For those of you that you may not know me outside of thirtystars, I announced some BIG NEWS recently….

E and I are PREGNANT!!!!!!

I know, I know… you’re probably thinking: “Wow, she beat infertility quickly!”. To a degree, E and I have been very lucky considering our odds. However, it has been a VERY bumpy road, but we are here…over half-way there to be exact!

The purpose of this post is not to talk about my pregnancy (I’ll do that in future posts), but to talk about how we got here. It is within this crazy, windy, scary path that holds the REAL story. My hope is that it also provides some encouragement to other woman battling two inner struggles: 1. Overcoming hypothalamic amenorrhea and obsessive dieting and 2. Attempting to beat infertility in the process.

Ever since I decided I wanted (needed) to get healthy, E and I have decided to stop NOT trying to get pregnant.

Over a year passed and I still wasn’t getting visits from my monthly “friend”. While there were many things about my period I did NOT miss, its absence indicated a bigger problem: annovulation.

From my own education and research, I knew I needed to make bigger changes if I wanted to carry a baby: decrease time spent running/working out, increase calories, and CHILL OUT. Easier said than done, especially for a Type A like myself, but I was committed to getting there. I replaced longer runs with walks, fat-free dairy with full-fat, and a low-carb diet with heaps of whole grains and nutrient-heavy starches. I also practiced breathing techniques to help calm me during times of worry, stress or frustration.

While I did feel better, every month that passed without a period left me distraught and helpless. Finally,  a friend of ours had some fertility struggles of her own and highly recommended a fertility specialist. Nervous, apprehensive and skeptical, E and I sat down and embarked on one of the most important, difficult, and scariest journeys of our lives.

Our fertility specialist was no-nonsense, honest and decisive. In other words, she spoke our language. We LOVED her. In fact, among other things, she actually specialized in hypothalamic amenorrhea. It was fate!

I was prepared to jump into whatever regimen she recommended (E was, and has always been, more apt to go the “natural” route as long as possible). However, she told me while I was doing everything right, my body needed more time. I had mistreated it for quite a while, and it would take quite a while to get back into its natural rhythm. Then she slammed us with a harsh reality I never wanted to face: I may never ovulate naturally again.

While that may have been true, she wasn’t yet ready to give up the “healthy eating, little-to-no exercise path”. In addition to these changes, she recommended I visit a fertility acupuncturist*. Had you asked me a year prior if I could ever see myself getting acupuncture, I would have thought you were crazy. However, at this point in my life and in my struggle, I was ready to try anything.

After six more months of further reducing my exercise, dramatically changing my diet and undergoing fertility acupuncture once a week, I still hadn’t received a period, much less ovulated. While I did notice some changes (I won’t go into detail here, but I’m more than happy to discuss offline), I was still devastated with each passing month.

We went back to the “awesome doctor” and layed out our options. Essentially we had the choice of going down two very different paths: 1. Jump into IVF. While this was a much more expensive and intrusive option, it presented much higher odds of providing us with our “positive” test we both so desperately wanted. 2. Try a much more conservative approach by utilizing special follicle-stimulationg hormones (Menopur) and good old-fashioned timed s-e-x.

Being the impatient “I want what I want, and I want it NOW” type, I obviously wanted to go down Path #1. However, E being the “let’s approach this rationally type”, wanted Path #2. Considering our odds were that we would need to try either path multiple times before anything actually happened, and I could see $$$$ piling up in front of my very eyes (Texas law does not require insurance companies to cover any fertility-related treatments), I reluctantly agreed to try Path #2 first.

For those of you that may have undergone fertility treatments before, I’m sure you can understand when I say I totally underestimated the time, financial, and emotional commitments required.

The next couple of months were a blur filled with subcutaneous injections, vaginal suppositories (yes, you read that correctly), biweekly blood draws and ultrasounds, and more doctors visits than I’ve ever had in my entire life COMBINED. Every couple of days we would wait on pins and needles for the phone call from our doctor that held our future: Is my body responding or has it finally rejected the abuse?

I’ve never felt so helpless than I did during that time. Never mind the multitude of hormones my body was subjected to, I was also dealing with MAJOR guilt. Guilt that I had been so vain for so long, that my obsessions led us to this dark place, that not only was I having to go through this but I was forcing E to go through it too. The ONE thing I’m supposed to be able to do, the ONE thing the female body was designed to create, I couldn’t. I felt like I was defective, like someone stole my femininity. The greatest irony of it all? I tried so hard for so many years NOT to get pregnant, and here I was: finally ready but I couldn’t conceive no matter how hard I tried.

What happened next can only be explained as divine intervention.

We waited and waited for my blood tests and ultrasounds to show that my ovaries were responding to the hormones and I was ready for my “trigger shot” of Ovidrel. This shot provides the hormone hCG, which tell your ovaries to release eggs, (aka ovulate). Finally, the day came, I gave myself the extra shot, and began the dreaded “waiting game”.

I continually prepared myself for the worst. I knew our odds that this would work on the first try were slim to none, especially considering how long it had been since by body actually ovulated. Our “awesome doctor” set VERY realistic expectations, and truthfully, I was already setting money aside for Round #2.

Again, being the impatient person than I am, I just couldn’t wait to take a pregnancy test. In fact, 3 days before the EARLIEST day I could take one I decided I would make a secret Walgreens run. Unbeknownst to E, in the middle of the night, I peed on a pink stick expecting a big, fat negative. However, a few short moments later, a VERY faint plus sign appeared. Was it, or wasn’t it?! I quickly found myself, still half-asleep, sitting on the toilet googling images of positive pregnancy tests to see if mine matched. Nothing seemed definitive, so I hid the test in the cabinet, jumped back into bed, and decided not to tell E.

I couldn’t stop thinking about that test, but promised myself I would wait a few more days to take another one. A few days (and several tests later) we got….

 

 

 

No guesses about it. Somehow, someway, we were one of the lucky ones.

A cross-country move, job and school change later, we are here. 23 weeks pregnant. It hasn’t been easy. Hell, it has been a real test on our marriage and ourselves, but we’re here: farther than I ever imagined we would be.

While the pregnancy has offered its share of scares (and that is putting it lightly), I want other women to know that there IS hope. Whether you decide you want to go the natural route, or you don’t mind a little help from science, there are options. Lots of them.

I wasted so much time and energy upsetting myself over articles, posts and books telling me I could never get pregnant. I’m convinced part of what took so long was the fact that I could never relax because I just could NOT stop thinking about baby, baby, baby.

I would never wish this journey on anyone, but in the event that you find yourself in a similar place, you are NOT alone. There are millions upon millions of women who are struggling with infertility for a number of reasons. I hope you find strength in my story, their stories, and most importantly YOURS.

XOXO,

K

*Some studies have shown that acupuncture may help with the following conditions related to fertility: 

Unexplained Infertility
Immunologic Infertililty
Poor semen quality and quantity
Prolactinemia
Recurrent Miscarriage
Luteal Phase Defect
Thin Uterine Lining
Advanced Maternal Age
Poor Egg Quality
Endometriosis
Annovulation
High FSH, Poor Responders
Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome

This was my view out the kitchen window the other morning.

This is obviously not Texas, and I’m not on vacation. This is my new normal. E and I moved to Boston, MASSACHUSETTS three weeks ago.

In order to understand how we got here, 1,951 miles away, I should rewind.

It all started with a text. I was sitting in my office at the beginning of last year when E sent me a simple text: “Boston?“.

My response went something like this: “?!?!?!?!”, but deep down I knew what he meant. His position carried some risk for a move, but I never actually thought it would happen.

We had joked around about moving before. We both agreed on where we WOULDN’T go: California, anywhere else in the South or the Midwest. We would both move to Denver in a heartbeat, or maybe the Pacific Northwest. But we never really discussed the Northeast.

I’ve always had a bit of wanderlust. When I was a young 17 year-old, applying to colleges, I had my heart set on Colorado. I loved the idea of living in a foreign place, experiencing seasons unfamiliar to Texas, and essentially “starting over”. My parents and I went to Fort Collins and Boulder. While I liked both schools, I ultimately fell in love with CU- Boulder. A few short months later, I received my acceptance letter along with my dorm and roommate assignments. Shit just got real, I thought.

As soon as the excitement faded, nervousness and anxiety took control. I convinced myself that I couldn’t be so bold; that just wasn’t me.  I couldn’t live so far away from all the things I knew and all the people I loved. Two months before school, I chickened out and committed to my “safe school”. My oldest brother’s alma mater presenting some familiarity, and less than an hour away from home. Perfect.

I’d be lying if there weren’t a million moments since I made that decision that I questioned myself; wondered if I had made the right one. While “what ifs” floated in and out of my head, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy my college experience. In fact, I loved it.

Since I missed my chance to go out-of-state for college, I decided I would make the move once I graduated. However, life took over (boyfriend, job, family) and I felt trapped. Back to Austin I went.

One Masters degree, two jobs, and a couple of relationships later, I met E.

E was different than other guys I had dated. He wasn’t a local, he had what I deemed a “Yankee accent”, and not only suffered from the same “wanderlust” as I did, but he actually ACTED on it. He took a year off after college to see the world, and he picked up and moved across the country to take a job in a city he had never even visited. He was everything I wished I could be. I thought: here is my chance to see the world and spread my wings.

A couple years in, I begged him to move to Denver. I never shook the “Colorado itch” and, since then, my sister and a few good friends had moved there. While I think I really could have convinced him to move during that time, I know now that deep down I wasn’t ready. So we bought a house in Austin instead.

Then my dad got sick. And sicker. And sicker. And we lost him. And the hurt stung so deep, and the responsibility I felt to protect my mother felt so strong, that I knew moving anywhere was out of the question. There I was, sitting in a house only a mile from where I was born and raised, having to face the reality that I would never get to experience anything new. Not the way I dreamed of, anyway.

Fast forward to that day I received the “Boston?” text. And all that had happened, and all the feelings I felt, came down to this. The biggest decision of my life; of our lives.

E and I talked and talked and talked and then talked some more. We knew it was a good opportunity and there wouldn’t be a better time in our lives to move. We decided I would research graduate schools in the area, apply to ones I liked, and see what happened.

A few visits to Boston and a couple of acceptance letters later, we decided to go for it. However, I couldn’t give him the final “OK” until we passed the biggest test thus far: telling my mom.

I remember the day so clearly. I had practiced what I would say over and over and decided I needed to have this conversation in person.I was hoping that enough time had passed since my father left us that she would be strong enough to see the opportunity this presented.

We were shoe shopping. My mom’s favorite. I was so nervous, but eventually blurted it out as casually as I could manage. I told her how we were considering it, but her opinion/feelings mattered a lot to me. I explained the progression of events and expressed my feelings of both interest and anxiety. It was her response that surprised me the most.

Although sad (and surprised), she urged me to do it. She reminded me that I had (maybe mistakenly) passed on one too many opportunities before. She talked about how I was in such a good place in my life (with my food and exercise obsessions), there would never be a better time, and that I would surely regret it forever if I didn’t. She told me how she felt similarly when she moved to Michigan (many moons ago) so my dad could attend law school. It was an amazing time in their lives, she said, and she would never take it back. She wished the same for me.

So there I had it. An opportunity for E to progress his career, me to spread my wings, and my mother’s full support. There was no turning back.

So here we are. Almost 2,000 miles away from the only “home” I’ve ever known. Learning to drive in snow, bundling up with no regard for fashion, and settling into this “new normal”.

 

Things didn’t start off the way I imagined. I had a couple of weeks before school started, so I envisioned taking the “T” into town, shopping, wandering, and learning my new city. Unfortunately, like many things it seems, life had a different plan for me. I became ill shortly after we arrived and put on bed rest. I could write a whole post on how hard, depressing and frustrating laying on a couch for two weeks is, but I’ll spare you. Let’s just say when the doctor gave me the “OK” to go to class, I’ve never been happier to sit through enthalpy, integumentary systems, and pediatric gastroenterology nutrition lectures.

 

I know life has many more surprises for me. As someone whose desire to be in control has had the best of her from time to time, I can honestly say that I look forward to this sometimes crazy, unpredictable, stressful, interesting, fun, sad, and amazing ride.

XoXo

Katie

 

 

 

 

 

If I could sum up my biggest struggle of the last few months in one word, it would be acceptance.

I’m not talking about admittance. Although, at the time, I thought admitting to myself and loved ones that I had become obsessed with eating “right” and exercising would be the hardest part of this journey. I was wrong. Very wrong.

Recently my husband took, what I considered to be, an unflattering photo of me. I took one glance at it, forced him to delete it, and proceeded to think about it nonstop. Did I really look like that? Had I really gained that much weight? Was it because of dinner last night? I knew I shouldn’t have gone back for seconds. I’m never taking another picture again.

Do these asinine thoughts sound at all familiar? My hope is “no”, but my fear is an all too common “yes”.

I am 100% guilty of letting things like this eat away at me. I KNEW I would have to gain weight for this journey. I KNEW I would look different and some clothes may not fit anymore. I KNEW I would FEEL different. However, I never truly accepted it.

Now that these truths are hitting home, I’ve been trying to “practice” the art of acceptance. And like the very essence of eating and exercise disorders, it is not simply just about the food or just about the exercise, it weaves itself into the fabric of our lives.

Here are 8 “truths” I’ve been forced to accept:

1. I will never be as thin as I once was. Ever. For this reason, I’ve had to take down pictures that do little more than make me feel bad about how I look today.
2. There are people who are, and will always be, slimmer than me. Not every thin person has an eating disorder. Some women have more efficient metabolisms and different genes. I can’t change science.
3. Feeling full is normal. You know that “uncomfortable” feeling you’ve been trying to avoid these past 3 or 4 years? Yeah, that’s normal. Get used to it.
4. I can’t expect to make 100% on every paper or every exam (without driving myself or my husband crazy). Some things are more important than a good grade and the stress it causes does more damage than anything else.
5. Getting pregnant will be a challenge. Like #2, there are some Fertile Myrtles out there who seem to get pregnant at the mere sight of a penis. Unfortunately, I’m not one of them.
6. I can’t control everything. From the mud my dogs track into the house right after I vacuumed, to the traffic jam causing me to be late (my biggest pet peeve), I just have to let crap go.
7. I may not ever be totally “healed”. Studies have shown that less than 10% of woman totally outgrow their obsession with food and exercise. Yes, that’s terrifying. No, that won’t stop me from trying.
8. Food is good. Food, while it does make our bodies run efficiently, is also meant to be satisfying and pleasurable. And that is OK!!

I urge you to write down some “truths” you’ve been battling with lately. Once they’re down on paper, they seem a little less scary and a bit easier to digest.

Before I close, I want to leave you with a photo that’s been creating quite a “buzz” among social media:

I’ve read varying opinions on this photo shoot from “good for her” to “wish I could unsee this” to “that’s great that she’s comfortable in her own skin, but why does she have to pose nude?”

My response is this: If it helps one girl feel like her body isn’t so different, then GREAT! I personally like the reminder that stomach rolls are normal, and even brilliant, beautiful and funny women like Amy Schumer have them. And she’s not ashamed of it. Not in the least. None of us should be.

XoXo

Katie

When I was in fifth grade someone very close to me said “Looks like you’ve been eating one too many PB&J sandwiches!” I know now he was just teasing, but that comment haunted me for many years and subsequently caused me to “quit” peanut butter until my mid-twenties.

I started getting into running right after college around the same time I hit the “low/no-fat” diet HARD. I drank skim milk, ate fat-free yogurt and cottage cheese, chicken breast and salad (sans the dressing). A couple of months into my drastic lifestyle change, I started craving crunchy peanut butter. I wasn’t focused on calories, sugar or food additives at this point, so I tried to find the lowest fat option (which is sort of an oxymoron with nut butters!).

I settled on low-fat Jif crunchy peanut butter. I started just putting it on my low-cal white bread for lunch, but quickly found myself craving it more and more. As soon as I got home from work, I set my purse down and grabbed the PB and a spoon. I remember it so vividly as it was the year the Casey Anthony investigation was all over the media and I spent many evenings on the couch, watching Nancy Grace and mindlessly eating spoonful after spoonful of low-fat crunchy PB. I would eat it until my stomach hurt and then “sweat it out” over a run.

This happened for a couple of years until I shifted my focus off of fats and onto calories.   It took me only a few seconds to compute the amount of calories I consumed from PB and decided I didn’t want to eat calorie-dense foods anymore. I benched PB and salad and Cheerios were up to bat.

It was about a year ago, when I really started trying to listen to my hunger cues, that I realized I wanted PB again. Around this time I noticed an influx of various nut butters competing for my attention on the grocery shelves. I decided to try almond butter and my life was forever changed. My body wanted it so badly that I was craving it all the time. I ate it on my toast in the mornings, on a banana for a snack, in oatmeal and straight up out of the jar for old times’ sake. Eventually, we bought a food processor and started roasting and grinding our own nut butters. This took them to a whole new level, and if you’re a nut butter freak like me and haven’t tried it, I HIGHLY recommend it!

I was listening to a podcast a few weeks ago about honoring ourselves, particularly when it  comes to hunger and cravings. The host mentioned a client she had who was trying to lose weight, but was having a hard time because she often found herself “bingeing” on peanut butter. She wasn’t sure how to handle the situation, so she posed the question to the show’s guest. What that guest said blew my mind and suddenly everything clicked.

She said chances are the woman’s body was trying to tell her it needed more FAT. The woman (like many women) was on a low-fat diet and the PB cravings were her body’s way of trying to meet that critical nutrient need.

Many industry leaders say “everything in moderation”. They go on to explain that if you deprive yourself of something (i.e. sugar), your body (and brain) will eventually tell you that it needs it, but most people ignore those cues until their cravings get out of control and then they binge (like me and my Jif).

I say all of this to explain that your body KNOWS what it needs to function optimally. I was depriving my body of so many GOOD fats (nuts, avocado, olive oil), that when I finally let myself have some, I wanted them ALL the time. Now that I have plenty of fats in my diet, I find myself craving nut butter a lot less (but I love it just as much!).

I urge you to REALLY start listening to your cravings. If you’ve been craving a hamburger, your body may be telling you it needs more protein. Alternatively, if you’re craving a milkshake, your body could just need some fat (and calcium)!

Bottom line, our body is not our enemy. It is constantly trying to communicate with us, and we just need to be willing to trust and listen!

XoXo

Katie

We’re going to rewind to our college days a bit. No, not to keggers, date parties, and dining halls, but to biology class. Yeah, I don’t remember it either. That’s ok. ;)*

Hypothalamic amenorrhea. I’ve mentioned this before, but haven’t explained what it is or why it happens. I could just tell you that “it’s when your brain stops communicating with your lady parts” and call it a day. But I won’t. If you’re a woman (which I’ve got a 50/50 shot that you are), you’re in your reproductive years, and you work out, then this is important stuff. Even if you don’t plan on having babies, I’d take a shot in the dark and guess that you enjoy feeling like a woman. So, guess what? This still applies to you!

So there I was, exercising like a maniac, shopping at Whole Foods, eating organically, eliminating most processed foods and feeling like I could model for the cover of Health Magazine. Unfortunately, my insides didn’t share the same sentiment and I was too naive and too wrapped up in my “health” bubble to notice, much less to care.

All the while, I had put my body into severe stress-mode and my entire reproductive system had shut down creating a domino effect of various adverse conditions.

So what is HA exactly?

Here’s where science kicks in: Remember learning about the hypothalamus? It’s a section of the brain responsible for the production of many of our hormones. The hormones from the hypothalamus direct several functions, such as temperature regulation, thirst, hunger, sleep, mood, sex drive, and the release of other hormones within the body.

The hypothalamus produces the gonadotropin releasing hormone (GnRH). When this hormone is released, it induces the production of several other hormones important for menstruation, such as the luteinizing hormone (LH), estrogen and follicle stimulating hormone (FSH). When the hypothalamus stops the production of GnRH, communication switches off. Unfortunately, this halts the process of ovulation and menstruation. If you’ve ever had a detailed blood test done, you’ve probably seen these hormones on your lab result sheet.

Basically, when your body is undergoing so much stress, it kicks into “fight or flight” mode. (Cue our ancestors and how they dealt with times of famine.) When all is well, everything will be in balance and our stress hormones will be in control. However, if you are a stress-head like me who lets every little thing get to you, your stress hormones may remain chronically elevated. This signals to the brain that you are in a stressed (fight or flight) state. Certain organs are “non-vital” organs. These shut off first, conserving energy, so the “vital organs” can continue to function.

How do I know if I have it?

What causes HA?

Having a “cool” older sister made me want to grow up quickly. When she started having sleepovers, I wanted to join in on the fun. When she started to “date” guys, I wanted a boyfriend. And when I noticed those foreign feminine products under the sink, I wanted to use them too! I have a clear memory of sneaking one of her pads into my bedroom. I wanted to “practice” wearing one. Unfortunately, for me, I had no idea its purpose, much less how to use it. I mistakingly thought the sticky part went against the skin. You can imagine how the rest of that story went…

I was what my mom called a “late bloomer“. In elementary school I was about a foot shorter than my classmates. I didn’t start wearing a training bra until 7th grade. And it took me what felt like FOREVER to get my period. My closest friends belonged to this “awesome club” and I wanted desperately to join.

I remember the day it finally happened. It was like a scene out of a movie. I was getting ready to take the stage for a band recital when, all of a sudden, I noticed a big red spot on my brand new Gap Kids dress. Thankfully, it was in the mid nineties when sweaters tied around the waist was THE thing to do. So I did. For thirty awkward minutes. I sat on stage, pretending to play the trumpet, when all I kept thinking about was how I was finally a woman! I wasn’t even that upset about the stain, I was just happy I could join in on all the fun period talk with my friends!

Fast forward three months and my excitement was fading. George (whom my friends and I “cleverly” coined our periods) was no longer a welcome visitor. In fact, it felt like he wasn’t even a visitor at all. He was more like a roommate. A shitty, messy roommate who never paid rent. A “normal” 5 day cycle? What was that? Mine were more like 10 days. Each day was heavier (and more painful) than the last. I couldn’t fight my food cravings, I was a hormonal mess and I managed to ruin a third of my clothes. I like to think I played a large part in the growth of Victoria’s Secret from 1996-1999.

I spent the better part of high school and college dealing with George. It was getting more difficult to handle the mood swings, pain, junk food binges and overall impact on my activities. I never owned white bottoms, I rarely went swimming (partly due to my lack of self confidence), and I certainly didn’t exercise. It still surprises me how much I let George dictate my life.

Fast forward five years. I discovered my love for exercise and nutrition and soon George wasn’t so “needy”. In fact, some months he just never came. When he did come, it was always for a short visit and he didn’t bring a lot of “luggage”. This made me happy. Very happy.

Fast forward a couple more years and George stopped visiting all together. It took me several months to even notice. When I realized, I thought “Good Riddance!” This is A-W-E-S-O-M-E!! I can go swimming any time I want, I don’t have to schedule vacations around him, and I can shop the house portion of White House Black Market!

After several months my husband started getting concerned. I snapped at him. He had NO idea what an asshole George had been. I was on Cloud 9 and he was not about to make it storm.

It reassured me time and time again that my gynecologist was not the least bit concerned. Since we weren’t trying to get pregnant, she said a period was not “medically necessary”. It wasn’t until I wanted to get pregnant that I realized how wrong that was.

I have mentioned it before, but after months and months and specialist after specialist, I was finally diagnosed with Hypothalamic Amenorrhea. I will explain more about it in my next post, but what I do want to note is how important a monthly period is. And it’s not just about whether or not you get one. Your monthly period is your body’s way of communicating to you. In my case, its absence was telling me that I needed to chill out on the exercise and consume more energy. In high school and college, when it was heavy and painful, it was trying to tell me to eat better and get moving.

There are many people out there who devote their life’s work to “Period Coaching”. Whether it’s to manage PMS symptoms, promote regularity or prepare for fertility, these practitioners often utilize nutrition (instead of medications) to get women feeling and functioning at their best. If you’re interested, I am including the names of a couple of these folks at the end of my post.

Additionally, if you ever find yourself feeling like something is “off” during that time, take a look at your lifestyle. Turns out George wasn’t such a bad house guest, I was just a terrible host.

XoXo

Katie

Nicole Jardim | http://www.fixyourperiod.com

Kate Callaghan | http://www.theholisticnutrionist.com

After I admitted to myself that I had a problem, I knew I needed to tell my family. I hadn’t been myself in a long time and I wanted them to know why.

I practiced what I wanted to say in my head several times and had decided on the occasion to do it. I knew they probably wouldn’t understand, but I wanted to explain it as best I could.

I was so nervous driving to go see them. Several scenarios played through my mind, most of which had me looking like a crazy person; an outsider.

When the time finally came, I let it all out. I explained how I had been dealing with it for so long and I only recently accepted it as truth. I told them how hard it had been on my body, my marriage and my friendships. And I told them how I wanted to use my struggle to help others.

When I finished I waited for jaws to drop. I waited for questions. I waited for looks of shock and disbelief. None of them came. They already knew.

I was stunned. I asked why they never said anything to me. How could they know for so long and not try to help or intervene? I finally got my dropped jaws and stunned faces. They explained that they had tried. Over and over again. I just wasn’t listening. I wasn’t ready. 

While I apparently was not as good at hiding the disorder as I had hoped, many others are. Especially if they are in the beginning stages of an unhealthy relationship with food, it may be easy to dismiss it as a “lifestyle change” or even a diet. Here a few signs that it could be much more:

1. They eat the same thing every day. There is a difference between convenience and obsession. While some people may naturally gravitate toward similar foods because of familiarity or ease of preparation, people who struggle with disordered eating eat the same foods because they’re “safe”. New foods are terrifying. “What if I like it so much I can’t stop eating? “What if my body cannot metabolize it appropriately and it ends up hanging on as fat?” My “safe food” was Cheerios. I ate it for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. I never went anywhere without a baggie full of them. My office at work smelled like Cheerios. My car smelled like Cheerios. People gave me Cheerios as gifts. Interestingly enough, since admitting my problem, I have not had a single Cheerio.

2. The dishwasher is full of measuring tools. At my worst, I was obsessed with counting every single calorie that went into my body. I logged samples from the grocery store and bites of my husband’s dinner. My precision relied on measuring cups, spoons and scales. I measured everything from the teaspoons of nut butter I used on my toast to the cups of spinach I ate with my salad. On any given day, you could open the dishwasher and see that the whole top portion was filled with measuring devices. Note that there is a difference between measuring for an understanding of serving sizes and portion control and measuring because you’re obsessed with calorie and nutrient counting.

3. Their bedtime rivals any 6-year-old’s. I’ve mentioned this in earlier posts, but disordered eating turned my sleeping habits upside down. I literally had no energy to stay up past 8 PM. I was SO hungry that I knew I needed to go to bed to avoid thinking about food. The earlier I went to bed, the sooner I could wake up and eat breakfast.

4. The mailbox is getting really full. At one point I was subscribed to ELEVEN different fitness/health magazines. Every other day I was getting something in the mail that was telling me to “Lose Weight in 5 Easy Steps” or eat “Proven Foods for a Flat Belly”. I strived to look like the cover models, eat like the nutritionists and train like the athletes. I was obsessed with the diet and fitness culture and worked tirelessly to fit in.

5. They are always busy. I thrive on structure and my life reflected it. I got up at the same time, ate the same thing, worked out the same way, went to work and did the same thing, came home and ate the same thing, watched the same thing on TV and went to bed at the same time. I knew what to expect and found great comfort in it. If someone invited me to dinner, or a party or a bar, I had to come up with excuses. I knew if I went, it would turn my whole schedule upside down. What would I eat? How long would I be there? What time would I go to bed? How many hours of sleep would I get? What would I talk about? It was exhausting even thinking about it, so I was always “working late”, “sick”, or had “other plans”.

You may notice that I left off “They lost a lot of weight.” While that may have been true in my case, it isn’t always. In fact, I would argue that it is more common than not for women with disordered eating to avoid radical weight changes due to bingeing or hormonal imbalances.

If you think someone you care about may be struggling with disordered/obsessive eating habits, show you care by saying something. You could even share your own personal experiences with food, weight and image. They may open up, they may not. They make get mad or defensive, but nothing will ever get better if it goes ignored.

XoXo

Katie

Fall classes began this week.

I never thought I would say those words at 30, but life is full of surprises!

My BA and M.Ed required little to no math or sciences. This means I have to take several undergraduate courses in addition to my graduate courses. Translation: I swallow my pride every day as I walk into a classroom full of frat shirts, Birkenstocks and whispers about this weekend’s kegger. Do you feel sorry for me yet?

This very humbling experience forces me to reflect on my innocent college days. Was I that naive? Was I that disinterested in academics? Was I that boy-crazy? Yes, yes, and YES.

I will say, as an adult, I’m much more thankful to be sitting in those seats. The fact that life experiences have drawn me to this course of study (and I’m footing the bill this time around) makes me much more grateful for the opportunity.

One of my classes, a nutrition course, really surprises me. It’s not the content as much as the student demographic. I ignorantly assumed that someone majoring in nutrition would look (and act like) a gym rat, but boy was I wrong. I don’t think I’ve ever attended a more eclectic class. There are people of all different sizes, shapes, ages and color. A desire to learn (and appreciate) nutrition apparently knows no boundaries.

One of the most interesting topics that we’ve discussed was our personal reason for studying nutrition/dietetics. While not everyone offered the information (myself included), one girl talked about growing up with two obese parents. Her studies would be a tribute to breaking the cycle. Another guy spoke about his struggles with choosing to go Paleo. His Asian family felt like he was betraying their culture.

My point is that it doesn’t matter where you are on this journey or how you started. Nutrition is such a personal choice and it certainly doesn’t look the same for everyone. I look forward to continuing my studies to better myself and eventually help others along their journey.

XoXo

Katie

P.S. I added a new page of Book Recommendations. When I finally accepted the fact that I had a problem, my first inclination was to go on a bookstore binge. I bought dozens of books on eating disorders, recovery, self-love, etc. Unfortunately, I hated all of them. I felt like the content was fake, forced, depressing, and unrelatable. That’s when I started gravitating toward nutrition and health. Interpreting numbers and facts made my struggles not only real but solvable.

Regardless of where you are on the nutrition/health/wellness continuum, if you’re a woman, I highly suggest picking up a copy of “The Body Book”. I saw this book last year and completely dismissed it when I noticed Cameron Diaz was the author. I thought “What the hell does that SHE know about the female body?” I gave it a second glance a couple of weeks ago and I’m so glad I did. While much of the material is elementary, it sends a wonderful message to women of all ages. In plus, it works great as a “coffee table book”. 😉

I turned thirty yesterday.

I was feeling super anxious about the occasion and have been spending the last week or two trying to fit in as much as possible in order to end my twenties with a BANG.

The other day I expressed my anxiety to an old friend. I told her I imagined my life looking much differently at 30 (particularly in the baby department). She looked at me like I had lost my mind. She gently reminded me of everything I DID have. A comfortable life, supportive husband, house, great education, loving family, friends, etc…

I’ve been thinking about what she said a lot these past couple of days. As I reflect on my birthday yesterday, I’m reminded of how much I’ve changed. I’m stronger (mentally and physically), I’m more optimistic and I’m happy.  Yet, among all the change, I’ve remained the same. Let me explain by taking you through my day through two perspectives: “Old Katie” and “New Katie”:

Old Katie: Went for a long run in the morning in order to burn calories from the day before and allow myself more calories for the rest of the day.

New Katie: Went for a short run in the morning (on my favorite trail) because I wanted to. My doctor gave  me the “green light” to run 10 miles a week. Now I run 3-4 times a week for 3 miles at a time. I supplement it with the occasional barre class and a walk with the dogs. I would be lying to you if I said this wasn’t the hardest part of getting well, but I’m thankful. Ten miles is better than zero.

Old Katie: Downed several cups of coffee and several more cans of Diet Coke just to get through the day.

New Katie: Several months ago I quit sodas cold turkey. As someone who drank at least three cans a day for over a decade, this was HUGE. I’ve also been advised to decrease coffee consumption to one cup a day to help with fertility. E and I went to my favorite coffee shop yesterday. For a long time whenever E and I went out to dinner (or to get a drink) we would run out of things to talk about. All I did was run and work so I had little to offer in terms of engaging conversation. These days, E and I talk about anything and everything. From politics to nutrition to family and religion, we are getting to know each other on a whole different level. Our “coffee dates” are here to stay.

Old Katie: Couldn’t deal with changes to her “schedule”. As you probably know by now, eating and exercise obsessions have more to do with power and control than food or weight. Whenever something happened out of my control, I would dwell on it until it ruined my day (and inevitably E’s day).

New Katie: I had a whole day planned, but unfortunately the weather had a plan of its own. While it did piss me off, I changed our agenda. And guess what? The world did not end and I actually had a GREAT day! Go figure.

Old Katie: Would have gone to dinner with family only after finding a restaurant with a “Katie-safe” salad on the menu. Preferably a restaurant that posted its nutritional facts.

New Katie: I picked a restaurant based on my body’s cravings. This is probably a “no-brainer” for the majority of you, but it has proved to be one of the hardest skills to relearn. I’ve spent so much time trying to teach my head to ignore any craving that it’s hard to isolate them now. But I did. And I didn’t order salad. I enjoyed the appetizers, some wine and a regular entree just like everyone else. At the end of dinner my mom told me how nice it was to see me enjoy “real food”. And it was nice. So nice.

Old Katie: My mom is insistent on baking some sort of sweet treat for birthdays. While she has always baked on my birthday, I can’t remember the last time I partook in the dessert portion of the meal. I was full of excuses: “I’m stuffed from dinner.” “I’ll have some later.” And my favorite: “I don’t like chocolate.” Psh.

New Katie: My mom baked brownies. She decorated them with crowns and jewels made out of sugar (the running joke in the family is that she’s the Queen and I’m the princess). Brownies have been a real struggle. I love them SO much that I never trusted myself to stop at one. I was convinced that if I had a bite it would turn into two and then three, and then half the pan! I knew, even though I really was full this time, I needed to prove to myself that I could enjoy these decadent, chocolatey squares of delight without going overboard. And I did. And again this morning. 🙂

Old Katie: For far too long I found it very difficult to stay up past 8 PM. I had zero energy left from my workouts, calorie deprivation and work that I just couldn’t stay awake. I knew the sooner I went to bed, the sooner I could wake up and eat again.

New Katie: I stayed up until 10 PM (and only because E made me turn off the TV). The less energy I exert in my workouts and the more energy I consume through food, the less tired (and caffeine dependent) I’ve become. This has been HUGE and I look forward to it improving even more over time. I’ve also been walking my dogs every night after dinner. This started off as a way to help calm down our black lab and walk some of his energy off. It has turned into a great way for me to reflect on my day. Allowing myself this time, alone and away from my phone, has really helped me end the day on a high (and thankful) note. If you don’t do this already, I highly recommend it.

With all that being said, each day is still a struggle. “Ed” definitely tried to join me at dinner, but I was able to ignore him. I ordered what I wanted, ate as much as I wanted and truly enjoyed an anxiety-free meal with some of my favorite people. If this is a preview of what this new decade has in store for me, bring it on.

XoXo

Katie

My name is Katie and I’m terrified of oil.

My food fears began when I started to lose weight many years ago. I took the easy road and completely avoided high caloric and high fat foods, regardless of nutritional value. I stopped cooking with oil and eating any kind of oil-based dressings. Today, “Rational Katie” knows that my fear of oil stems from eliminating it those many years ago. “Rational Katie” knows, more than anything, I need the extra calories and fat to get my body back to its normal state so it can work properly.

“Irrational Katie” still considers oil a “sneaky food”. It often goes undetected and even a small amount sneaks many calories into an otherwise healthy dish. “Irrational Katie” tells me that the oil will make me “fat” again.

If we’ve ever dined out together you know I’ve lived by many “food rules”. I started off asking for dressing on the side. Then I requested they leave the dressing off entirely. Eventually I started asking if they cooked any of my food in oil, and if so, to please make an exception for my meal. I was one of those terrible customers with a million different requests and substitutes. It ended up being too hard (and embarrassing) to go out to eat. My kitchen was “safe”. I controlled the amount of oil (or lack thereof) in my food, and that was very comforting.

One of the biggest fights I ever had with E was over oil.

E loves to cook. While most women would be grateful for such a husband, it caused me a lot of anxiety. Any time he prepared food, I had to review and approve the ingredient list. Whenever oil was involved, he would call me into the kitchen where I would do the measuring. It gave me some control in a situation where I felt pretty powerless.

One day I was feeling brave and told him he could measure the oil without me. I remember being on the other side of the house and feeling so anxious about it. I pictured him secretly pouring tons of oil into the pan because he knew I needed it. Eventually my anxiety got so bad that I couldn’t handle it anymore and ran into the kitchen. I took one look at the pan and lost it. In my mind he poured too much and he did it on purpose. I felt like he was being deceitful. I told him I didn’t trust him anymore. I forced him to throw out the food and start over. As I was crying and yelling I KNEW I was being crazy. Batshit crazy. I just couldn’t help it. I literally couldn’t help it.

It seems insane. I see that now. However, as I’ve mentioned before, disordered eating has more to do with control than it does with the food itself. Many women (and men) have specific foods that give them more anxiety than others and it takes more work to overcome.

One solution I’ve found helpful is what I consider “food compromises”. For example, when baking, if a recipe calls for 3 Tb of oil, I’ll use 2 Tb of oil and 1 Tb of applesauce. I also use organic olive oil spray on salads instead of a jar to help control the amount. In restaurants, I don’t ask about the oil. I’m learning to trust the chef(s) and enjoy the meal without the preoccupation of oil and butter.

If you find yourself anywhere on this journey with food fears, you’re not alone. Just remember that there are no “bad foods” and you must trust yourself to practice moderation. One Tb of oil doesn’t equate to pounds gained. Butter won’t make you go up a size. We’ve given food too much power. Let’s take it back. All of it!

XoXo

Katie