Losing Sucks

Today I lost. Ed-1, Lauryn-0.

Today I threw my fleece covers over my head, curled my aching body into a ball, and cried. You know, one of those gut-wrenching sob sessions that will probably leave your stomach sore tomorrow? I had one of those cries today. 

Bad days in recovery are inevitable. You're going to have sucky body image days. You're going to have days where Ed is extremely dominating. When you do have those days, they suck. You feel like he weighs a thousand pounds and he's just stomping on your soul.  

Today it felt like he weighed one million pounds and he was driving a truck through my soul. 

Originally, today I was supposed to stand up in front of high school students for a few hours and tell my story and encourage hope for others. Obviously, I was in no mindset to do this, so I cancelled them. I didn't feel right preaching the things I fail to practice, especially today. I was not about to fake a smile today; I did that for ten lonely years. The students shouldn't have to hear my hypocrisy, so instead, here I am.

Some would call this a pity party. They'd give me the whole, "you could have it way worse" schpeel. Yes, that is true. I could be on my death bed with a body full of cancer. I could be homeless. I could be struggling with things MUCH WORSE than a bad day in recovery. I get it. But sometimes, pity parties aren't something to be ashamed of; They're human nature. So as I lay here in my bed with swollen eyes as I type this mess of a blog post, I am throwing a pity party. Population: Me and Ed.

I have an addiction. The gym is my drug. Yes, it is a true passion of mine, and has allowed me to showcase so many amazing things that my body is capable of. However, when my drug is robbed of me, I go through one hell of a withdrawal. I tend to identify myself with the gym. You know on that first day of school when the teacher makes the class play an awkward and childish ice breaker game? My ice breaker would always be me introducing myself and recognizing my obsession with the gym. "I'm Lauryn, and I love the gym, I am a powerlifter." I'm proud of my accomplishments in the gym, but I tend to let it consume my self perception. Who am I without the gym? What do I do with my life without the gym? Honestly, I don't know. I haven't found her. I haven't found the path to finding her. 

All that previous rambling brings me to my main 'issue'. Because of the fact that the gym is very much my best friend, I hate it when we get into fights. When I say that, I mean when we don't talk for a few days, and I don't see it.  I'm a very on-the-go type of person. I have to be doing something in every waking moment. My mom often asks, "where's the fire at?" when walking with me. I struggle to just simply be still. I also struggle to listen to my body, and lately my body has been telling me to calm the hell down because she is hurting. Her hamstrings and hips won't allow Lauryn to be active, do the compound movements she loves in the gym, and basically won't allow her to work out at all. She is and has been desperately begging Lauryn to please take a break. When I work out, I work out HARD. I push myself to my absolute maximum every sIngle training session, and have been for a verrrrrryyyy long time. I do believe that in order to see results, you need to push yourself past comfort levels. However, I always go above and beyond that level and end up overdoing it which brings me to my meltdown today. I over-trained for way too long, pushed my body for too many long workouts, and now she threw back a big slap of karma at me. I have never taken more than 3 days off from the gym in my life. Why? Because I'm afraid of gaining weight. It sounds petty, childish, and ridiculous. It is. But to me, it's another part of my self identity. Who am I if I gain weight? I won't even feel comfortable in my own skin. I workout so hard so I can allow my mind to let me eat. Again, that sounds petty and absurd, and it is. But in my mind, it's a battle zone and I will NOT downplay what I struggle with because others might think it's ridiculous. 

So ladies and maybe a few gentlemen, I'm sorry if you were expecting a positive post, but recovery is not all donuts and sprinkles. Today recovery is green bean casserole (if you really know me, you'll understand that reference). I don't know if I'll eat anything more than the 1 meal I had earlier today. I don't know if I'll rise from my bed. One thing I do know is that it's okay to have these kinds of days, but I just don't know how to properly get out of them. If you made it this far, thank you for listening to my negativity and complaining. I'm only human.