A Future for Tomorrow-Getting Help for Eating Disorders

Haley Hatch Freeman's true story is a testimony that there really is a Future for Tomorrow. (More info below about her book and scheduling her to speak.)

I only wish my friend Melissa had that same chance.

October 21st, seven years ago, was the day my friend Melissa passed away. She died from an eating disorder.  I won't attempt to explain this disorder in any great detail; however, I would like to share some insights I've learned that have changed me forever.
  

Melissa was only 19 when she died from complications stemming from Annoexia, an eating disorder that affects 1 in 10 girls (See Center for Change WEBSITE. http://www.centerforchange.com/). At her lowest, Melissa weighed only 79 pounds.  She was 5'7".  She battled annoxeria for six years, beginning with some body image issues at 13.  The white board in her room spoke volumes of the dialogue that went on in her head.  Written in black were these words:  "FAT IS NOT A FEELING."  She had learned that while in treatment at the Center for Change in Provo, Utah. Treatment had worked for a while. But soon even expensive counseling and the intervention of her family, friends, and doctors would not bring a cure for my friend.

The night before Melissa died, I sat next to her hospital bed stroking her hair and singing to her "I am a Child of God." Watching her skeleton chest heave up and down while hooked up to all sorts of tubes, I reminisced about the day trips we took in my Jeep with my three little kids in tow. Melissa's parents both worked full time and when it got to the point that Melissa needed to be with someone all the time her parents entrusted me to take care of her. I loved having her with me. We visited her dad at Orchard Street Market. We shopped at Wal-Mart and went to see the flowers at Thanksgiving Point. I taught her how to crochet and how to make Tortellini with cream sauce. She would paint my daughters' toenails and liked listening to Cherie Call, Mercy Me, and David Tolk.  Any outing tested her physical stamina to the max because she was so frail and weak.  She got Pneumonia and her condition worsenened. The night she left my house to go to the hospital, I knew she wasn't coming back. Her physical body had had enough.

At first I thought, "Why can't someone MAKE her eat!"  But I learned so much about eating disorders.  Particularly that it isn't about food.  And MAKING someone eat is only a quick fix.  And a fix that sometimes is as impossible as parting the red sea. 

Eating disorders are complicated and, although, I am not a doctor or a professional, I have learned some very important insights. Melissa's choices, early on in her teens, as innocent and naive as they might have started out, set into motion consequences that she was not able to reverse. Choosing to starve herself and then binge and throw up had damaged Melissa's body to the point that her immune system became weakened preventing it from staving off other illnesses such as pneumonia and infections.

I know there are other Melissa's out there who are struggling with an eating disorder and experiencing confusion about their body. They need outreach, intervention, love and acceptance, and, often times, they need medical and psychological help.

All girls, at some time or another, struggle with body image. We can help these young women by setting good examples and developing a strong body image of our own. We can teach and reinforce gospel truths about the body as being a temple for soul. We must also understand the way WE view our bodies, as adult women, will have an effect—whether it be positive or negative—on how our daughters and other girls view their bodies. Dr. Ira M. Saker, author of Regaining Your Self: Breaking Free from the Eating Disorder Identity: A Bold New Approach, has treated eating disorders for more than three decades. He states:

"…the family environment has a huge influence. If the family is very preoccupied and concerned with food, weight, and appearance, they can pass this concern on to their kids. I've had patients as young as five tell me how worried they are about eating the 'wrong' foods and getting fat. Children who grow up seeing constant dieting, constant concern about weight, and constant working out, absorb the messages that food is the enemy and appearance is all....Parents can assist in their child's recovery by becoming teachers by example."

Melissa's parents are at not at fault for her eating disorder—not at all. They did everything they could to help their daughter. And I love them dearly. This is just a reminder that as parents, and especially as mothers, we have to be vigilant and very careful in how we view and treat our bodies so we don't negatively influence the young and vulnerable. ALL women can do something to help influence young girls' body image in a positive way. In fact, we have an obligation, as women of faith, to model a healthy body image at all times, in all things, and in all places.

Shortly, after Melissa had passed away, I was standing near a group of women in the hallway at church listening to their conversation. One of the women said, "Oh, I've just got to lose these 5 pounds so I can look good when I go to Hawaii." Another said, "I've just given up. I'm never going to be thin." Another said, "I've starved myself all week so I could eat dessert." Another said, "I've exercised all week and I still haven't lost a pound!"

At that moment, I looked over to my right and quickly realized several young women were standing close by. They had heard everything. They were 13, 14 and 15—and each of them had a very puzzled look on her face. These young girls looked up to these women as their leaders and examples and these women had just committed a great "faux pas." These young women were not yet mature enough to filter out grown-up "nonsense." Ironically enough, this all happened, the Sunday after we buried Melissa.  (Oh, the damage we can do when we are not watching ourselves.)   

Since my experience with Melissa, I am very careful to always talk positively about my body in front of my daughters or anyone else's daughters. I try hard to reinforce optimal health, getting enough exercise, eating good foods, and eating enough of them to keep my body strong. I also let my kids see me indulge in my favorite treats so they understand that food, in and of itself, is not bad. A body needs a Hershey bar now and again! The key is moderation. Broccoli is best. But cookie dough won't kill you. (Don't tell my grandmother.  She thinks I'm a re-covered cookie dough eater.)

Teaching my children to be grateful for the body God gave them and helping them to love and appreciate that body, in its unique and special design, is my job as a mother. I desire to help my children make choices based on eternal truths, doctrinal principles, and Church standards. And I do it in memory of my friend, Melissa.

Getting HELP?
If you or a loved one needs help, don't put it off. And don't doubt for a moment that God won't help you, because He will.

A Future for Tomorrow is a truthful, heart-felt account of a woman's journey to wellness. Haley has included journal entries and has chosen to be "real" about her experience in battling anorexia. It gives us outsiders an inside look into the mind of someone with an eating disorder. Haley is blessed now to be recovered and is a wife and mother to two beautiful kids. She shares her story and teaches classes so if you'd like to schedule her to speak contact her at: http://www.haleyhatchfreeman.com/.

Other resources for eating disorders:

The Center for Change (world renowned treatment facility located in Provo, Utah)

Books: Click Here

Confessions of a Junk Drawer Junkie: Turning Weakness into Strength

What's in YOUR drawer?

 
“And because thou hast seen thy weakness thou shalt be made strong, even unto the sitting down in the place which I have prepared in the mansions of my Father.” --Ether 12:37

I have a confession to make.   I have a junk drawer and it’s full of junk. Lots of it. Pieces, parts, papers, you name it. It’s in there. 

When I moved into a new house recently, I promised I would NEVER create a junk drawer EVER again. Well, sorry to say…it’s ba-ack! I didn’t intend for it to happen. It just happened.

Well, the other day, a guest dropped by and needed a pen. Guess what? Before I could hand her one she did the unthinkable. She reached down to the right-hand side of my kitchen desk drawer and pulled on the handle. I panicked. It was like a Chariots of Fire slow motion run to stop the unthinkable. NOOOOOO! Don’t open that drawer!

Too late. It all happened so fast. Before I could get to the other side of the kitchen, she had already opened the junk drawer and looked down to discover all of my junk for her viewing pleasure, or should I say “displeasure.” There it was; my junk in all its glory and splendor. My secret was out. It was like one of those dreams where you’re naked in school and everyone is starring at you, and for some reason you don’t run out of the room and put on a shirt. (I hate those dreams!) Suddenly, I felt the need to confess.

“My name is Jodi Robinson and I have a junk drawer. I’m not proud of it. But it is what it is. And I accept it.” So, I have a junk drawer. What’s the big deal? I am not a junk-a-holic, but the truth of the matter is I do have a habit of putting stuff in my junk drawer, and I avoid dealing with it because it’s easier to pretend that someday everything in that drawer will magically find a home.

Well, it got me thinking. Why is that we’re afraid to show people our junk? Friends who know me well, know that I’m not bothered by the drop-in visits where I’m caught “naked” so-to-speak with my house not picked up, my kids and I not dressed, and dishes left in the sink from last night’s dinner. Because, when that happens, I’m usually in the middle of a big project or a writing assignment, and I have a good excuse. But… the junk drawer? The hidden, don’t want to deal with “stuff” that feels better if people don’t know it’s there kind of junk? The kind I pretend that’s not really there? That bothers me. I shouldn’t be bothered by the fact that this guest now knows I have a junk drawer and I that own junk. And, better, yet, that I don’t know how to fix it. I have had a junk drawer for as long as I can remember. Oh, sure I get a handle on it temporarily. I throw out the entire junk drawer one day when I feel like de-junking. I say goodbye to whatever is in there without even going through it. I toss it into the garbage can outside, ON garbage day, so I don’t have the option to retrieve it even if I wanted to. And that’s that. But that only happens about once a year. The rest of the time, it’s as if an invisible giant magnet slowly pulls miscellaneous ribbons, coins, dice, and screws, inside that drawer.

In life, we all have junk. There isn’t anybody who doesn’t have junk. So, why are we so afraid to admit it? Why are we so horrified when someone opens that drawer, that personal weakness, to discover buried treasure? As mortal, imperfect beings…it’s no surprise…and it’s no secret that I…you…and everyone around us…has some junk to deal with. It’s life. Either it’s our own personal junk, or our families junk, but, let’s face it…there is going to be junk. There’s no way of getting around it. Marriages are not going to be blissfully perfect all the time. Children are not going to be blissfully perfect much of the time. Jobs, health, relationships—nothing in life is junk averse.

And if it makes you feel any better, I bet that even that lady on your block whose house is so pristine that you could lick her floors…in fact…I’d bet a king size Hershey bar that somewhere in that lady’s house there is a junk drawer, or a box, or a can, or some disorganized holding manifestation full of tiny pieces, parts and papers. It may be smaller…much smaller than your own junk drawer, but it’s there. And guess what? It’s okay. It’s okay because we’re human. And we’re not perfect. We’re supposed to have junk. It’s called mortality. It’s called weakness.

In Ether 12:37 we read, “And because thou hast seen thy weakness thou shalt be made strong, even unto the sitting down in the place which I have prepared in the mansions of my Father.”

I LOVE this scripture. So, let’s apply it to my junk drawer. There I was. My junk drawer…my weakness…open for the entire world to see. (Okay, maybe not the whole world. She was just one guest. But still.) Once the drawer was opened, I also SAW it. I was forced to acknowledge that it was there. So, the drawer is open. There’s my junk. And I had two choices. Make an excuse and say, “Hey, how did that drawer get in my house?” Now that would have made me look silly. The other option. Accept it. Claim it. And own it with integrity. “Yes, I have a junk drawer. And, it’s all good because by ‘seeing’ this weakness, just like we read in Ether, I can be made strong with God’s help.”

Friends! We’re human beings not GODS! And if we didn’t have junk we’d be translated. God would whisk us away from this complicated experience called mortality and give us our free pass into the Celestial kingdom. But as far as I can tell I’m still here. And you’re still here.

My name is Jodi Robinson. I have a junk drawer. And in that junk drawer, there may not be demons, but there are some untidy things that, at times, are not as nice and neat as I’d like them to be. And you know what? That’s okay. It feels so much better to admit it than pretend it doesn’t exist. Because then I can begin to do something about it. I can draw upon that promise in Ether that God will bless me with strength to overcome. And that is a beautiful promise.

Well, it’s a new year. Let’s commit to cleaning out our junk drawers and fixing what needs fixing. Let’s have the kind of faith that the woman who touched Christ’s garment had. All she did was, in faith, reach out to touch the Master so he could heal her from her weakness. And Christ did it.

God has a mansion prepared for me. And it’s up to me too clear out my junk drawer so that I can be worthy to live in it. And, you know what the best part of living in that beautiful, glorious mansion will be? There will be no junk drawers. Junk drawers will be a thing of the past. There won’t be even a recollection that they ever existed.

Let’s not be afraid of our junk. Or, other people’s junk for that matter. After all, it’s only junk. It’s not the good stuff. It’s not what we’re really made of. We’re made in the image of an Almighty God. We’re his spirit sons and daughters. Even the most desperate junky has more to his/her being than junk. Our Father in Heaven, who made us, knows how to help us fix our junk and he’s not afraid of our junk either.  He knows what it is and he accepts us and loves us and gives us opportunities to learn how to discard it, not to hide it in some drawer. If we’re going to become the children of God that He needs us to be then we have to choose a better way. We have to deal with our weaknesses and trust in the power of the Atonement of God’s son who will help us become stronger, better, more god-fearing, more god-focused individuals. 

Be honest. Open up that junk drawer and deal with it. And better, yet, you take a look at my junk drawer and I’ll take a look at yours and then let’s help each other to become better; to overcome obstacles; to rise to the occasion; to do the impossible and learn a better way.

My name is…and I’m a junk drawer junkie.


QUESTION OF THE DAY:  What’s the craziest thing you've found in your junk drawer?

Answer:  Once I found a hard, piece of toast. I was mortified. But I did get a good laugh out it.

Comments welcome. 

What are YOU Reading? Here's my two latest holiday picks.

Positively Delightful

I have a NEW favorite holiday poem.  It's called Bethlehem's Star by Bevan Olsen.  I paid only $2.99 for this 12 page story that is sure to become a family favorite for years to come.  You can read the whole poem  and see the illustrations when you click on the link. 

Google-Bethlehem's Star

I bought my copy, of all places, at my local grocery store.  And I'm so glad I just happened upon it.  You can order it on-line.  Here's a link for Google.  Again, a great price for a Christmas tale that touches your heart.

"It's time to give the gift."  That's the voice Annabelle keeps hearing, so she has to make a choice.  And it isn't easy.  Find out Annabelle's quest to give the perfect gift in the The Modern Magi.

Over Thanksgiving, I read The Modern Magi, by Carolyn Pearson, with my entire family. It's only about 60 pages, so it's an easy read to enjoy with your kids.  The story is about a woman named Annabelle who is forced to examine her willingnes to give a "true" gift, which means giving up something she wants most.  This lovely tale that teaches us about the meaning of true gift giving.  Everyone loved it!  Absolutely loved it.  I bought copies for friends and family.  Oops.  I think I just gave the surprise away.   Don't tell. 

HAPPY READING!  Amazon--Modern Magi

The Lesson of Abundance—A Mom and 3 Kids in a Minivan and a Tied Fleece Blankets

“Mommy, is that a man under that tree?” my young son asked innocently as he stared out the window of our white mini-van. Sun rays lasered through the glass catching the blonde highlights in his curly brown hair. It was pleasantly warm for a late November day. Leaves were blowing across the brownish-green grass of Pioneer Park, an indication that snow would fall by morning.

As we drove down the block, my son fixated on the clump of miscellaneous clothing items heaped up against the tall oak tree at the edge of the park. I noticed two feet jetting out from underneath it.

“He’s a homeless man, Cody,” I said furrowing my brow. “So sad, isn’t it?” I pushed on the gas as we passed by.

Why was that man homeless? And why was he sleeping underneath a pile of clothes in the middle of the park? Those were the next obvious questions—ones that I couldn’t answer as easily as the first.

Turning west, we saw much of the same. To the left was a woman snoozing on a park bench with a large, overstuffed bag at her side, most likely full of every belonging she owned. To the right was a man waving his hands over his ears, talking frantically to himself.

My kids asked, “Is he alright?”

Whether or not he was on drugs or just suffering from mental illness, I couldn’t tell. But what I did know was that he had nowhere else to go. Like the others, he was homeless.

I explained to my kids that at least a few of these people would stay the night at the local shelter. They’d get a sack lunch, and a place to warm up before heading back out into the city to find shelter under a tree or in an alley. That’s what homelessness was.

Spying a slide and monkey bars on the west side of the park, my four-year-old begged, “Can we go play?”

“Oh, no. That’s a not a park we play in,” I replied. She was puzzled. A four-year-old wouldn’t understand why playing in the park wasn’t a good idea. It’s a park, isn’t it? But despite a new jogging trail and other recent renovations, it was still a hangout for our city’s indigent population. Not a park where young children can just play.

The park was one block away from the homeless shelter. That’s where we were headed. We had spent the morning tying fleece blankets at a nearby drug treatment center as a service project. The women at the treatment center had helped tie a couple of blankets and it was my job to deliver them to the shelter. I glanced over at the red and green fleece sitting in a bag in the passenger seat. Thanks to the women in my class, they had fringed and perfectly knotted the edges of two fleece blankets. It only took them about 20 minutes.

A few blankets? I thought to myself spying at the strangers in the park. In the big scheme of things, a couple of blankets seemed so insignificant. I pushed on my breaks as the van slowly turned the corner. A leaf danced across my windshield, a tell-tale sign that winter was on its way. My bones chilled as I counted the number of bodies lying on the ground in the park. Homeless individuals with nowhere to go.

“How can you not have a home?” my son asked again and again.

My explanations seemed futile. Losing a job, mental illness, and addiction were some of the answers I quickly gave him. Even his older sister piped in a time or two to educate her brother about the possibilities of why someone ends up homeless, lying under some overpass, sleeping in a flimsy cardboard box, or sleeping under a tree in a city park. His curiosity curbed for the moment.

Just then a man carrying a green duffle bag strapped to his back, appeared on the corner across the street from where we were. Sydney piped up, “Look, that man is limping. Let’s give him one of the blankets, Mom. Can we?”

I wasn’t expecting that.

“Well, I guess we can,” I said becoming suddenly aware of what I had just committed to. Give a blanket to a homeless person in person? I had never done that before. Always, I had delivered the blankets to the shelter. But I had never just gone to the park, gotten out of my car, and handed some homeless person a blanket. And why not? Because that park intimidated me.

“You’re going to lose him, Mom!” said my daughter as I came to a stop at the red light.

My heart pounded in my chest. The shelter was just a block away and dropping off blankets there seemed so much easier, and to be honest, safer.

“Mom, hurry!” my son begged as the man stepped out into the crowded crosswalk. He seemed so unsure of himself. Alone in a sea of suits, cell-phones, and BlackBerrys. His pack was heavy on his back. He limped hunched over, staring mostly at the ground. Hearing the voices of my children begging me to give him one of our blankets, I knew I couldn’t just drive past him. I had to give him one. So, at their coaxing, I turned on my blinker, changed lanes, and made a quick u-turn heading back towards the man. He had stopped to pull a rumpled newspaper out of a garbage can near the curb. I slowly approached the curb, put the van in park, and rolled down the passenger side window.

“Sir?” I said looking out across from the driver’s seat. “Sir,” I called again. “Would you like a hamburger?” I held up the Burger King double cheeseburger that my four-year-old didn’t eat. He didn’t respond. I didn’t know if he was ignoring me on purpose or if he couldn’t hear me, so I tried again.

“Sir, we have a burger and blanket for you.”

I then motioned for my daughter to hand him the blanket from her side of the car. He glanced up at me. It took him a moment to figure out what we were doing. But he finally reached out and took the burger and the blanket from my daughter. He placed the burger in his right coat pocket and tucked the blanket under his left arm.

“It’s gonna get cold so we hope this blanket helps,” I said with a cheery grin.

A toothless smile appeared on the man’s face.

“Merry Christmas!” he said.

“Merry Christmas.” We said back. We watched him fold up the newspaper and look around. I wondered what he was thinking. I checked my rear view mirror, pulled out into the street, and headed for the freeway. I decided to save the other blanket for another day. A day when we found another stranger to give it to.

For about a block, I watched the man in my rear view mirror until his image faded into the crowd.

“You did a good thing, kids,” I said. We were all quiet. In my mind I was thinking if only we could have done more.

Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived home. Pulling into the driveway of my three-story house, I was reminded of abundance. We live an abundant life. We have a house. We have food in our pantry. We have clothes in our closets. We have electricity, running water, and feather-down comforters on soft mattresses. We have friends and family members with whom we associate every day of the week, who would help us if ever we were in need. Even on Sunday, we attend meetings at a cozy church building and we’re surrounded by kind and generous people who smile at us, who are there for us. We have abundance.

I secretly wished and prayed that that man we gave the blanket to could feel for just one second what I felt. That he could know what abundance is.

Later that night, I was reading in Emily Freeman’s book, “The Promise of Enough.” On page 67, I read: “Our ability to remember gratitude for even the smallest blessing has a direct influence on our ability to live the abundant life. Perhaps we could echo the prayer of George Herbert who said, ‘Thou that hast giv’n so much to me, give me one thing more, a grateful heart.’”

It hit me. As I pondered on this quote and how it related to the experience my children and I had had giving a homeless man a blanket earlier in the day, I was reminded of something—the man’s smile. It was a grateful smile. Today, that man had indeed lived the abundant life. Not because we had given him a blanket and sandwich. But because he was grateful. He had humbly showed gratitude for a small, and meager offering from a mom and three kids in a mini-van. Abundance. On this day, the man with the army-green duffle bag had abundance.

So, tonight, as I think of that man lying in some alley chilled by snowflakes falling from the night sky, I picture him wrapped up in a red and green plaid, hand-tied fleece blanket and I feel very blessed for all I have been given. Gratitude blesses us with abundance. It turns what we have into enough and more. Thank you, homeless stranger. Thank you for teaching me about the power of gratitude and the true meaning of abundance. May God watch over you and keep you safe from harm.