When I was in my late twenties, I attended six baby showers in the span of a few months. At each of them, I was the only single woman without kids. Over baby names and dirty-diaper games, I would inevitably field the question from the other women: 鈥淒o you want children?鈥� My response was always something like,听鈥淢aybe? I鈥檓 not sure. One day?鈥�

That was听an easy thing to say in my听twenties. Children were an idea looming in the back of my mind, but it was an听abstract kind of thought. I had plenty of time to figure out if I wanted to be a mom. I suppose I assumed that I would have kids one day. I played by the rules when I was young;听career,听marriage, and children were the path set out for me by society.

As I entered my thirties, my close friends started to have babies. The notion of a ticking biological clock entered my head, and I became aware that my childbearing years were starting to dwindle. Yet it was just a niggle that would occasionally pop in听here and there. My thoughts and attention were elsewhere: surviving and grieving a broken engagement, switching career paths, and听competing at the highest level of my sport.

I would occasionally pay attention to that nagging voice in the back of my head, but my answer was still, always, I don鈥檛 know. It was odd for me.听I figured that I鈥檇 wake up one day and suddenly know definitively whether or not I wanted children. I envied friends of mine who were strong in their convictions one way or another. For me, the indecisiveness continued.

Two major factors heavily influenced my uncertainty around having children: my life as a competitive endurance athlete, and my ongoing recovery from an eating disorder.

Female athletes often face a difficult decision around motherhood, as听our prime athletic years generally also fall听within our prime childbearing years. While there are many stories of elite athletes who successfully take a break from their sport to have a child, it鈥檚听a risky calculation that could potentially mean the end of a competitive career.

I entered the height of my听athletic career in my early thirties, competing听year-round in obstacle-course racing, ultrarunning, and other endurance events. Having a child was not on the top of my priority list. I assumed I鈥檇 find a partner and end up turning my attention to that chapter of my life in my mid-thirties. By听then, I figured, I would be done with my most competitive years as an athlete and want to focus on something new.

During my early and mid-thirties, however, I was also in the throes of a twenty-year battle with anorexia nervosa, tiptoeing toward听recovery听but still very much in denial. I hadn鈥檛 had a period听in听over ten years, and there were so many incredibly loaded questions that came up for me when I thought about pregnancy and childbirth.听Was I even fertile anymore? Would my body changing during pregnancy trigger my eating disorder? What if I passed the eating disorder on to my children?

Factoring in the eating disorder weighed heavily on my mind. My ex-fianc茅 once told me he would never have kids with me until I 鈥済ot it under control.鈥� While those words stung, I have to admit, I agreed: If I couldn鈥檛 even take care of myself and my own body, how could I be expected to take care of a child? The last thing I ever wanted to do was to model an unhealthy relationship with food for听my child.

Like many other women, I decided to try and buy myself more time. In my mid-thirties,听I started to explore the option of freezing my eggs. It took several months to even get an appointment with a fertility doctor, and then he laid out the procedure and the chances that it would even work for me: one round would maybe yield听15 to 20 eggs听max, and the probability of successfully inseminating, implanting, and carrying one to term was around 5听percent. And one round would cost $20,000. Further complicating the whole process was the fact that I鈥檇 need to take at least a month off from running to avoid , a condition in which听the ovary听twists around the ligaments that holds it, cutting off blood flow.

I tried to schedule the egg-freezing procedure for听the off-season, but it proved difficult with the limited听availability of appointments. Still, I forged ahead, calling specialty pharmacies, getting quotes on medication costs, and setting up ultrasounds. The day before I was supposed to start, I attended a mandatory class on how to self-inject the multiple fertility drugs needed to prime ovaries for egg extraction. There were about 15 women in the room, and I was the only one there without a partner by her side. I left the class in tears, feeling utterly alone. With races coming up in the next few months, I called the clinic and canceled the entire procedure. I wasn鈥檛 sure exactly why at the time, but听I couldn鈥檛 go through with it.

Time ticked on. One relationship ended, another began. The longer my own indecision lasted, the more I realized that biology was going to end up making the decision for me.

It鈥檚 funny, most of the people in my life wouldn鈥檛 say I鈥檓 exactly the motherly听type. Frankly, I鈥檝e never really liked kids that much. I don鈥檛 coo at babies. I hated babysitting when I was a teen. I鈥檝e never even changed a diaper. I just don鈥檛 relate well to children鈥擨鈥檝e always been a bit uncomfortable around them.

So听a few months ago, when I found myself 37 years old and recently single again, I could not have anticipated or prepared myself for the sudden wave of grief that came over me when I finally confronted the fact that my time may have run out. That maybe I wouldn鈥檛 ever have biological children, and that I wouldn鈥檛 have a say in it anymore.

Why was I grieving something so hard that I was never even sure I wanted? How do you mourn a life path that you never took? So many questions raced through my head.听If I was truly indifferent or undecided about having children all these years, why did I now suddenly feel a massive hole?

I sat with that and the feelings that came up with it. Honestly, I鈥檓 still sitting with them. I鈥檓 not so sure I鈥檓 grieving the loss of not having children, so much as听the loss of it being my own choice. Perhaps听grief is what听happens when we transition from one life phase to another.

Because I know that if I really wanted children, there are ways to do that: I could try a sperm donor, or I could consider adoption, both of which are wonderful options. And I听may choose one of them at some point in the future.听Call me selfish or old-fashioned, but I always wanted to raise children with a partner. I wanted it to be our decision, together. I have zero interest in doing it another way. Perhaps that lack of interest signals to me that the grief isn鈥檛 so much about children per se听but the pervasive 鈥渨hat if鈥� that one day, 20 years down the road, I will regret not taking that life path. By then it will be too late.

Our society values women more when they are mothers than when they aren鈥檛. I鈥檝e always had great admiration for working mothers who 鈥渄o it all.鈥� We are听taught from a young age that an acceptable purpose in life is to raise听a family and leave a legacy in the form of our genetic material. While my parents have never pressured me to have kids, I am aware that my sister and I are the last two of the Boone line, and our lineage will die with us. (My sister is child-free by choice.)

Lying in bed at night, I鈥檝e started to ask myself questions like, Who will take care of me when I鈥檓 90 years old? Who will grieve when I die? Who will pass my stories through generations? Let me tell you, that does nothing to help you fall asleep.

I told myself that those weren鈥檛 the right reasons for having children. I also couldn鈥檛 articulate reasons why I would want to have kids, other than being afraid I would regret not having them. But who instills that regret in me? I realize that I鈥檝e internalized the overwhelming message from society that this is the life path I should take鈥攖hat raising children is how to lead a valuable life. But is that really what I want?

There are a few things I do know. I have a lot of love to give鈥擨听love hard, and I love fiercely. Once I learned to take care of myself, I learned that I really like taking care of others. While children may be one avenue for that, it鈥檚 not the only way. It鈥檚 just the way that our society has normalized. I鈥檓 slowly coming to terms with the fact that, like so many other things in my life, maybe the path that society has laid out is not the one for me. I鈥檓 sure that whichever path I take, and whether I decide to become a mother or not, there will be grief and loss. But there will also be joy and meaning, and that鈥檚 what I鈥檒l hold on to.

The post What If I Run Out of Time to Decide About Kids? appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

In March, after sustaining my fourth stress fracture in the past three years, that it was time to take a step back and re-evaluate鈥攖o stop 鈥渇ighting the water.鈥� I鈥檝e fought like hell these past few years to try and keep myself healthy and running like I love to do. And while I was tired of fighting for many reasons, internally I knew I had one big fight left in me. Because there was one thing that I hadn鈥檛 tackled head on in a very long time: my eating disorder.

I鈥檓 not dense: I鈥檝e known for a long time that I鈥檓 the living, walking example of RED-S (also known as 鈥渢he female athlete triad.鈥�) I鈥檝e known that probably a huge reason that my bones keep breaking is because I have a 20-year history with anorexia. But I wanted to be that person that could right the ship on my own. I鈥檇 been in and out of treatment so many times in my life, I wasn鈥檛 ready to admit that, in my mid-30鈥檚, I was still battling it. There鈥檚 an awful sense of shame in feeling helpless to fix things when you pride yourself on being self-sufficient and able to do hard things. There鈥檚 a paralysis that comes with the cognitive dissonance of knowing what you need to do, but continually falling short of that.

But the hardest things to fix are the things that we don鈥檛 want to admit to ourselves. And I finally admitted to myself that I couldn鈥檛 do it on my own.

So in April, I took a leave of absence from work and headed to Seattle, where I鈥檝e spent the last three months at , an eating disorder treatment facility.

I resisted more intensive treatment for so long because this isn鈥檛 my first rodeo鈥擨 was first diagnosed with anorexia nervosa at the age of 16. It started with a month-long hospitalization over Thanksgiving and Christmas in 1999 and spanned the rest of high school and college, with stints in various levels of treatment including a stay in a residential facility immediately post-college.

As a result of being in and out of treatment and being very visibly physically ill, I spent the vast majority of my youth as 鈥渢he sick girl.鈥� It鈥檚 a chapter in my life I haven鈥檛 talked about publicly, because it was an identity I was eager to shed. After my stay in residential treatment post-college, the disorder seemed to quiet. Finding myself in a solid state of recovery, I promised myself I鈥檇 move on. So I stopped talking about it. I went to law school, became an attorney, and buried the disorder in my past.

When I started racing and gaining attention for my athletic accomplishments, I didn鈥檛 talk about it during interviews. I didn鈥檛 mention it during my rise to dominance in obstacle racing. I didn鈥檛 tell interviewers who asked me about my athletic background that the reason I didn鈥檛 play sports in college was because I was too sick and weak to even walk up stairs, let alone play sports. I didn鈥檛 mention that my friends and family spent those years worried if I鈥檇 wake up in the morning. I didn鈥檛 want to 鈥渄well in the past,鈥� I told myself. In my mind, it was a chapter of my life that had passed, and one that maybe I would speak about when the time was 鈥渞ight,鈥� but I could never figure out when that would be. I was racing strong, running strong, feeling strong, and, in my mind, I no longer identified with the disorder.

The reality is while I no longer defined my world around my eating disorder identity, for all of those years, I hadn鈥檛 let go of it fully. I hung on to disordered thoughts and eating habits. The only difference now was that I had sport to fixate on instead. And I was at the top of the obstacle racing world. I was a 鈥渘ormal鈥� BMI, I was muscular, and I was winning every race, so it was easy to minimize my disordered relationship with food. It was easy to compartmentalize the thoughts and say, 鈥淗ush, I鈥檒l deal with you later,鈥� or to think that there actually wasn鈥檛 a problem because I was performing so well. It was OK to have a different diet or eating patterns because 鈥淚 was an athlete.鈥� It was OK to compare my body to other female athletes on the start line and to covet their abs, because that鈥檚 just 鈥渨hat women do.鈥� It was acceptable to dehydrate myself and starve myself before cover shoots was part of the gig. As long as I was competing and winning, 鈥渏ust managing鈥� with food didn鈥檛 seem like that big of a deal. I was getting away with it. So clearly, there was no problem.

Until there was.

While I had been able to fool myself, the body doesn鈥檛 forget so easily. It doesn鈥檛 forget the years of starvation and malnourishment. It doesn鈥檛 forget the magnitude of damage done to your growing bones: damage so bad, that I was diagnosed with osteopenia at age 16.
I was a ticking time bomb, which exploded with my first stress fracture (the !) in 2016. At the time I could write off one stress fracture as a fluke鈥攊t happens to all athletes. But the string of bone stress injuries that ensued are not so easy to write off.

Look, I鈥檓 not dumb. As I threw my hands in the air and proclaimed 鈥淚鈥檓 doing everything right鈥� to avoid injury, I struggled with the growing internal self-flagellation for knowing that I wasn鈥檛 doing everything I could. I could do all the PT exercises, I could do the slow , I could take supplements, I could spend thousands of dollars on all the fancy recovery tools, but I knew one thing deep in my heart: there is no substitute for plentiful food and nourishment in order to prevent injuries.

Logically, I knew all of this, but making myself do it proved much harder. I spent the past year telling myself I鈥檇 make changes. I told myself that I鈥檇 rather be in a much larger body and competing healthy, than in a smaller body and be broken standing on the sidelines. That 鈥渓ooking the part鈥� of an athlete doesn鈥檛 mean shit if you are too injured to even get to the start line. I knew these things. And at times, I thought I was succeeding in changing things.

But with the two weeks before Barkley this year, I hit bottom. With sport taken from me, I looked around at all the things that had propped up my 鈥渕anagement鈥� of the eating disorder, and realized my disorder was all I had left.

I had spent the past 20 years starving. Literally. Not just physically, but emotionally. I was tired of fighting, and so fucking tired of being hungry.

When I called up my parents to tell them I was checking into treatment, I wasn鈥檛 prepared for the flood of emotions that came with this decision, this time with the motivation coming solely from myself. 听I鈥檝e been able to do some really hard things in my life, so I felt a sense of shame that I couldn鈥檛 fix this on my own. I felt guilty for taking a leave of absence from work and forcing my co-workers to shoulder my workload. I felt guilty for telling my sponsors I was disappearing from racing and competing for awhile. I questioned whether I actually needed treatment given that (a) everyone seems to have a fucked-up relationship with their food and body, and (b) I鈥檇 been 鈥渕anaging it鈥� for so long.

The truth is that I鈥檝e been 鈥渕anaging鈥� a delusion: I鈥檝e excelled at white-knuckling my way through the world of eating disorders, and I probably could have done so for the rest of my life. But it would have been a miserable, hollow, existence. More than just sport, the disorder had taken a toll on every aspect of my life: my relationships, my ability to connect, and hell鈥攅ven my ability to feel my feelings. I had a sense that there was more that could be had from life, and I needed to take a leap of faith to do it鈥攐ne that required stepping out of my life for the short term in order to re-engage in it fully in the long term.

I went into treatment thinking that my main goal was to re-learn how to feed and nourish myself in order stem the constant bone injuries. While that was an important part, for sure, what I learned was that I really needed to give space to everything else other than the food. Engaging in the disorder had enabled me to tunnel vision my life to avoid dealing with other things that were bigger and scarier: fears over the loss of sport, the loss of relevancy, grief over past relationships, the need and want for connection to others but going about it in ways would never satisfy that need鈥he list goes on.

Sometimes what you get isn鈥檛 always what you thought you needed. And at Opal, I started learned everything beyond just how to feed myself. I learned how to re-establish trust with my hunger after 20 years of ignoring it, and how to re-establish trust with my body after 20 years of mistrusting it. I learned that I can connect to others without the veneer of accomplishments, achievements or admiration.

I learned that it鈥檚 OK to want to compete and win as long as you have other听means to fill you up when that doesn鈥檛 happen. I learned that it鈥檚 OK听to be sad and grieve when I can鈥檛 engage in my sport how I鈥檇 like to, but that I can survive and thrive without it. And most importantly, I learned that it鈥檚 OK听(and wonderful!) to feel my feelings.

While this post is about eating disorders, it鈥檚 also really not鈥攊t鈥檚 really about learning to live again. Because, as clich茅 as the saying is, eating disorders are never really about the food. But considering I have suffered from an eating disorder for over half of my life and considering I鈥檓 letting this out in the public now, I figured I might as well talk about a few things eating disorder-related that you will likely hear me speak and write about going forward.

There Is No Stereotypical Eating Disorder

I鈥檓 pausing to address this, because I know I know what you are all thinking: BUT WHAT ABOUT THE POP-TARTS? Shockingly, yes, even in the depths of my disorder, I ate the Pop-Tarts. And still do. My eating disorder doesn鈥檛 look like what many people would typically think of for a competitive athlete. As opposed to elimination of foods, my issues have always been eating 鈥渁ppropriate鈥� amounts. I鈥檝e been petrified of the feeling of fullness, and I couldn鈥檛 sit down to a full meal. I鈥檝e spent the past twenty years of my life in a constant state of physical hunger and a constant mistrust of my body, which is an exhausting place to be (Note: this is particularly compounded by that has taught us to not trust our hunger cues, and to do whatever we can to not listen to them. Since when did having an appetite become a bad thing?)

Eating Disorders Come in All Sizes, and Health Comes in All Sizes

At Opal, I was surrounded by amazing people of all shapes and sizes, all struggling with disordered relationships with food. I connected with fellow clients who had similar restrictive behaviors as myself, but whose bodies looked entirely different. Opal follows the principles of 鈥溾�� and intuitive eating (caveat: not early in one鈥檚 recovery, but as the ultimate goal). I鈥檒l admit that I initially resisted both concepts, but over my time there, I learned to confront my own internalized oppression and judgments around food, weight, and body size. I finally understood that body size is not as simple as the 鈥渃alories in, calories out鈥� model diet culture has told us our entire lives. Someone isn鈥檛 in a larger body because they 鈥渓ack willpower鈥� or they are lazy. Fat shaming and fat phobia are real. and (which I have, and benefit from) are real. I鈥檝e become passionate about fighting and speaking out about thin privilege and fat phobia because, regardless of what size of body you are in, it hurts us all (I鈥檓 briefly touching on these here, but these concepts deserve a much more robust piece for a future date).

While I Have Faith I鈥檒l Get There, I鈥檓 Not Recovered

I want to believe in full recovery鈥攊n a life completely free of any eating disordered thoughts. There are many stories that tell me this is possible. I鈥檓 currently in the stage where I have the thoughts鈥擨 note the thoughts without judgment鈥攂ut I don鈥檛 act on them. Over time, the thoughts are getting quieter, but I know it鈥檚 not a quick fix. I鈥檝e spent 20 years dealing with them鈥攆ull recovery doesn鈥檛 happen in a few months. And while my time at Opal has ended, I鈥檓 well-aware that my journey has only just begun.

So why talk about this now? It鈥檚 a question I鈥檝e asked myself, and one I鈥檝e weighed heavily before writing about this. I could have easily stayed silent about what I鈥檝e been doing the past few months. There鈥檚 value in protecting my recovery from the greater masses, as the peanut gallery can sometimes be exceptionally harsh.

But when I balance the factors, I鈥檓 confident this is stand I鈥檓 ready to take. For so long, I鈥檝e prided myself on sharing my vulnerability in talking about injury and sport. But it鈥檚 been a selective vulnerability, and hiding my disorder has left me in a paralyzing state of cognitive dissonance, which has affected how I鈥檝e been able to engage with the world. It鈥檚 led me to even feel MORE disconnected when I share selectively and don鈥檛 address the elephant that has been crowding my room for many years.

I鈥檓 aware that I鈥檝e held judgments around the idea of 鈥渟haring my story.鈥� I鈥檓 aware that phrase makes me cringe, as I鈥檝e previously thought sharing could be construed as attention-seeking. And the last thing I鈥檝e ever wanted was sympathy, or to proclaim that I鈥檓 somehow different. I鈥檓 not different: my story is all too common.

Thankfully, many brave women and men, both in and out of the athletic world, have stepped up to speak about their struggles (a special shout out to , who unknowingly influenced me to seek treatment at Opal after she about her disorder last year). But the vast majority of these voices speak about their eating disorder struggles in the past鈥攐nce they have 鈥渂eaten it,鈥澨齩r once they have recovered.

No one likes to talk about it when they are face down in the arena.

While I鈥檓 not quite face down in the arena anymore, I am slowly picking myself up and dusting myself off. And I think it鈥檚 important that we have these conversations at all stages of the fight. Disorder and shame thrive in the darkness and silence, so I鈥檓 thrusting my disorder and shame into the light where it has no place left to hide.

I have a lot of unknowns going forwards: the unknown of where my body size is going to land when continue to nourish it well, the unknown of how people will relate to or receive this, and, the scariest thing to face鈥攖he unknown of whether I鈥檝e damaged by body so badly from so many years of starvation that, even with proper nourishment, I may still not be able to stem the bone injuries. But, for the first time in many years, I feel wholly aligned: my head, my heart, and my soul. And that, to me, is freedom.

For those of you out there who have paved the path and gave me the hope and courage to tackle recovery again, thank you. For those of you out there currently struggling and wondering if there is more to life, I see you. I wondered the same thing. I believe it now. And I鈥檓 holding space for you.

So this is me: flawed, disordered, and dealing with a mental illness for the past 20 years. I鈥檓 not ashamed anymore. I鈥檓 not afraid anymore. And, most importantly, I鈥檓 not starving anymore.

Instead, I鈥檓 full of hope.

This piece was on Amelia Boone鈥檚 blog.

The post Amelia Boone Opens Up About Her Eating Disorder appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.