From the beginning

I want to introduce myself. My name is Rebecca, and I am a recovering perfectionist. This is my first blog post and I want to give you some insight into the beginning of my quest for perfection.

When I was in 7th grade(12 years old) I started watching what I ate. I honestly don’t know what the trigger was for me, I wasn’t overweight and at that time there was no facebook, instagram or internet to inundate us with the pictures of  “perfect” models like we have today. All I remember is what I put in my mouth was how I could feel some sense of control over my life.

After several tests, I remember the doctor telling my Mom, “well, she either has cancer or anorexia”. What?!? I can’t even imagine what was going through my family’s mind at that time. After unsuccessfully attempting to treat me as an outpatient, my weight got so low(58-60lbs) that inpatient treatment was the last resort. I grew up in a very small town and there were no local eating disorder clinics or experts so I was placed in basically a mental health group home 1.5 hours away from my house.  I am sure I was the youngest resident and was living among adults with various mental health issues ranging from bipolar disorder, to schizophrenia and addiction.  I still recall a resident that wandered the halls at night saying “what time is it” over and over again and walking into other residents rooms occasionally relieving herself in their trash can. Is it any wonder I jump out of bed when I sense someone entering my bedroom? My poor husband, he has learned to deal with this, and luckily it doesn’t happen all the time.

The guilt I  feel about how this impacted my family still  haunts me. I have 2 older sisters and a younger brother and my parents drove to see me after work one or two nights a week(3 hours round trip!)and on the weekends.

I know that it was a strain on my family and I can only imagine the toll it really took on my siblings. Fortunately,we are a tough New England family and we survived.

This is where my obsession with the scale began. At the inpatient center, all anyone ever cared about was what I weighed.  If I didn’t ” make weight” I couldn’t get a pass to leave with my family for the weekend. If I didn’t make weight, I didn’t get to do some of the weekly activities.

Lesson learned….. The scale has power.