It's been an interesting year.
Just about this time a year ago, I had a phone screen for a job that felt and sounded interesting. It would be a slight pay increase, but carry a nice title bump, and OMG the fringe benefits.
And, as I'd eventually find out, I'd move from a place where I felt like my concerns and ideas were constantly dismissed, to a place where I was seen as the National Treasure Princess who obviously knew all in the world of communications, and for the most part, was to be valued, and trusted, and never ever dismissed.
So I've spent the past almost year in a pretty fantastic place job-wise, and being grateful every day that I moved to a place where I am truly valued, and all I have to do is voice an opinion for that opinion to be heard. And listened to.
But, I've also spent most of that past year feeling dismissed.
One of my friends put it best when she said she suspected that former Dietitian was weirded out by the fact that I actually, you know, ate.
Because it's true. I do eat. But there are rules. And guidelines. And what I need from a dietitian is for someone to throw the data and the science at me, and help me to see how those rules and guidelines can change -- and to challenge me to do it without making me feel either like a failure, or like my concerns are simply not valid.
And that wasn't happening. To the contrary, it was more of fluff than even art, and certainly no science. (I once asked how she knew that this was the right amount of calories. She told me I hadn't gained weight. That's ... not what I needed to hear, especially when I did start holding on to every ounce of water weight like some sort of morphing jellyfish.) When I told her what my big triggers were, at the very first session, she listened at first ... and then implemented them anyway -- only stopping when Therapist 3.0 had a Come to Jesus talk with her and explained why these were legit issues, and that I wasn't just being difficult.
I don't suffer fools gladly. And more importantly, I don't tolerate someone not listening to my voice when I actually raise my opinion.
And I hit a point that when I realized that going to see her was actually serving as more of a trigger -- both because she wasn't listening, and was dismissing my concerns, and because I was leaving hating myself more for feeling like a failure.
So I did what any rational person would do and fired her via email the morning after our last session.
I have choices. And I can make them.
And my life is too valuable to spend it feeling dismissed.
It's almost embarrassing the number of times I've tried to get in my 10-mile run since the beginning of August.
There was the weather. It would rain. Or it would be miserable. And while I'll suck it up and push through if either of those conditions crops up while I'm running, I'm not going to *start* a 10-mile run in the rain.
Or there was my body. I'd go out, and my blood sugar would drop. Or I'd not even get out because I couldn't get stable. Or, even more frustrating, was going out, and getting either dizzy, or more frighteningly, starting to grey out. For the former, I'll push myself another mile to see if a snack and water clears things up, but for the latter, it's an instant Go to Jail Do Not Collect $200 card.
So I've been going out and getting all of these 5 mile runs in, and a nice number of 3-5 miles, but not actually hitting my 10 miles.
All the while, getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself that OMG I'm a failure because I can't do this mileage that I've done all these times before. And OMG I have a 10K coming up in September and WTF is wrong with me.
And then I got hit with the Death Cold.
First day of Death Cold, Labor Day, was the day I intended to go out for real and do that 10 miles. It was supposed to be perfect weather (which it was) and I was looking forward to it.
I ate breakfast (see, I try!) and after my two hours were up, tried to motivate myself into moving from the couch. Except that every time I stood up, I felt like I was going to hit the floor.
Crazy, but not stupid. Also: See previous rule of "If I am greying out, I do not run."
I kept hoping it would get better, but it didn't. So come 3:30 on Labor Day, when I still felt horrible, I called it done. And sat and sulked and cried and went to my sewing room.
And then woke up that Tuesday morning with a sore throat. Which progressed into full-fledged cold by Wednesday, and a sick day
And as much as I hate not working out, I also recognize that when I have exercise and illness-induced asthma on a good day, trying to combine the two together with Death Cold was just going to be a bad idea.
So. 10 miles. Still need to happen before Sept. 24, because I really don't want to do a 10K without covering the six miles recently first. And since I've done two half marathons, I know I *can* do 6.2 miles -- but more importantly, I want to do them well.
"You're not going to like what I'm going to say," Therapist 3.0 dropped on me shortly before she went on vacation.
She was recommending that I think about going to a treatment center, because there were concerns, and she described recovery as being a full-time job.
Which. Um, no. For myriad reasons, but also largely for economic reasons. Because I am not made of money, and I'm going through this world without a partner providing financial backup (and, really, at this point, because I'm also not FMLA eligible for another four months). I have good insurance and a good job, but there is no money tree in the garden, and I quite literally cannot afford this hit on my finances.
It doesn't matter what her justification (or anyone's justification) might be. The stark reality of the situation is that I literally cannot afford anything that has me leaving work (even on a leave of absence) for an extended time.
Which made me wonder. How on earth do people afford it all? Is this why eating issues are largely perceived as a Caucasian upper class problem? (And, it also made me wonder about how really, this would have been so much easier during that summer I was unemployed when a psychologist I saw strongly recommended inpatient. I had horrible insurance, but at least I had no financial obligations.)
That question reminded me of a link that someone in a Facebook group I read posted about the new Netflix series "To the Bone." (FWIW, no, I'm not watching it. Therapist 3.0 and I agreed that it likely wouldn't be the best idea, and instead, I'm waiting to see what other people think of it, and what she thinks of it if and when she sees it.)
One of the points that the article brought up in criticism of the series was the affordability factor -- largely, that dealing and treating this is expensive. Apparently the series makes it seem like this is all accessible, and the burden comes down on the patient for wanting to make it work.
But you know what? That's not the case.
Fun example time: I have good insurance and a fantastic job that pays me well, all things considering -- although I came to this job after almost a decade of being woefully underpaid. Supposedly, said insurance would cover 10 percent of a short-term (so less than 30 days ... ignoring the fact that the average residential length of stay is between 30 and 90) stay. OK, that's fine. I'd hit my out of pocket max pretty quickly.
But then, you have a situation where for an adult, or a young adult/someone living on their own who is working, you're supposed to magically make do without a salary. Sure, I've got short-term disability coverage. But the reality? That kicks in after 30 days. If you're new at a job, and you don't have 30 vacation or sick days banked, you're starting out not only dealing with that 10 percent OOP cost, but then having to make it work on whatever salary you can scrape to come in.
After the STD kicks in, it would cover 60 percent of my salary. Which. Sure, in an ideal world, I'd have the savings neatly tucked away to cover that 40 percent. But even that is to the ballpark of thousands a month, and heaven help me if a larger emergency came up. And if I don't have that emergency savings? Time to live off of credit cards and hope that all the bills get paid.
Sure, that's fantastic while dealing with a serious health issue.
Yes, I suppose if I wanted to, I could raid my IRA to cover it all. But then, the IRS will tax me, and because it's not a direct medical expense, I wouldn't be able to get the penalty waived. And then I'm in the hole come retirement.
And that's not even talking about the side economic costs that aren't direct medical expenses.
One outcomes study I read said that even people in a "normal"/healthy weight range gained weight during the course of IOP, inpatient, and other treatment programs. And inevitably, if you gain the weight to the level that they showed in the outcomes study, that involves going up a clothing size or three.
Eating disorder thoughts aside, that then means having to replace a wardrobe so that you're not dealing with clothes that you are quite literally too big to wear.
I've been through the wardrobe replacing time. The low end of the ballpark cost was in the $3,000 range. Sure, maybe I could do cheaper clothes by buying at thrift stores, but then you're compounding the issues of "nothing fits me anymore" with "I can't even afford clothes that are like the image I like to present." I have a professional job, and when you consider the number of sales and coupons that I stack, buying used clothes at a consignment store would actually be on par with waiting for sales and coupons. I can't just wear khakis and polos and figure it's all good. So then you're taking the patient, and in addition to having the weight gain, there's a situation where the clothes remain a painful and expensive situation that is either addressed shoddily, expensively (yay credit card debt), or not at all.
And I don't see how any of that is better than the current situation. Because I don't see how either having no clothes, or having so much credit card debt (because don't forget, I'm trying to then live off the credit cards while I have only 60 percent of my salary coming in) is going to improve any situation. It simply doesn't.
Talk about a load of barriers that would make anyone say, "No, this isn't worth it."
