Change

I'm not very good at change. It's something that brings up almost a visceral reaction in me, something I want to resist with all my energy. I used to think that I was flexible and I was fine going with the flow, but since starting treatment six years ago I have learned that is not the case. Small changes I can make without pain, like alterations to my schedule. External changes, changes in the environment or other people, I can handle. But changes in me? Ouch. Something inside of me screams when changing something about me, the way I think and operate and believe, becomes necessary.
Being in treatment demands change, an abrupt change of the daily addict's routine to a treatment routine, a change from so-called autonomy to following a treatment teams rules and recommendations. Recovering truly from an eating disorder requires even more. I am challenged here to change my very thoughts and beliefs, or at least entertain the idea that they may not be accurate. I am challenged to make long term changes to my schedule, my eating habits, my relationships and my living situation, any one of which may be unhealthy to leave as is and lead me into a relapse.
Case in point, and ever present in my mind, is following a meal plan. I am a self-identified meal plan rebel. I hate that meal plan passionately, and I want to eat when I want and what I want -- indicative of my rebellious lifestyle in general. Which is a problem, given that in my disorder I wanted either nothing at all or a whole grocery bagful and then some. The meal plan keeps me safe and regulated, but I feel so inhibited and controlled by its sensible regularity. I want excitement and thrills out of my eating experience (and I wonder if that's because I didn't allow myself any thrills from any other experience -- talk about ascetic!). But those thrills were unhealthy, and I am beginning reluctantly to accept that I am doomed to follow a meal plan for a while if I want to live a life of recovery. I am simply not capable of feeding myself following my own instincts right now. So every time I go to eat, I eat what is prescribed, and my little rebel whispers in my ear how unhappy it is all the while.
That's just an example, but the point is, it's hard to change, even if it's for the better. I am comfortable in my self-destructive patterns of eating. I am still more comfortable in my negative thinking. I've had it most of my life. But in order to have the rest of my life, I have to change, and as much as I protest and try to buck the saddle of change, God keeps gently laying it back on. A bad metaphor, but it works. Change is painful and uncomfortable, but a necessary part of a recovered life.