ED

You can’t win without a full deck.

You can’t win without a full deck.

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.

a return to India

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In search of part of my heart I left behind the winter of 1995 and on an adventure my travel partner/friend/most loyal client, I boarded a plane on Valentine’s Day 2019. My friend named this adventure to the east: Do Epic Shit.

XNA>DEL>GOI

We landed in Delhi, cleared immigration and headed to the lounge, waiting for our flight to Goa. The moment the small glass filled with masala tea touched my lips my heart was at ease. An ease I’d felt 24 years prior. What was it about this, Momma India, which spoke deeply to me? What was it about her which caused people to love her or hate her. Very few I’ve met who have encountered her have a middle of the road feeling about her.

She is a land of extremes. A land of chaos and peace. Fresh mountain air and toxic city air. High tech innovative businesses and no-tech mountain ashrams. I’ve often described her as a land where your senses are each on high alert, wrapped with a spiritual bow. A land of powerful generational energy. A land who will welcome you, should you accept her offerings. With an open heart, I accepted.

Much has happened in the 24 years since we met. I left the college which introduced us. I moved. I married. I had babies. I traveled to other parts of the world. I led others on these global experiences. I crafted dreams into reality through business ventures and volunteer opportunities. I achieved goals and set others aside. One thing remained, I longed to return. I needed to tell her in person: You changed me. This was my chance.

The days were filled with sunrises and sets on the Arabian sea, meditation, yoga and learning. Sitting with a local Ayruvedic healer, watching and learning and asking questions is an example of the daily gifts presented. There were sunbaths in between practices, tuktuk rides to neighboring villages and solo candlelit dinners as I watched the children and dogs play in the sand.. A bit of bargaining with the jewelry and trinket sellers on the beach, henna on my hands and feet, as I read books which had been stacked next to my bed for months. Yummy vegetarian meals and mediocre white wine, fish caught that morning and masala tea. Hundreds of cups of masala tea.

first masala tea 2019.JPG

There was an ease to the days. A slow routine. An ebb and flow, like the sound of the sea. In the expected of the day, I knew not to. Not to expect. The removal of expectation was one of the biggest gifts.

I traveled with 2 women who were health coaching clients. One for the first half of the trip and another the second half. When they need a coaching session they’d ask and a few times I’d suggest a chat (with masala tea of course). I’d arrange drivers and tickets, sightseeing and run errands. In a way that was expected of me, but it felt different.

After a few weeks with my feet on her soil & sand, body immersed in her water, I knew I’d not found the part of my heart for which I’d returned. I’d board the plane leaving more of it behind.