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    I Am Enough
    I Am Enough
    I Am Enough
    Ebook148 pages1 hour

    I Am Enough

    By Jennifer D. Calvin

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    About this ebook

    Tracing the development of her eating disorder, Jennifer provides a glimpse of her childhood, her college years, the beginnings of her career as a P.T., and her new marriage. She discusses her ongoing treatment with a clinical psychologist, a nutritionist, and an art therapist, while introducing readers to her inpatient treatment at The Renfrew Center. Original poems and artwork, created while at the Renfrew Center and in the months following, convey her struggles as well as her hopes for the future. An increased understanding of her personal faith in God accompanies her move toward recovery. Insights from Jennifers treatment team and family members contribute to the unique story of her battle with anorexia.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAuthorHouse
    Release dateApr 20, 2005
    ISBN9781420837087
    I Am Enough
    Author

    Jennifer D. Calvin

    Jennifer Calvin attended Saint Louis University from 1993-1998, receiving a bachelor’s degree in exercise science and a master’s degree in physical therapy.  She is also a nationally certified athletic trainer.  Jennifer currently works as a physical therapist in a western suburb of Chicago. Jennifer was diagnosed with anorexia in 2002 and is currently working toward her recovery.  She began writing her story when she returned home from a 5-week inpatient treatment program at The Renfrew Center in Philadelphia in 2003.  She originally started writing with no thought of publication but gradually realized, while compiling information from her journals, that her story might possibly reach others struggling with eating disorders as well as those who support them.

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      Book preview

      I Am Enough - Jennifer D. Calvin

      © 2005 Jennifer D. Calvin. All Rights Reserved.

      No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

      First published by AuthorHouse 04/04/05

      ISBN: 1-4208-3708-7 (e)

      ISBN: 1-4208-3707-9 (sc)

      ISBN: 978-1-4208-3708-7 (ebk)

      Printed in the United States of America

      Bloomington, Indiana

      Contents

      Chapter One

      The Road

      Chapter Two

      My body

      Chapter Three

      Ambivalence

      Chapter Four

      Time

      Chapter Five

      Will I Eat?

      Chapter Six

      The Monster Within Me

      Chapter Seven

      Confusion

      Chapter Eight

      Punishment

      Chapter Nine

      Hunger

      Chapter Ten

      Punishment

      Chapter Eleven

      Why

      Chapter Twelve

      I Should

      Chapter Thirteen

      My Friend

      Chapter Fourteen

      Shame

      Chapter Fifteen

      The Fog

      Chapter Sixteen

      Stoplight

      Chapter Seventeen

      When Is It Time?

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      My Voice

      AFTERWARDS

      To Matt, Mom, Dad, and Karyn—

      Thank you for believing in me.

      Chapter One

       The Road

      My road is a long one with no clear end in sight.

      It’s generally a gradual up-slope with occasional steep hills.

      As I travel, I meet forks in the road that are unclearly marked.

      I am easily confused as I am faced with making a decision as to which direction to proceed.

      The path is clear only occasionally.

      I meet constant obstacles.

      At times there is loose gravel on which I slip.

      Other times, boulders stand in my way.

      I tread over muddy ground.

      I hide in the fog at times and fight through stormy weather.

      There are hills and valleys and rough terrain.

      Ditches and danger zones go unmarked, and I often find myself in them without warning.

      This road is a difficult one to travel.

      Will it ever be smooth, flat, and clearly marked?

      Do I, or should I, want it to be that way?

      My only hope is that God will lead me.

      He knows my road well, even when it seems I’m traveling it alone.

      11/19/03

      missing image file

      My eating disorder did not surface when I was a young teenager. It did not result from one traumatic experience in my life. As I know it now, the onset was gradual, resulting from numerous factors throughout my life. The first eating disordered thought I remember occurred in 1993 before I left for my freshman year of college at Saint Louis University. The thought went something like this, O God, please do not let me come back home from college for the first time having gained the ‘freshman fifteen’.

      I was absolutely terrified of what people would think of me if I returned home from college for the first time being any heavier than I was before I left. And I was not heavy. I weighed a normal body weight for my height and had never worried before about such things—at least consciously.

      I grew up in what I thought was the perfect family, with the perfect parents, the perfect sister, and the most perfect childhood a kid could ever have. I don’t think I had ever truly realized that any of the four of us were human. The Lanes? Human?? Surely not! That would mean that we were flawed. On an individual level, that would mean that I had limitations. Growing up as I had, believing that I could do anything I wanted to do and be anything I wanted to be, the thought of my having limitations was foreign.

      Even though I grew up in a household with a mom who dealt with an undiagnosed eating disorder but didn’t believe that her issues affected our family and a dad who ignored her cries for help because he simply didn’t know how to deal with them, I thought our family was just about as perfect as one could be. I, as the oldest child, had no idea about the messages that I received subconsciously as I grew up.

      My life as a child felt very happy. My mom stayed home full-time with my younger sister, Karyn, and me. We were always on the go, as my parents felt it very important that Karyn and I be exposed to numerous activities. We went skating at the roller rink, visited the library quite frequently, attended plays at the children’s theater, and were extremely involved in church activities.

      Mom was always available, and that felt so good. I felt so loved and knew that she would always be there (at least physically) whenever I needed her. She was a room mother, school volunteer, PTA member, church organist, etc., etc., etc. She wore so many hats that I am amazed now at how she kept it all together. As a child, I thought this was normal for a mom. I now realize that she had her own ways of dealing with stress, and they weren’t as perfect as I thought she was.

      My mom lived with a secret that no one outside our immediate family knew about. At least we didn’t think anyone else had caught on. She lived within the obsessive world of an eating disorder. It began for her when her obstetrician told her she shouldn’t gain too much weight during pregnancy. And she was not overweight to begin with. That comment led my mom into a spiral of restriction that, thirty years later, she is just beginning to reverse.

      From my perspective as a child, her world seemed ruled by the scale. And my perspective was accurate. Her day was made or broken by what the scale showed every morning. And it continued to be made or broken throughout the day by what the scale read at different times. I remember watching her agonize over the numbers—a feeling I know all too well now. She was trapped. She defined herself and her self worth by whatever number on which the needle landed.

      Without consciously realizing it, I believe I felt such sadness for her. She was my perfect mom. She didn’t deserve to be so unhappy. She shouldn’t have to hate herself and her body. She was wonderful—and still is. Everyone else believed it. Why didn’t she? I wanted to save her from her self-torture. I wanted to make her happy. I wanted to take her pain away. The question became, how would I accomplish that? The answer was, by being the perfect child.

      I didn’t even realize what was occurring in my brain. I didn’t consciously think to myself, I need to step up and do things perfectly so Mom will feel proud of me and be happy with herself that she raised such a good kid. But subconsciously, these are the exact thoughts that permeated my young mind. None of us knew what was subconsciously occurring.

      * * *

      I remember separating from my mom felt somewhat traumatic. I hated leaving her when she would drop me off at pre-school. I cried, and cried, and cried. On some level, I must have feared abandonment. Kindergarten did not seem to give me as many problems as did pre-school, but when first grade rolled around, my separation issues flared up again. Mom was called to school numerous times because I would not stop crying until she came. I remember my lunch meat sandwiches being ruined from tears. I wanted to be with her so badly. Just as I subconsciously wanted to relieve her pain, she very consciously desired to alleviate mine.

      My parents have maintained a very strong marriage for thirty-five years. It has not gone without its rocky times, but it has always remained rooted in Christ Jesus. I am thankful beyond measure for the Christian upbringing my parents provided for me. Even though God has always been on their side, their relationship has faced its challenges.

      My dad worked all day in the world of finance while Mom cared all day for Karyn and me. Roles seemed very defined. Dad worked to make the money to pay the bills while Mom worked to keep the house in complete order. Dad mowed the lawn while Mom weeded and clipped. Dad fixed things while Mom told him what needed to be fixed. It felt very Leave It To Beaverish to me. It was comfortable and just the way I wanted it to always be. Normalcy in our family also included Mom’s restrictive eating patterns.

      I always knew my parents loved each other, despite the fact that I very rarely saw them show affection for each other. A goodbye or hello peck seemed normal, but anything beyond that I deemed as gross. The gross times were few and far between. I almost couldn’t bear to watch the rare occasions that they would hold hands. And I remember that, fortunately or unfortunately, I never had the experience of walking in on my parents. I think I would have been mortified had that ever happened to me.

      Dad was the quiet, reserved, shy one of the two of them, while Mom appeared to be the more outgoing, talkative one. Mom needed Dad to hear her and talk with her. He just didn’t know how. I believe she really did try, at times, to use her voice with Dad. But he didn’t hear her. Thus, she began to starve herself to make him

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