*Please be aware. This post can be triggering for people who suffer or have suffered from an eating disorder. If this is your case, I sincerely hope you’re receiving all the support you need, and suggest you skip this read if you know you’re sensitive to this type of content.*
There are multiple techniques to stop bingeing.
First, you’ll want to remove any trigger food from the house. But be aware: a wicked eating disorder will easily counter this by creating new weird food mixes, finding its way towards anything that resembles or contains sugar and fats. Hello, big spoons of homemade sunflower seed butter topped with raspberry jam at 1am.
So a second tactic would be to delay the binge. Any minute you can postpone it is a small victory which deserves to be celebrated. You can combine this technique with drinking down a tall glass of water, to help cool the craving beast for a while.
Then there’s the set-up one. Instead of just gulping down whatever you find next to the fridge in a shameful manner, you acknowledge that there will be a binge. So you take your time to prep decently for the decadence of the thousands of calories you’re about to gobble. Place a proper table mat. Take out a cute plate. Go ahead, this is the perfect time to make a Martha Steward of yourself and utilize your grandma’s cutlery. Sit in front of the sliced bread, Nutella, chocolate candy bars and ice cream. And get yourself a first serving. By the time you get there, your anxiety probably got down a notch, and suddenly all this food seems a bit out of place for one person in one sitting.
If you’re really into it, the master’s level is to sit in front of the mirror as you’re having your cake and eating it too. That in itself my friends, whether you’re suffering from an eating disorder or not, is next-level intimidating.
I never thought I’d have to do it. I’m lucky enough to never have had to face what qualifies as a proper binge. I know this stuff because I’ve heard the tale many times, but except from ice cream and peanut butter night cravings, I’ve avoided having to face the bulimia monster.
Still. The mirror thing got me thinking. It struck me the first time I heard about it years ago. I thought I had gotten away with it. It was without taking into account the cleverness and power of Kundalini yoga.
On a Wednesday night, after 15 years of avoidance, of playing games and beating around the bush, there was no place to escape to. For 30 minutes straight, I had to sit facing myself, holding my hands up, looking into my very green eyes.
Most intimidate date I’ve ever had.
I’m spending my whole day in my head, with my thoughts. I like to think of myself as a quite sensitive and aware person. Someone in touch with her emotions and feelings. Boy oh boy.
Also it’s not as if I was abstaining from the pleasure of scrutinizing myself in the mirror either. I’m used to body-checking multiple times in a day, making my own version of the children rhyme, switching “Head and shoulders, knees and toes” to “Arms and stomach butt and thighs”. Comparing over and over. God, I can be such a pain in the perfectly-tight ass department.
So how come am I feeling so moved by this girl I can’t recognize?
I’m not kidding. I seriously couldn’t recognize myself. My face, my eyes, my nose, this whole thing: is that me? Who is this girl? What happened to the other one, the one I think about all day, the one I picture in some fashion or another?
Vanished. She’s gone. All I’m left with is an innocent-looking girl in a worn-out beige sports bra and a white tired tank top, bawling.
How could I ever cause so much pain to her? What made me ever think she deserved nothing else but love and compassion and joy? How could I forced upon her so much restriction and privation?
Facing reality is no small feat. It requires courage. Half of the time, we walk through life asleep, because it’s easier. It protects us from having to confront the truth: we are beautiful, magnificent beings. We are good people. We deserve to stand up as the powerful humans we are, to be nice to ourselves and others, to be impeccable with our word whether we speak out loud or in the quiet conversations we engage in in our minds.
I didn’t deserve what I’ve done to myself. I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to see the little girl, and now the woman, under the pure light of truthfulness. Now I’ll do my best to gather the shattered glass pieces of this broken mirror I’ve become, and bring it all back together, integrating all ten bodies, so we can move on as one mighty human.
Surrounded in pure white light. Without anything to hide. Complete yet fully naked.