end of day 1

This may be over-kill.  Or it may just be the same excitement that kept my brothers and I parked in front of Nintendo for 6 hours straight during Christmas of 1986.  A new challenge worthy of our focus.
The most unlikely support has come from all directions.  My belief in horizontal spirituality reinforced by warmth on even my under belly.

another worthy opponent. 300 foot rappel in Lake  Powell

Thank you friends.
I can feel blood flowing back to limbs which have been long sleeping.

just checking

I've checked my Facebook 4 times today...wondering what people will think of this blog.  Who will notice.  Who will be surprised, "Sarah has an eating disorder?  She looks fine to me."  I am fine.  Mostly.
But what would I become if I could shed the whole thing?  If I didn't believe just a little bit, the things Lydia tells me?
So cliche, right?  A woman writing about her self-destructive alter-ego. Art school taught me - I will never elude the cliche.  It will always find me, and seek to trivialize my experience.  So I am walking straight into it.  I am the cliche. I will not deny her.
Mine is Lydia.  A black skeleton that calls me to hide with her in dark corners to watch other people live full lives.  Eat whole hamburgers at 10 pm in brightly lit diners and go home to sleep peacefully.  I have sat at tables with these people, the fluorescent lights burning into me, and felt my stomach grumble, and felt proud.  I have believed I am better than them.  I am more free.  Not anymore.  I am not more free.  And I am not in competition.  I am not separate, and do not seek to be.
However, what I do seek is still forming.  So I am a woman without an ideal.  I am still choosing the colors and composition.  Another thing art school taught me in immensely difficult.  Because the possibilities are infinite, so how do I know the right one?
Then my buddha, who lives in my belly, sits back and guffaws,
"There is no right one.  And you know that already!"
And he's right, but it's so hard to stay in the place where everything is funny.

beginning

I am a 32 year old woman in recovery from an eating disorder.

Beckam woke me up at 5 a.m. this morning with his smile and red hair.

He is 3 months old, and now he lays on the floor next to me percolating baby sounds.

I am a mother of 3 children. 

Sophie is a 9 year-old spit fire gymnast.

Pepper is a 2 year old poet.

My life doesn't look "disordered" anymore.

However the judgement begins with my first arrest at the mirror.

It continues all day.

Just like Aimee Liu - author of Gaining: The Truth About Life After Eating Disorder

http://www.gainingthetruth.com/

I find lingering evidence, and it wears on me.

So I am starting this blog.

Hopefully I keep writing it.

My disordered voice makes many plans for management.

Hopefully this plan is coming from Sarah.

Hopefully she will continue to break from the chrysalis where fear makes her sleep.

And come to fly with the others.

I have known for quite some time that my biggest ammends is to myself.

But have struggled for an action to take - could this be it?