Recoveredbulimic’s Weblog

Yesterday seemed like a fairly normal eventful day — my son had confirmation. After months of preparation, the day had arrived. My husband was nervous that we would get there too late and not get a seat. (That’s what happened last year at my daughter’s confirmation.) He was rather irritating — scolding and complaining that we were not ready soon enough. That really put a bad taste in my mouth, and I was upset. What was supposed to be a special day, was turning out just awful. I told him that I had announced at lunch what time we would leave, and that is exactly what time the children and I were ready.

When we got to the church, hardly anyone was there yet. Before we went in, I told my husband in front of the children that I’d had enough of his grumpiness and wanted him to stop. It is a special day, and that’s how I want to remember it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that this little speech pleased both children, my son especially. They had been ignoring him and refusing to let him take their picture. That was their way of expressing their discontent with his behavior. We went inside the church, found a nice place to sit, and that was it.

Since I’ve already shed so many tears of sentimental disbelief at my children growing up, I was dry-eyed during the entire ceremony. The feeling of pride that he had really made it was stronger. I had told both children that it was up to them if they wanted to be confirmed, as I am no church-goer, and feel more at home with Hinduism and Buddhism. Both children took on the responsibility with no complaints. There were several excursions, several trips to church, and twice they had to be there at 6 am! No complaints. So I leaned back in the pew and thought to myself: “Well done, my children!”

Since I only go to church for funerals, weddings and my children’s milestones (baptism, first communion, confirmation), there usually is a strong tendency towards tears. This time it was strange. I just felt a wonderful sense of calm and not at all sentimental.

Then what happened? Towards the end of the ceremony, the girls’ choir sang “Top of the World” — one of the hits from the Carpenters. For those who don’t know, Karen Carpenter died 25 years ago in February while recovering from her eating disorder. That song shocked me out of my coolness. A wave of gratitude washed over me, leaving a few tears welled up in my eyes, as it occurred to me that I could have died as well.

I am so grateful that I survived those days as a young woman struggling in New York City — a walking toothpick, bingeing and vomiting incessantly, sometimes even vomiting blood, depressed and alone, paranoid and afraid, having blackouts and hearing voices as I walked to work. I wanted to live, but I had lost hope and was waiting for death. Instead, I recovered. And despite all the annoyances that come with marriage and children, I am eternally grateful for this chapter of my life, for the opportunity to raise two healthy children and enjoy them. Thank you, Higher Power!

I’ve decided to celebrate Gratitude Day today. This morning I picked up my father and step-mother (hereafter referred to as “my parents”) from the airport. They are visiting here in Europe for a month, 2 weeks of which they will spend with me and my family.

Gratitude Day is today, because I am grateful to be healthy, and grateful to have a good relationship with my parents, which wasn’t always the case. My birth parents split when I was eleven years old, and I got caught up in the typical misery of a divorced child of the Seventies, including post-separation financial crisis and loyalty conflicts.

For several years, I cut off contact with my father, as I was very angry and hurt. It wasn’t until I lived in Europe that I began to feel a need for a relationship with him. That was certainly influenced by the reality of such a distance and the fact that if something happened to him, many things would be left unresolved. Thus began a slow process of forgiveness and reconciliation, which took several years.

I am not thrilled about how things developed during the years of my youth and early adulthood, but at some point I realized that I had to let go of that. Let bygones be bygones, as the saying goes. Blaming someone for my suffering and ongoing agony doesn’t make it any less painful, and maintaining anger and disappointment only succeeds in making me bitter. The more human I allow myself to be, recognizing my own strengths and weaknesses, the better I can accept others – for how they are and how they behave. I may not always agree with their behavior, but acknowledge that it is pertinent to them.

The older I get, the more opportunities I have to make mistakes and learn from them, accompanied by the affirmation: I did the best I could at the time with the available resources. That affirmation I extend to everyone, trusting in the goodness of all people. We all do our best, and that is the best we can do. Realizing later that we could have done it better, doesn’t mean we did it wrong. It means we have gotten older and wiser, and can act more effectively, kindly, lovingly, thoughtfully or responsibly today. That is what counts for me.

Any day can be Gratitude Day. I like that better than “Thanksgiving” because it was one Thanksgiving some 30 or so years ago that I had the first dubious success of throwing up.