I’m now living in beautiful Kincardine, in a house I bought all on my own, and in this moment I felt like I could accomplish anything. But then the loneliness of leaving a 7 year relationship set in, and I panicked. I was on my own for a handful of months at this point, and as much as I loved my own space, it deeply scared me at the same time.
My days consisted of working a part time paramedic job, having my dog part time that I shared with my ex-husband, and going to the gym twice a day. My addiction to working out and obsessing over every single food that went into my mouth was progressively getting worse. I wanted to see how far I could push myself, which in all honesty translates to; I wanted to see how thin I could get. So I signed up to do a bikini competition. For those that don’t know, the TLDR is getting on stage, in a very expensive bikini, hitting poses and walking in clear heels, on a stage in front of hundreds, being scrutinized by complete strangers called judges. What did this win you? Well, from my experience, horrendous mental health, anxiety, and hating your own body. Trust me, I know hate is a strong word and I don’t use it lightly, but that is in all honesty what it led me to.
I was six weeks out from getting on that stage, I didn’t even recognize myself as I had gotten so small. I was constantly hungry, and I was full of rage and irritability, I was burning the candle at both ends and failing miserably. I kept getting compliments on how “skinny” I was, and I honestly think at that point I was persevering for outside approval. I abandoned my own mental health trying to please others. It was at that six week out mark I had a complete and utter breakdown. I was in the gym at night, after yet another twelve hour work day, and ran out into the parking lot in the middle of my workout. I remember calling my sister in hysterics, saying how fat I was, and I was mentally and physically exhausted, and could hardly even lift the weights in the gym because I had absolutely nothing left in my tank to give. That next weekend my mother, sister and I went to the states on a shopping trip, and one night in I threw in the towel. I sat on the couch and admitted to them I couldn’t keep doing this, that it was destroying me, in so many ways. I admitted defeat.
Little did I know that this journey out of extreme diet and exercise would honestly be harder than the diet and overtraining itself. My binging became significantly worse, I was rapidly gaining weight back, because my body was used to eating far less than 1200 calories a day. My mental health was getting worse, because I was chasing the impossible; to stay this small without the obsessiveness.
So to me, the next obvious step was to throw myself into a relationship and continue avoiding deep healing. I truly thought that men would only date me if I was skinny (and this still breaks my heart). So who did I attract? Men that wanted me only for my body. I got online and met a man that lived several hours away, told me he was aspiring to be a police officer. [Fun little nugget of knowledge, unhealed childhood trauma looks like wanting to be the hero and fix everyone else’s life instead of your own]. I felt up to this challenge of helping him chase his dream, while subconsciously sabotaging my own.
We dated for six months and I felt so proud of our relationship; even if it was only surface level. At the time I didn’t know I was deserving or worthy of something more than that. I had not yet learned I deserved respect, honesty, healthy boundaries, good communication, empathy and healthy love. None of this was on my radar. I thought a big strong man who worked out and had big biceps was all I needed.
One weekend I went to visit him and his family, and his step-father slipped that my boyfriend was unemployed. My head quickly turned to him and my boyfriend swiftly ushered me away from the man that just outed his secret. A secret I knew absolutely nothing about. I dated this man for half a year, and knew nothing about this second life he was leading. He would go out of his way to take pictures of himself at the gym, at work, and seeing friends, when in reality he was living in his parents basement unemployed for the last two years.
I was devastated. I remember the moment feeling like the biggest betrayal I had experienced in my life. I remember going to bed that night, sincerely contemplating if I could just forgive him and carry on with our relationship. I know how wild that sounds, but you have to know, I did not think I was deserving of a good man. I was so wrapped up in believing that love was unhealthy, that love betrays me, that love is actually painful, that I thought this was normal.
Thank God for my therapist at the time, who helped me walk away from him a long couple of days later. I was devastated — the eat a tub of ice cream and needed my sisters constant attention type of devastated. How did I end up being single again and feeling all alone in this world!?
I dusted myself off and eventually got back up. I declared to my family no more dating, that I was going back to therapy and going to once and for all become someone I could be proud of. Or so I thought.
