- K.D. Lang, “Hungry Bird”

I have accumulated understanding, knowledge, and experience for the treatment of eating disorders, self-injury, and compulsive shopping in a conventional sense. I attended college and graduate school. I worked as a trainee and an intern. I studied for and passed my exams. I collect continuing education hours. I have been supervised, and I consult with those who’ve worked longer than me, colleagues I admire and whose thinking I align with. However, my greatest education derives not from a textbook or the latest Psychology Today issue; it is born in the room with those individuals who have called me their therapist.

From each person who talks with me, openly, candidly, resistantly, and fearfully, I am taught about hunger. Hunger is physical. Hunger is emotional. Hunger is psychological. Hunger is biological. Hunger is incurable. It comes over and over and over again. Each person seeks satiation through the body, because how else would it be done? Hunger cannot be sated by a thought. I have been told this repeatedly in so many different words and through so many stories about people trying to find their way, understand their defenses and why they self-sabotage. Perhaps just the use of words, finding the meaning for the hunger, however it exists within oneself, is just part of the process. A quick fix just doesn’t seem to fill the void, remove the dreaded hunger, or end the battle, once and for all. Accepting the hunger, feeling and knowing that it will exist, that it must exist, is so very important.

But this is different than maintaining an allegiance to hunger. Sustaining a loyalty to hunger can result in deprivation emotionally, psychologically, physically, and spiritually. I am not only alluding to restricting food; I am addressing the deeper thread that weaves through hunger diseases and infects a person’s whole way of being, with food and with love, with people and with words. In my quest to write blogs that emphasize the significance of finding words, I was fortunate to discover Louis Gluck when I was reading Going Hungry: Writers on Desire, Self-Denial, and Overcoming Anorexia. Her essay, “Education of the Poet,” describes her struggle with anorexia. I later read Gregory Orr’s book, Poetry as Survival, in which Orr wrote that if he had had an eating disorder, he would want to read “Dedication to Hunger” by Louise Gluck, because he would feel understood, held, by her words.

With respect and with inspiration to discover our words, I offer, Louise Gluck’s
“Dedication To Hunger.”

1.  From The Suburbs
They cross the yard
And at the back door
The mother sees with pleasure
How alike they are, father and daughter -
I know something of that time.
The little girl purposefully
Swinging her arms, laughing
Her stark laugh.

It should be kept secret, that sound.
It means she’s realized
That he never touches her.
She is a child; he could touch her
If he wanted to.

2.  Grandmother

“Often I would stand at the window-
Your grandfather
Was a young man then-
Waiting, in the early evening.”
That is what marriage is.
I watch the tiny figure
Changing to a man
As he moves toward her,
The last light rings in his hair.
I do not question
Their happiness. And he rushes in
With his young man’s hunger,
So proud to have taught her that:
His kiss would have been
Clearly tender-

Of course, of course. Except
It might as well have been
His hand over her mouth.

3.  Eros

To be male, always
To go to women
And be taken back
Into the pierced flesh:

I suppose
Memory is stirred.
And the girl child who wills herself
Into her fathers arms
Likewise loved him
Second. Nor is she told what need to express.
There is a look one sees,
The mouth somehow desperate-

Because the bond
Cannot be proven.

4.  The Deviation

It begins quietly
In certain female children:
The fear of death, taking as its form
Dedication to hunger,
Because a woman’s body
Is a grave; it will accept
Anything. I remember
Lying in bed at night
Touching the soft, digressive breasts,
Touching, at fifteen,
The interfering flesh
That I would sacrifice
Until the limbs were free
Of blossom and subterfuge: I felt
What I feel now, aligning these words-
It is the same need to perfect,
Of which death is the mere byproduct.

5.  Sacred Objects

Today in the field I saw
The hard, active buds of the dogwood
And wanted, as we say, to capture them,
To make them eternal. That is the premise
Of renunciation: the child,
Having no self to speak of
Comes to life in denial-

I stood apart in that achievement,
In that power to expose
The underlying body, like a god
For whose deed
There is no parallel in the natural world.

“What is healing, but a shift in perspective?”
Mark Doty, Heaven’s Coast

Resolutions tend to go hand in hand with the New Year. To many, this concept can feel refreshing and invigorating:  wipe the slate clean, start fresh, and embark on the New Year with intention. I’m a strong believer in the possibility for change. I also believe that change is a process and that making resolutions is a part of the process. Yet, all too often we swear ourselves to resolutions only to find ourselves in an all-or-nothing mentality. Either we strictly stick to our self-imposed guidelines, or we tumble wildly off the wagon.

The trouble with resolutions comes with our unwavering standards and adherence to extremes.  When we don’t keep to a resolution exactly or fail to abide by a firm decision to do something, we often throw the whole thing away. We indulge in self-shame. We give up.

I have found that this black-and-white thinking and all-or-nothing behavior is at the core of eating disorders, self-injury, and compulsive shopping, as well as diets. Making resolutions is similar to starting therapy: “ I want to stop… bingeing and purging, overshopping, etc.” Yet, when the change doesn’t come swiftly, frustration and demoralization hit. We may then fall hard into old, destructive habits and a dark, sadistic way of seeing ourselves.

The problem with dichotomous thinking is that it doesn’t consider the gray area that allows for the process of change. Chipping away at a bad habit, uncovering the purpose of a self-destructive tendency, and developing more adaptive and helpful ways of living are all advances that take place in the gray area.  And all of these pursuits have a place on our roads to recovery.

So, in thinking about a New Year’s resolution, I recommend spending some time in this more compassionate and introspective headspace. It may be worlds away from the land of extremes that you’re used to, but this gray area is a place that allows for consideration, failed attempts, and small successes. These building blocks create the foundation a person needs to achieve true change. Without a foundation, it is impossible to build anew, while keeping the lessons and strength we’ve established as part of the groundwork.

As columnist Eric Zorn wrote, “Making resolutions is a cleansing ritual of self-assessment and repentance that demands personal honesty and, ultimately, reinforces humility. Breaking them is part of the cycle.”

By shifting our attitude of extremes and accepting the bumps in the road, we can begin to accept ourselves as imperfect, yet worthy of admiration and, ultimately, worth the fight. With a calm interest and kindness, we can smooth the waves of highs and lows, and ride the tide toward our most personal victories and lasting change.

What will be your story now
today its something far inside
hurts your body close your eyes
and i’ll bring you back to here
you are my own sinking ship
Cause everyday the current shifts

-  Good Ole War, My Sinking Ship

Sometimes I can’t find the words to describe my inner rants when I read about body image in the media. Reminding me of “self esteem”, “body image” has become so watered down that it’s truest definition is miles from it’s overused meaning. Body image is not something you can wake up and change one morning because you have decided to either “accept” your body or “change” your body.  To alter your body image you would have to go far back in time, as if this were possible, and expunge the ways your primary care giver held you, touched you, gazed at you, fed you, soothed you, spoke to you, looked squarely at you or did none of these things at all. At best, your primary caregiver, and mine, was the good enough mirror to each of our twitches, cries, moans, gazes, smiles, frowns, and hungers. I write this because the development of body image parallels the sensorimotor development in our infant stage and our kinesthetic and tactile experiences are the first perceptions of our bodies, and, not surprisingly, the mouth is the principal area of pleasurable sensations. As our physical needs are met during infancy, we feel comforted and satisfied with our bodies. Messages conveyed by the caregivers reinforce these feelings. But what happens when our physical needs are not met completely and emptiness surfaces in our infant mind and or the messages directed toward our tiny selves deepen feelings of aloneness and fear?

Our body images are much more complex than a simple comparison to an advertisement in a magazine. However, I would assume that if I were to have already suffered early on from disfigured feelings about my body, I would be susceptible to readily compare myself to the ultimate ideals and quickly believe I do not measure up. It might not even be a conscious thought or develop into a disordered eating. I may just live thinking less about myself no matter who or what is around me.

How would I overcome this reduced idea about my body image should I attempt such a feat? Finding my words. I repeatedly bring this idea to the forefront of my postings because, in the words of Myra Shapiro, a poet and author, I too believe, “ Words hold the past, and we give them new strength, a new shape, by what we choose to remember, and the way we use them. We can redeem the past and how we live with it. A re-mattering.”

Simple. Words Matter. I end this post with the Velveteen Rabbit’s wisdom:

“You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

So now come sit down
Will you talk with me now?
Let me see through your eyes
Where there is so much life
We are biding our time
For these myths to unwind
These changes we will confront

- Xavier Rudd, Messages lyrics

A few weeks ago I attended a myth and memoir writing weekend workshop at UCLA and my head was full of words, some in sentences and others formed ideas and revelations. I thought, “ I have hundreds, if not thousands of blog topics to write about now!” and yet, since then I have not written a single word. Instead of attacking myself for not writing, I approached my new resistance with curiosity and inquiry. Perhaps I was tired from the two round trip drives from Santa Barbara to UCLA and sitting with my laptop in my lap was too reminiscent of driving my car, or maybe, the many words floating around in my mind needed to just float for awhile, just simmer, and eventually, boil over into something. So, here I am today, allowing the words to surface into the shape of a blog.

The memoir writing course was something I decided to do consciously for myself, personally, and then at the end, I realized it had so much more to do with how I approach my practice of therapy, my practice of life, and, most obviously to me now, how I have chosen to approach this blog, The Hunger On My Bones. The purpose of this blog is to enliven the story within us all, to find the words that make up our stories. I learned early in the workshop that writing a memoir is not writing an autobiography; rather, it is choosing amongst the many moments in life as an entry point to begin. It could be, according to my professor, “a pivotal moment in life” or by doing a guided imagery as she had us do, and then reawakening in the present to begin writing for 20 minutes holding the image left in mind as the starting point. We also studied the myth about Persephone, and at the end of the storytelling wrote for 30 minutes by attempting to apply any part of the myth and it’s structure to any time in our lives. These entry points were so fascinating to me because some of them were buried deep and were not necessarily what I would have thought to begin a story with. Nevertheless, each one brought me to myself, a story line within me that led to important and interesting insights about my life, and myself so far.

In sharing this experience with you, my blog readers, my hope is to offer you entry points into your story, even if you choose to keep the story in your mind, or if you decide to put the words onto paper, a computer, or an ipad screen. However it may come to be for you, there is richness in discovering the memoirist in you.

Warmly, Angela

Disclaimer: Please do not substitute material on this site for actual consultation with a mental health professional. The information in this blog is not meant as a specific treatment recommendation or personal communication with any individual.

As I write this I think of the documentary, No Numbers: Identity Beyond Measure, which I sponsored and presented with the filmmaker, Dena Ashbaugh last month. The film explored the lives of three very different women who had suffered from severe eating disorders. One point that one of the physicians made that hit home for me is that one of the recruiting aspects of eating disorders is the use of numbers and that even in treatment the focus continues to be on numbers, such as weight gain or weight loss. The physician pointed out that this focus on the scale encourages eating disordered thinking and an unhealthy focus on food that can perpetuate a viscous cycle. I also appreciated that this eating disorder expert emphasizes that eating disorder patients in treatment not only focus on “recovery” but more importantly, “discovery,” which is at the very core of these blogs that I am writing. I strongly feel that getting in touch with your story and reclaiming your history as a person and not just an eating disorder is of great importance.

Learning to feed yourself in non-addictive way will bring you into your body so that you feel satisfied, and this is all part of your personal story. How this happens for each person is a unique discovery and may take not only time, but several creative approaches as you experience and get to know your truest self. So as you think back in time and formulate your story as it unfolds, you will unfold more of your story each day.

I end with lyrics from “Words” by Lucinda Williams:

“Deep down within me words live in phases

Frozen and still till they decide

To melt and drag over the pages

And to that moment they live inside.”

Warmly, Angela

Disclaimer: Please do not substitute material on this site for actual consultation with a mental health professional. The information in this blog is not meant as a specific treatment recommendation or personal communication with any individual.

When I hear these words sung by Brandi Carlisle I think about my face and what I may be saying without even knowing, consciously, the story I may be telling. Putting words to feelings and experience is often difficult. Using the body, knowingly or not, is more convenient, useful and easy. When a person eats food and then purges the food and says it’s just “easier” that way, I interpret that as, “I don’t have words for my thoughts and feelings and experiences, so I use my body as a receptacle. Then I get rid of all the thoughts and feelings and experiences and have a clean slate so I can start all over.” Considering that an eating disorder, self injury or compulsive shopping addiction may have more to do with the deeper and inner experience of a human being is a paradigm shift from what is on the surface of these disorders: calories and weight.

Recently, I heard someone say that she was taught by her family not to talk. It was a subtle instruction and as she began to unfold and talk about her life, she realized she has rarely just talked about herself — how she feels and what she thinks. She is not shy, quite the opposite, rather outgoing, vivacious and intense. However, she unconsciously followed the directive not to talk about her emotional life and had lacked any blueprint on how to do so. It came easy once she began to shed her skin.

But, the shedding process is a delicate one and should be given time to marinate and come to the surface slowly. It only makes sense to do so patiently and sensitively because what is happening is so very new, so unknown and so unlike anything you may have ever tried to do before. Also, your words may just need time to bloom, but my instinct tells me, your words are there, maybe right there on your lovely face.

Warmly, Angela

Disclaimer: Please do not substitute material on this site for actual consultation with a mental health professional. The information in this blog is not meant as a specific treatment recommendation or personal communication with any individual.

This blog is unique because its primary purpose is to describe with words what happens inside each of us, as human beings, when we experience hunger. Whether our hearts or minds or both direct us to quiet, stuff, hurt, dismiss, disregard or ignore our hunger, you and I feel hunger on some level. Understanding, questioning, explaining, interpreting and expressing our hunger is essential in becoming who we are truly meant to be.

I have had the fortunate experience in my clinical practice to hear stories of many people over several years and have at the same time begun to unravel my own story along the way. In all my years in the therapy room, I have never I been untouched by my patient’s stories. Each hour unfolds the human experience, sometimes detailed accounts of pain, other moments sprinkled with laughter, and no doubt many tears shed. This blog will be a compilation of the intertwined experiences that I bring to the page, with words, hoping to reach you on some bodily level, perhaps unchartered, undiscovered or familiar, and shared.

I credit Over The Rhine for the title of my blog. In their song, “Drunkyard’s Prayer,” the lyric “You are the hunger on my bones” resonated with me and the work I attempt to do professionally and personally. What is this hunger on my bones? How do I feel it and experience it to it’s fullest without hurting myself? Repeatedly, these are the questions brought to awareness in the therapy for eating disorders, self injury and compulsive shopping, all of which I consider Hunger Diseases. The hunger is not the disease, but what we “do” to manage this hunger that makes us ill. This blog will attempt to make sense of hunger and our actions in response to it.

Just thinking about my story and the possibility of yours is hopeful and energizing and at the same time there is an anxiety and tribulation. How to start? Find out where you are right now and let your mind go to see what comes up. I look forward to sharing our stories together.

Warmly, Angela

Disclaimer: Please do not substitute material on this site for actual consultation with a mental health professional. The information in this blog is not meant as a specific treatment recommendation or personal communication with any individual.