Bulimia (Or Something Like It): My Relationship With Food and My Body (Revisited) #AtoZChallenge

Posted on by Astrid

Hi all and welcome to my letter B post in the #AtoZChallenge. Today, I’d like to share a more personal piece and describe my history of disordered eating and body image issues. After publishing this post, I saw I did a post on this topic in 2019 too.

I first started struggling with a negative body image when I was about thirteen. I remember writing stupidly specific worries in my diary about food and my weight, such as whether the nails I’d bitten off would cause me to gain weight. All the while, I didn’t realize that I was, in fact, pretty close to overweight if not overweight already from consuming enormous quantities of candy on weekends and daily sausage rolls at the school cafeteria.

I was lucky that I never became significantly overweight until around age 25. By that time, I had developed something at least bordering on bulimia: I ate a full 500g bag of candy, sometimes more, in one ten-minute sitting at least three times a week. I also purged, although I did that after regular meals as much as after bingeing.

In the six years that followed, I gained over 20kg in weight and, by the time I was kicked out of the psych hospital to live with my spouse in 2017, I weighed 80kg. At my height of 1.53m, this is quite far in the obese range.

Yet my body image wasn’t as much of a concern to me at the time. Yes, I hated the way I looked, but at the same time I was too careless and unmotivated to change my habits. I had stopped purging for the most part by the time I moved in with my spouse, although I still occasionally did it as a form of emotion regulation.

Now, I’ve been at a healthy weight for about a year. Don’t ask me how I got here, as honestly I don’t really know. I mean, yes, I’ve been supported by a dietitian since early 2022, but honestly I can’t quite say I follow her advice. I mean, okay, I no longer binge due to my food being locked away, but I do snack on “bad” foods all the time.

My body image, honestly, is still as screwed as it always was. I still swing between underestimating and overestimating my size, between hating my body and not caring about it. I still purge occasionally, though not really out of a wish to lose weight, but more out of a need to self-regulate.

Looking back, I don’t think I ever had a genuine eating disorder. I mean, I might’ve at one point met the criteria for binge eating disorder, but I’m not so sure about that. I think my disordered eating is really more a symptom of my emotion regulation difficulties.

March 2024 Reflections #WBOYC

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. It’s the end of the month, so it’s time for my monthly reflections. As usual, I’m joining #WBOYC.

This month was really tough. I started it with second-degree burns all over my left upper leg because of a self-harm incident the night of February 29. Thankfully, the wounds have completely healed, though last Tuesday, a staff who doesn’t come here regularly and hence saw my leg for the first time since it had happened, was a bit shocked anyway.

I have now been on my lower dose of Abilify, my antipsychotic, for a full month too, since I started that on March 1. I told my support coordinator that, for now, I’d like to remain on this dose and not go down further, even though it’s definitely not an ideal dose. Honestly, right now, I’m pretty sure it’s the least ideal dose I could be on, as I’m still experiencing daytime sleepiness but also significantly increased irritability. However, I don’t want to go back to my old dosage, which was causing more sleepiness, and I fear I might become unmanageable on a lower dose. We will re-evaluate in a month. Let’s hope the increased irritability is temporary.

Like I mentioned a few times over the past month, there was this horrible compensatory system, by which every minute I’d come out of my unsupported time in distress would have to be compensated for. It has caused me intense distress and was eventually revoked. However, I’m nowhere near my old self. Then again, my “old self” was lying in bed far too much.

Today, I got more bad news: my support coordinator is leaving in mid-April. I don’t know the other support coordinator, who will temporarily be coordinating the care for both sides of the home until a new support coordinator has been found and trained, that well, but she sounds okay. I do feel relieved that I’m no longer solely dependent on my male assigned staff but have a female one too. Okay, she only works one or two days a week, but at least she’s there.

Over the past week, the only positive I can report is that I’ve been able to walk more and, as a result, close all of my activity rings on my Apple Watch each day.

I didn’t create that much out of polymer clay. Honestly, the only thing I can think of having created this past month is an orange unicorn that I didn’t even feel like photographing. I tried my hand at earrings once, but ended up incorrectly explaining to my staff how to drill the hole into them, so I threw those away.

I did cook macaroni for my fellow clients once. I also went to the day center’s tiny gym room, but that was stupid. It only had strength training equipment other than a broken stationary bike and the strength training equipment couldn’t be adjusted.

I did read a lot, mostly children’s books about unicorns. I started in the Unicorn Academy series, which I love but unfortunately isn’t on Bookshare. I’m still debating whether I want to actually buy more of the series. I also have been reading foster care memoirs.

I only posted eight blog posts (I think), including this one. I will, however, aim to participate in the #AtoZChallenge in April. I don’t have a theme, but will go with random reflections. And yes, I have a topic picked for the letter X, in case that’s going to cause me to quit yet again.

My First Airplane Trip

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. A lot is still on my mind, but today, I’d like to write a lighthearted post. Thanks to John Holton, who provides the Writer’s Workshop prompts, I now have several ideas. One is to write about my first airplane trip. Let me share.

My first airplane trip was also my first trip abroad and my first vacation without my parents. It was a trip from Schiphol (Amsterdam) airport to Moscow on August 4, 2000. I was flying Aeroflot, a relatively okay Russian airline. Still, everyone clapped when the airplane landed successfully, something I recently found out stopped in the 1970s with Western airlines.

One thing I remember quite distinctly is the horrible pain in my ears and head in general during takeoff and landing. I haven’t flown in years, but the memories came back when my spouse reminded me about it, having had a similar experience on a recent airplane trip. Honestly, I can’t imagine people actually taking pictures while the plane is taking off or coming down.

I still did have a tiny amount of vision back in 2000, so remember looking at the clouds once the aircraft had fully risen.

I also to this day remember the film playing in the airplane. Not that I could understand any part of it, as it was in Russian, but my fellow travelers explained to me that it was called something like “I want to go to prison”. The plot revolved around a Russian character who had heard that, in Dutch prisons, inmates get their own TV etc. (something that isn’t exactly true, by the way), so he wanted to flee to the Netherlands even if it meant going to prison. I bet nowadays this film wouldn’t be considered appropriate.

“St. Nick, I’m Stuck!”

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Sorry for not having touched the blog for nearly a week. I’ve been struggling once again. However, today I feel in an okay place mentally at least, so I thought I’d join in with John Holton’s Writer’s Workshop. One of the prompts is to share when you learned that Santa/the Easter bunny/the tooth fairy was your parents.

I’ll have to talk about St. Nicholas rather than any of the others here, because that’s what we celebrate most here in the Netherlands. St. Nicholas is like Santa, except he has helpers called Peters. They used to be black, but now they come in every color or with black streaks across their faces (from creeping through chimneys to deliver presents) because the concept of Black Peter is racist.

I was eight the last year when I still believed in St. Nick. This was 1994. As the legend goes, St. Nick and his Peters would ride over the rooftops on a white horse and maybe they’d descend through the chimney to deliver presents.

That year, on the evening of December 5, my parents, sister and I were having dinner when we heard noise coming from the roof. We didn’t have a chimney, but I was still too clueless to think about that. “St. Nick, help, I’m stuck!” We went looking for where the sound came from and saw that there were presents in the loft under the staircase.

Eight is a fairly old age to still believe in St. Nick. In fact, I’d been packaging St. Nicholas presents for my teachers for several years by then. By the year after this, when literally everyone my age had stopped believing, my father spoiled the beans for me: he came to me with a cassette tape, put it in the player and there it was: “St. Nick, help, I’m stuck!” It was his own voice, slightly distorted. By that time, I knew for sure that St. Nicholas was my parents.

February 2024 Reflections #WBOYC

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. I’m sharing this past month’s reflections again, as it’s the last day of the month. February is often a hard month for me and this year was no exception. I honestly feel quite hopeless as I write this post, even though I probably should be feeling cautiously optimistic. Let’s dive in. As usual, I’m linking up with #WBOYC.

During the first few weeks of the month, I shared some more concretely about things I wish would change about my care here at my current care home, only to be told nothing will change until after the summer at least. This caused me quite a bit of despair, honestly.

The contrast couldn’t be greater when I did experience exactly one near-perfect day last week and saw nothing about it in the staff’s records. When telling my staff about this, I got advised that maybe reading the log notes might not be a good idea after all. WTF?

It also looks like my staff are using my current mistrust, and the fact that I’ll likely develop trust in my staff very slowly, as an excuse not to have to improve my care. After all, yesterday my assigned staff said my level of trust is currently zero so any improvement is to be celebrated when I was calling him out on ways in which he and his coworkers are expecting too much of me.

Today, I had the intake interview for therapy at my care agency’s practice. I probably portrayed myself as an attention-seeking, childish, purposefully-dependent monster. The therapist who asked me the questions (there were two in the room, plus my home’s behavior specialist), kept repeating how feeling isn’t dangerous.

At one point, I was talking about how I sometimes trigger myself by looking up idealized care situations. She was like: “But you don’t need full-time one-on-one.”. I know. Then she went on to tell me that sometimes she feels bored and lonely when she’s at home alone, but nothing bad happens so she can stay home alone. She also told me I’m an adult. This somehow majorly triggered me and now I feel bad for being triggered because doesn’t that prove my former psychologist’s point of view? You know, the one who diagnosed me with dependent personality disorder and told me I needed a good kick in the behind to live independently?

Yet things did happen. I dropped my meds. I dropped glass on the floor. I fell of a kitchen stool. The housing association came by and told me I needed to pull away the weeds out of my backdoor path. And a thousand other things. None of these are serious things, except that I had no idea how to handle them so spiraled into panic. And there’s no point teaching me how to handle every tiny little situation that could go wrong. And for the record, sitting with the feelings won’t solve the problems either. Calling for help rather than spiraling into panic might have, but that didn’t seem to be her point. Besides, I cannot do that when I’m in a panic.

She did say that she doesn’t make decisions about my independence, but I feel very strongly like I am being asked to be the strong, independent, intellectual part of myself again.

The therapists ended up recommending a form of play therapy, but the play therapist who comes to the main institution is male and I’ll be alone with him. That’s not an option for me, honestly. They are going to look into finding me a female therapist. I hope they will, as the rest of what they recommended, though I did agree to go forward with it and have my first appt on April 3, seems a bit off. They recommended psychoeducation on emotions, which seemed to me a bit like dialectical behavior therapy light (I’d mentioned I’d done DBT unsuccessfully). They’ll also help me identify my triggers and make a timeline of significant life events or something. I’m not sure what relevance that would have, but oh well.

Currently, I’m trying to talk myself into being positive. This care home clearly won’t improve, so either I improve or my life stays the same. Which is mediocre. I do have my good days, but I’m pretty sure the staff are going to agree at the next team meeting that the staff’s less optimal care approach should be the default.

On my good days this past month, I did craft some earrings, a polymer clay unicorn and bird’s nest, as well as make delicious homemade chocolate fudge. This was awesome!

The Downside of Praise

Posted on by Astrid

As a child, I was often praised excessively for my achievements. I remember one day, when I did calendar calculation at a family get-together, calculating what day of the week May 3, 1327 (for example), was, my mother exclaimed: “She’s sublime, she’s a genius!” For those who don’t know, many autistic or otherwise developmentally disabled people, including those with lower measured IQs, have this skill as what is stereotypically called a “splinter skill”. Now don’t get me started on the ableism of the term “splinter skill” when applied to people with lower measured IQs, but calendar calculation alone definitely doesn’t make someone, anyone, a genius.

And just so you know, it’s incredibly counterproductive to praise a person for who they are rather than what they do. It is usually better to praise someone for their achievements by naming those achievements as well done rather than praising the person themself. Moreover, any excessive praise, even if you say “you did an awesome job calendar calculating”, can be taken the wrong way.

Besides, many people feel they are praised for something that doesn’t reflect their personal values. For example, when I am praised for completing a personal care task, all I see is pressure to be able to do it independently the next time too. When, however, I am praised for creating something nice out of polymer clay, for my writing or the like, I feel like I’m valued for my contribution to the world.

There is, or so I’ve read, some school of thought that says any praise, whether person-centered or accomplishment-based, should be avoided by parents or carers. This doesn’t mean parents or carers should completely ignore their child’s achievements. Rather, simply pointing them out and engaging with the child about their achievements, will, according to these people, help the child develop a healthy sense of self. Honestly, I am inclined to agree with this.

What, When, Where, With Whom and What After That?

Posted on by Astrid

I have been struggling with staff randomly switching up who will support me, my day schedule being changed for various reasons, etc., a lot lately. This causes me a lot of stress. Like regular readers of this blog may know, I have about eight hours of one-on-one support a day, divided into blocks between 8:15AM and 9:30PM. Between my support moments, I have unsupported time slots that range in length between 30 and 45 minutes.

I often struggle with my unsupported time, looking at my watch every few minutes to see whether my support staff will be coming yet. I also look at my watch a lot during my supported times, because I dread the moment my staff unexpectedly say they’re leaving.

Last night, I thought up a way to possibly solve this issue: to organize my day schedule more by activity. We need to watch out this doesn’t become the stupidly vague day schedule my former support coordinator at the intensive support home gave me. After all, when the day schedule says that we’re going for a walk and doesn’t specify how long that walk will be and there are absolutely no timeframes related to the activity, some staff will take me for a three-minute walk around the home while others will take me for an hour-long walk. Then, if after the walk I’m supposed to have unsupported time until lunchtime, the length of my unsupported time could range anywhere from like 30 minutes to nearly an hour and a half. This was actually what my day schedule back at th e intensive support home was like.

What I’d like instead, is to know what, when, where, with whom and what after that. To put it more concretely, I’d like to discuss during my morning routine who will be supporting me for the rest of the morning shift (and after handover for the evening shift), what we’ll do, including what I’ll do during my unsupported times, and to put those activities on a tactile “picture” board (with Braille instead of pictures). I think knowing what I’ll do during my unsupported times will lessen the number of times I look at my watch too. It also will mean I know who’ll support me for my activities, so that I know whether I feel comfortable with them doing certain activities with me or not.

I’m pretty sure this is all wishful thinking. One of the staff, who happens to be one of my “favorites”, didn’t think it was a bad idea. Then again, my assigned staff said I was lucky that I heard 25 minutes in advance that he was going to be there for my early afternoon activity, because his shift doesn’t start till fifteen minutes before that activity starts and if it was up to him his morning shift colleague would’ve conferred with him prior to telling me that he was coming. That would mean I’d get at best ten minutes notice. According to my assigned staff, no-one specified how much preparation time I need, so technically speaking five minutes should be enough. I think that’s rather, well, literal-minded at best and purposefully twisting the truth at worst.

This post was a rather long contribution to this week’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday, for which the prompt today is “watch”. I usually don’t write pieces that are this lengthy and in fact struggled to maintain stream-of-consciousness style.

January 2024 Reflections #WBOYC

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. It’s the last day of January, so I’m reflecting back on the past month. This month was rather eventful but slow-going at the same time. Christmas sounds like centuries ago. As usual, for my monthly reflections, I’m linking up with What’s Been on Your Calendar? (#WBOYC).

The month started out rather positively with me being full of energy, new hope and inspiration. Indeed, I did create some cool new polymer clay things over the past month, including a Valentine’s frog. That one now stands on a Valentine’s Day-themed (well, kind of) table in the living room of the other side of the home.

Polymer Clay Valentines Day Frog

I also crafted the cat I showed you all earlier, a penguin, a rabbit and a few things that I might be turning into earrings at some point.

Last week, I also cooked rice and chicken for myself and my fellow residents. This was great.

Early in the month, I didn’t have many visitors due to various circumstances, but thankfully I was able to see my spouse twice this month anyway. I also saw my mother-in-law twice, on the 16th because it was every-other-Tuesday (we’d skipped the 2nd because I was sick) and last Monday because I had my care plan review.

This care plan review probably warrants its own post, since it was a lot to process. Midway through the month some issues that I’ve been having with my assigned staff, that I can’t go into here, came to a point where I was greatly struggling too. This and some other things, including the fact that I frankly don’t do as well with male staff as I do with female staff, have led me to request another assigned staff. Whether this can happen, I’m not yet sure of, but I hope so. Thankfully, I do have my support coordinator, with whom I do get along.

A week and a half ago, she and I finally finished my new crisis signaling plan. This has yet to be brought under the attention of all staff and even then, staff have to be willing to follow it.

Last week, a staff not being willing to follow this plan, led to me having a massive meltdown. More specifically, I spiraled out of control because the staff assigned me a temp worker for the late shift, while that entire day there were no staff I sort of trust except for one and she, contrary to what’s in my plan, refused to come over for just five minutes. I was a horrible person to her and the other staff and there’s no justifying that, but it’s sad to realize that her coming over for just five minutes might’ve prevented an evening-long meltdown.

Over the past week, I’ve generally been struggling with all the staff changes, changes to my one-on-one for various reasons and general chaos. I feel, truthfully, like I’m swimming in the North Sea again, as I explained it at my care plan review. The way I explained it then, when I was in Raalte in late 2021, it was like swimming at the shallow end of the pool as far as support went. And, while, like every toddler that needs to learn to swim having their days when they resist the water, I had my bad days, they weren’t due to poor support. Then, the first male staff and, later, some temp workers were introduced to me and I had to endure the odd day when I didn’t get my allocated one-on-one. I struggled massively with this challenge and this was the main reason I decided to move. Then, at the intensive support home, I was thrown right into the Pacific Ocean: a day schedule that was rather stupid, constant staff changes, me always being assigned the new temp worker, etc. Now, on good days, I feel like I’m swimming in a calm lake and, on bad days, I feel like I’m swimming in the North Sea. And then there are those really good days when I feel like I’m back in the pool. Those are the days I’m supported by my “favorites”, as my assigned staff calls them. And just so you know, just because I survived my previous home, doesn’t mean I coped or can cope with the current chaos of my home. Yes, it’s better than it was, but that doesn’t mean it’s good. I try to be understanding of the fact that everyone faces staff shortages, temp workers, etc., but honestly, listening to all the “everyone has to give a little” wears me down.

Ways In Which I Was Not a Typical Teenager

Posted on by Astrid

Hi everyone. Today’s Word of the Day Challenge is “Teenager”. This reminded me of a question a fellow blogger, I think it was Emilia from My Inner MishMash, once asked: in what ways we were not like a typical teenager.

This post could have been a lot shorter had I had to answer in which ways I was like a typical teenager. After all, I wasn’t like a typical teenager in any way. That doesn’t mean I didn’t try. Like, I pretended to be a Backstreet Boys fan even though I knew next to nothing about them and had hardly heard their music. I also pretended to have crushes on boys (and girls) even though I hardly knew them and quite frankly didn’t understand attraction.

I tried going to school proms the first few times in high school, but didn’t fit in at all. I also tried wearing what other girls my age wore. My mother asked my younger sister for advice when clothes shopping for me. However, somehow I always missed the mark. I couldn’t wear makeup nor was I interested in it.

With respect to interests, I have no idea what teenagers in the early 2000s were into. I did read what I assume was somewhat popular Dutch YA fiction, but had no friends so couldn’t discuss it with them.

With respect to socially appropriate behaviors, I was way off. Still am. I didn’t know how to take care of my personal hygiene, for example. I remember my sister gave me a deodorant as a birthday present when I turned fourteen, but I didn’t get the hint. Months later, when my teacher reminded me about hygiene because my classmates had been complaining, I still had no clue what an appropriate bathing and personal hygiene routine was.

Back in the day, most teenagers drank alcohol. I tried wine at home when I was fifteen (the legal age for alcohol consumption was sixteen at the time). When I was sixteen, I went out to a pub with a few classmates. I had two beers, the most alcohol I’ve ever had in a single sitting. Later that evening, a guy we were with from another school offered me and another girl in my class some pot, which we accepted. Since I hadn’t smoked beyond a whiff here and there, I probably didn’t inhale anything, as the stuff didn’t have any effect on me whatsoever.

Where it comes to Internet and social media usage, I was probably a rather naive teenager. I wrote posts like this one about my current rather than past life in my public online diary using my full name (I do think it’s still on this blog somewhere too). Not only did I not take my own privacy seriously, but I used teachers’ and other people’s full names when writing about them too. I’m so happy none have ever made a serious problem out of it and I also haven’t been the victim of online predators. That being said, I wasn’t one to make obscene comments, like some other people my age did back in the day using their full name. I would also panic when I accidentally clicked on something that might be unsuitable for minors.

In summary, in many ways, I was like a child in a teenage body. I still often feel like a child in an adult body, truthfully.

Finding My Crafty Tribe #JusJoJan

Posted on by Astrid

I first started out crafting as an adult in 2012. Back then, it was card making. Well, let me tell you, picking that craft wasn’t the wisest choice I could’ve made. I’m not saying blind people cannot do card making per se, but I for one could not. And, even though at first I was supported in the process by my fellow card makers in what were then still E-mail groups, criticism quickly grew.

Then came jewelry-making. Same thing really. Though I can string together a basic necklace or bracelet and I don’t need kid-level beads for it, I never moved beyond that. I did make the wise choice of not participating in swaps or the like, like I had done with card making.

For a while, I participated in the trend of rainbow looming. Remember that? It’s so 2015!

Then came soap making. Though I can create a simple melt and pour soap, the fun really disappeared quickly because I never moved beyond that and the only thing I can experiment with are different scents.

And then – after a few steps along the way that I decided to skip for brevity’s sake – came polymer clay. Though I am still a beginner at that too despite having worked with the medium for 2 1/2 years and will most likely never move beyond beginner stage, I feel more like this is a medium in which I can use my creativity. Much like with card making originally, it’s a very versatile medium even for total novices.

Within the polymer clay community, I do have my tribe that I stick to. For example, there’s the Dutch polymer clay Facebook group, in which most members and all admins are incredibly supportive of me and my work. In February of 2023, I helped think up the theme for the monthly challenge. It became “unicorns”, of course, which was probably a little too narrow, as I was the only one who ended up participating. However, I do love the fact that the other members do consider me a valued contributor to the group.

This post was written for #JusJoJan, for which the prompt today, coming from me, is “craft”.