Eating Disorder Referral and Information Center

International Eating Disorder Referral Organization

I am Different: Seeking Similarities in Recovery

“I am different,” I explained.

I was talking with my psychotherapist, Thom Rutledge, at the height of my battle with anorexia and bulimia. He made a few remarks, and I nodded my head to cover up for the fact that I was not listening to a word he was saying.

“But,” I continued, “I am different.”

When I was struggling with my eating disorder, “I am different,” was my anthem. If I could prove to Thom, to myself, and to everyone else that I were different, then I had an excuse for why I was not getting better. I believed wholeheartedly that therapy, the Twelve Steps, and all of the other recovery tools worked for “them,” but I also believed that I was different from them. Those things would not work for me.

Looking back, I now know that I was afraid at possibly failing at something that worked for everyone else. So my pride and ego began working in reverse to save me from the possibility of failure. It was easier to be different than to fail.

When I would walk into a weekly group therapy session, I would scan the room and analyze all of the differences that I saw between them and me. I am a true perfectionist; they are mere amateurs at attempting to do everything right. I am a workaholic; they just want to have fun. I cannot get better; they can. Not surprisingly, my practice of focusing on the differences led to extreme isolation.

“When it comes to eating disorders,” Thom always says, “isolation is what kills.”

As I slipped away into an unhealthy solitude, my destructive behaviors with food became worse and worse. I was isolated, and it was killing me. Terminal uniqueness --- as the condition is commonly called --- was truly killing me.

I not only compared myself to the people in my therapy group, but I also focused on the differences between my family and me. And I analyzed how I was different from all of my “normal” friends. I even dwelled on how I was different from the grocery store clerk, the waitress, and the bus driver. I thought that no one understood me.

The fact is that a lot of people understood me. Some people even understood why I focused so much on the differences, because they did the same exact thing that I did. Thom had certainly worked with many terminally unique clients prior to me.

I am not exactly sure when it happened, but my ears eventually opened up in a therapy session. (I think my newfound willingness to listen had something to do with the fact that pain is a powerful motivator for change, and I was in a lot of pain.) I finally listened, and Thom said that seeking the similarities --- instead of differences --- might be helpful to me. I needed to look at how I might be similar to the rest of the folks on the planet instead of insisting that I am unlike anyone else.

So I began to admit that I had some things in common with those women in my eating disorder therapy group. I could not deny that we all had eating disorders, and our behaviors looked remarkably similar. We were all in a room together every week trying to get better, and we all cared about each other. Yes, they cared about perfectionistic, workaholic me. More importantly, I genuinely cared about them.

Slowly I took their phone calls and made some of my own. I began to accept their invitations to coffee shops and actually had a good time. I even accepted invitations from other friends; I connected more with my family. Connection felt good.

I discovered that I was similar to a lot of incredible, courageous people who had overcome all kinds of difficulties in their lives. Maybe I was incredible and courageous, too. I considered the possibility that I could overcome struggles in my life as well.

After many years of never giving up and continually reaching out for help from others, I recovered from my eating disorder. In the beginning, I cringed as I opened up to people and accepted the help that was offered to me. Slowly the cringe turned into gratitude. Ironically, as I began to appreciate the similarities that I shared with others, I also came to understand how we are all unique in our own ways. Today I celebrate that I am, in fact, a unique person --- just like everyone else.

I used to think that I was different. I thought that no one understood me. I let both perceived and real differences trap me in isolation and despair.

Today I choose to think differently.

And it makes all the difference.



Jenni Schaefer is a singer/songwriter, speaker, and the author of Life Without Ed: How One Woman Declared Independence from Her Eating Disorder and How You Can Too (McGraw-Hill). She is a consultant with the Center for Change in Orem, UT. For more information, visit www.jennischaefer.com or email jenni@jennischaefer.com.



 

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