Emotional Abuse = Physical Abuse

It turns out that my abusers didn’t have to lay a finger on me in order to fuck up my body. 

Yes, I’ve been posting about the incredible changes and improvements I’ve experienced with my body in the last few months, but I want to backtrack a little bit and talk about why I’ve celebrated those changes as much as I have and why I now cherish every bit of my energy, focus, and strength.

The emotionally abusive men I’ve been with were never physically violent with me. Yes, there were times when I felt scared of them and yes, they touched me when I didn’t want them to and yes, they used their physical presence to intimidate me…but not once was I hit, pushed, slapped, scratched, bitten, or otherwise physically abused by them.

Although my body is now healing and I am feeling healthier, I still remember what it felt like when I was in the trenches of my emotionally abusive landscape. I still have a long way to go to regain my strength and dispel the lies about my body that I adopted as truth.

The body suffers when the mind is suffering, and chronic stress takes an enormous toll on your body...

Recurring emotional trauma takes a toll on your body.

Having no sense of self-worth takes a toll on your body.

Being fed lies about your body and adopting those lies as true takes a toll on your body.

Being in a chronic state of survival mode takes a toll on your body.

Doing the bulk of the work in a household or relationship takes a toll on your body.

Being depressed and anxious all the time takes a toll on your body.

Being or feeling used for sex or sexual acts takes a toll on your body.

Emotional abusers still take shots at your body, they just don’t make contact.


These are some of the ways emotional abuse affected my body:

Number 1: Living in a state of chronic stress and experiencing ongoing trauma kept my body in survival mode for a very long time. The hormones and reactions triggered in my body as a result of this stress should only be released on rare occasions when I am in actual life or death danger. (Think, charging rhino or being chased by Jason Voorhees.) My body shouldn’t be getting flooded with adrenaline, cortisol, and norepinephrine on the regular. When I was with my abusers, it was normal for me to feel scared, overwhelmed, angry, distraught, or unsure and my body maintained a constant state of vigilance to try and protect me.

Number 2: My abusers devalued and debased me regularly and I adopted these attitudes as true. I learned to believe that I was ugly/fat/stupid/weak/worthless and I felt these things physically. As a result of this, the amount of work I have to put into learning to love and accept my body feels infinite. I remain painfully aware of all my flaws and deeply insecure about my body. I hold myself to a ridiculous standard that I haven’t yet been able to overcome, although in recent months, I’ve made significant strides towards better health and a better self-image.

Number 3: My emotional abusers expected me to do the bulk of the work in our lives. During my marriage this meant that I carried and birthed two children in less than two years. I then cared for those children on a full-time basis, day and night. I looked after our house, yard, and car. I did all the cooking and clean up. I looked after everything for birthdays and holidays. I cared for our pets. I managed everyone’s schedules. I did all of our errands. I did all the driving. I completed my ECE diploma online while still parenting full-time and offering part-time child care from my home. If I was sitting down, I was nursing a baby or folding the laundry. If I was out on my own, I was buying our groceries. If I was sleeping, it was because I had finally passed out, although I was likely to be woken up within a few hours by a distraught toddler, a baby who needed nursing, a snoring husband, or a nightmare.

Number 4: As a result of my experience, I developed anxiety, depression, and chronic fatigue. I’ve had weeks and months where I ate voraciously because I was super anxious and then I would starve myself for weeks because I was so depressed. My sleep is poor and I dream restlessly. I suffer from panic attacks and sugar crashes. I have brain fog and issues keeping my focus. I get migraines and I clench my teeth. In the past, I had tremors and nervous ticks like tapping my fingers or biting my tongue. In an effort to treat these issues I’ve tried what feels like a million different medications, supplements, exercises, diets, and therapies—it’s like I’ve been living as a science experiment with a constant onslaught of mind- and mood-altering drugs coursing through my veins. I am finally feeling hopeful that I may be making progress towards wellness, but it will take years to replenish my body after becoming so depleted.


This broken body…at least, it has often felt broken to me…that I’m working to restore is a testament to the strength I had to have in order to survive.

If you relate to this conversation at all, then I commend you for being so strong and for fighting through whatever pain you’ve experienced at the hands of an emotionally abusive person.

I’m sorry.

I hope you’re okay.

You are worthy of love and your body is an amazing and strong entity—don’t let the abusers fuck it up anymore.

xxJ

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I’m reclaiming my body and taking steps towards wellness everyday.

Embrace Me

It’s my body and I’ll eat pie if I want to.

Up until very recently I was living a depleted life. My days were filled with anxiety and depression, I was constantly overwhelmed and tired. My sleep was poor, I got light-headed all the time, I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t remember things, and I couldn’t keep up in general. I once had a naturopathic doctor posit that I felt this way because my body‘s resources were completely depleted and couldn’t keep up to the intense amount of stress I was going/had gone through. This sentiment was echoed by other medical and mental health professionals to the point where I accepted it as fact.

But my mission now, with my divorce settlement set in stone and my life much more in order, is to rejuvenate my body, soul, and mind and to give myself the loving care I deserve and have so needed.

To that end, I’ve sought out help. I have an A-list team of mental health, medical, and wellness practitioners assisting me in my recovery. Since seeking help, I’ve made huge (read: GINORMOUS) strides in bettering my mental and physical health: I’m on medications that seem to be helping me, I have counsellors whom I trust implicitly, I have friends and family on my side, and I have healthier outlets for my anger, my sadness, and my anxiety.

Right now, I’m working, just a little bit, which is something I hadn’t been able to do for years.

Right now I’m dating, just a little bit, which is also something I couldn’t have handled even just a little while ago.

I’m relaxing, just a little bit, which is something I had forgotten how to do.

And I’m eating—I’m eating well!—which is really the crux of what I want to talk about here. Because, like many other people, I have body issues and food issues, and these issues get more or less out of hand depending on how well or not well I’m doing.

Story time:

Last autumn I lost 20 pounds. It just fell off me between October and November.

*POOF* 

It was gone.

Some people would rejoice at shedding 20 pounds, but I know (and I knew at the time) that the weight loss wasn’t healthy for me. This weight loss was the result of tremors and panic attacks; it was the result of my lack of sleep and my lack of exercise. Really, it was the result of a deep depression and severe anxiety that made me lose my appetite and lose my will to try.

Fast forward to a few months ago when I hired a clinical nutritionist named Trish to help me make a healthy eating plan. Trish is awesome and one of the things I love about her is that she gives her clients a life plan, not just a nutrition plan. So when we met we had a conversation about, and I received personalized recommendations for, sleep, exercise, nutrition, sex/birth control, mindfulness, and stress management. Trish and I extensively combed through my habits and my preferences, as well as my stresses and my struggles. She learned about the meds I’m on, my hormonal cycle…everything!

Did you know that gluten can significantly affect our mental health? I had no idea.

Did you know that people can have late onset lactose intolerance? It turns out I’m one of those lucky late-bloomers.

Did you know that soy can do incredible damage to your hormonal cycle? I actually knew this, but I honestly didn’t realize how much it had affected me (fyi: I was vegetarian for 8 years, so soy was a staple in my diet!).

There are lots of fad diets out there like Keto and Paleo and GAPS that try to convince you that they are the BEST and ONLY way to eat. I know many people feel successful at addressing their body/food/health issues by following one of these diets, but I truly subscribe to the belief that each of our bodies is different and therefore each of our bodies has different needs.

My body’s not your body, your body’s not my body, and everyone should stop treating them as if they are the same.

So Trish and I came up with this plan, which I’ve been implementing for over three months now and guess what? IT’S LITERALLY BEEN LIFE-CHANGING! 

I am NOT used to what it feels like to have a healthy body; I’m not familiar with having stamina and strength and fullness. I love these changes, but here’s the rub: I love how I’m feeling, but I don’t love my body right now.

Those 20 pounds I lost last autumn? They’re back, and then some. In fact, I’m heavier now (aside from during my pregnancies) than I have ever been before. My clothes all feel tight. My belly is rounder. My teeny boobs are definitely less teeny. My thighs are chunkier. And don’t even get me started on the increasing voluptuousness of my booty.

My instinct is to hate it. And I mean HATE it. Feminist that I am, I’ve still fallen prey to the body image standards that society dictates and the messaging I got from family and friends growing up. I’ll sheepishly admit that I’ve always prided myself on being thin. But fuck, it turns out I was living a thin-privileged existence because this weight is really, really getting to me!

I can try to rationalize it to myself however the hell I want and I still always come back to “I look fat.” I avoid looking into mirrors now, because “I look fat.” I struggle to choose my clothes each morning, because “I’m too fat.” I feel self-conscious and so, so body-aware all the time.

I feel like a huge, fucking whale.

And I know it’s bullshit. I know, intellectually, that this is a crock of shit that my anxious, sick, unhealthy self created. I know that what I’m saying is stupid, but I feel like it’s completely and utterly true.

At least, I did until this afternoon.

Today, I put on my favourite pair of soft, body-hugging leggings, and a form-fitting, ribbed tank top, because I knew I wasn’t leaving the house and I knew that I wanted to wear something comfortable (none of my actual pants fit me anyway!). My daughters and I were busy all morning so I forgot to worry about whether or not my tummy was protruding or my thighs looked lumpy. Then I saw myself in the bathroom mirror at lunch time and my gut instinct was to feel revulsion, which is really the point I was at with myself! I immediately felt repulsed by my own image, but then a second later, I had an epiphany:

What if this is what healthy looks like on me?

WHAAAA????

What if this is what healthy looks like on me?

What if this body, these extra fifteen pounds or so, what if this is the body I’m supposed to have in order to be strong and energetic and beautiful and sexy? Oh my god what if??

When I left my ex-husband, I chose to do so because I knew I’d rather explain to my children why I left than why I didn’t. And today I decided to tell myself that I would rather be healthier and happier with fifteen “extra” pounds than keep living the hollow, depleted life I had been surviving in for the last two decades. I would rather eat well and feel full, buy pants a size or two bigger, have seconds if I want them, and snack instead of falling prey to my hypoglycemia…I would rather be bigger and find a way to feel beautiful at THIS size, than keep starving myself.

This has been a profound realization for me. And it’s one that I know I’ll be digesting (pardon the pun…not!) for quite a while.

I want to love my new body. I mean, even when I was thin (thinner?) I didn’t like myself! So what the hell do I have to lose in embracing the changes that are happening, which are OVERWHELMINGLY positive, and accepting that I am now this way and that it’s completely, entirely, fucking alright.

Who gives a shit that I have a few extra pounds on me?

Who cares that it took me this long to start feeling better?

What matters most is that I’m reaping the benefits of paying attention and giving my body what it needs. What matters is that I’m striving to embrace the version of me that looks different, but feels good. What matters is that I’m edging towards thriving instead of just surviving, and if achieving that requires me to go out and buy a couple new pairs of pants, then it’s most definitely worth it.

Maybe this is what my body looks like when it’s healthy.

You know what? Fuck maybe.

This IS what my body looks like when it’s healthy! And I’m going to fucking embrace it.

xxJ

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It’s basically impossible to feel shitty about yourself when you’re wearing sequins and rocking your dad’s university engineering jacket.