Parents Getting it Wrong

 PHOTO CREDIT TO DR. KATHLEEN YOUNG

Author's Note: This post may prove controversial... keep in mind this is just my belief and that this is relating to verbal abuse.

So, I was looking at the post over at Nourishing the Soul that I recommended in my last post  and the last comment stuck out to me... or rather the end of it did.

think this is why I subconsciously chose not to have children – I was so scared to get it wrong like my parents did.

 The part in bold is what I want to focus on. This part was in reference to saying things to children that wind up having negative impact later on in life. Not about physical things, rather the verbal.

The bolded part left me feeling odd. I feel when someone "gets it wrong" the right choice or way is clearly evident and that they have had access to the knowledge to know the difference between the two. When you take a test in school, you're being held accountable for things you are supposed to know. You can get it wrong if you didn't pay attention or chose not to listen to what the right answers are. However, you had access to the right answers before the test. You were given the knowledge you would need to know.

I don't think that's the case with verbal abuse and while I do think wrongs are being committed, I'm not sure it's a case of parents getting it wrong

I don't believe any parents wants to factor into their child having an eating disorder, engaging in self-injurious behavior, having suicidal ideations, being depressed, or anything of the like by saying careless things. I think at that moment in time they're doing what they think will work or is acceptable - resulting in them saying things that might have lingering effects.

Consequently, I don't think placing blame on my parents for getting it wrong will take me any further in my life as I'm not sure that even saying that they got it wrong is fair.

So what do I think the problem is?  

I firmly believe that it is education, or lack thereof.

I think wider spread education of the power of words needs to take place. Wider spread education about the power of any size action needs to take place. I think education in general needs to take place.

We often hear about child abuse. When I used to work at a dental clinic we were all told the signs to look for -- bruises in odd places,  stories of falls by parents that don't match up with the injuries, cowering, among other things --- all things that are linked to physical abuse. Verbal abuse (though it can be just as, if not more so, damaging) gets a lot less talk time. I believe that's where a huge part of the problem lies.

Parents may know that beating their child is wrong from having been told that in school when they're young, by the news, by the media, by activism groups, and by campaign ads, but since verbal abuse is generally not covered by those outlets parents may not truly believe that telling their child they're worthless is a form of abuse. They may wind up changing one out for the other... instead of being physically abusive they may rely on verbal abuse to get their message across...  perhaps even offering up the phrase, "quit crying. You think this abuse? You don't know what abuse is. Keep crying and I can show you what abuse is."

If we start to educate people on verbal abuse, what it entails, and its consequences at least part of the problem will be corrected. I think this education is paramount. Not only for parents, but also for people in general. We all have the power of saying something that can contribute to making someone feel like they are less than. We also have the same power not to... we just have to know that we have this power. That our words do as well.

I'm curious as to your thoughts on this topic.. or rather discussion piece...

My Happy Place

hi!

I didnt post last week, i was busy moving house. i was living in central Wellington city, the capital city of New Zealand. I have moved one hour north to the Kapiti Coast. I live right by the beach now

It is incredible how much environmental factors influence behaviour and thoughts. I remember when I got married up here, in February 2009 and we stayed at the beach for a week after, I thought to myself that if I lived up here I could be free, peaceful and rid of this disorder. I felt like I was recovered for that week I stayed up here, before going back home to the chaos. Now I live up here and am breathing the sea air and feeling the open space around me. I don't feel trapped and I don't feel like my past is around every corner waiting for me. Obviously moving here didn't magically cure my ED - that is a work in progress, but I do feel the freedom I was longing for all this time.

A few of the reasons I love being here

• the trees out the front are perfect for hanging chimes and sun catchers in
• at night time, when it is a really windy night, I can't always tell if it is the wind or the roaring ocean i can hear
• there are no high-rises here, the sky is so huge I can see blazing sunsets followed by starry nights and giant rising moons
• my view is of Kapiti island and when I see the sky changing colour I can walk down my street to the beach to catch it
• I can walk to therapy without it being considered excessive
• I have a room just for my fairies!
• there are parks with Pukekos all around me
• the soil is sandy and the grass is springy
• people have Norfolk pine trees on their properties and at Christmas time the streets are red with Pohutuhawa trees
• I have a back yard and a front yard with a big wide deck which is always warm and I can't wait to sunbathe on
• there are high fences that make me feel safe
• I can lay down and feel relaxed and peaceful and calm
• Kapiti island is always changing
• some of my oldest friends live around the corner, and I now live right between my two closest friends. So much closer to my sis.
• Stellar has carpet to roll about on and cupboards to hide in
• I can set up and leave out my sewing machine and learn to sew. I can paint and I have a workshop to smash things and make mosaic madness
• there is so much here to explore. I lived in wellington for 25 years, it is time for somewhere new and a quieter more peaceful life

I have loved the ocean and the beach for so long now. I love how huge and vast the ocean is. It puts life into perspective. It puts my problems and my worries and my anxiety into perspective. It is so calming and so ominous and ever changing. It humbles me and inspires me. This is my safe place, my peaceful place, my happy place.

Where is your happy place? Where do you feel safe or peaceful or loved?

xoxo Serra & Stellar

city sidewalks and self care

In my therapist's office there's this funny little basket. Full of random goodies including a candle that I thank my stars she never burns (it's lavender, which is a scent that I am not exactly friends with - except for one perfume that Anthropologie used to sell), a journal, a fluffy plushie penguin, and other random objects that make her happy.

Her basket is there as an example of a self care box. The point of the box being that when you're in a good mindset, you track down things that you love, calm, and center you and put them in a box for easily accessibility when things are a little bit murkier or you're fighting an urge. That instead of having to go through the steps when you're already in that mindset of thinking of things, all you have to think to do is go to get that box.

The boxes can have candles, lotion, bubble bath, coloring books, nail polish, word searches, logic puzzles, books, playing cards, movies, a game, canned pumpkin (baking helps to calm me), whatever works for you. Consequently making every person's slightly different.

Saturday was an odd one for me as was Sunday. So I opened up a folder on my computer (hello virtual Self Care Box)  entitled, "Things I Love," which is mainly composed of pictures I've taken, quotes I love, a few ebooks, etc. It made me want to go experience something I love a lot... my city. I live in the most dangerous city in the United States supposedly, but I feel safe and secure. So I went on a walk through some of the places I love with my Nikon D80.

What would you put in your self care box?

the military and eating disorders

       AND       

PHOTO CREDITS TO MILITARY.COM and COOLESTGADGETS.COM

some people become outraged when they learn that the military is not quick to accept those with eating disorders. past or present. They say it's unfair discrimination. I say it's wise and protective, probably in majority of the cases - and the military is a machine that runs on time... it would take TOO much time to make exceptions for those rare cases so I fully agree with the blanket exclusion.

Before you get angry. Hear me out.

I may not be a health professional (though technically I was one for awhile, but I'll get to that part later) let alone a mental health professional (my mental health knowledge doesn't extend very far beyond a couple of psychology courses and trauma studies courses), but I am something a lot of those that are outraged are not... I am a former member of the military who has an eating disorder.

I don't talk about this very often... especially not in detail. I don't think very many people have ever heard me speak more than just a skirted conversation about basic training and my time in the military. I usually just say it was a poor decision with slight elaboration and then move on.

I keep on starting and stopping writing this, because I want to make sure that I fully explain the military that I experienced.

To give a little background, I engaged in eating disorder behaviors prior to joining. Since I had not been officially diagnosed (though I came close to it in college) and was in denial, I was able to join the Air Force.

I was slightly underweight upon entry and when I shipped off to basic training I was put on an eating waiver... As it was explained to me by my MTI (Military Training Instructor --- aka the boot camp leader) "basically what this little waiver means is that it's my job to make you fat. So eat up little piggy - we'll work it off later"

Let's evaluate this statement.

Let's take the first part: "it's my job to make you fat."

okay... translation for an eating disorder mind (and actually a mathematical mind as well... really): you're supposed to gain weight... gaining weight = making you fat.

Let's take that second part "So eat up little piggy - we'll work it off later"
eating disorder translation: "you're eating. you're a pig. you need to burn it off."

 Where was this said to me?

At a special table in the center of the dining facility. A special little table that was monitored closely (for food intake) by MTIs. They would bring you more food if they felt you hadn't gotten enough to eat... and you were given extra time to eat. Both of those latter things would make the "regular" trainees grow disdain towards you as they were only given about 7ish minutes to eat (no joke).

When I did a four month stint in IOP, eating at a table with other people with similar eating habits didn't really phase me, because it brought me back to basic training... just like eating with the eating waiver kids again. Hahaha.

Anyways I digress (in case you haven't noticed... I tend to do that)

I got done with basic training went off to tech school. Felt a pressure to do well... had personal stuff crop up involving the reason why I left college... and felt the need to get the weight off.

I wound up in the hospital a couple of times for dehydration and once for ipecac. I became underweight again and yet people were still pushing me to exercise more and to perform academically and physically.

It strained me. I wound up admitting I had a problem after my second stint in the hospital for dehydration, but before my venture with ipecac that I thought was going to kill me (I don't think I've ever been that ill in my life. let alone for that period of time... almost a week)

They had me see a therapist, but I was still being pushed to do all these things. I was put in charge of sports day every weekend. By the time I was to depart Wichita Falls, TX I was told I needed to enter a treatment program. The people at Scott AFB (which was to be my new base) wouldn't permit me to go immediately into an intensive patient program upon arrival, rather just an intensive outpatient program. I was given the phone number for mental health at Scott and sent on my way.

I arrived on Scott and was told how much I was needed there, that they were short handed... and I never made that call. Mental health (who was expecting me to call) never called me either. I found out later that my doctor KNEW I was supposed to go into treatment upon arrival. She told me that she wanted to let me form my own consequences. Whatever that means...

I wound up in a career field dominated by men. The female that was there when I got there was on her way out - her replacement was extremely pregnant and we only overlapped for a month or so before she gave birth and a couple of months after.

There was competition, high standards (I was the only person under a tech sergeant at one point when I was the only female back there) because they were used to people higher ranking with more experience... I was given an extremely large work load for an airman, and I caught the running bug.

The running bug was fueled by the military. The guys in my work (I worked in the medical field in dental) wouldn't let me take leave unless I was running -- because they deemed that a "legit" reason.

They would comment and critique my run times.

I felt like I was under a microscope 24/7 as I lived on base.

I would be grocery shopping and people I know would see me and comment on what was in my basket (I switched to a basket after one of the guys at my work commented on my use of a cart... asking me if I really needed one for just one person). I would be at the gas station and would run into people.

It was horrible.

I wouldn't go into the dining facility for that reason (I quit going in tech school actually) - the only exceptions being when I was asked to go to the Commander's lunch there and when I was a cadre for JROTC --- both times I noted and used the scale that was inside the dining facility.

One might wonder why a scale would find a home in a place dedicated to feeding others... well, my answer to that this was an Air Force Base meaning part of which dictates your next rank IS your weight... your physical fitness. In tech school I remember hearing an instructor discuss using laxatives to make his weight.

I had a small waist (considering how much I was running - incredibly small for a female) and after my PT test I had my supervisor's supervisor come up to me and tell me that he was right, that I didn't have the smallest waist in the clinic - that X did by half an inch. It became fodder, everyone I worked with knew my weight and here this male in my chain of command was informing me I did not have the smallest waist in the dental clinic - as if that were some prized position to hold (btw: dental clinics are loaded with females -- albeit not in the dental lab -- so it's not even like I had the second smallest of three people) or that I was close to the danger zone. Danger zone?? Yes. Danger zone... you waist too is a factor in your PT test score... which is part of what is used for your performance report which is a factor in promotions which is a factor in $$$




Anyways, to make this shorter than what it's looking like it could be. The military placed a lot of stress on me. Emphasized weight and being in shape. Got me into running in a hardcore way... and what resulted?

The eating disorder got way way way out of control.

I said something to my supervisor once and he told me to be careful what I said because it could jeopardize HIS career if people thought he wasn't looking out for his troop. I kept my mouth shut.

Things got progressively worse to the point of eating with the purpose of having something to throw up... and to the point of needing additional work done on my shoulder when it came time for the second surgery.

Basically I had surgery one done by an Air Force doctor... he didn't repair my labrum correctly... it was bad. Military told me I could still continue running even when it started dislocating again (I asked specifically)... so I did... and not only wound up with the retorn labrum (from the faulty surgery) but also damaged my rotator cuff and enlarged the capsule to TWICE the size (the latter the doctor said was due to the excessive running).

I was running from something, clearly.


Eventually it got to the point where I couldn't handle it anymore... that's when I saw a therapist that was very unhelpful to the point of pulling out a picture of a friend she had and asking me if I thought her friend was overweight...

it was until I went in there and did a tell all shake/sweat/sob fest whilst smelling like vomit that anything happened... I was in an IOP program by the end of the week.

It was that break from the military that I truly think saved my life.

In the military there isn't compassion. You're not even a last name... or a number... you're the last four digits of a number... your social security number that is.

They want perfection. If you're not perfect you're unacceptable to them.

Even though it's been over a year since I entered treatment.. I wouldn't even want to go back to the military for week... oh wait, I didn't mention that... I got medically discharged from the military - the paperwork started right around the time of me entering treatment. I admitted that it was pre-existing. The people in Texas admitted that they severely aggravated the disorder.




I feel like with jobs there's a few combinations possible...
1) You can love your job, not the like the people
2) You can love the people, but not like the job

Both of those make working a job tolerable

You can also love your job and love the people which makes your job amazing
or you can hate your job and dislike the people which makes your job miserable.

When you're in the military and live on the base your job can quickly become your life (I remember getting recalled --- that's when they call you up and you HAVE to go into work immediately --- at 4am the day after my 21st birthday) so when it's that last possibility your life becomes miserable.

I feel like the military life promotes eating disorders and attracts those with eating disorders or personality traits that make people inclined to develop them.

Statistics would back that up, eating disorders are a LOT more common in the military than in the civilian sector.

I cannot imagine very many people with a history of an eating disorder or predisposition towards one faring well mentally in the military. At all. As someone working in the dental clinic my job itself should not have been stressful - but in the military you're taught that everything is crucial - every mistake could cost lives. I would hate to imagine what it would have been like had I been put in a career field that COULD have truly or directly cost lives.




Sorry this was so jumbled, but it was a lot harder and more draining to write than one might think.