My marriage sent me to the psych ward. I guess I should rephrase that. It wasn’t actually my marriage that got me admitted. It was the letters PTSD, or rather the fact that that’s what happens when you tell enough people, in one day, that you want to die. I…Read More
“I understand,” some well-meaning friends and family said to me when I told them I was struggling with posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Really, do you? I wondered, a bit agitated. I must admit, my PTSD and irritability can go hand in hand. Yes, I was annoyed, but I also felt invalidated. Did…Read More
I’m scared of my husband. He’s a sweet, gentle man, but sometimes when I see him, my body falls to the ground. I huddle in a ball on the floor protecting my neck. Intellectually, I know — or at least part of my brain knows — he would never hurt…Read More
I remember eagerly, yet timidly, beginning eating disorder recovery. Notebook in hand, I was terrified, ashamed, and I was oh-so-tired. I was ready to be done, or so I thought. I didn’t realize on day 1 that recovery would be a process and I wouldn’t get better with that one…Read More
If you’ve read my books, you know that I have a thing for acronyms. In eating disorder recovery, I named my illness “E.D.,” or simply Ed. In 12-step meetings to break free from Ed, I learned other helpful acronyms—like my favorite, HALT. HALT stands for Hungry, Angry, Lonely, and Tired.…Read More