By Jennifer Rotola:
a former patient sharing her insights, feelings and thoughts on Recovery.
For the workaholic who is rigid in her schedule, the control freak, the girl who doesn't like change or flexibility because things are "just fine the way they are" and, of course, manageable, how do you think it feels to sit in a closet-sized office and be told to go home, pack a bag for a week, and be back to the hospital in an hour?
I'll tell you how it felt. It felt scary as hell. It felt like a shortage in air supply. It felt like life, and any power I had, was taken from my hands in a split second. Little did I know, the "life" I thought was taken away, was actually not much of a life at all. There's a difference between life and existing. I was just existing.
My relationship with ED began when I was in college. I decided I needed to break up with my boyfriend and "find myself". Looking for myself, I found ED. I didn't expect to develop such a deep relationship, nor did I think it would be the hardest thing to break up with. The distorted and unhealthy relationship that developed helped me cope with the real stuff.
As long as I was numb, I was fine, I was healthy, and I knew what I was doing. Wrong. My mom once asked "where's the sweet girl I used to know?" I see now that I let pent up hurt, anger, and fear actually become me. And although I was in denial, it showed
I realized I had a problem, but for a long time I thought I could "fix it" myself. I didn't want to ask for help because "I really wasn't that sick" so I definitely didn't deserve it. I especially didn't want the attention. Maybe I just didn't want to believe any of it was the reality I was facing. I thought I could manage my life with my eating disorder; I could keep it as long as I made myself and everyone else believe everything was fine.
I thought I became really good at this, but honestly, trying to balance ED and a life is more draining than any activity I've done. I became exhausted. Bad days became more frequent, to the point where I couldn't keep picking myself up. It was like I was running a race that had no end, and I could never reach good enough.
When I decided to pack a bag and go back to RWJ that day, that's when I surrendered. I could say my family made me do it, but It was ultimately my choice. I wanted my life back...for me.
At the time, the scariest part for me was feeling like I was letting people down. From the outside, I had my shit together. I grew up with a mother who taught me all about independence. Like many other things, I took it to the extreme.
I went to school, worked my ass off, traveled, and bought a home all the while thinking that getting to this point would bring me happiness. Wrong again. I asked myself, if I got this far, am I a failure now for asking for help? Is there something wrong with me that I can't get better on my own?
It's not easy to ask for help, but it's very okay to, and it's one of the best things I've done for myself. I found the courage to give up control. Working with a team at RWJ has taught me that it's ok to let my guard down, to trust, and to try a different way. I learned how to assert myself and, most importantly, that I have a voice, and that my voice matters.
Support, structure, and self-discovery, have been major themes in my recovery. The journey has by no means been a smooth one, and that's fine. There has been a lot of hard work, tears, and laughter with my therapist, group support, the support of my family and friends, multiple doctor visits, journaling, reading, and more. What matters is I'm not willing to go back to the place I once was.
I've found that the real Jenn is actually the same Jenn I knew years before ED was ever in the picture. And I've come to realize that "fixing" myself wasn't what I needed to do. What I needed all along was to love myself.