
*Please click and watch. It’s 12 minutes, but may help with a bit of understanding if you love, care about or know a person with an ED and don not understand, but want to try. When she shared about her conversation with her wife and how 50% of her thoughts during the day are about food/body/eat/don’t eat/exercise…I wept. Mine too, G, mine too.
For many years I’d have case after case of the Monday-s. Not because I dreaded going back to work, but because I missed my people. Monday meant a return to the weekday schedule: alarm, coffee, read, sometimes meditate, wake boys, pack lunches, fix breakfast, hugs and kisses, drop off or wave as they headed their day at school and work then…silence.
A couple of years ago I started teaching early classes on Monday, then began working Sunday- Thursday. I never really noticed, but my cases of the Monday-s disappeared…until yesterday.
I’m not sure why, but they are back, more intense than before. Absolutely shitty, back.
I have remained committed to myself and my family the past several weeks. I’ve done a bit of checking in with extended family and few friends, but my focus has been on what lives under our roof. Except, our fish. I totally forgot about the fish until today. I have no idea when it died. Long enough ago that it stopped floating and was resting peacefully at the bottom of the bowl. So other than the fish, I’ve paid my attention to my people and Mops. Thank God, all still alive and well.
My commitment to myself has been to feel and accept. This means not feeling guilty about the gratitude I had for the first few weeks at home observing a slower pace. Accepting the distance. One day it meant packing away the puzzle I stared and never finished and binge watching Broadchurch last weekend. It’s looked like pouring out 3/4 of a bottle of Prosecco, because I was finished and sounds like saying “yes” to the junk food requests when I’m at the grocery and ask if anyone needs anything before I leave. The first three weeks have been full of gratitude, love and peace. More meditation, time in nature and asana practice than in months combined.
Until Monday.
The ding of my phone giving the notice: Arkansas would continue with online learning for the remainder of the 2019-2020 school year. Just like that I realized what I’d not wanted to realize — he’s been robbed of his Senior year. It came like a flood of emotion from all the Monday morning’s I’d missed. The Monday’s I felt normal and not alone in silence. All those Monday’s dumped on me without a moment’s notice.
Sit. Sit, accept. Sit, feel. Sit with your commitment to the moment. It is best.
I fought with myself. I told myself I didn’t need to sit with it. Screw that commitment, it is stupid anyway. Try to breathe. NO! Just take a breath and realize you are in this moment and it is real. I tried. It was real and the real breath was shallow. The next one was too and the one after that, then the tears. Tears, shallow and angry breathing. Here it was that sitting in the moment, committed to feeling and accepting. Migod, it was ugly!
As, I sat at the table with my face buried in my hands, using my t-shirt as a tissue, he heard me. He came out from his room and sat at the table with me. I told him I was so sorry. I had no other words. It was horrible and awful. I shared about the okayness of being scared and angry and not understanding. Also, It was okay to feel gratitude and safe in our home and to dream. We must keep dreaming. Near the end of the conversation my tears stopped. Elliott walked to me, hugged me, kissed me on the cheek and…
Yesterday’s case of the Monday-s gave me these gifs: An uncompleted To Do list. An extra short journal entry and less than a chapter read. I tried to meditate in the morning and practice yoga, but I couldn’t. I spoke poorly to myself about the softness of my body and my lack of discipline some days when it comes to snacks. I cried more than I smiled. I walked on the road instead of the trails, giving me the flyby of a pileated woodpecker. I baked cookies. I listened. I cried. In the evening, I participated in a global meditation and virtually took my first kundalini yoga class. By the end of that day, Monday, I’d found my breath again.
Today it is Tuesday. I woke early without an alarm and found the coffee had already been made. I sat with ease to meditate and journal. Gratitude, safety and understanding returned through the night. I showered, dressed in a skirt and sneakers, adding mascara and red lip gloss. I kissed one at the door, as he left for the day and the other two remained sleeping. The house was silent, as silent Monday morning, but this silence was comfortable and easy. Later in the day I’d buy crickets for the lizard and say yes to buying junk food at the grocery. I dressed for the occasion.
I took the last of my coffee to the deck, called a friend. I listened and I shared. I began to understand this distance is the way some things are meant to be. For now, it’s best and this best is not to be understood. It’s not what feels good or is necessarily what we ever expected, but it is right. And as I remain committed to feeling and accepting, I know this to be true: God is faithful and Love wins. Even on the Monday-s.
A little over a year ago, I was approached in the Newark airport and asked if I was a healer. Fresh off of a 14+ hour flight from India, exhausted and desperately in need of a shower, I replied to the question with a question and furrowed brow, “Why? Why do you ask?” As the conversation unfolded over fruit cups & coffee, he shared that the energy he could feel from me, as I went up an elevator and he down an escalator was powerful. He said he could feel my energetic vibration; it was strong and he wanted to know of my work. A bit surprised by his answer, I shared I was a holistic health coach, led yoga and group fitness classes and was returning from 3 weeks in India with 2 women I’d coached. But a healer…I was not.
Or was I? Am I?
This was the first time a stranger approached me with this question, but not the first time I’d been told my presence and energy was healing. I’d brushed it off in the past because I was afraid. Afraid it was New Age-y and Ungodly. After this encounter I did not feel that and something in me stirred. As the year moved forward, I’d be approached by strangers, acquaintances and others with similar inquiries. No longer could I ignore, I needed to do what I invite others to do.
I pressed in. I asked the hard questions. I explored. I listened.
I was texting earlier this week with one of my dearest friends and used this phrase, Healers Rise Up, in reference to the worldwide awakening we are experiencing. She asked where that phrase came from or was it a hashtag I’d seen. I said, no. It came from me. Maybe it is a hashtag and I’ve just not seen it, but in the moment it came directly from my heart.
I believe this. I believe it’s time. It’s time for healers to say yes, I am, and begin to move.
There is a book called John and in that book there is a story of a Healer. On a Sunday, this healer spit in the dirt and made a muddy paste & applied this muddy paste to the eyes of a blind man. He then told this blind man to go wash off the dirt in a pool of water (the name of the pool, Siloam, meant Sent), he washed and was able to see. The healer was ridiculed by some and followed by others.
In the town of Rishikesh, India there is a healer who lived in an ashram as a monk for much of his life. He now teaches groups and works with individuals one on one, offering a variety of healing techniques: access bars, meditation, yoga, talk therapy. He’s the healer I worked with during the summer of 2019.
Two days into 2020 I injured my back, leaving me in bed and with limited motion most of the month. I encountered these healers: chiropractor, massage therapist, energy workers, friends laying hands of prayer on my back, emotional healers, Reiki healers, yogis, a physical therapist and myself. A variety of healing tools were used on my back and body: ice, heat, salts, plants, crystals, KT tape and okay, a little wine. The people and tools of healing are large and varied.
On the front lines of this global pandemic we have trained medical healers saving lives and helping others to pass with dignity and grace to the life after. There are healers who stand distanced from others outside hospitals, hands lifted in prayer. We have healers who are self quarantine to flatten the curve and healers who are sewing masks for nurses and doctors who have none. We have pastors and spiritual healers offering guidance and answering hard questions for those searching. We have meditation healers offering classes and opportunities to pause in the day. We have movement healers offering yoga classes and other movement opportunities to those unable to leave their homes. We have healers _______…
What kind of healer are you? Where are you using your gifts?
It’s not so fair to ask a question of you and not answer myself, right? What kind of a healer am I? A healer of movement, intuition and energy. I’m using my gifts to lead others in movement practices (yoga and the occasional HIIT movement practice), meditation and Reiki. But mostly, I am using my healing gifts to heal myself. The year of 2019 shook me to my core and thus far 2020 has shaken me a little harder, until this pause. Choosing to settle into this pandemic, not as a pandemic, rather an awakening, is a gift. Our outlook and focus determines our actions and output, yes? When you recognize how you heal, yourself and others, your vibration will impact and change the world in which you move. Will you choose to remain as you are or will you choose to press in, recognize, honor and heal?
Healers Rise Up! I see you. I believe in you. I join you. xx,
“Mum, can you please make me cookies? The good kind,” he asked yesterday. When he asks me to bake cookies, I know his heart is heavy.
My heart is heavy too, baby and it hurts for you. First, a canceled game, then the season. The season where you’ve been named a captain and placed in a leadership role. School goes digital and your senior prom postponed. The email came about the venue for your graduation no longer being available, so they are looking for alternatives. After reading that news, you said to me, “I hope my flight can hold out for 24 more hours.” It didn’t. Senior year spring break trip, canceled for now.
Elliott, since you were a toddler, warm chocolate chip cookies have been a symbol of comfort. When you’d hear of school or mass shootings, you’d ask for cookies. When you learned about social injustices and people taking to the streets to protest, you’d ask. When you’ve suffered a teenage heartbreak, I’d make sure they were baked. They’ve been called “Turf Burn Cookies” and passed out after soccer games or “State Champ Cookies” eaten on the bus to play in the big game. I’ve greeted you after the first day of school with a plate for 12 years and am sure to mail them when you head to college next year. It’s your thing, our thing, these cookies.
I am uncertain how to parent in these present days, but I am certain of this: When you ask, I will bake. I love you and we will find a new way, but these will stay the same. I promise.
Recipe-ish for Elliott’s Cookies.:
Cream together: 2 Sticks of Salted Butter, 1 C Brown Sugar (or coconut sugar), 1/3 C Sugar in the Raw (or white cane sugar). As it blends, add a large splash of Vanilla (the real stuff, not imitation…ick!), a few shakes of Cinnamon & a pinch or 2 of salt. Crack 2 room temperature eggs into a dish (this way if you end up with a shell, it’s not in the dough) and add to the dough, as it continues to mix.
To the wet mixture add little by little: 2 C Unbleached Flour, 1 teaspoon baking powder and 1/2 C of something else ex: more flour, flax/chia meal, oats, potato chips, cereal…just something else to make sure the dough is thick enough. After that’s mixed, add lotsa chocolate chips. Say a prayer for the hearts who will eat them, for comfort and understanding and the goodgood. This is the most important part, so please don’t forget.
Chill the dough for a couple of hours. Preheat oven to 375, spoon extra large hunks of dough onto the cookie sheet and bake for 8-12 minutes (baking time depends on the size of the dough hunks), removing before they are fully baked. Allow to cool a few minutes on the cookie sheet. If you remove them too soon, placing them on the cooling rack, they will fall through. This isn’t a horrible thing - it means they are extra gooey. Enjoy with your loved one, savoring the conversation and moment. xx,
In a physically distant, but heart connected conversation today (GER~USA) a dear one said to me these words: “The world is waking up.”
Yes she is, YES SHE IS!
Lovelies, we have been given an opportunity to rise with her, stay where we are or sink. What will you choose? I choose RISE!
My thoughts and feelings are many and they are scattered. I’m sharing a few of them from the first real day of COVID-19 family quarantine:
High School Homeschooling: I am not and was not a home schooling momma. I did remove my boys for a semester and we “unschooled” in Rwanda. The best teachers they had were freedom and boredom and Pops. My dad taught them about bats and they still remember his lessons. They were young and I believed it would (and did) lay a solid foundation of global & societal awareness and wanderlust. Today, the schools are closed for a minimum of 2 weeks and that makes me a homeschooling mum. I call it homeschooling-ish with the inability to aid them in learning about world history in the 1800’s and matrix in math. I don’t understand math and forgot the history. So, I serve them snacks.
Daily dos: I promised myself some things I would do each day during this time: asana, meditation, lotsa water, writing, reading and pressing into the spaces of discomfort. And letters; to write letters. Send me your addy and I’ll write you a note and post it. I stocked up on 3 things ~ peanut butter, Astragalus and stamps. Handwritten notes on letter pressed cards are my love language.
Deep conditioning & coaching: I do some of my best thinking in the shower. Today I used a deep conditioning treatment, making my thinking time extra long. During this time I asked myself how I can give back during the next 14 days. Do I livestream meditation and yoga? Do I offer reiki sessions at a distance? Do I host a Q & A about ____________ (enter something)? None of those felt right, and it must feel right.
Then it came to me. This is how I’m doing to give back — Free 30 minute holistic coaching sessions for 14 days starting today. I’m a certified holistic health coach, but many of my clients describe my work more along the lines of life coaching. (Working on the testimonials, I promise.) I will not set up a menu plan or exercise routine for you. Just not my jam. But, I will help you identify areas of your life which are out of balance and together we will craft a plan, with goals, to move you in the direction. The direction of a more holistically balanced way of living.
If you are interested, please send me an email (rebecca@rebeccanimrod.com) or a DM on Instagram. I am not committed to using Facebook as a platform for back and forth communication, so please know I won’t reply to comments. Let’s get something set up and move together in that direction.
xx,
northwest arkansas usa