Throughout the course of my life I have learned that I am not always the most graceful person. I trip over my own two feet. I run into things. I drop things. I have been known to run into the occasional glass door. There is a running joke in my family that I really should have been named Grace. Each time I trip or fall down a couple of stairs I get right back up, laughing at myself, and go about my day. I am beginning to see my journey in recovery is going to be a lot like that. I'm going to trip over those little bumps in the road and maybe not be quite as graceful as I would like.
I have been known to look at situations with a very black or white frame of mind. In fact back in day when I was working at the dirty bird (a.k.a. Red Robin) some of my team members nicknamed me Mega; I was very extreme, one way or the other; I was all in or I couldn't care less. In school I had to be perfect getting all As or I simply stopped going to classes taking all Fs instead. If something was going to be done, it was going to be done perfectly or else I didn't want to do it at all. I took perfectionism to both extremes, excelling and failing. The concept of finding a balance was completely foreign to me. I knew logically there needed to be a middle ground. But for some reason my brain has always tried to tell me if I wasn't doing something perfectly it was worthless. It wasn't good enough. I was going to have to redo it anyways so I should just stop trying, accept the failure, sit in the failure, and pretend I wanted to fail all along. Act like it didn't matter, or I didn't care. That became much easier to do trying to be perfect at everything 100% of the time.
Since I looked at everything in my life like this it's no surprise that was how I approached recovery as well. But recovering from an eating disorder is not black and white. Living with bipolar isn't either. And if I took the black and white, perfect or completely fail approach, I was going to be failing. I did that for awhile. I would have spurts where I would put 100% into recovery, into being healthy, into life. But as soon as I hit a bump, I dove into that pothole. Thankfully God nudged me while I was laying down by my pothole, covered in cuts, bruises, and scratches because you know, I didn't half-ass anything; when I failed, I failed big. So there I was laying on the ground having given up any hope for my life to get better and Jesus shows up gently reminding me that this is not what my life was made for. He started to heal some of my wounds. It was fantastic. For the first time I started to feel like recovery from my eating disorder and managing my bipolar was possible. But then I tripped a few times. And when I saw the pothole, I let myself fall in. I sat there for awhile and even started to lay back down, but again I felt that gentle nudge.
This time I argued. I didn't want to get back up just to trip and fall again. I've had enough of that. It was exhausting. Not to mention humiliating. I mean it's not like I was sitting here stumbling around by myself. My family, my friends, people who didn't even know me were getting one heck of a show from graceful walk through life. I was tired. If I got back up, I wanted it to go perfectly. Jesus very kindly told me it wasn't going to work that way. I was going to have to find a balance, a middle ground. I was skeptical to say the least. I knew from experience I was not good with middle ground. Finding balance was not a skill of mine. What He was asking for was great in theory. But I couldn't do it. And that is when He told me while reaching out his hand, "You're not going to do it, we are going to do it."
Well with an offer like that I couldn't exactly say no. I already knew what it felt like when He had healed my wounds before. And living life laying by the pothole was not exactly the life I was hoping for. So I took His hand and let Him pull me back up. We were walking along quite well for awhile. Maybe that's why I didn't see the pothole. But this time the pothole didn't make me fall. Because I had Him right there to catch me. We started walking again. I was a little unsteady at first. It wasn't long though before we were back to our familiar stride. After awhile I tripped over a few rocks. And slipped on another pothole. And again there He was to catch me. I took a few wobbly steps but got myself back into our normal stride much faster this time.
I'm starting to learn to see the potholes while they are still a distance away. When I see them I know I need to watch my step, or maybe look for another road. I know each road will have rocks that I trip over and potholes that will try to make me fall. But I also know that I'm not walking this road alone. I have my Savior here to catch me when I fall and guide me back to the right path. And for that I am forever grateful.
I have been known to look at situations with a very black or white frame of mind. In fact back in day when I was working at the dirty bird (a.k.a. Red Robin) some of my team members nicknamed me Mega; I was very extreme, one way or the other; I was all in or I couldn't care less. In school I had to be perfect getting all As or I simply stopped going to classes taking all Fs instead. If something was going to be done, it was going to be done perfectly or else I didn't want to do it at all. I took perfectionism to both extremes, excelling and failing. The concept of finding a balance was completely foreign to me. I knew logically there needed to be a middle ground. But for some reason my brain has always tried to tell me if I wasn't doing something perfectly it was worthless. It wasn't good enough. I was going to have to redo it anyways so I should just stop trying, accept the failure, sit in the failure, and pretend I wanted to fail all along. Act like it didn't matter, or I didn't care. That became much easier to do trying to be perfect at everything 100% of the time.
Since I looked at everything in my life like this it's no surprise that was how I approached recovery as well. But recovering from an eating disorder is not black and white. Living with bipolar isn't either. And if I took the black and white, perfect or completely fail approach, I was going to be failing. I did that for awhile. I would have spurts where I would put 100% into recovery, into being healthy, into life. But as soon as I hit a bump, I dove into that pothole. Thankfully God nudged me while I was laying down by my pothole, covered in cuts, bruises, and scratches because you know, I didn't half-ass anything; when I failed, I failed big. So there I was laying on the ground having given up any hope for my life to get better and Jesus shows up gently reminding me that this is not what my life was made for. He started to heal some of my wounds. It was fantastic. For the first time I started to feel like recovery from my eating disorder and managing my bipolar was possible. But then I tripped a few times. And when I saw the pothole, I let myself fall in. I sat there for awhile and even started to lay back down, but again I felt that gentle nudge.
This time I argued. I didn't want to get back up just to trip and fall again. I've had enough of that. It was exhausting. Not to mention humiliating. I mean it's not like I was sitting here stumbling around by myself. My family, my friends, people who didn't even know me were getting one heck of a show from graceful walk through life. I was tired. If I got back up, I wanted it to go perfectly. Jesus very kindly told me it wasn't going to work that way. I was going to have to find a balance, a middle ground. I was skeptical to say the least. I knew from experience I was not good with middle ground. Finding balance was not a skill of mine. What He was asking for was great in theory. But I couldn't do it. And that is when He told me while reaching out his hand, "You're not going to do it, we are going to do it."
Well with an offer like that I couldn't exactly say no. I already knew what it felt like when He had healed my wounds before. And living life laying by the pothole was not exactly the life I was hoping for. So I took His hand and let Him pull me back up. We were walking along quite well for awhile. Maybe that's why I didn't see the pothole. But this time the pothole didn't make me fall. Because I had Him right there to catch me. We started walking again. I was a little unsteady at first. It wasn't long though before we were back to our familiar stride. After awhile I tripped over a few rocks. And slipped on another pothole. And again there He was to catch me. I took a few wobbly steps but got myself back into our normal stride much faster this time.
I'm starting to learn to see the potholes while they are still a distance away. When I see them I know I need to watch my step, or maybe look for another road. I know each road will have rocks that I trip over and potholes that will try to make me fall. But I also know that I'm not walking this road alone. I have my Savior here to catch me when I fall and guide me back to the right path. And for that I am forever grateful.
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