WARNING: THIS ONE IS DEEP.

Today marks a significant milestone in my recovery: my return to work. Having completed my treatment programme four weeks ago, the ensuing decision to take some additional time before reintroducing work, has absolutely proved the right thing to have done.  The additional progress I have made in the interlude in terms of reconnecting with, and building a better relationship with myself, has been powerful.  I have worked hard to build on the foundations laid in treatment, in areas around interoception, and filling my pie chart of life with positive activities and interests, so that anorexia has no room to weasel its way back in. I have slowed down, I have knitted a jumper, I have swum naked in a spring water pond, I have read books, I have danced free in nature, I have shared precious happy times with a new found soul mate.  And I think I might actually have meditated properly for the first time in my life.  I have let life show me which directions to go in by taking intuitive chances, ending up on adventures which have felt like destiny.  Seemingly separate aspects of life have magically come together in harmony and put me in much stronger position to go back to work.

It sounds a bit spiritual doesn’t it?  Perhaps it is.  Having developed a much greater understanding of neuroscience, and an appreciation of how meditative practice has a credible role to play in regulating our nervous systems, I have become a lot more open to the suggestion that our brains are capable of accessing additional levels of consciousness.  I’m not yet convinced that there are other realms out there, but I have become much more aware of the distinction between body, mind and soul.  I am currently finding much comfort in exploring the notion of the soul, or spirit – that is now that I have the energy, mental clarity and motivation to do so, and am not being suffocated by anorexia. I have been discovering a side to me that I had lost; sensing a reconnection which feels like my soul. 

On visiting my dad’s resting place a few weeks ago alongside my mum, my mum asked me if I thought my dad was responsible for my recovery.  I couldn’t see how at first.  I have identified, with confidence, that his death contributed to my decline.  I know that the behaviours I adopted to deal (or not deal) with his death had led to the development of fully fledged anorexia but I had not considered his death as instigating recovery.  As I reflected further, I realised that I couldn’t have one without the other.  It was only because I had fallen so deep into anorexia’s pit, that my only option was to attempt recovery. Or die. My mum framed her theory as it having been dad’s passing that had pushed me to get better, once and for all: his parting gift to me.  The more I have thought about it, the more it makes perfect sense.  And let’s face it, if dad was my motivation to get better, then to honour him it would have to be a whole hearted attempt; if I was going to do it, I had to do it properly.

Dad had lived much of his life in fear.  Fear of abuse as a child which manifested into an illness which destroyed him and from which he lived in fear.  When he died, fear released its grip on him and he experienced the joy of freedom. 

I have learned through my treatment for anorexia, that fear has been the driver behind my need to achieve self-worth which I tried to meet through food restriction, excessive exercise, perfectionism and control behaviours. Fear drove my harmful thoughts and behaviour.

Dad wanted to release me from this fear so that I too, could be free. In order to do this, I needed to experience the deepest depths, I needed a diagnosis, I needed treatment that would educate me and help me pick myself apart and put myself back together as the person I was meant to be, and not the person who throughout later childhood and adolescence, I came to believe I should be.  And so yes, dad is responsible for the complete overhaul I have made of my life which is leading to recovery.

During meditation, both guided and alone, I have seen my inner child as the 7/8 year old me.  She is the same every time I see her.  It is as though that is where I left her, at that place in time.  As life experiences began to teach me that she wasn’t good enough, I abandoned her there.  I left her there to think there was something wrong with who she was, as I became someone else, someone life taught me I should be (or try to be). She is stuck there still.  I now need to repair my relationship with my inner child and am slowly learning how to do so, largely by returning to my authentic self.  It’s no coincidence that as I have explored new hobbies and interests through treatment, I have found myself returning to much of what I filled my time with as that inner child: craft, animals and nature. And chocolate.  I need to release my inner child from the fear of being herself.  To do so, I need to be myself. Then she will trust me and we can bridge that gap between where she is and where I am now.

I was recently told that I have all the keys to my own locks.  The lessons I have learned through treatment, and the guidance I have sought myself in recent weeks, has given me the insight I need to heal myself.  It was suggested that one of the locks within me was actually a set of shackles; I was being held captive, but not in a prison, and it may represent the captivity of a past relative.  I had the key to unlock it.  My Polish grandad was held captive in a prisoner of war camp, or so we understand.  On managing to escape, he found his way to the UK where he joined the RAF, met my grandma and fathered my dad as one of five children.  Inevitably my grandad passed the abhorrent trauma he had experienced, onto his children, showing up as alcoholism and in the case of my dad, behaviours such as perfectionism and quite possibly even indirectly causing his illness and the associated fear.

I now believe that my fears have been triggered by negative core beliefs, including that I am unsafe, with dad’s illness being a key contributor to the development of this belief.  And so the fear has been passed down through the generations.  The treatment I received for anorexia gave me the tools I need to learn how to overcome my fears.  And I am flourishing.  Flourishing as I dance free in the gorgeous spring sunshine. Flourishing as I feed alpacas, roller skate and go on camper van adventures. Flourishing whilst appreciating my morning cacao ritual, pausing to notice nature all around me. 

I see unlocking those shackles as me finally unlocking the trauma that was passed unintentionally down through the generations.  We are all now free: grandad, dad and me.  I know this because I have sensed my dad and my grandad together during meditation.

Life shows the answers, we just need to slow down to see and recognise them.  Thank you for teaching me this dad. Love you.