How I Found Healing From My Eating Disorder
I can’t wait for all of you to read today’s guest post from Jackie Ayres. When I first heard her story back in the fall, I knew it was one that I wanted her to share here. Jackie is an Oklahoma native who has spent the past decade travelling and living in various states across the country as an outdoor educator and summer camp professional. A self-proclaimed wanderer and collector of human experiences, she is currently residing in Arizona where she is working on her first novel. Jackie is in active recovery from an eating disorder that claimed 15+ years of her life and she hopes to inspire others with her journey of healing.
Above all else, she would like to impart that it is never too late or too early to seek professional help if you or someone you love may be suffering from disordered eating and/or addiction.
Like so many of us, Jackie has picked up some major baggage throughout her life but she has also been on a beautiful journey to release it.
When my plane finally landed in Arizona, I was terrified. I remember taking my time at the luggage carousel and wondering how long it would take before I started hearing my name over the loudspeakers. Still wearing layers and carrying my winter jacket from New York, I begrudgingly scanned the faces at arrivals for a woman I was told would be holding a sign with “Jackie” on it. I was still contemplating running when my eyes locked with hers and my legs propelled me in her direction. It was as if my broken and battered body was willing me to take the next steps, even if my brain wasn’t completely on board. “Ok,” I thought, fighting back tears. “This is it.” And I proceeded to walk out with this stranger into a unseasonably warm April day, get into a big white van, and embark on the hardest and most rewarding journey of my life: residential eating disorder treatment.
After having spent the better part of 16 years slowly killing myself and refusing to admit it, I was approached by my director, assistant director, and HR director at work. Up until then I had tried to hide my disordered eating behind buzzword labels like vegan, gluten allergy, and clean eating. My behaviors ebbed and flowed over the better part of a decade until that fateful April (2019) when I accepted a gracious offer to take FMLA leave from work and check myself into Mirasol Adult Residential Treatment Center. Upon admission, I was given an official diagnosis of anorexia purging subtype. This diagnosis meant that I fit criteria for anorexia (severe caloric restriction, underweight BMI, loss of period, extreme fear of weight gain) and that I also used purging behaviors such as occasional self-induced vomiting, excessive daily exercise, and laxative and diuretic abuse.
When anorexia had had its tightest grip on me, I essentially had two settings: hypervigilant or auto-pilot. My anxiety was capable of hijacking my body and senses so quickly and seemingly out of nowhere, that having panic attacks in my work bathroom became an almost daily occurrence. Stressors such as impending and unavoidable meetings over lunch could totally debilitate me with fear. I absolutely hated eating in front of other people and would typically skip lunch when I could get away with it. My auto-pilot setting was reserved for the tasks that required less brain power, like my daily 1.5 - 2 hour elliptical ride. My body could go through repetitive motions even when it was on the verge of collapse.
The rare moments that I truly felt present and in my body were the ones spent in nature. Allowing myself to escape the confinement of manmade structures, I would find solace beneath the canopy of tall evergreen trees. Feeling a connection to every living plant and animal around me and being comfortable just being, if only for a moment. In short, nature was a spiritual experience for me, my safe place.
I ultimately chose Mirasol (Spanish for “sunflower”) in Tucson for treatment for several key reasons. For starters, Mirasol had the most comprehensive holistic approach of any program I had looked into. In addition to my main therapist, I would meet with separate therapists for nutrition, art, acupuncture, spirituality, exercise, reiki, psychodrama, massage, and more.The center itself was a sprawling country house complete with an inground pool and flanked on all sides by beautiful blooming prickly pear cacti and vibrant bougainvillea flowers. Because of my spiritual connection to nature, it was imperative that the place I chose also valued the healing properties of the earth and outdoors, which Mirasol certainly did. In conjunction with our cooking classes, we had an outdoor garden and ongoing composting pile which helped bring the concept of food and earth full circle. Another key factor that stood out to me was the incorporation of adventure programming such as camping and hiking in the later stages of treatment.
I knew that I was in for a difficult adjustment when I checked myself in, but I was woefully unprepared for just how uncomfortable I was about to become. In order to really do the work necessary to allow room for healing, I had to relinquish my control over every aspect of my life. ED (eating disorder) had been in the driver’s seat for so long that I had forgotten how to even start the car. Surrendering myself to the compassionate and nurturing care of the treatment team, was like handing over the metaphorical car keys. Little did I know that I would find myself in the hospital within a few hours of admission with superficial vein thrombosis (small blood clots) in my legs. Or that I would require both an endoscopy and colonoscopy within my first few weeks of treatment as my body struggled to keep food down. ED was not going down without a fight.
After spending three months at the residential level, complete with daily blind weigh-ins, a 6-week restriction on body movement, and a few hospital visits, I was finally able to step down to a lower level of care called PHP (Partial Hospitalization Program). This level meant more autonomy and freedom with my spare time and food choices as well as less overall supervision. It was also at this level that we were given the opportunity to go on a two night camping and hiking trip on Mt. Lemmon. When the time had finally come for me to go, I was accompanied by four other clients, our exercise therapist, a general therapist, and one of the chefs. In the days leading up to our trip, we had groups to discuss our goals and troubleshoot any concerns we had prior to departure. Personally, I was stoked. I absolutely could not wait for the opportunity to immerse myself in the smell of pine trees and campfire, to once again find sanctuary among the towering pines.
When the day of the trip finally arrived, we all helped load up the various vans with our camping gear. Tents, backpacking packs, hiking poles, sleeping bags, water coolers, food coolers, personal bags, pillows, etc. Then we finally hit the road and began the ascent from the desert floor of Tucson upwards of 8,000 feet to our campground on Mt. Lemmon. I watched with giddiness as the flora began to change around us. The saguaro cactus were being replaced with broadleaf trees like quaking aspens and maples. The sparse desert landscape shifted into an abundant green forest.
When we finally parked, I hopped excitedly out of the white van to claim a tent spot, and then we all helped unload the gear and set up camp. I remember thinking at one point while we were carrying armfuls of heavy gear, that just a few months prior I wouldn’t have been allowed to carry any of these things. It would have been deemed “too much physical activity” for my then weak and undernourished body. And now, not only was I allowed to carry the heavy items, but I was going to be embarking on a half day hike the following morning. Another recovery win I would have later that first night was at our campfire. For our evening snack, we were given the option of using a higher calorie peanut butter cup instead of a small piece of chocolate for our smores if we wanted. At that moment my inner child was practically bouncing up and down saying “Please, please, please, please! Peanut butter cups are my favorite,” even though my ED voice was reminding me of the extra calories. But because of the tools I had been given in treatment, I chose to honor my cravings instead of ED’s demands and chose the peanut butter cup.
The rest of the weekend was pure magic. I spent the first night in the tent with two of the other clients, and on the second night I got permission to sleep under the stars in my hammock. After our long hike, I slept better in that hammock than I could recall sleeping in any bed. The hike itself weaved us in and out of lush forested areas with tall trees and green ferns up to rockier mountainside outcroppings with spectacular views. My favorite part of the hike was toward the end when we found a huge rock overlooking a large canyon. It was here that we discovered we had an echo. At Mirasol, we often referred to la loba, or the shewolf. Sort of like a mythical animal spirit within each of us that is a source of inner strength and fierceness. Anytime someone would say la loba at residential, we would howl. So naturally when we discovered the powerful echoing capabilities of this canyon, all of us ladies stood with arms wrapped around shoulders, clients and staff together, and called out “la loba” before howling in unison. We all got goosebumps when the canyon echoed back our cry.
When I finally left Mirasol in mid July of 2019, I made my way back to New York where I still had a job as a Program Manager for an outdoor education program. After my transformative experience in Tucson, I found myself yearning for the tranquility and warmth of the desert. I ached for the smell of the palo verde trees and the majestic sunsets. I began slipping into a deep depression, as it became apparent that my heart was still in Arizona. Despite the sadness, I was still clinging to my recovery and I vowed to myself that I would find a way back to the Grand Canyon state permanently. After being back for about 3 months, I left the job in New York and spent the winter in New Hampshire with a dear friend who is also in recovery from an eating disorder. I learned how to ski and went on almost daily snowshoe hikes as I pondered my next steps and applied for jobs. I felt so full of gratitude during this time of respite in the mountains, and proud of my ongoing recovery. I wanted to continue intentionally cultivating gratitude in order to keep my vibration and spirits high. I was learning that the higher my vibration, the harder it was for the ED voice to sneak in.
So I decided on my 29th birthday that I would start a blog and call it “30 by 30: 30 Intentional Acts of Gratitude by 30.” Essentially the blog was created as a way to keepsake the memories from the experiences and hold myself accountable to my goal of 30 intentional acts or moments of gratitude by my 30th birthday. When I began in January 2020, I had no way of knowing that a global pandemic was on the horizon or what the effects this would have on my intentions. My list shifted throughout the year, but the goal remained the same and the various moments still had the intended effect. Throughout the process, I found that gratitude is an action word and for me that means being vulnerable enough to share my recovery story without glossing over any of the challenges along the way.
Because my eating disorder had been such an insidious part of my life for so long, I’m still doing work to completely separate myself from the negative thoughts and beliefs. Unlike addictions to substances, a person with an eating disorder cannot simply avoid his or her triggers in order to stay in recovery. I still have to eat 3-6 times a day, even when the ED voice is booming and my recovery voice is barely a whisper. They say that “recovery isn’t linear”, but I’m happy to say that since my release in mid July 2019, mine has remained on an upward trajectory, despite the occasional bump along the way. This whole journey has taught me innumerable lessons, but I think the main takeaway would be that no matter how many years someone may have spent dragging around emotional baggage, catharsis is always readily available to those who give themselves permission to unpack.
Do you have a story of unpacking your emotional baggage?
Let us know in the comments below!
