eatplantswanderoften

[eatplantswanderoften]

Where I’m At

Fluffy. What a word. It used to be one I attributed to adorable animals and cozy blankets; but now...“Have I gotten fluffy?” I asked as I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked at every muscle, every blemish, every nook and cranny of my body, as I’ve inspected so many times before, looking for a change.

That morning I had gotten up, worked out (to the best of my ability in my tiny little living room), and went about my day. I felt as though I was working as hard as I could to keep my progress, with the gym being closed, and I felt strong.

As I’m sure everyone can relate, when our world as we knew it recently came to a drastic halt, I panicked. Aside from the obvious anxieties, I quickly became aware how much of my mental health relied on a barbell. With the news of closures, I instantly started restricting again. Not to the same extent I had before, but consciously knowing I was holding back. Every bite comes with deep and overwhelming guilt. As much as I wanted to think I’d recovered, as much as I wanted to think I was strong, I can see now that I have traded one obsession with my weight, to one with my strength.

I won’t go into the gory details about how I handled all of this *Read: NOT WELL”, but I got by.  I worked out daily, I established a routine, I tried not to restrict to the best of my ability and gave myself some grace when those nasty little habits and the ED voice reared their ugly heads. But then I seen a photo of myself, I felt like I looked fluffy. “Was my muscle depleting? Where have my abs gone? Have I gained weight?” In that moment, staring at myself in that dreaded mirror, a switch flipped. One second, I was neutral, I didn’t love my body, but I appreciated it and I felt strong; and the next I felt an overwhelming feeling of disgust. All I could see were those imperfections, the weight gain since I began recovery. I felt that wasn’t working hard enough. I felt like the weight gain wasn’t worth it because I was still having these feelings. I suddenly felt like the whale I so proudly had tattooed to my side. It certainly didn’t help that every second post on social media was about binge eating and gaining the quarantine fifteen.

I say all this knowing full well how narcissistic it must seem. And believe me, I have extreme guilt feeling these feelings. There is a global pandemic and I’m over here worrying about my weight. But that is the reality about living with an eating disorder. It’s an all-consuming devil, an addiction. My logical brain knows there are WAY bigger issues. It also knows that recovery is healthy and for the best, that my muscle isn’t just going to magically turn to fat, especially if I’m still working out. But there I was, standing in front of that mirror, watching myself change from a strong, determined woman to a weak, overweight child. But, if there is anything we’ve learned about reading though my ramblings over the past few years, is that I am ferociously stubborn. So, I’m not giving up. I’m determined to continue my recovery, no matter how much guilt and shit I feel right now.

So that is where I’m at. I’m not ok, but I know someday I will be. I say this in hopes of reaching someone else who isn’t ok. Don’t beat yourself up, as hard as that may be (Believe me, I know). Give yourself some grace, give yourself some time, and know that its ok not to be ok. Most importantly, know your not alone. We may not be close, hell I may not even know you, but I’m here for you. We are stronger than we think, especially if we support one another.

Huge shout out to my partner for being the best support system I could ask for and for constantly reminding me I’m beautiful, and I'm not alone.

So to you my lovelies; stay strong, stay safe, and stay the blazes home.

Your perpetually hungry herbivore,

Nat

#ed recovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

EDAW 2020

February 1 marked the first day of Eating Disorder Awareness Week in Canada. The increased transparency and activity on social media this week has really made me think back on my journey and, me being me, I thought I would share this mess of thoughts with you. I also figured it was time to give you an update on how I’ve been handling life recently.

Last I rambled at you, I had started therapy, started lifting, and started being “okay” (or neutral) with the weight gain. I have still been taking my recovery one day at a time and have been having more good days then bad, but it’s not perfect. I have continued to see my therapist and really benefited from the practices and mindsets she has shared with me. I’ve thrived so well, in fact, that she provided the option of seeing her every second month, because I was barely acting on my disordered thoughts, to see how I faired with a little less supervision. At first, I was so proud of myself…but then the worry snuck in and my brain, being the arsehole that it is, immediately wanted to go back to restriction and disordered thoughts. Am I better? Does this mean I’m fat enough that I can’t possibly have an eating disorder anymore? Ridiculous thoughts to most people, but this is the shit that goes through my head. But, despite my dickhead brain, I ignored these thoughts (mostly) and trudged forward.

Speaking of weight gain, I have officially hit the +25 lb club. Do I know its what’s best for my body? Yes. Am I happy about it? Changes by the minute. I had mentioned in my last post about being disappointed when I didn’t see the scale go up. Those feelings hung around…until that scale did rise. Before this disorder, I never imagined it was possible to have such drastically different opinions on something at the same time. On one hand, a little extra weight means increased health (while, let me tell ya, has been one hell of an added benefit) and the possibility for muscle growth, which is what this aspiring powerlifter needs and wants. On the other, its literally going against every belief and aspiration I had for most of my life. When you have spend almost 30 years convincing yourself the scale should go down every time you step on it, seeing it go in the opposite direction is like a swift kick straight in your newly padded gut.  Seeing myself with the little extra padding around where my lower abs once were, seeing new stretch marks, honestly disgusts my dickhead disordered brain. If I don’t increase my lifts at the gyms, if my pants feel too tight, I instantly feel like none of this recovery and weight gain was worth it and want to fall back into my old patterns. But then I think about how far I’ve come, about how much strength I’ve gained both physically and mentally, and about how much I never fucking want to go through this again; and I stop those thoughts. If I were to relapse now, I would have to do all of this again. I take a deep breath and think about the facts:

I am SO much stronger

My health and energy has increased 10-fold

115 lbs is not huge, despite the feeling that I look like a whale

I am SO much more than my weight

These thoughts allow me to move forward, day by day, meal by meal. Is it easy? No. But is it would it? 100%. Being Eating Disorder Awareness Week, the increased feel on my social media has made the dickhead (my disordered brain) compare myself to everyone. Maybe I’ve recovered because I’ve gained too much weight. I feel like seeing all these posts make me feel like my gut is huge. If I don’t struggle quite as bad as some of these people, my struggle isn’t as important. Maybe I’m just an over eater/binge eater and should try to diet again. Insane thoughts I know, but they are there. And I feel even worse because, if I am having these thoughts, I’m letting the dickhead win and I’m failing. But, just like before I stop and think logically, everyone’s struggle is different and can not be compared. We are here to support one another, not compete.

So here I am, continuing to fight. Fight my stigma to be skinny, fight my body telling me to restrict myself and fear the weight gain, and fight this disorder not only for myself, but my loves ones who supported me along the way. I'm proud to say alot has changed over the past year. As ive said before, my progress likely resembles that of a drunk, blind mole rat running though a laboratory maze. But hey, regardless of the setbacks I'm moving forward. Taking my recovery one day at a time. Be it my amazing support system, my love of lifting and how it's transformed my body, or my ungodly stubbornness not to let this disorder win, I am slowly beginning to love this body of mine and what it can do. So if you are struggling, please know you are not alone. I have your back, and I support you. You are more than your weight, you are so much more than this disorder, and YOU ARE ENOUGH💕

Your perpetually hungry herbivore,

Nat

#EDAW2020 #ed recovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

The New Me

Well, as I have said many times in these blog posts, its been a hot minute. I have had some major hesitations about writing another one of these posts. Maybe because of the misconceptions from my last post, maybe its because I don’t want to accept how I look now is the real me, maybe because I was too damn busy. Regardless of the reason, here I am, putting my clusterfuck of emotions, thoughts, and feelings out on the interwebs for the interested few to read.

A lot has changed since my last post. I’ve made a lot of progress, small or otherwise, and I’ve gotta say I am hella proud of myself. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my tough days; weeks even, but, one step at a time, I’m moving forward. Like this age-old meme showing expected vs actual success, my progress likely resembles that of a drunk, blind mole rat running though a laboratory maze. But hey, I’m trying right? 

Biggest thing is, I finally accepted I needed help. Not from a peer, not from my family, but honest to goodness psychological help. And to no one’s surprise but my own, it’s really fucking helping. Making connections between these shitty feelings and the bad habits they support has helped me become even more self aware of exactly what it is I am doing to myself. Trying to change these habits, understand these feelings, has allowed me to finally start to get over the hump in my recovery I couldn’t surpass on willpower and caffeine alone. Am I better? Hell fucking no, but I sure as hell am getting there. I know this disorder will be something I struggle with my whole life, but anything I can do to make each day just a little bit easier, you bet your sweet bippy I am going to try.

Mindset; a word I have thrown around a lot. Something that, for me anyways, has always been a hard thing to change, no matter how much I think I do it. Like me, my mindset is a stubborn shit who doesn’t really like change. Going from believing I need to be the skinniest person in the room and that food should constantly be restricted to “hey, I’m not the skinniest, but I am full and happy” is not easy, let me tell you. The constant comparison to other people is exhausting but something that I still do daily (although desperately trying to stop). Constantly asking for reassurance if my meal isn’t too big, if I look fat, etc., is not only exhausting and annoying to the people I ask, but also to myself. Every time I compare or seek reassurance I feel as though I let myself down. So, I took this failure, and turned it into a goal.

Instead of just eating more and stopping the comparison to simplyget better, I decided I wanted to be strong. And I don’t just mean looking muscular, I decided I wanted to train like a powerlifter. So I got a few training sessions, and thats what I am doing. My thought process is, if my lifts are not improving, if I am not making a noticeable progression, I’m not fueling my body properly. Logically, this lack of fuel means I need to eat. Surprisingly, this simple science combined with my goal oriented, obsessive personality, was enough to give me the push I needed. I have been allowing myself just a little more freedom with food. I drink a little smoothie every morning, I actually allow myself to have an alcoholic drink every now and again, and I occasionally and increasingly *brace yourself* allow myself to eat until I am full. I know, I know, that doesn’t seem like a big deal. But for me, it’s huge.

Guess what? I hit deadlift, squat and bench PRs this week (which isn’t a mass amount of weight considering how much strength I had lost, but hey, it’s still a fucking win in my books). Another thing; this extra food and fuel really hasn’t made me gain a whole tonne of weight yet. Don’t get me wrong, I know that this will be part of the progression, but I think I am starting to become ok with it. I look stronger, healthier…I FEEL stronger and healthier. If that means I have a little more cushion around my tummy and a little more chub to my cheeks; so be it. I caught myself getting on the scale last week after a weekend away and it had gone down a few pounds. You know what? (sorry, I realize I ask a ridiculous amount of rhetorical questions) I felt disappointed. If that alone isn’t some sort of progress, I don’t know what is. The feeling was fleeting, mixed the next day with doubts and anxiety when it went back to my normal weight, but hey, it was there, it was clear, and it was real.

One of my “bits of homework” was to track how much I look at my gut in the mirror and think ugh. This is something I would do almost every time I went to the bathroom or walked by a mirror. Which, for someone who drinks upwards of 6 liters of water a day, is a whole fucking lot. Funny thing the mind is though, I found because I knew that I had to write down each time, I stopped doing it at all. Or, looking at another part of my body that I am happy with. That week of tracking allowed me to see that hey, maybe this new body isn’t so bad after all. I still look at my gut and think ugh sometimes, but maybe only once a day instead of all day every day. Now when I look in a mirror, or anytime for that matter, I don’t feel the constant need to suck in. I am allowed to be bloated; I’m allowed to have some fluff. Maybe the biggest realization I’ve had is literally no one gives a rat’s ass about my abs except me. But when a stranger comes over to me in the gym and tells me I look phenomenal and making great progress (really happened, I promise), that means a lot.

I know this post, especially that last paragraph, is a bit jumbled, but so are my thoughts. I jump everyday from feeling great, to hating my new body, then to loving it once again. So here I am, chubby cheeked and cranky, at the end of a day of eating, drinking far too much water, and *full disclosure* being pretty damn constipated. Love it or hate it, this is the new me, the stronger me, the healing me. As always, thank you, dear reader, for stopping by. Stay tuned for more neurotic ramblings and progress updates.

Your perpetually hungry herbivore,

Nat

#eating disoder recovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

Where it all began...

This is a hell of a ramble with, likely, a lot of spelling errors. You have been warned...

I have been doing a lot of reading lately, about peoples recovery journeys; where it all began, how they got there. And it got me thinking; where did this all start for me? For as long as I can remember, I have always compared myself to others. I was the short, stubby, buck-toothed kid with a bowl cut from the trailer park. Hell, if that's not asking for a self confidence issue I don't know what is. As far back as elementary school, I can remember feeling inadequate. My friends were tall, skinny, and beautiful and I sure as hell was not. I don't know if I realized it at the time, but I wanted SO badly to be them. I wanted to be from the fancy neighbourhood, I wanted to be tall, be as pretty. This longing left me a bit of an awkward and shy kid painfully lacking self confidence.

My first distinct memory of disordered eating happened in the summer after grade six, before moving into junior high. I don't know what it was; the change in school, the new students I was going to meet; but I was ABSOLUTLY terrified. I dealt with this by refusing to eat. I wouldn't have it. I would hold out as long as possible until my mom would finally convince me to eat something.  It has been so long, I can't remember now if I responded to this my binging or not, but looking at the rest of my history, it really wouldn't surprise me.

I have distinct memories of friends, and even boyfriends for that matter, calling me “fatty”, as far back as junior high. They used the term like it was a nickname or something. I always laughed it off and went along with it, like it never bothered me, when in reality it ate away at me from the inside. Slowly at first, then with a burning hunger of a puma in heat. At one point, I had a boyfriend's mother nickname me Natrasha. Because I was trailer trash, having grown up in a trailer park. She meant it in a joking way (as far as I'm aware) but, being adolescent shit heads, the nickname stuck. So basically I was fatty Natrasha. Endearing right? This name was just asking for an eating disorder in someone who was already SUPER lacking self confidence. Don’t get me wrong here, I am not blaming anyone for this disorder, it is no ones fault but my own. But, I just want to give you a sense of where these feelings came from and how much innocent, adolecent jolking can really effect someone.

Even though I was very concerned about how I looked, I didn't always care about how I ate. I should preface this, I was never a traditionally skinny person. I wasn't good at sports, but I loved being outside so that kept me active “enough”. Ask anyone in my family, I may have been a picky eater when I was younger, but hell, I had an appetite. I was, as I like to refer to myself now as, a perpetually hungry (now) herbivore. I have always LOVED food, and that love has always kept me at a normal, or slightly higher than average weight. In high school, I met a friend who introduced me to the gym (here's looking at you Lizzy). I started going with her and instantly fell in love with the way it made me feel and the way my body changed. It helped me make “healthier” food choices and kept me active. When I started loosing weight, binged and purged a few times, but nothing I considered a problem. So, by the time I was graduating high school, I didn't actually hate my body for once. I was in shape, muscular, and not super skinny by any means, but content. Some of my friends, on the other hand, still managed to find fault. For some I got too “in shape” and looked like Bambi. To others, fatty Natrasha was still kicking.  But hey, school was over and I was on my way to the booming metropolis of Halifax.

In my first year of university, I started to become a bit more hyper focused on my food. My dorm mates would comment on how fit I was, so I felt the need to keep it up. I was going to the gym pretty damn consistently at the beginning. But, it was first year. Things got busy, the heartbreak got real, and the exercise started to dwindle. The food, however, stayed pretty consistent. I tried to avoid deep fried things (most days) in the caf, ate a lot of salad, and managed to keep off the freshman 15. Even with the  weekend Jean's Chinese Food snacks with my bestie. During this time I also went though a heartbreak, from my longest (at the time) relationship. The depression and stress set in, and I lost a bit of my appetite for a while.

The following few years were a whirl wind. Stressful, fun; I won't bore you with the details. I have a few binging and purging episodes, but once again, nothing I considered a problem. Looking back, I got INSANELY lazy, especially (to no fault of his) when I met my current partner. We lived together, enjoyed chicken McNuggets WAY too much, and just loved hanging out at home together or playing games with our buds. But, during this time as far as I can recall, I had no real obsession with food or my weight during this time.

My next distinct memory of a food or weight obsession came during my second summer living in Calgary. I don't know what sparked it, but I was starting to feel really down about my weight, by diet, everything. I remember asking my partner if he thought I was over-weight. His response? “Yeah, a bit But I still love the way you look” And that, dear reader, was the beginning of a long, dark, downward spiral into disordered eating, food obsession, and body dysmorphia. 

Just want to make a major, major clarification here. I am by no means blaming anyone for this eating disorder, least of al my partner. He has been my rock, my guiding light, and my reason for recovery throughout this whole process and, if it were not for him and his support, I’d likely have been hospitalized, or worse. He was 100% not aware of my disordered past when we had the conversation. This comment simply brought out my underlying insecurities and feelings. Insecurities and feelings that were already there, that I had been trying to ignore, pushing away, attempting to drown with food. So, to my partner, and to anyone else, I am truly sorry, from the bottom of my heart, if it appeared as though I was blaming you. This disorder is my fault and mine alone.

At this point, I began working out a bit more, “dieting”, not eating out as much, and restricting what I ate just a bit. It didn't really stick when I got back to school begain eating sushi 3 times a week, and by the next summer, again in Calgary, I was at my largest. Looking back at photos, I barely even recognize myself. Looking at anyone else at my size, I would say they were completely healthy, normal, and beautiful. But to me, I was a monster. During that time I went to the gym, ate “healthy”, but really, nothing changed. I hated my body, I hated myself every time I ate something; the guilt was SO real.

Cue the story beginning here ( https://eatplantswanderoften.tumblr.com/post/177531263576/its-been-a-hot-minute ) and my ongoing battle. I'm sure I am missing a lot to this story, and I'll add more as I remember, but at least I got it out. It helps to visualize the factors that got me here, and made me who I am today. Though disordered and still seeing mysef as the 60lb heavier girl I was that summer, I can now see the strenth I have developed in what I have gone through.

Wells thats enough rambling for one blog. If you made it this far, thanks for reading.

Your perpetually hungry herbivore,

Nat

[eatplantswanderoften]

My Triple Digit Diatribe

I've been wanting to write this post for a while. Maybe I'll write a one month recovery blog; maybe I'll write once I feel more like myself and can be more positive. Truth is, I was making any excuse not to post this becuse, once I do, it wil be real. I'll no longer be able to hide behind the medication side effects, baggy clothes, or the forced relaxation. It's a reality now, as true as I am stubborn.

If you can't already tell were I am going with this, I have hit a triple digit weight again. I am (to me) a whopping 101 lbs. I basically feel like a beached beluga dragging my ass across the dry, sad land that is my life. I haven't seen 100 on the scale in over two years. When I begain my recovery, my long term goal was actually to reach 100 lbs. That meant, at the time, I needed to gain 15 lbs. 15 lbs that took me years to lose. You might as well have told me I needed to gain 100 lbs, because they most deemed like insurmountable, insanely large weights. Weighing myself after my month of forced relaxation and healing, I have finally reached that weight and I couldn't be more conflicted. I hate it, I hate it so much. But, I know it is what my body needs. 

The first ten pounds has taken me the last roughly year to year and a half to gain. Slow and steady, I always said to myself, and anyone who asked why I wouldn't just "eat a bunch of burger" and rapidly throw on the pounds. I wanted to gain the weight healthily so that I wouldn't look like I was getting fatter, just more muscular. But, the last 6, have come over the past month, with my decreased activity. Way too fast in my opinion, and produced the exact effect I was trying so hard to avoid.

To most people, I look no different. Some people have even told me I'm looking healthier (which in my mind means fatter). But to me, I feel like a whale. My cheeks seem fatter, my lower abs are barely visible anymore, and my thighs are too close for comfort; basically I feel like a whale. Not to mention I have been so, SO damn blaoted. I feel, and look, as though I am growing some sort of gas demon.

So, how do I feel about all this? I'll get back to you. One part of me is proud of myelf for reaching my long term goal. Am I happy how I got here? No, but I did; I made it. Part of me is scared. I'm scared I wont be able to stay here and I'll keep gaining. I'm sared that I'm no longer as afraid to eat until I'm full, even if I don't work out twice a day. I'm afraid I'm not going to be the skinniest person in the room anymore. But mostly, I'm just confused. I'm feeling more like myself again. I'm back to lifting, to fit classes, to my old routine. I have more energy and more motivation, but also more pounds. Is this energy a result of the weight? Or am I finally getting over this heart issue. Is my motivation because I have more energy, or because I feel like I need to get back to double digits, back to my safe zone, back to my unhealthy weight.

I just don't know. I don't know how I feel, what my plans are, what's going on inside this thick skull of mine.  But, as always, I'll be sure to keep you informed along the way.

Thanks for reading.

Your perpetually hungry herbivore,

Nat

[eatplantswanderoften]

The Truth Ain’t Pretty

I wish I could say since my last post things have been better. I wish I could say that it gave me a new outlook on life, that this condition made my weight, my disorder, not seem so important....but I can't. If anything, its made me focus more on my weight, on food. Once again I feel almost consumed by it. And if I’m being completely honest with you, I’m lost, and don’t know what to do.

Not being able to lift weights, not being able to get in the hot room and do yoga, makes me feel so out of my element.  I don’t get the exersise I crave (read: I’m obsessed with), and I dont get the relaxation and piece of mind they bring. I feel as though, because I'm not working out twice a day, that I should be restricting my calories, because I'm not burning as many. I know in my head, I really shouldn't be doing this, so I try to keep up with my normal diet, which FILLS, I mean literally fills me from my head to my toes, with guilt. Then, lets couple this with the medicatin side effects. Pardon the horrendous oversharing, but I'm constipated as all hell and retaining water like there is no tomorrow. This has caused me to bloat and swell to the point where I truly look like I'm pregnant. I made the mistake of getting on a scale...6 lbs in 2 weeks. Scientificaly, I know that alot of it is likely the side effects of the meds, the increased cortisol levels; but what if it isnt? What if I weigh 101 lbs now?

Would a three digit weight that be the end of the world? I know, in reality, my body needs the weight. That, at my size, 101 is still underweight, but the fact that I can no longer see the abs I thought I worked so hard for, the fact that I have to balance the scale at 100 instead of 50, makes me feel as though my life is crumbling. 

I hate how insanely overdramatic and childish this sounds.  Millions of people people live life daily with MUCH (x 1000) bigger problems than me; this is such small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. Yet... it still consumes me. I am unintentionally isolating myself; from my friends, from the world, at the time when I really need them most. I need to talk it out and I hate being alone, but I can’t bring myself to honestly face anyone. Some how, I’m afraid they I will see myself though there eyes, the that I’ve gained weight, that I look like the beached whale I’m afraid I do. I don't feel like myself and I can't seem to drag myself out of this rut. I hate being in pain, I hate complaining, I hate idling; and I feel like that is all I have done the past 2 weeks. My usual positive demenor seems like a figment of the past and I’m afraid I won’t get it back.

To all of you who have made it through this self pity sob story, I’m sorry, and I love you. I promise I won’t always be this upset, moody, and distant. I beg you, please don’t give up on me. Despite all of this, I am trying. I am pushing forward to get better, one day at a time. 

Humbly yours,

Your herbiverous Hampster,

Nat 

[eatplantswanderoften]

Then BAM, it hit me

Well, this week has been a god damn whirlwind.

Since I have been back from Mexico, I’ve have been having pretty severe, intermittent chest pain. Basically, it would feel like I had a knife into my spine between my shoulder blades, then every time I would try to take a breath (which could only be shallow AF) the pain would radiate to the front and into my shoulder blades.IF i wasn’t sitting completely upright, it was agony. After a week, I went to a walk in clinic, and the doctor just laughed me away, saying it wasn’t something he’d seen before but it “probably wouldn’t kill me”. Talk about amazing health care.

After a few weeks the pain subsided a bit, coming and going through the weeks, until last Thursday. The pain was so bad I could barely breathe and just wanted to cry. But, me being the stubborn shit I am, popped some pain meds, threw on the heating pad and suffered through. 

Then there was Monday. I got up, went to the gym, had a great morning with a friend. All seemed normal. Then, while relaxing in bed with Netflix and a hot cocoa, the pain started. Dull at first, then worse and worse. Lying down made the pain worse, advil wasn’t helping, and I wasn’t able to take more than a sip of breath. Sleep wouldn’t come, relief wouldn’t come, but the cold chills sure as hell would. Pardon the WAY too much information, but the pain was so bad I was actually vomiting. I was texting Colin at the time (who is currently in the frozen hell that is Northern Saskatchewan) who called me immediately. He was trying to convince me to go to the hospital, but I was in NO shape to get myself there. God bless him and his family, he hung up on me and called his mother who immediately came and drive me to the hospital, and waited with me for 4 hours until she had to leave. If you are reading this, words can not describe how grateful I am for that.

After about 8 hours of waiting in the waiting room I was finally seen to, and with another 8 hours, a mirage of (be it very damn handsome) doctors, cardiologists, 16 vials of blood and a series of tests and rooms, I was diagnosed with a pericardial effusion caused by viral pericarditis (assumed viral, cause of the pericarditis still TBD). Basically, pericarditis means I have an inflamed heart. This inflammation has caused a big ol sac of fluid to form around my heart. I am very lucky in that it is not big enough that they have to stick a giant needle in my heart to drain it. I am on a regiment of anti-inflammatories and PPI’s (to deal with the gut issues caused by the anti-inflams. These take a bit to work, so here’s to hoping, but they SURE as hell make me hella, hella nauseous. 

Now, I’m not telling you this to feel sorry for me. In terms of pain, I know SO many people live life on a day to day basis in SO much more pain. Though very serious, pericarditis is treatable, and with some time, and dreaded rest, I will heal up. But, I wanted to share this with you to put an eating disordered mind into some perspective.

I was told that, at least until my next cardiologist appointment in a month, I am not allowed to lift. If I must, I can do light cardio and, thank fucking Jebus, I’m allowed to do yoga (if the nausea goes away long enough to actually get into the hot room). Upon this diagnosis and treatment, my first thought wasn’t “OMG, I am SO lucky this isn’t worse” or “holy hell, I’m a 27 year old with a heart condition”, it was “fuck, I am going to have to lower my calories or I am going to get SO fat”. Talk about fucked up priorities. Here I am, in a hospital bed, in immense pain, with a giant sac of fluid around my heart....and I’m worried about my weight.

The worst part is,it’s still my worry. Frankly, I’m terrified I have this heart problem, and I know that if I don’t rest, it could get worse. But yet, here I am, forcing myself to get up every morning and at least walk on the treadmill, despite nausea, fatigue and pain, because god forbid I ingest more calories than I burn. I’ve already caught myself restricting, or feeling insanely guilty for eating even a very low calorie meal. Even now, I’m skipping a meal.

You know, sometimes I’m not sure what’s worse..restricting my calories, or being so self aware that I know exactly what I’m doing, and still letting it happen. I know my body needs the nutrients to heal, but I cant get my mind around letting it.

So here I am, your herbivorous hamster with a heart problem, putting my fucked up feeling out to the masses. Most posts, I try to say something uplifting, something to help me work on my recovery. But today, I just need to bare the truth. Eating disorders not only effect your body, but they distort your sense of priorities and reality. It’s not easy, but all I can do is take it day by day. Remind myself that I come first. Remind myself of all the the people crazy enough to love me, who worry about me constantly. If I don’t care about myself enough to rest and recover for me, I definitely care enough to do it for them.

 I guess that’s all for now folks.

Thanks again for listening to the neurotic ramblings of this herbivorous hamster.

Nat

[eatplantswanderoften]

Whoops, I Missed It

Unbeknownst to me, until after if was over of course, last week was Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Completely unrelated, although with impeccable timing, it is also the week I decided to get my damn ass into gear and actually make a big step in my recovery. I’d like to say I’ve been doing great since my last post, but that would be a lie. I’ve been hyper focused on my food, weighing myself once (and sometimes double checking it when I got to the gym) a day, and shaming myself for looking “puffier” than I had, because, god forbid, I get a little bloated (*cough* thank you high fiber vegan life) and I can’t see my abs.

I’d had it with myself. Colin had had it with me. I’m sure everyone and their dog could tell that I was 100% letting the stressful few weeks at work get to me and that I was HARD on the struggle bus. Hell, at that point I was probably driving it…strait into GD eating disorder hell. On top of all this I knew I had to get a wisdom tooth out last week. Which meant a change in diet for a few days, and more terrifyingly, no lifting and no gym. So, me being the neurotic herbivorous hamster that I am, decided I needed to get myself out of a bad situation, before it became even worse.

So, after that saga of a backstory, I bet your wondering what I did eh? Well…..

I GOT MY SCALE OUT OF MY HOUSE.

Last Sunday, I said enough was enough, and took my scale to my mothers. Now, I visit my mother once a week on Saturday night’s/Sunday. I’m sure y’all can put 2 and 2 together, but this means, if I can stop my compulsive ass from weighing myself at the gym, I only get to weigh myself Sunday mornings. ONCE a week, down from sometimes twice a day… that’s a big ass step if I do say so myself. And you know what I’m even more proud of? I actually fucking did it. Sure I only got to the gym once (so I only had the opportunity to weigh myself once) but I resisted. Even today I resisted. I Lasted a whole damn week without weighing myself. And you know what? I didn’t die, the world didn’t end, and more importantly, I wasn’t 500lbs heavier when I did weigh myself yesterday.

So, moral of this story, this is once change I AM, let me repeat, I AM, going to keep. This time last year I got rid of the food scale, this years it’s the big scale (aside from Sunday mornings, for now). I actually feel ok with this. I was terrified last week, but it almost seems easier this week, and hopefully will continue to get easier as the days go on. I honestly never thought I’d be able to say that. I just want to let the world know, especially those of you who also struggle, that if this herbivorous hamster can do it (I’m far too much of a fan of this alliteration now) so can you. And in the end, that is what raising awareness is all about. This is a problem so many people struggle with daily; on different levels and in different ways; and SO many of us are afraid to talk about it. But, if we can come together, and rise above this horrible illness, recovery can feel that much more achievable.

Well, that’s all for now folks. 

Stay Tuned,

Nat

#eating disroders #eatingdisorderawarenes

[eatplantswanderoften]

New Year, New Blog Post

I could start this post by saying its been a hot minute, that I know I said I would do better about posting...but like alot of other tasks in my life recently, I’ve failed. Pressure can be a funny thing. I always thought I worked well under pressure, and when it comes to work, deadlines, or anything that isn’t related to my own personal welfare, I do. I started this blog to hold my self accountable. I thought that if I got my thoughts, my goals out for the world (or just the few people crazy enough to read this blog) to see, that the pressure would hold me accountable to them. And for a while there, when it came to the first few steps in my recovery, it did. But the harder my goals became, the harder I was struggling to meet the next one, the harder it became to write about because, like most people, I’m way to stubborn to admit I failed. So, instead of seeking help with moving forward with these goals in my recovery, I’ve suffered in silence;To proud to admit I’ve failed, to stubborn to seek help. 

I’ve been noticing I’m falling into the same traps in my recovery that I have with body image; the constantly comparing myself to others, be it their weight, how much they eat, how hard they work out. Instead, now I’m comparing my progress to how fast other people recovered, how easy they make it look, how great the new them is doing. 

I recently seen a post floating around instagram that really hit home. it said:

A Toast to the OLD YOU

If you feel inspired to use the new year to help youreset or change habits: great. And yet: The old you has survivedevery terrible day, every hard thing, every awful circumstance, and every heartbreak you’ve ever felt. the old you is a fighter. And that’s work celebrating.

As corny or cliched as it may sound, it really put my recovery into some perspective for me. Fuck the new me. Fuck trying to turn myself the girl who has no body issues, who can eat whatever she wants, who doesn’t worry about food. Fuck trying to be someone I’m not. That isn’t me. I’m a neurotic mess who loves food but obsesses over my weight and every little thing I put in my mouth. I’m a stubborn little shit who has put myself through hell and back. And you know what? I’ve made it out the other side. I’m still fighting. Still putting one foot infront of the other everyday. I need to stop focusing on being this new person, and start appreciating where I started, and celebrating how far I have actually come. Yes, the last few months have been tough, and yes I have not made as much (read: any) progress as I’d like, but I’m still here and still determined to get better.

I need help, and maybe I thought this new me didn’t. But, the old me, the Me me, does, and I am not afraid to admit that anymore. I realize not I really do have people out there who care, even if they dont know what to say or how to talk about it. So, this is an open call to anyone; if you’re concerned, if you just want to talk, if you’re curious at all about recovery, just ask. I won’t bite. I am more than happy to talk about it. I just don’t like to burden others with it if they don’t ask. To my friends who speak openly about this with me; I can not thank you enough or describe how much your support means to me.

I’m just going to apologize now for the complete word vomit of this post. For once, I’m not going to end it with a “I promise to write more often”. I write when the emotion hits. For anyone that knows me, I can chat the ear off a door handle, but when it comes to writing, its a bit tougher. So, thanks for holding out. Thank you, dear reader, for your time, and thoughts, when I actually do summon the courage to put my thoughts to paper.

Until next time,

Your perpetually hungry herbivore,

Nat

#eatingdisorderrecovery eatingdisorder

[eatplantswanderoften]

Cha- Cha- Cha- Changes

Remember that whole routine thing I talked about last post? This past weekend has made me realize just how much of a slave I am to mine. The last two months on my own, I developed a routine, a ritual if you will, for my day to day, hectic life. I found comfort in this. Every morning; Gym, home, work, yoga, errands, home, dinner, bed. Not only was there structure in my activity, but structure in my eating habits. This was working SO well for me, or so I thought. I could feel myself making progress. Just little things, like feeling a bit stronger in the gym, letting myself go out to dinner on a whim if someone asked. I even gained 2 or 3 pounds and felt ok with it! Never thought in a million years I would be able to say that. But I realized when I look at myself I didn’t look so different. My abs were still there, but I felt stronger in the gym; my face didn’t balloon out, but people are always commenting how healthy I look. This, to me, made those few pounds on the scale, no matter how much that little voice inside was screaming at me to drop them, all worth it. 

But then there was this weekend..... For anyone who knows me well, you know I do not idle well. I love to be on the go, love being busy, and I hate just sitting around. Relaxation is not a word I relate to very easily. On top of this, I’m stubborn, and when I set my mind to something, or set a goal, I’m going to tackle it come hell or high water.  This past week I set a goal that, when Colin came home on Thursday after two long months in Morocco, I would not let this disorder get in the way. I had a four day weekend that I could spend the whole time catching up and spending quality time with him. I would eat what he wanted, do what he wanted, let myself have a damn potato, or a slice of pizza, if that’s what my body was telling me it needed. I would do all this and not let it stress me out.

Well guess what?  I failed.

Don’t get me wrong, I am so God dang happy that he is home, but from the minute I woke up on Friday, and that routine I clung to so dearly was thrown off. No gym, eating at different times, having someone around to ask “Is this too much? Am I being gluttonous?”; I could feeling myself slowly slipping back into these terrible tenancies I have been trying so hard to break. That little voice inside my head was getting louder by the minute. And what was the most disappointing and frustrating to me was, I let it. I let that little voice drown out all the sense, the logic, the strength I have been working so hard to develop. The worst part of it all is, the logical part of my brain knows EXACTLY why this is happening. I am self aware to the point where I am even explaining to Colin why and how this is happening...but I still let it happen. The more relaxation we did, the more he tried to help, the worse I felt. Every moment I sat around, the little voice* grew louder and all consuming.

*Just a quick disclaimer here. When I talk about the little voice, I PROMISE I’m not hearing things. Its just my way of personifying the disordered thinking. Coming from such a scientific background, I have a very logical thought process. This “little voice” is the complete antithesis of this. But I promise you, I haven’t gone off the deep end. Still about as sane as I ever was...which I’m not sure is saying TOO much, but you get it.

So here I am, happier than a pig in shit that my partner is home, but struggling to stay afloat. I know recovery isn’t a short, easy, or straight path. Its going to take me years, there will be huge leaps forward and devastating crashes backwards. My path is going to look like a drunk frosh trying to navigate the streets of Halifax, instead of a nice, linear progression; but is long as I keep moving forward, its progress. So when I got up this morning I made a new goal; to slowly try to become ok with change, and not let it break me. Routine is great and all, but I need to be ok when its broken. The world wont end, I’m not going to spontaneously blow up to the size of a manatee who ate one too many pieces of sea lettuce ...it will be ok. And now that its out here in the interwebs, it means I have to stay accountable, not only to myself, but to you, dear reader, who care enough to actually read my neurotic ramblings. I am way too damn stubborn to fail again, so here goes nothing.

Until next time.

Your perpetually hungry herbivore,

Nat 

#eatingdisorderrecovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

Routine

Well...it’s been another hot minute, at for that I apologize. The past few weeks have been crazy hectic for me, and I’m still not sure my body knows what time zone its in. Throughout all of that craziness, there was alot of change. Anyone who knows me knows I live for my daily routine. And hell, has it ever been sidetracked recently. So lets start from the beginning shall we...(if I can even remember where that is). Going to be honest here, this is going to get personal. Any men reading this that do not want to hear about women’s bodily functions, abort the mission now.

First big event was I finally found a doctor, and realized my thyroid medication was way too high for my current size. Dropping the medication was tough in my mind. Even though scientifically I know how it works, for some reason all I could think was “fuck, my metabolism is going to slow down. I need to start dieting again or I’m going to turn into a whale”. When I really should be thinking about all the good it will do, not having it wear away my bones, causing brain fog, etc.  But, I did it, on the newer, lower dose of medication and feeling good about it.

In doing this, I also started letting myself eat a bit more fats. FATS? They don’t actually make oyu fat apparently. They keep me full, they clear the brain fog, not to mention they taste hella good. Andyou know what happened when I stated increasing fatsin my diet? I GOT MY DAMN PERIOD BACK! Its not regular, its not normal, but its fucking happening. This is huge. It means my body may, be it very slowly, actually be starting to rebound from all the shit I have put it though. In the back of my mind I still had this voice saying “if you got your period back, it means you gained weight. Best put a stop to that asap before you grow a huge gut”. But as time goes on, and as days pass and I feel better and stronger, its getting far easier to drown out that voice. Over the past few weeks people have been telling me how healthy and happy I look. My face has more color, I have more energy, I’m even lifting more weight at the gym. Its these points right here that make the recovery easier, no matter how much that little devil inside me is screaming.

Then there was the travel. First came Morocco.  The most exotic, beautiful, and hectic place I have ever beheld. I was worried going there. What will I eat? There is SO much bread. OMG I’m going to balloon. But then I thought, I am NOT going to let this ruin my experience. So you know what? I didn’t. I went there and savored every delicious morcel. The bread, the oils, the dates,the nuts (see below for some delicious photos). Sure I had the little voice screaming inside me (and honestly, I know that will take years to fade, if ever), but its slowly making its way to a dull roar.  And you know what? I couldn’t be happier with this. I finally allowed myself to live and damn, I ain’t ever looking back.

Houston came after this. Not so exotic, not so exiting, but still outside of my normal routine and way outside my comfort zone in terms of eating. While there it wasn’t soo bad. Got to taste some delicious vegan goodies we dont get in Canada, and some fabulous vegan options at the conference and local resturants. But then there was the travel back. Delay after delay, stuck in airports, completely and utterly exhausted. I had some tasty snacks with me, all of which were nuts, chocolate, things I would notlet myselfhave too much of. So in the airport, after hour 3 of my flight beeing delayed, I broke downand got a burrito. Logically, I know its just veggies, a wrap, and some guac. Healthy, fulling and delicious. But I did the badthing and looked up the nutrition. ~750 calories...in one sitting. This basically sent me on adownward spiral from here on out. That voice started screaming, louder and louder as the day went on. It took me until the next day, after a few hours of much needed sleep, to finally realize that this was totally ok. This is a normal lunch meal for most people. Sure I may not be comfotable eating like this quite yet, but it was not gluttonous, not binging, just simply a meal.

Throughout all of this travel not getting to go to the gym was hitting me hard. No morning gym, no evening yoga. So I made sure I went for long walks each day to ensureI was keeping active. But I didn’t force myself to workout, which, in and of itself, was a huge step for me. Not only have I been restricting food all this time, but I have likely been overexercising too. Working out every morning, doing yoga every evening, and never really giving my body time to recover. So this trip, even though somedays I walked 30+ km, I didn’t lift a single weight...and it didn’t kill me. Let me realized that maybe my body does need rest afterall.

So there you have it. The last month in a nutshell. I am finally getting back to my regularily scheduled programming. I’m sorry if this post was a complete clusterfuck of thoughts and stories, but hey, that word describes meperfectly right now. Bottom line is that voice, that little devil inside me is slowly starting to quiet down. I’m allowing myself, trusting myself, to eat what my body needs, not what I think will be the lowest calorie option for it. I feel SO much better for it, and its motivating me to keep it up. So now that I’ve got all of that out, here are some photos of amazing vegan Moroccan food!

Juice was everywhere here. Fresh pressed and DAMN delicious. AND I let me self drink it. LOTS of it.

Moroccan Tapas: Marinated beets, carrots, beans, and zuchinni, zallouk, olives, potato, moroccan salad and bread. Fresh OJ for dipping! From Clock Cafe in Marrakech.

Vegan apple deliciousness from Earth Cafe in Marrakech.

The most amazing mixtures of Moroccan salads known to man.

Vegetable Couscous. This was truly enough food to feed a small village.

Fresh oranges with cinnamon. Simple and delicious.

Roasted veggie meal from Rick’s Cafe in Casablanca.

My Daily breakfast, which I continue to have now that I am home. Nuts, dates, fruit, olives, hummus and BREAD.

Traditional Harrira and zallouk from the most adorable little resturant in the medina in Rabat.

Vegan deliciousness from Earth Cafe in Marrakech.

What I like to call the best damn sandwhich known to man. Found this in the Medina in Rabat. Fresh bread stuffed with fried eggplant and potato, moroccansalad, roasted peppers, Moroccan salad (cucumber, tomato and onion) and harissa <3<3

#vegan #veganfood #eatingdisorderrecovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

Focus

The last few weeks have brought alot of change into my life. Change in my home life, change in my mindset, change in my focus.My partner left on Saturday to study french in Morocco for two monthes. Distance is never easy, but compounding this on top of the loss of support; I won’t lie its been hitting me pretty hard. That being said, I am SO damn proud of him and after the endless support he has given me, I am behind him, supporting him 100%.

This change has totally made me adjust my focus. Being along in the house, I have no choice but to focus on me and only me; which, to be frank, is absolutly horrifying. I have no one to ask “is this too much?” or “am I being gluttonous?”. I have to trust my body, trust my hunger signals, know that if my body says its hungry, it likely is. But anyone that has been though this knows that intuative eating or trusting your hunger signals is basically like trying to find your way out of a maze...blindfolded...walking backwards on your hands. 

Last night, someone whom I love dearly, look up to, and admire to no end shared her experience with an eating disorder. Knowing how much she went though, that she had the same feelings, emotions, habits as me, and seeing her now; beautiful, strong, and healthy; gives me so much hope that maybe someday I can get there. One of my biggest worries is that if I allow my self to eat even a little bit more, I am instantly going to swell back to my 60 lbs heavier self who easts fast food 5 times a week. But seeing that this persons is still slim, but healthy, really helped. It is just so nice to be able to talk so openly about the insance, boggled thoughts running though my head with someone who has though the same things. 

Part of recovery is gaining weight. Being the nerd I am, I know all of the science behind what is going on in my body; that I need to gain weight to be healthy and, at this point, to simply stay alive. But no matter what people say to me, how terribly skinny I may look to them, to you, when I see myself all I see is the overweight, insecure person of years past.

Basically what I am trying to say is focus, much like the photo below, can be blurry. It doesn’t mean its bad and it doesn’t mean its wrong; as long as you can make out what it is supposed to be, there is always hope that the fog will clear and focus will sharpen. No matter how much turmoil is running though my head when I eat, I know that in the end my goal and my focus is the same; to beat this damn thing.

#eatingdisorder #eatingdisorderrecovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

Falafel Bowl

I promised the next post would be a recipie and here it is; falafel. Up until this past month, as strange as it may sound I had never had a falafel. Deepfried chickpea fritters, tahini...it had always sounded to me like a dieters nightmare full of unknown fats and carbs. But boy was I wrong. Since trying them for the first time, I may (read have) had them 3 times in one week. These absolutly delishious balls of goodness are healthy, nutrient dense, and addictive as all hell.

So, I must admit from the get go, this was a bit of a recipies fail for me. Inspire by Two Market Girls air-fried Falafel Sliders, I took their recipie and made due with the ingredients I had in my house. May have added a bit too much liquid and processed it a bit too much because, damn, I bassically made hummus. That being said after adding a bit more chickpea flour and chilling the dough, these little beauties came out of the airfrier absolutly delicious. Served here on a bed of mized greens and parsley with pickes, pickled turnip, red onion, bell pepper and delicata squash. All drizzled with a spicy tahini dressing. I’ve included my random recipe below, would would highly reccomend checking out Two Market Girl’s recipe!

Falafel

1/3 cup chopped white onion

2/3 cup fresh chopped parsley

1 tbsp dried cilantro

4 cloves garlic

1 tbsp lemon juice

1 tbsp cumin

1 tsp coriander

1 tsp cayenne pepper

1 tbsp aquafaba

1 can chickpeas

1/4 cup chickpea flour

Add all incredients except the chickpeas and chickpea flour to a food processor and blend until smooth. Add the remaining ingredients and pulse until desired consistancy. Do not overblend or you will truely end up with a liquidy hummus. I then chilled the batter for 20 minutes or so, rolled into balls, andpoped them in the airfried for 15 to 20 minutes, flipping half way through.

Spicy Tahini Dressing

1/3 cup tahini

1 tbsp lemon juice

1 tsp each ginger, onion, and garlic powder

1/4 cup water (adjust for desired consistancy)

1 tbsp sriracha (adjust for spicyness level)

Stick all the ingredients into a bowl and miz until smooth. Sweet and simple!

#veganfood vegan eatingdisorderrecovery healthyfood

[eatplantswanderoften]

Traveling

Well folks, for those of you sitting on the edge of your seat patiently waiting to see if I survived the weekend (haha, I kid), here I am. I survived my weekend awayand came out the other side relatively unscathed. As a recap, I set a goal for this past weekend to go to a resturant and order something I actually wanted, not just a salad, and attemt, to not feel guilty about it.

So, did I succeed? Kind of. It was a busy weekend for sure and I had to dine out alot. I won’t lie to you, I was stressed as hell and the guilt was hitting me like a ton of bricks. But its not only the guily you feel, its the unease surrounding the whole situation. Being the neurotic, anxious mess I am, I’m constantly asking myself; Can people tell how stressed I am? Am I ruining everyones experience?  Are they judging me? And, the biggest question to me, am I being gluttinous and will this make me fat? It is SO hard to push these questions and feelings out of my head when dining out. Hell, I ask myself these questions on the daily. But that is party of the recovery. Slowly, but surly, trying to push these feelings, ask these questions less and less. Learning to trust your body, feel it the fuel it needs.

This all being said, I had an absolutly fabulous weekend and had some spectacular food. Charlottetown has an amazing range of vegan options I did order more that a salad (sometimes). Reciever Coffee was frequented ALOT, amazing energy ball for one breakfast, tofu scramble burrito bowl for another, and copius amounts of coffee. (Aside: I actually ate an energyball. Nuts, fats, sugar and all). I had a (sadly disappointing) salad with a lentil patty, late nite drunk food of taco salad, and my personal favorite, Hopyard tofu tacos (pictured below).  

Not only did I eat out, but I actually let myself have a few drinks! These may seem like small potatoes to most. So what? You had a taco and a beer. But for me this is HUGE. Sure I felt guilty, sure I stressed, but I did it, regardless of my inner voice telling me (read: screaming at me) not to. Part of the name of this blog, and one of the things I like to do most, is wander. I love to travel and so much of that is living in the moment, enjoying your experiences without being consumed with the though of food and the guilt that comes with it. So here I am, once again, easing my way through this recovery to reach my end goal; to simply live, without guilt, without restriction, and to the absolutle fullest. 

So did I succeed with my goal? Yeah, I had some tacos, I had an energy ball and a tofu scramble. Was it easy? Nope. But it’s something I will always be working. Little goals, every week, to bring me to that end goal.

The next one will be a recipe, I promise.

Your petpetually hungry herbavore,

Nat xx

#vegan #veganfood #eatingdisorder #eatingdisorderrecovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

Eating Out

Eating out...What was once known as (read: still often is) one of the 7 layers of hell for me. For years I avoided resturants like the plauge. Added oils, not able to track EXACTLY what you were eating; it was way too much for my anxious little mind to deal with. But what I didn’t realize at the time was, not only was I missing out on some incredible delicious food (many of which are pictured below), but I was also missing out on memories, on experiences. How many amazing memories have you made, sitting around a table with a drink and some amazing food? I was completely isolating myself; from my friends, from dates nights with my beau, from living the life I now know I deserve.

These past few months I’ve slowly let myself start eating at resurants again, occasionally getting some take out. Hell, I’ve even let myself has a few drinks, and for any of you who know me well, I am NOT one to drink my calories. Its been a slow process. Only allowing myself to order salads (dressing on the side); only eating half of my meal, removing the bun from burgers; you get the jist. But yesterday I did something I have not done, or let myself do, in a very long tme. I went to a work lunch, did not order a salad or something I knew was super low calorie, and ate every single bite (shoutout to Rasa in Halifax, hella tasty Chana Masala). Admittedly, I did not order rice with it. Half way though, I put my utensils down and thought to myself, “I guess I’ll just get the rest of this to go”, but then my stomach growled. Why was I stopping when obviously I wasn’t full? In that moment I made the consious decion to keep eating, to give my body the fuel it wanted, needed, and deserves. I stressed about it, in the moment and for the rest of the day, but hell, for the first time in a long time I felt satisfied, fueled, and full.

This weekend I’ll be on vacation with my partner and his family in PEI. I will be out of my kitchen and out of my comfot zone. I know there will be alot of dining out and likely alot of liquid calories. But yesterday I made the goal to go any enjoy myself this weekend. To live in the moment and to attempt to not feel guilty about it. However, it was pointed out to me that, though those goals are great, they are not exactly measurable or attainable (obviously I can’t always stop my mind from feeling those things). So I did a little re-jigging, my goal now is to go to a resturant and order something that is not a salad, something I actually want. I know I’ll stress, but it’s something I can do, and something I know my belly, and my body, will thank me for it later. 

So, here goes nothing. My attempt at living in the moment, cutting some of the guily, putting “memories over macros”. Stay tuned folks, in the immortal works of the Jamacian shrunken head on the Knight Bus (shout out to all my fellow Harry Potter fans) “it’s going to be a bumpy ride”. But I’ll get through it, because hell, I too god damned stubborn not to.

xx Nat

With that, lets looks at some of the amazing Vegan food halifax has to offer.

The Nook Bedford: CBLT on marbled rye

EnVie: Dumplings

EnVie: Kale Caesar Salad with Smoky Tofu

EnVie: Bacon Cheese Burger with a Kale Caesar Salad

The Wild Leek: N’omlette with a house salad

Roll it Up: Vegetable roll and vegetable dragon roll

#eatingdisorderrecovery #vegan #veganfood

[eatplantswanderoften]

Tofu Shawarma Bowl

For anyone who follows my instagram, some of these food posts may be all over the place, so I appologize in advance. But here come a year of vegan creations, both old and new!

Last nights dinner was inspired by @minimalistbaker Shawarma Spice Mix, I marinated some extra firm tofu in lemon juice and a blend of cinnamon, cloves, coriander, tumeric, ginger, smoked paprika, cumin, and cayenne pepper.  Served on a bed of greens with pickled turnip, red onion, tomato, and pickles with homemade garlic yogurt sauce and sriracha!

When I having tough recovery days, huge salads are my go to meals. They are filling, nutritious and somehow don’t add additiona emotional guilt. But next time, this sucker is going in a fresh pita, and I will feel NO guilt about it. Stay tuned folks, it will definetly make a reapearence. 

#hfx hfxfood halifaxvegan nsvegans vegan veganfood vegansofinstagram plantbaseddiet wfpb veganrecipes plantbased vegansofig veganfoodshare #eating disoder recovery

[eatplantswanderoften]

It’s been a hot minute...

Ask anyone, I am a fairly goal oriented, extremely driven individual. When I put my mind to something, come hell or high water, it is happening. BUT, for some reason, when it comes to this blog and documenting my kitchen creations, I’ve had a complete mental block. Upon thinking about it, I think its because I feel like a total fraud. I make all these delicious recipies, make it seem like I have this amazing relationship with food, when in reality it is slowly killing me.

For those of you who don’t know me, or aren’t aware, I have been suffering from a pretty sever eating disorder for a few years now. When I was at my heaviest, I said enough was enough. Started working out, eating healthier, but also purging. After about a year of that, I knew I had a problem so I said enough was enough. It was an unhealthy, debilitating issue that had to be stoped. From that day on, to this day, I never purged again. It was that day however, I started “tracking my macros” or counting calories. This worked for me, it really did, for the longest time. I hit my goal weight! But then I hit 10 lbs under that, then 10 lbs under that. I found myself isolated, glued to my food scale, traveling around Scotland worring about calories instead of enjoying my time its the beautiful country side with the love of my life. It was during that trip I realized that I had simply just swapped one eating disorder for another. 

After that I still tracked, however didn’t limit myself to a calorie limit (although subconsiously I TOTALY did). It took me until Feburary of this year to finally drop the scale. It was Colin’s last day in town before his 2 month stint in Northern Sask. We went out for brunch and he asked me not to track, just for that one day. And you know what? I didnt. I stressed that WHOLE day over it, but I didn’t weigh or track a single thing. When that 365+ day streak was broken on MyFitnessPal, it almost seemed like it dindt matter anymore. And from that day on I havent tracked.

This, however, does not mean I was magically cured. I continues to subconsiously restrict the amount I was eating, became obsessed with clean eating, and continuted to lose weight. But I knew I had to, HAVE TO, get better. So here we are. If you got lost anywhere along the way there, the TL;DR: Binge Eating>Bulemia>Orthorexia> Active Recovery.

And thats about where I am today. I FINALLY realized I can not do this alone and I am actively seekng all the help I can get. I have my good days and my bad. But I have the best support system, and a passion for vegan food and cooking, and a unstopable, undeniable need to get better. So welcome, once again, to Eat Plants, Wander Often. The esentric ramblings of a wannabe vegan chef who’s in active ED recovery. I hope you stick around for fun recipes, tasty(ish) images, and some blog posts thouwn in here an there.

I’ll actually post this time, and thats a PROMISE.

Nat

#vegan eatingdisorder eatingdisorderrecovery