Buying Jeans for a New Body
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Liz Rognes, a former Emily Program client in recovery. She is a teacher, writer, and musician who lives in Spokane, WA.
A few months after I gave birth to my son, I decided I wanted a pair of jeans. None of my clothes from before pregnancy fit, and I was tired of wearing maternity pants. But I was terrified of the process of finding jeans that fit. My body had changed and was still changing, and I had no idea what size to try.
Learning to Love Thanksgiving
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Liz Rognes, a former Emily Program client in recovery. She is a teacher, writer, and musician who lives in Spokane, WA.
My partner and I met in the fall, and, on one of our first dates, he mentioned that he was looking forward to Thanksgiving. He said that his family all gathered together, shared a meal, and people talked and laughed and played games. He spoke with such warmth and genuine appeal; it occurred to me that some people actually enjoy Thanksgiving. I, of course, dreaded it.
Uncertainty
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Liz Rognes, a former Emily Program client in recovery. She is a teacher, writer, and musician who lives in Spokane, WA.
My toddler is learning how to assert himself. He’ll run over to me, holding on to a pair of red shoes while exclaiming, “Toes! Toes! Toes!” This means that he wants me to put the shoes on his toes. I’ll sit down with him on the floor, his wiggly body in my lap, and I’ll work hard to get those red shoes on his feet. As soon as the shoes are on, he’ll run back to his room, little flashes of red pattering across the hardwood floor, and then he’ll return with a pair of green sandals. “Toes, Mommy!” So I’ll sit down with him again and work hard to get those red shoes off and the green sandals on, all while he’s squirming, moving, and happily watching his feet. And then, as soon as the Velcro is attached, he cheerfully demands the red shoes again.
The Practice of Yoga
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Liz Rognes, a former Emily Program client in recovery. She is a teacher, writer, and musician who lives in Spokane, WA.
A few years ago, I dropped in to a yoga class in my neighborhood. I had not been to this class before, and I did not know the teacher, but the class was on a sliding scale fee and I was a graduate student, and I knew I loved the way that yoga can help me feel present in my body while also calming my mind. So I showed up right on time, unrolled my mat alongside the other yogis, and settled in to a comfortable child’s pose, waiting for the teacher to arrive and for class to start. The moments before a class are my favorite; I can sink into a gentle stretch and let my body and mind begin to let go of the tension of the day.
Living Moderation in a City of Extremes, Part 5: Neither “Big” Nor “Easy”
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Clare Harmon, a former Emily Program client, and woman in recovery
A dear colleague recently pointed out to me—in a conversation regarding this experience—”you’re right you know, New Orleans ain’t that big and it ain’t that easy.” Indeed. I might start calling the crescent city the “Lil’ Arduous.”
What I’m Learning About Food from My One-Year-Old
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Liz Rognes, a former Emily Program client in recovery. She is a teacher, writer, and musician who lives in Spokane, WA.
My one-year-old son loves mealtime. He sits in his high chair, picks up a piece of macaroni or an orange or pieces of fish, brings it to his mouth, and then looks at me with big eyes and says, “Mmm!” He takes another bite and again exclaims, “Mmm!” If his dad is in the room, he’ll say, “Dada?” and my partner will say, “Yeah, buddy?” and he’ll say, “Mmm!” He wants to communicate with us, to share his happiness about this food he’s eating. He marvels at the new and familiar tastes, he looks at me with joyful surprise when he feels a new texture, and he claps his hands when he sees me preparing one of his favorite foods.
Living Moderation in a City of Extremes, Part 3: Recovery as Reclamation
Photo credit: Clare Harmon
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Clare Harmon, a former Emily Program client, and woman in recovery
Before I launch into the topic du jour—recovery as reclamation—I’d like to tell you a story about my pre-recovery, pre-treatment life. Once upon a time, I studied music. I mean, I really studied it. Once upon a time, I practiced between five and eight hours a day; subordinated everything to the viola. Once upon a time, I gave myself to music. I worked hard, eked out a meager living playing weddings, subbing with various mid-tier orchestras, and teaching lessons at a small liberal arts college. Once upon a time, I went to music school and subsequently tried to “make it” as a classical violist.
Two weeks ago, I wrote about a job I applied for (spoiler alert: they didn’t hire me) in the Lower Ninth. The same week I interviewed for that job, I was hired by my current employer—a stellar community school on Broad Street—to teach music fundamentals. At the time (and unfoundedly so), I was disappointed. I had it in my head that I would make a clean break from music, that I’d transfer my love of teaching to the language arts, to poetry, literature, the humanities. Music—all music—represented something destructive, a past that exacerbated my eating disorder and nearly killed me. I’m done with you, I thought. I’m on to greener pastures, a sparkling fantasy world where no one ever hurts and fancy unicorns expunge traumas grand and small. I’m leaving music far behind for pursuits clean, unsullied by my untidy young adulthood. I am a musician by economic, rather than ideological, necessity. As a colleague once callously announced, “I only play the viola if I get paid.”
Living Moderation in a City of Extremes, Part 1
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
By Clare Harmon, a former Emily Program client, and woman in recovery
I’ve lived in New Orleans for almost two years and I dearly believe I owe some of my recovery to this deeply flawed, deeply rich, and very, very humid city. This, of course, is not to say, “come to New Orleans, recover from an eating disorder in ten easy steps!” Certainly not. Recovery is a practice, a set of skills, a way of thinking and acting. But for me, recovery is also about setting goals and meeting challenges and I can think of no more challenging a city than New Orleans.
Before I continue, I feel obligated to offer a disclaimer. I’ve tried many times to write about New Orleans. Upon first arriving two years ago, I reacted expectedly: Louisiana is not Minnesota and New Orleans is not like any other American city. And this, at first, is perniciously charming to a born-and-bred Midwesterner. People smile, there seems to be music everywhere, the lushness of live oaks gives gracious respite from a near-suffocating Southern sun. But eventually, the tourist’s rose-colored glasses come off and you realize this is a city of extremes: wealth and poverty, corruption and goodness, violence and fellowship. And then, of course, the Storm, about which the complex befores and afters I have only just begun to fathom. All that said, I’ll do my best not to fetishize the city I cannot help but love.