The good in pain

I've received some food for thought over the past few days. Whether through a new podcast or conversations with my aunt. All of them carried the same core message with different words and colors: "Everything has its purpose" or even more so, "In everything seemingly bad, there's something good."

The last time I heard this sentence explicitly was from my mentor.

As I think about this and write, resistance spreads within me. A resistance to accepting this wisdom that I've already found to be true multiple times. And I know exactly why.

Looking back, it's always easier to acknowledge how a difficult time could lead to something good. Like how my rock bottom in Norway led to therapy, and how I would describe therapy as one of the most important milestones in my life.

But in that moment back then in Norway, when I admitted to myself – what felt more like I had to admit – it felt like the end of the world. Like failure, like being broken and weak.

Of course, there was hope that things would get better. But being grateful that this "happened" to me, I couldn't do that in the moment. I couldn't even accept it.

With more distance and my maturation process, I eventually managed to look at this chapter with more benevolent eyes. I recognized that everything was good as it was. But only in retrospect.

And now I find myself acutely in a phase of my life again where I wasn't happy and sometimes still aren't. Where I judge myself for having gained weight. Where I don't want to acknowledge that all of this was already okay. That I went through a lot in the past 12 months. That I actually remained remarkably functional and all areas except eating continued normally, despite the circumstances. After all, I emigrated, had to cope with a breakup, and had to redefine myself. And I handled all of this really well.

And as I write this, tears well up in me. Because now on vacation – with some peace – I finally manage to pat myself on the shoulder and honestly say to myself: "I did that well.

I'm proud of how I handled all of this. I'm proud that I had the strength to break up.

And yes, I feel all of this even though I've gained weight.

It's okay.

Maybe it's not how I would have chosen it for myself. I would never have wished this on myself or anyone else. But in the end, it's good as it is now.

And when I think more carefully about what I can and may be grateful for right now, and ask myself the question: "What's good about having binge episodes again and sometimes still having them, and about having gained weight?", then I noticed last night that the binge episodes that started in June/July and kept getting stronger were my signal that something wasn't right. They were my compass that showed me I had gotten off course and that I was living in a routine and a relationship that didn't make me happy.

I'm so grateful that I recognized I needed a change. That I recognized my relationship was no longer good for me and that I couldn't continue like this.

And even though the binge episodes didn't stop after the relationship ended, I know that this too has its reasons. That this was due to all the fears I tried to nip in the bud. Was it the right decision to break up? Was it right to emigrate? All these thoughts and (natural) doubts I wanted to avoid.

And now I even recognize that through my last – apparently successful – diet in May, June, July, I started tying my entire self-worth to my figure and athletic achievements again.

And this showed me that I still need to heal. That the things I discussed in therapy back then had been forgotten again. That I no longer paused and considered: "What do I actually want? Am I happy? Am I living the life I want, or am I living in an illusion?"

I stopped listening to the battle between my inner angel and devil. I let the devil grow and the angel wither.

But that's okay too.

If I had written a script about my life, I surely would have made it look different. I would have tried to spare myself all the pain and all the pounds. But in the end, life writes its own story, and I'm now – even without having lost weight – glad that everything is as it is.

And as I write this, I get emotional again because this exact sentence triggers so many feelings in me.

It feels like a great burden falling from my shoulders. It feels like I can finally stop fighting against the pounds, against the past months, and against myself. It feels like I can finally let go.

My mentor would be so proud of me.

I'm proud of myself.

Being proud of myself despite or precisely because everything is as it is triggers so much in me. I don't really know what to do with the tears and thoughts.

But they're positive tears. Yes, part of them is full of pain about the wounds and the past, but the larger part is full of relief and full of...

Gratitude?

I thought for a long time about which word describes what I want to say. Gratitude sounds quite good, but not quite perfect.

It's like when you always do the right thing at work and finally get the recognition "you deserve." And now the penny drops. Recognition. That's the word I was looking for.

My tears come from the feeling that I finally acknowledge what I've accomplished. That I finally see how much I've grown, and that I finally don't minimize all of this anymore just because I've gained weight. As if all of that were worth less just because I weigh more than last summer.

So yes. I'm grateful for the past months.

And yes, I see the good in the binge episodes.

And yes, I choose to see the good in the binge episodes in the future too. They're my compass that shows me when I'm gradually losing access to myself again.

And even though I see the good in all of this, I'm still allowed to be dissatisfied with my body. I'm allowed to work on losing weight again. But I'm allowed to let go of the compulsion and hatred, and I'm allowed to ask myself how I would imagine my life if I were already slim now?

I did this exercise from a podcast yesterday. More precisely, I asked myself three questions:

1. What do I NOT want to give up?
2. What can I EASILY give up?
3. What is realistic?

These questions helped me recognize that my diet life often looked very different from the life I "deserved" when I reached my goal. And somehow it's quite clear then that I eventually overcompensated for these restrictions through binge episodes.

To 1) I don't want to give up bread. Or ice cream now on vacation.

To 2) During the week I can easily live without breakfast. But I definitely want to have breakfast on weekends.

To 3) I don't want to meal prep forever, but eat lunch in the cafeteria.

And I definitely don't want to give up social events because they don't fit into the diet plan.

I could go on, but it's more about the principle for me. I'm allowed to live how I want already now. Even if I'm not at my goal. Because being alive is the goal, and a healthy body should serve to help me live as long as possible.

And of course, thoughts about food keep coming up. This morning in bed, for example. I thought about those chocolate cornflakes (cereal I associate with childhood). I wanted to eat them for breakfast, but I also know they're rather unhealthy and I'd probably feel bad afterward. Not eating them didn't appeal to me either. That would mean another restriction.

I briefly thought about yesterday's exercise and came to a middle ground. I start with something healthy like scrambled eggs or yogurt and make myself a small bowl of chocolate cornflakes to finish. This way I don't forbid them and don't feel bad because I didn't eat anything really nutritious.

And this probably sounds quite logical and obvious now, but for me it just isn't. Rationally speaking, yes, but emotionally speaking, it's a whole new world. A world without restrictions, diets, and self-hatred.

And I'm sure I wouldn't have (re)discovered this world if I hadn't had binge episodes. I wouldn't have had these thoughts if I had managed to control it again after 1-2 months. Because then it probably would have been more suppression than the processing and questioning I'm doing now.

And yes, I'm grateful for that.

That's the good in the pounds. And the pain I still feel from time to time.