I Have Lied ....

.... for a very, very long time.
But God and I, and a therapist have been working on that since Jim died.
Well, maybe since the year after Jim died.  The year following his death I was too cloaked, suffocating and smothered in grief to lie about anything.  Or to act out the lie.

But I am done.
God and I have been through a lot to help me be done.
And He made it abundantly clear that I would not be done until I was able to tell my children.

And so I did.
Every one.
One at a time.
Face to face.

And now, it's time to tell you.
Because I have always strived to be truthful about my feelings and my grief on this blog.
But I haven't been truthful about one thing.
One thing that will surprise and shock almost everyone who knows me.
Especially my closest friends.
Especially the one who is the godmother of my children.

So before I tell you, I have to tell you that I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that I have lived a lie for years.
And years.
And years.

And I'm sorry that this is the way you are finding out.
But I owed it to my children, and only my children, to tell them privately.
The thought of making 10 or twenty phone calls?  I'm sorry, but I don't have the energy to do that.
I hope you understand, and I hope you forgive me.

So here it is:
I have been bulimic since I was 21.
And I cannot believe that I just typed out those words.
I had never, ever been able to write/type them .... until recently.
Hell, I couldn't even say them until recently.
Literally.

I first confessed to someone close to me the year after Jim died.  It took an hour for this person to figure it out, because I was so ashamed of myself .... and what this friend might think .... that all I could do is cry (over the phone) and make this person play "20 questions" until they hit the nail on the head.

And the next week I told my therapist.
And that's when the healing began.
It's been a slow journey, but a mostly progressive one.
And now I know, without a doubt, that God has provided me with healing.
In a very strange way.

You see, I realized a few weeks ago that this RA, or whatever it is, was going to require more from me than anything else my body has ever dealt with.
I knew that it was going to take a lot of energy and a lot of paying attention to what my body tells me.  So much so that I just simply "let go" of the bulimia.
And, other than knowing that I had to tell each of my children, I haven't given it a moments thought in quite a while.
And.
That.
Is.
Huge.

So I see this inflammatory disease as a gift.  From God.
It was the one thing that would help me stop.  To help me accept healing.
But while I totally believe that I am healed, I also know that it's up to me to make a decision .... every single day .... to accept that healing and not to go back down that path.
I hope that that's what I'll choose.
I believe I will.
But I know better than to look too far into the future.

I know of some triggers that occurred in my life that led me to want to control my body.
I will not go into that.  I told each of my children.  I told them everything.
And now I am done.
I have been through some amazing experiences to be able to let go of those triggers, to not blame anyone for what was, in the end, my decision.

When I was 21 I had never heard of bulimia.
I had no idea that anyone else did it.
It actually started when I was 15.  I came down with a bout of stomach flu and lost quite a few pounds.
Once I was better, it occurred to me that that was an easy way to not gain weight.  And, hopefully, lose weight.
But I only messed around with it for a week or so and then I stopped.

I have considered myself to be fat, or at least over weight since I was 9 or 10.  That consideration turned into fact for me when I was around 12.  A trigger.  Words spoken.  Never to be taken back, because of course, that's not possible.
And some words have the power to burrow deep down inside of us .... and to continue to damage us for years and years and years.

I thought I was fat in college.
And one day, during a particular horrible summer, I accidentally found out that I could bend over, move my stomach muscles (which have always and still are incredibly strong) and throw up.
What could be easier than that?
I didn't think about the potential harm.
I really didn't see any harm to it.
Again, I'd never heard of it.
And so it began.
And I lost a little weight.
And people noticed.
And that felt great.

Because when you spend your life hating yourself for being overweight, getting a compliment on how good you look must be like getting hooked on cocaine.  It felt great.
I felt great.

But here's the ironic thing.
Or rather, the very, very, very sad thing.
Several years ago I got out some old photo albums.  From college, high school, middle school and earlier.
And I was stunned.
Because that little girl, that teenager, that young woman .... was not fat.
She was not even overweight.

It was like looking at pictures of a totally different person.
But I continued to look.
And then ..... I cried.
Not for me.
But for that precious little girl who ended up spending most of her life thinking she was fat.  Always believing she was overweight.
Always.
She never doubted it.

I wish I could go back in time and just hold her and hug her and tell her that she was wonderful just the way she was.
But, if I can't wish Jim back from the dead, I certainly can't go back in time.

Jim never knew.
Ever.
Of that I have no doubt.
And I have mixed feelings about that.
Sometimes it really pisses me off that he didn't know .... that he never noticed.
But mostly?  Mostly I'm glad .... and relieved.
I'm glad that he didn't have to worry about that.
Especially at the end .... if he even suspected it would be the end.

I never did it while pregnant.  Didn't have to.  After my first pregnancy I was sicker than sick during the rest.  Always lost weight because I could not keep anything down for the first 4 months.
I didn't do it while I was nursing because I had a hard enough time producing enough milk and didn't want that to make it worse.
I never let it control me as much as it had the potential to.
Don't get me wrong .... it controlled me, but not totally.

I never let "it" make a decision for me.  I never chose to not go somewhere, or eat somewhere based on whether or not I might need to throw up.
It could've been worse.  I know that.  And I'm grateful that it wasn't.

I was afraid to seek help when the kids were little because I knew that would probably mean I'd have to go into treatment and leave for a month or so.
And that .... I could not do.  I could not have left my children. Not for myself.  I would rather have died than to have that happen.
No, it doesn't make a lot of sense, unless you've been there.

The one thing that I kept foremost in my mind ..... foremost .... was to never, EVER say one single word to my children, especially to my daughters, about their bodies.  Never.
I never complained about my body in front of them.  Ever.
I never dieted.
Ever.
There was no way in hell I was going to let them go through what I went through.  And I made sure Jim never said anything.
There was one time .... I was joking with one of the girls when she was around 14 or so and I told her to suck in her stomach.  When those words came out of my mouth I was horrified.  Yes, I was joking and yes, she knew I was joking ..... but jokes can hurt just as much, or more, than serious words.
And I fell all over myself apologizing to her, letting her know that she was (and is) beautiful, her body was (and is) perfect and that I would never, ever say anything like that again.
And I haven't.

And I have always been, and continue to be, stunned at the self images all 3 daughters have of their bodies.  They think they're just right.  In fact, I dare say that they think they're more than just right.
And they are.
After I confessed to D1 she told me that she never, ever gave her body a second thought.  She never felt negative about it or thought it could be improved.
And that amazes .... and relieves me.
Very, very much.

My children have been amazingly wonderful and supportive.  I expected disappointment, resentment, anger.
I was wrong.
All I received from them was unconditional love, support, acceptance and gratitude.  For telling them.
And we shared some tears.
I was also amazed at how easy it was to tell them.  How easy it is to say now.
It was time.
And once I knew that, I wasn't paralyzed at the thought of telling someone.
I cannot describe how light that feels.

I told each of my children that I was going to blog about it.  I told them that I wanted to be a lot more honest than I had professed to be.
And I wanted to let other women (or men) know ..... that not only in grief .... are they not alone.
Because I know now, I'm not the only one.
And if I can put it out here .... for all of you to see, not knowing what to expect in return, what reactions I'll receive .... and yet not be afraid of what may come, then maybe I'll be of some help to someone else.
Maybe.

Only one child expressed discouragement at my putting it out here.
Not because of how he feels about it.
But because he fears what some people may say.  He's afraid for me.
He doesn't want anyone to hurt me with negative words, accusations or expressed disappointment.  I love him.
I told him that I am strong enough to handle that.
But ..... my children are not.

So if there are any hurtful thoughts running through anyone's head, please don't post them.  Not for me.
But for my kids.  I will delete them anyway.  For my kids.

So there you have it.
Complete and utter honesty.
A year ago I could not have written this.
I could not have typed the word "bulimia".
And now, it comes freely.
No pain.  No fear.
Nothing but relief.
And happiness.
And freedom.

Again, to all of my closest friends ... I'm sorry.
You can't imagine how sorry I am.
And I hope that you don't think as badly of me as I expect you to.
But please know that you can ask me anything .... about this, or whatever.
And I will answer.

And that applies to each of you Peeps who only know me through my blog.
Some of you know me very, very well.
Most of you have grieved with me for a long time.
All of you have cheered me on and encouraged me.
I hope that you continue to do so, even if you feel disappointed.

I cannot believe that I'm here .... at this point .... getting ready to click "Publish Post" and that my heart isn't beating 120 beats a minute.
This is, to me, nothing short of a miracle.

Thank you to my constantly-amazing children.
Who love me unconditionally.
And always have.

And thank you .... all of you, for all that you've done for me over the past 3+ years.  You will never, ever know how much you mean to me.  Yes, even you lurkers.
I love you, appreciate you, and know that I am still here .... because of you.

And.
That.
Is.
Huge.

Happy Thursday, Peeps.
I hope you're still here tomorrow.
:)