Nuance

I have been slam-dunked by reality, once again.

It's awfully humbling to notice what thoughts are bought versus what thoughts are had.

I have the thoughts that tell me the world is waiting for me to unapologetically present myself to it.

I have the thoughts that tell me I already have everything I need to be a success in this world.

I have the thoughts that tell me, "damn, that tasted GOOD!"

I buy the thoughts that tell me not to eat chocolate.

I buy the thoughts that tell me to pare down my reflection in the mirror.

I buy the thoughts that tell me to run for an outrageous amount of time or 'keep up' in the gym.

I buy the thoughts that keep me from having thoughts.

Budgeting your purchases is an eerie part of recovery, and most of us either confront it, pretend to confront it, or run the hell away from it.

I happen to be a member of the latter group that runs. In fact, I run marathons. And in doing so, I've found myself searching and searching and searching for answers in the same places over and over and over again - never actually receiving the answer I want (and need).

A little slice of reality reminded me of this the other day. I had run from my emotions the previous day and binged them out at night. I was full, irritable, ashamed, and disgusted. James and I rarely fight, but that morning I rudely left him in a huff over ... wait for it ... the loud noise from the construction next door. (Yes, ensue the eye-roll). My last words to him were, "Jesus Christ, whatever, have a good day!"

So to face another day of misery, guess what? I ran. Shocker.

Except this time I was SO out of it, that I noticed I dropped my car key along the trail mid-run. Did I stop to look for it? (Like a sane person). Nope. "I'll look for it after," I thought to myself. Nothing would stop me. Not even in the event that Yellowstone did explode and inundate the entire northwestern segment of the United States - I think I would've tried to run on sliding tar.

Determined to be on my own in this time of self-pity, the last thing I would do was reach out for help. I retraced my steps from the beginning of the trail to the end, from the end to the beginning, and over again. I repeated this search until an hour-and-a-half passed by. No cigar.

Alas, I was left keyless, wit-less, and hopeless.

Due to fraudulent Lyft and Uber activity, my account was deactivated. The only option was to call James. And have him order a Lyft to his work for the house key. Then a Lyft to the house for the spare car key. Then a Lyft back to his work to give him his house key. Then a Lyft back to the trail where I lost my damn car key. Simple, right?

Naturally, I answer the phone in the most angelic, loving, and innocent: "hiiiiii baaaabe."

Of course, James being James, he addressed the issue during the busiest hours of his workday without a moan, sent a picture of my fluffy red hair to the Lyft driver (so he knew exactly who he was actually picking up), edited EVERY SINGLE LOCATION 2 minutes before I got there just so I could keep the same driver, and cared enough to ask if I was safe every time.

Even in the midst of my wallowing, self-pity, and shared misery, he showed up. Every day, he shows up. And every day, I learn to show up just a bit better for myself.

However, my version of showing up has to change.

I can no longer decide to only show up when my highs are highest because I've restricted from food all day. Nor can I decide to show up only to clean up the mess I've purged when I let myself disassociate.

I must show up for everything in between. It is the nuance that my life requires now.

The nuance that is not the end of the world (purging), and is not the highest of the highs (restriction), but is the subtle magic in between.

Nuance. To look in between the highest high and lowest low for a new answer- something that is a bit more complex than my eating disorder. A bit more complex than instant gratification.

Nuance.