faulker053

This post applies to all so read on. I'm addicted to desserts and I can't keep them in the house. They just call to me. I can't simply eat a piece or a small portion—no, not me.  Once I start I can't stop and I have to eat them until their gone or I need to throw them in the trash—although sometimes, I’m embarrassed to say, I dig them out of the trash because I just can't let them slip away. And I never know when I'll get to eat them again. Avoidance—total avoidance seems like the only way—yet it never seems to work. I just have no willpower. No, that's not me speaking—although these statements were certainly true for me at some point in my life. Yes, that time in my early twenties when my eating was emotionally driven and I had no idea what hunger and comfortable fullness felt like.  Rather, the comments above were spoken by many patients that walk into my offices—by the overweight who have unsuccessfully struggled to lose some weight wi...

It was to be my last day on this earth—or so I believed just a few days ago. Really. I was riding the winding, hairpin-turn-filled precipitous narrow roads of Corsica, part of a lovely relaxing vacation. Only I was hardly relaxed.  Rather, I honestly feared that this would be my last car ride, my last day of absorbing the spectacular beauty of nature, the last opportunity to tell my family I love them all. Traumatized and almost teary I saw no way out. And I’m not exaggerating. Once you turn onto this two-way road wide enough for one Smart car at best, there is no making a U-turn and shifting directions. We had decided to visit this much raved about, difficult to access beach, a killer descent from mountain road to sea. There were no guard rails to protect us as we clung to each cliff edge. How could they allow me to travel on this?, I thought to myself. After a tense stay at this beautiful beach (yes, we made it down), I could only think about how I could survive ...

A guest post from an appropriately angry patient Was it 1 year or 2 years ago we last met? I really can't tell you. But I clearly remember how I felt seeing her. I wanted to feel her emotion, to hear her move from passivity and hopelessness. I believed in her ability to fight this thing--this bulimia turned anorexia-- to get out of her own way, but I'm not so sure she had the same belief then. Now she's coming back, and in anticipation of our session, she's indulging me--and you-- with some passion. She's angry, appropriately so--and I'm thrilled. Yes, it's time to direct that anger toward recovery. Shannon's Recovery Survival Kit You don't want to recover for a very simple reason: you're scared. You're scared of life, growth, feelings, worries, people, rejection, change, and you're hiding away from it all. Your ED is driving you into a morgue and you're letting it, because you're too scared to fight back. Recovery doesn'...

Acknowledging (not blaming) your influences Her recent diagnosis of cancer brings me to this slightly different post than you’re used to reading from me. I hope you find it useful—I believe you will—so please read on. I rarely give credit to my mother, although to say she has had a major impact on me would be a silly understatement. More often, my inner circle hears my complaints—my failure to accept her as she is, to live up to my unrealistic ideal, and my frustration in her difficulty over the years to see me as my own person. You know, the usual mother/daughter crap. I can be uber-rational, she primarily utilizes the right side of her brain—the “act on how you feel, not what you know side”. We are a challenging combination at times. That said, the profound positive influence she’s had on me and on the work I do is worthy of this post. The Early Years I grew up on mayo sandwiches, Frosted Flakes and Fruit Loops. I loved canned mushrooms—right from the can—and those olive-green aspar...