The Art of Recovery
Yesterday was not one of my finer days, it was actually incredibly messy, but it taught me in so many ways. On typical Sundays Jon plays at least during our morning gatherings at church so the importance of riding to church together means getting up several hours before the sun and making our way down to 515 Garson Drive to sound check. On these days I stash my laptop in my backpack to knock out some work during the two hours before breakfast. Sundays are my recovery days, very rarely (with the exceptions of races that fall on Sundays) do you catch me pounding the pavement, however my days are still relatively active. Yesterday was no different and the morning started out as such.
Let me preface this play by play by saying I’ve been on medicine recently that has made me feel out of sorts in every single way so that was just an added bonus.
Sunday. We rolled up around 615am and per usual I headed toward the kitchen to grab my coffee in one hand and water bottle in the other. Except I got stopped up, because normally you groggily open the door that early in the morning to white counter-tops at the bar and only the Keurigs awake and ready to greet you, but today was different. The brilliant white had massive glass jars on them and the contents of these jars had one of my biggest food loves on this planet: caramel popcorn. So while I try to not eat before our breakfast together on Sundays, I used the scoop to indulge my palate with a few pieces of this sugary popped goodness. It’s recovery day, so why not, and when 830am rolled around I headed towards the Green Room to meet up with Jon before he hit the stage for the day.
The breakfast spread stays relatively routine in this space on Sundays, so I grab my bowl and my packet of Cinnamon Spice Oatmeal, add water, pop it in the microwave then grab my boiled egg and apple. Simple breakfast that satisfies many of the food groups and gives me fuel for the morning. After the first gathering ends, you can find me serving alongside our women’s ministry team sorting donated clothes that we turnaround for a ladies event at the beginning of the year. The band starts playing for gathering number two and I hit the kitchen for lunch. I grab a turkey and veggie half sub (that I turned into a salad) with fruit and some of that popcorn that was still standing stout and chatted with one of my friends while we ate. Things are smooth sailings it seems. However, this is when the rails start to come off and the spiral branches around for the first time. I got caught in a conversation with one of my friends and started popping the chips on the counter left and right. SALT. I headed back for another round of popcorn, two and a half more rounds to be exact. SALT & SUGAR. The cookies looked good so I had one of those also. My mind starts spinning in ugly ways.
As the gathering started to wrap up I slipped back into the green room to wait for Jon so we could head home to let the dogs out before having to be back to play for the 5pm gathering. The mini brownies looked enticing so I had a few. I wasn’t hungry, my body was telling me to hold off, but I wasn’t listening. The combination of my craving of sugar and salt with the anxiety that was starting to grip my mind was a huge gust of resistance.
After the trip home to let the dogs out, give them a bath, and clean their towels (we have an extra dog with us right now – so three dogs grows dirt at an infinite rate so you find time where you can) we headed back to the church, I had started to beat myself up while knowing it wasn’t the end of the world. The anxiety was just too high so I sat down with one of my friends to grab the quinoa salad, pita with tzatiki, and a chicken skewer with roasted veggies. And to that you might say “but that’s healthy”. Correct. The two jumbo cookies that happened after that – not so much. At this point I’m getting jittery and my body is screaming at me, my mind is a jumbled mess and I’m downing water like I just ran a full marathon to try to hush the pandemic that is happening inside my body.
Cue the after party. I thought we could escape it, I really did. Our church is so wonderful to do seasonal after party’s after our last gathering on Sundays so this one was themed fall which in turn required every pumpkin spice pastry to be present. I thought I was strong enough, but I had been fighting this war inside my mind and body all day ALONE, when I should have realized it was just TOO much. So more caramel popcorn, pumpkin spice coated pretzels, and two Krispy Kreme Doughnuts.
The spiral was and is devastating even as I sit here typing the next day, water bottle in hand to flush the toxins out, because the progress is a beautiful story. I am in a healthy weight range, and even with this medicine causing some side effects there had been balance. Crushed, Disappointed. Isolated. So then God and I usually have some form of communication at this point – and this time it was that of defeat and the question of why?
So what’s the point of writing all of this out? Because through the mental anguish, being sick to my stomach for the past 12 hours, and the feeling of absolute failure I’m learning so much. He’s faithful to do it, always faithful. My excessively independent personality still needs help, and I have to be reminded that I have to ask for that help BEFORE I crash. I’m learning that recovery is not a poof moment. I thought when I got to my goal weight that things would just magically even out and we would move on, that hasn’t been the case and I’m thankful for those that are consistently moving through the steps whether backwards, forwards or twirling around. I’m also always reminded that my body doesn’t do well with gluten, that ones for free ya’ll.
Most importantly though, through the last 24-36 hours I’m learning that brokenness and struggles aren’t the enemy, it’s giving into the lies of handling them in an unhealthy state that is. The enemy wants to isolate, scheme, and do anything he can to derail you. So while he was able to gain a small victory over my mind yesterday (and admitting that is scary and hard), the confidence that he absolutely WILL NOT win the war is just that much stronger.
Let a hard day be fuel in your fire to move towards better, towards healthy, towards Jesus.
Always here to talk!