Here Goes Nothing.

Hopefully my first post got your attention and are still with me as I finally take off a mask I have been wearing for quite sometime now, 8+ years to be exact. 

  

  

I am sitting crossed-legged on a pretty comfy high top bar chair, my laptop on the kitchen counter, sipping on a glass of chocolate milk, ear buds in listening to my "Chillin" playlist on Spotify, wearing an over-sized t-shirt and probably about a 10 year old pair of basketball shorts that I like to call pajamas (guys, eat your hearts out), tapping my keyboard as I stare at a blinking cursor wondering how to start this (oh and might I add my heart pounding out of my chest).  I never thought it would be so hard to just start talking about myself, no research, no notes, no lectures, literally typing MY story that has no right or wrong answer.  I think I am so nervous because I have never really showed a vulnerable side so publicly.  I like to think I always seem pretty chill, perky, bubbly, "normal", everything is going well, but the fact I am even saying the word "I" so many times is giving me so much anxiety! Okay, can ya'll tell I am just starting to ramble on?  Avoiding the reason why you are even reading this right now? Tracey, JUST SAY IT.  Well, okay.  Here goes nothing...just going to dive in.  Bare with me as this will probably be a pretty lengthy post but my hopes are that you will stay engaged and dare I say, be anxiously awaiting post #3?  *and since this isn't being graded, let's just skip over any grammar/punctuation/text talk errors. k? k!  

As you probably noticed and maybe wondering why the "ED" is capitalized in the name of my blog, "TLCunmaskED", it is because I am unmasking myself and my secret of battling an eating disorder since 2007 and a small episode in 2005.  Just typing that sentence alone I threw out my ear buds, immediately stopped typing, and placed my hands over my pounding heart as I did not know the emotional reaction I would have by reading that out loud.  My roommate just asked me if I was okay and she said, remember you are doing this to help others, and that is all I needed to hear to get right back to typing (thanks, girl).  My battle has primarily been with bulimia as well as restricting and using other behaviors to numb out the present moment, to numb out who I was, to numb out where I was.  I have had a constant battle with my body and myself, never being comfortable in my own skin, wishing I was someone different or at least liking the person I saw in the mirror.  I would binge and purge, or just purge on what ever I would put in my mouth and at its worst, 7-10 times a day.  I would use exercise as another form of purging if I felt like I had ate too much in a day or if I have not ate at all, still go work out for hours thinking that will help me lose weight faster, because if I at least liked my body, maybe liking myself would come for free.  This did not come out of the blue as I have always been one who loved to work out and be active from a very early age on.  I started playing basketball at age 7, played soccer, softball, tried my whack at tennis, volleyball, I was just born with sports/athletics in my blood.  Growing up, I watched my dad come in from strenuous bike rides and races, jealous of what he had accomplished before the sun came up (remember this for future post to come), always wanting to know how many miles he just rode.  To this day, I know I got my athleticism and passion for an active lifestyle from him as he has now been a cyclist for 45+ years.  Taking it back even further, my grandfather was a football stand out in high school and made his way to Vanderbilt University where he served as a Captain not only on the football team but also his fraternity and snagged a cute little cheerleader while he was at it that later became my grandmother (my both of them rest in peace, love and miss you).  My mom told me stories of how my grandfather after college would only use stairs at work, seeing how fast he could go up them to stay somewhat in shape post football and welp, that sounded way too familiar as I look back on times I have used stairs at work/life every where I go, thinking how many calories I MIGHT have just burned.  So all in all, I have just always LOVED to work out, every gym I have been a part of as become my safe haven, my release, my second home, where I could be me, where I didn't feel judged.  In high school, if I wasn't at school or practice, you knew where to find me.  That is until my relationship with exercise spiraled out of control.  The more I noticed the gratifying feeling I would get after practically killing myself in the gym became my addiction.  It was my drug.   I started to think sweat was the primary factor in losing weight so I would wait and go running during the hottest part of the day, in all black, or go to multiple exercise classes and then do my own personal workout while wearing a sweatshirt to not only cover up my body and shape but to SWEAT.  I would not leave a gym until I was drenched, sweatshirt/long sleeves/t shirt, whatever I was wearing, it had to be either a different color or able to be rung out until I was able to leave.  It's like I had my very own Drill Sargent inside me that was telling me to keep going, and I loved it.  My life revolved around how much SWEAT I could get out of my body, pretending every drop was a negative thought getting out of my sick mind.  And loving to work out, be fit, be healthy is normal right?  So if I did something that was so "normal" and accepting to society, no one would ever question what I was doing, right?  HA.  So I would go until I could not sweat anymore, leaving my insides feeling empty of any emotion.  After the work out, or a purge, I would feel good, so good because instead of dealing with the serious problem at hand, I had ways to avoid the situation and in my mind, with healthy coping mechanisms.  I like to call it my hamster wheel that became my daily routine.  But why wasn't I seeing any results?  Why wasn't I losing the weight I thought I would be?  Why do I not have the perfect body I was so desperately wanting and working for?  I barely let anything digest in my body so how is this possible that I still have fat everywhere, even sometimes more so than before my eating disorder?  So that just triggered and fed my eating disorder even more.  To maybe spend another hour in the gym, to purge a few more times a day, because that would keep me from actually being ME, having to figure who I was outside of working out and being an athlete (again, remember this for later post) because who would want to hang out with some out of shape, lost girl not knowing who she was and what she wanted out of life.  Anyone asking themselves what I did for fun during all of this?  I did not know what fun was.  Sure I still went out with friends but it was so hard to be present because all I could think about was my next workout, or "I could be working out right now, I could be at home purging right now."  Because if I did those things, one day I would love myself enough to actually have fun while being around others.  So, when did this all start?  How did this all start?  WHY did this all start?  Well, if I had the answer I probably would not be where I am right now, right?  I'm sure those who know me are wondering how in the HAAAYELL have I been hiding this for so long? how was I never caught? how did you miss it? why would I put myself through this torture?  Because I was good.  I was reallllly good at having an eating disorder and I was really good at masking my true self.  It thrived off the secrecy. So, why didn't I just stop.  Just stop throwing up, just stop working out so much, just STOP.  Folks, hate to break it to ya, but this shit doesn't work like that.  It is not about my relationship with food, or my body, it is my MIND.  My mind on how it thinks, how it processes things, how it sees things.  Our minds are some pretty powerful objects.  As I say with a chuckle, 'luckily', my mind threw me a HUGE curve-ball that Babe Ruth couldn't even hit.  I say luckily because even though I struck out for 8 years, I'll be damned to say with my head held high I would not even be close to the person I am today, typing these very words, saying with confidence, what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.

Now in this post, my primary purpose was to reveal my secret.  I would say that was a success.  Moving forward, my goal of this blog is not for popularity, for attention, for love, for hate, or for sympathy saying poor me.  It is to continue to take you on my "not so magical carpet ride" (yet) of the past years dealing with this sickness, how I am living a more valued-driven, AUTHENTIC life in recovery today using my passions of fashion, fitness, and food (okay, maybe the last F word isn't quite a passion yet but darn it, 3 F's in a row sounded pretty cool) to stay on track, and MOST IMPORTANTLY, to inspire others that are going through similar situations to know you are not alone and to not be ashamed of whatever storm you are going through.  I want to help you get rid of your shame, as well as mine that is still lingering around, and to get you closer to your sunny days as I am seeing more frequently in my forecast.

Ya'll have NO idea the amount of weight that has just been lifted off of my shoulders.  Friends and family who are hearing this for the first time, please do not hesitate to reach out with any questions/concerns/WTFs?  And for everyone, I am an open book and do not feel like you have to tip toe around me for those who see me in every day life.  There may be judgments, disgusts, praises, one or two continued readers after this, but I could care LESS.  I am doing this for me and my recovery and to all the lives I am hoping to touch and shed some positive light.  This is Tracey and I am ready to start living life as ME.  

So get ready folks, lace up your Nike's and get the ice bath ready because the next stop is a little place I like to call college, Guilford College. I am going to take you on my journey of being a collegiate athlete with an E.D. and back to where IT all began, where IT happened for the first time, where this could have possibly been triggered as early as age 5.  See you on the baseline.