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Sexual Empowerment with August McLaughlin

Home • Body image • Does Dirt Have Calories? My Story

Does Dirt Have Calories? My Story

January 21, 2013

“The beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries or the way she combs her hair. The beauty of a woman is seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart, the place where love resides.” — Audrey Hepburn

Today I’m taking a brief detour from my Monday series to share a story I posted last year about an important turning point in my life. It’s one of the inspirations behind the Beauty of a Woman BlogFest, which will reoccur on February 22nd. If you’d like to participate, pop back here Thursday for details. I can’t wait to sing, dance, laugh, shout and think about beauty again with all of you. ♥

*****

I awoke that morning as I did most mornings while living in Paris—woozy, exhausted and determined. During what should have been a pinnacle in the modeling career I’d held dear, I was enraptured and controlled by an eating disorder. Where logic would’ve told me to get some rest, nourish my body and tend to the day’s work responsibilities, E.D. commanded I wake up and run! Breakfast, castings, agency meetings and photo shoots would have to wait; my sole priority was the upkeep of my disease.

My emaciated body had been surviving on carrots, sugarless ice tea and Coke Light, yet felt gigantic and punishable. If I could eat as little as possible and burn far more than I chewed, I might finally reach thinness—i.e., happiness, success, perfection. I had to run.

I slipped my feet into my worn out, blood-stained sneakers, stepped out of my tiny Parisian flat and headed toward the Seine. The Eiffel Tower came into full view atop the pastel haze of the sunrise—a living, breathing Monet. It’s beauty could’ve taken a blind man’s breath away, I wrote in my journal. I didn’t deserve it.

The dewy earth squished beneath my feet as I ran to the rhythm of calorie-counting. Forty-five plus six plus ten…plus five plus ten plus three… I estimated the previous day’s “damage” then plotted an itinerary of exercise and occasional food bits to compensate. So accustomed to ignoring the dizziness and fatigue accompanying me, anything else would’ve felt foreign. But this time was different.

Pushing aside the added sense of off-ness in my gut, I observed the dip in the ground ahead: It looks like an adult-size cradle... Perhaps I knew what was coming.

I ran with increasing dizziness and pain, as though a metal clamp squeezed my brain. RUN. Don’t stop! You can’t. Tears stung at my eyes as I tried to outrun the inevitable. I fell to the ground, as though in slow motion. For a brief, savory moment, I felt weightless.

I awoke later, lying in the grassy cradle, the taste of blood and dirt in my mouth. Rather than contemplate how long I’d been there or if I’d been hurt, one thought filled me with terror: Does dirt have calories?

I don’t recall who found me or how I made it to the medical center, only the words of the British doctor: “You have anorexia. Do you understand what that means? You could’ve died. You…could die.”

Her words blurred together like fog on a windshield as my thoughts went wild. She’s crazy! I can’t have anorexia. Please don’t make me eat… I felt neither thin nor “skilled” enough to have a disorder characterized by starvation. Sure, I had problems—the “cancer in my soul” I’d journaled about. I felt physically and emotionally rotted and weak, but couldn’t make sense of anything. I only knew I had to go home.

The week after I arrived in Minneapolis, I began treatment and fought harder to remain ill. Once I accepted my diagnosis, anorexia seemed the one special thing about me. If I let it go, what was left? The word ‘recovery’ seemed synonymous with ‘fatness,’ ‘failure’ and ‘mediocrity.’

As my starving measures increased, my emotional and physical self tolerated them less and less. My therapist repeatedly threatened in-patient treatment. I lied, promising I would eat more and gain necessary weight.

Finally, one of my worst nightmares came true. In a moment of despair, I gave in to my longing for a single bite of chocolate ice cream. As I placed the dollop of creamy cold sweetness into my mouth, my entire body trembled. I felt intoxicated, a sense of danger, head-to-toe orgasm and temporary relief. But one bite turned into two, then six, then all that remained of the half gallon. The fatty cream sat like a putrid rock in my shrunken stomach. I’d never felt so ashamed.

The bingeing/starving roller coaster that followed was the most excruciating and important occurrences in my recovery. At its worst, I entered what my therapist called a “bulimic trance.” The bingeing took over and I had little awareness of all I’d consumed until I found myself sobbing amidst wrappers and crumbs.

As weight returned to my body, friends and family told me how healthy I looked: “You’re filling out so nicely!” The well-intended comment haunted me for months.

Desperate to stop bingeing, I decided to take my treatment more seriously.

“I will do anything to stop this,” I told my therapist.

“Good,” she said. “It starts with eating. After you binge, don’t skip your next meal.”

Anything but that. I resisted her instructions, holding staunchly to the belief that if I were just strong enough, I could attain the thinness I desired and stop bingeing at once. It sounded Utopian. Meanwhile, I mourned the loss of my anorexia like a lost soulmate.

One night, after a fast ended in a gargantuan binge, I hit a new bottom. I considered gulping the poison I’d used on occasion to vomit, aware of the life-threatening risks. I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t bear life as I knew it. In a fury, I scavenged the house for the tiny bottle. When I couldn’t find it, my heart raced. I struggled to breathe.

Then something remarkable happened. Incapable of purging in any of my viable methods, I calmed down. That calmness, paired with tired frustration and an inability to foresee life continuing as Hell, brought clarity. Try something new. You have to.

I walked with trepidation to my wall mirror, as though nearing a fatal cliff. For the first time in too long, I looked not at my hips, belly or thighs, but into my eyes. The head-on stare punctured the swollen balloon of hurt inside me, releasing sobs.

“You can’t live like this anymore!” I told my reflection. “I won’t let you hate yourself so much. This is not who you are.” I didn’t know what I was fighting for, but my instincts said, Don’t give up.

My anger at ED and proclamations in the mirror were the first signs of self-love I’d displayed in years, the light switch in the dark cave I lived in. If I managed to turn it on, I knew my life would change. But the decision was only part of it… Rather than plot restriction strategies for the coming days, I had to plot a future free of ED.

The night became a Good Riddance Ed rampage. I threw my “skinny clothes” and scale in a dumpster and removed the size tags from clothes that fit. I trashed every fashion mag, food journal and diet book, sang my feelings into made-up songs. I vowed to myself that for one year, I would not diet, starve or make any other attempts at weight loss. If I gained weight during that year, so be it. The next morning, with trembling hands and tears flooding my cheeks, I ate breakfast, forcing thoughts of I love you, You deserve this, You’re going to be okay, with every bite.

Though I wanted to forego my commitments frequently over the subsequent weeks, I held fast. The bingeing continued at first, as did my weight gain, until I nearly doubled my lowest weight. If I have to start over every day, I will, I wrote. And start over again and again I did. I had nothing to lose by trying and everything to lose by not.

Gradually, I fought less with myself and slip-ups drew further between. Months later, I was no longer dieting, starving or bingeing and my life was beginning to feel like a life. I was in college, making friends, writing songs and even, on occasion, laughing. But my recovery had reached a plateau. I felt awkward eating around others, anxious about eating too much or too little. The slightest pangs of hunger or fullness put me on edge. I saw plates of calories and felt guilty when I indulged. And though I resisted, I longed to diet. ED hadn’t left. He’d merely grown quieter.

One day over steaming cups of Indian tea, my mom handed me a CD with a song she and my dad wanted me to hear: Lee Ann Womack’s, “I Hope You Dance.”

“It’s time to find joy,” she said. (And here I’d thought I had everyone fooled…)

The song’s message about “dancing,” which I took to mean many joyful things, hit me with profound force.

That evening I sat at a park watching a group of friends picnicking, captivated by a woman around my age. After a bite of her hearty sandwich, she closed her eyes, tipped her head back, exclaiming, “This is so good!” I longed for an ounce of her joy.

I’d been eating because I was “supposed” to, promised others I would and never wanted to go off the bingeing/starving deep end again. In order to fully recover, I had to manifest joy around eating.

I knew it was possible because I’d experienced it. My childhood love affair with food seemed insatiable. Family photographs portray a bubbly, smiling girl holding an ice cream cone, sitting before a luminous birthday cake or about to take a chomp out of a fresh red apple from our backyard tree. Before bed, I often asked my parents what the next day’s breakfast would entail, “so I could dream about it.”

Food for my family meant togetherness, birthday celebrations, picnics by the lake, nightly home cooked meals—a special bond and clay with which we built memories. Until fear and ED had creeped in. No more, I decided.

I began studying food with a velocity I’d only previously applied to treadmills. I wanted to discover its goodness and stop dreaming of ways to avoid it. What did particular foods do for me? If not for managing weight, why did people eat them? How could I eat healthfully, and not by diet book standards of what that was?

I began addressing a self-compiled “I’m afraid of” list: Eat in public. Eat at a restaurant, alone. Eat a meal prepared by others without demanding particulars. Eat the ice cream that triggered my first binge, one serving at a time.

I traded my diet books for medical and dietetic texts that defined food as fuel, a necessary means of nutrients, and obtained my first certification in nutrition. I cooked, experimented with foods I’d never tried and volunteered at soup kitchens. I stopped aiming for dietary perfection. Multiple studies had convinced me that such increased my risk for bingeing, obesity, anxiety, depression and sleep problems—pretty much everything on my “No, thank you” list.

It took numerous attempts of arriving at an upscale restaurant alone before I dined there and several more before I enjoyed the food sans heavy sweating or heart palpitations. I wept over a homemade candlelit dinner for one, served on my grandmother’s china. I stocked my kitchen with food until it felt warm, loved and lived-in. Rather than cold and frightening, it felt like home. I took a Buddhist philosophy course and applied its principles to my meals. Eating slowly and without distraction soon went from mortifying to pacifying. On difficult days, I asked myself what I’d feed a dear friend then treated myself to just that—until gradually, finally I became her.

*****

On a cool spring evening, I sat at my kitchen table with a bowl of spicy chili and fresh-baked corn bread. An unexpected breeze blew through my apartment window, carrying a flower from outside into my bowl. Plunk! As the pink petals swam amongst the diced tomatoes and cannelloni beans, I laughed. Struck my own amusement, I realized that nothing but goodness sat at my table. All anxiety, shame and feelings of inadequacy had dissipated, leaving me with a palpable sense of peace.

I returned to Paris that summer to celebrate my recovery. Near the grassy patch where I’d fallen, I buried a capsule filled with cards from loved ones, photographs, under-sized clothes and copies of my songs and journal entries. ED’s funeral, I called it—a memorial service for my self. I ran along the Seine, this time grateful for the strong legs that carried me, the absence of pain and my second chance at a happy, healthy life.

*****

What events or decisions have helped you turn your life around? If you have thoughts or questions to share, I’d love to hear them.

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Body image, Life, Nutrition 65 Comments

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Comments

  1. KM Huber says

    January 21, 2013 at 6:15 am

    Without a doubt, one of the most moving posts on the blogosphere. This one cannot be re-read enough. Thanks for posting, August.

    Karen

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:01 pm

      Thank you for embracing it, Karen!

      Reply
  2. renée a. schuls-jacobson says

    January 21, 2013 at 6:16 am

    I’m working on my something now. But I can’t say because what if I can’t? This is my journey, and it’s really fucking hard. I’m journaling about it as I go, but it is slow-going.

    I’m glad you have found, what sounds like, a healthier relationship with food. Glad you made it to the other side. Right now, I can’t imagine it.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 9:17 am

      Whatever it is, I’m cheering for you. And I’m confident that you can. If you ever want to talk about it, leaving details in or out, consider me a willing friend.

      Reply
    • K.B. Owen says

      January 21, 2013 at 10:14 am

      Hang in there, Renee. You’ll make it…I know you will!

      Reply
    • katmagendie says

      January 21, 2013 at 11:01 am

      Renee – I hope you find your peace – and know that you have more power within you that you could ever believe or imagine – it’s there. I hope you take back your power, and your peace. You can do this.

      Reply
    • Raani York says

      January 21, 2013 at 2:33 pm

      Good Luck Renee! May strength be with you!!

      Reply
    • Gloria Richard Author says

      January 22, 2013 at 6:11 pm

      What August said…

      Whatever it is, I’m cheering for you, Renee. Damn straight it’s hard. I traveled a recovery path with alcoholism. And there’s a saying in “the rooms.” For so many years, I swallowed my emotions with wine. SOBER is an acronym: Son-of-a-Bitch, Everything’s Real!

      I sense your strength in the posts and comments you put out on the blog-o-sphere. Unleash that bad-a$$ girl and let her kick the butt of whatever challenge you face.

      This concludes my rant-a-thon. You’re welcome.

      Reply
  3. Melissa Dereberry says

    January 21, 2013 at 7:26 am

    What a powerful narrative! Bless you for this amazing story of recovery and hope.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:02 pm

      Thanks, Melissa! I’m touched that it struck you.

      Reply
  4. Mike Sirota says

    January 21, 2013 at 7:53 am

    A story I know well. Kudos for sharing it.

    Reply
  5. Asrai Devin says

    January 21, 2013 at 8:03 am

    Thank you for sharing your struggle and triumphs with us. It is close to my heart, I struggled with self-harm for many years,

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:04 pm

      I’m often blown away by the remarkableness of people affected by self harm and addiction, Asrai. You’re certainly no exception. So happy to note the past tense!

      Reply
  6. Jennifer says

    January 21, 2013 at 8:09 am

    I missed this the first time around, and I cried for you when I read it. You’re always so positive, and I hate that you had to spend years dealing with horrible ED (I like naming him). I’m so glad you’ve come out to be the strong, healthy woman you are.

    I’ve had my demons, depression being the biggest one, but nothing so intense and life-threatening as yours. With some outside help, I’ve learned to step back from trying to do everything myself, from feeling responsible for everything, and to feed my own spirit. And to acknowledge the grief that comes from unexpected places, not shove it aside. I still struggle sometimes – right now I’m working on recognizing the joy in my life. Not that it’s not there, but I get too focused on my have-to-do list to savor it (which is why I’m minimizing the goal setting right now). I am daily reminding myself out loud that I am lucky to be spending my days the way I choose, and to be grateful and joyful for that.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:34 pm

      Thank so much, Jennifer. My heart goes out to you regarding your depression, a condition which I’m certain preempted my ED. It sounds as though you’re taking invaluable steps. They add up, even when we feel our efforts (or sadly, we) are trivial. Don’t you dare give up, my friend. I’ve never stopped believing that the “prize is worth the rocky ride,” and that dark days make happy ones brighter. With you in spirit!

      Reply
  7. Kassandra Lamb says

    January 21, 2013 at 8:13 am

    Wow! You are an incredible person, August! Thank you for sharing this. It is the most eloquent description of the struggle with eating disorders I’ve ever heard (and I’ve heard quite a few).

    I definitely want to be part of the Beauty of a Woman Blogfest on the 22nd. Tell us more, please.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 1:33 pm

      That means a lot coming from you, Kassandra. Thank you! I’m thrilled that you’ll be joining the fest.

      Reply
  8. kimterry says

    January 21, 2013 at 9:09 am

    Life-changing events or decisions? Hmmmm…I’ll give that some thought. There have been many. Great post, August!

    Reply
  9. Stephanie Saye says

    January 21, 2013 at 9:39 am

    August, it takes a tremendous amount of courage to share a story of this magnitude. I’ve read it before and it’s even more compelling the second time around. By sharing your struggled with ED, you are helping other people going through the same thing. You should really consider penning a memoir someday. I’m starting to get more courage when it comes to sharing my own story too, which I allude to for the first time in my latest post. http://wp.me/p1UDsm-18h

    Blessings to you, my friend!

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:35 pm

      I’ve sensed that your stories and artistry stem from some amount of hardship too, Stephanie. Thanks for the beautiful support. I can’t wait to read your post. Blessings back to you!

      Reply
  10. K.B. Owen says

    January 21, 2013 at 10:15 am

    August, I’m so glad the E.D. didn’t win. We’d be all the poorer without you! Thank you for sharing your wonderfully-told story with us.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:36 pm

      So sweet, Kathy. Thank you! You all enrich my life, no question.

      Reply
  11. katmagendie says

    January 21, 2013 at 10:59 am

    Over the last year, I’d ironically kept losing weight without knowing quite why. Believe me, I know the “Games” and I was not playing them, not this time.

    And as the weight kept lowering, I’d have this feeling of terror and perplexed angst – but underneath, this thrill rose up – this awful terrible familiar scary THRILL.

    The ultimate irony of past self-indulgent behaviors?

    By the way – I ate dirt as a child. I was so hungry. I couldn’t get enough. There wasn’t enough food at that time in our lives, and the dirt filled and filled and filled. I’d never eaten with such abandon. Fingers full, little-child-fists-full, cramming gritty Texas dirt into my mouth, trying to fill the empty spaces.

    Though I didn’t go as far as you back in my anorexic-behaviors days, I saw myself here. And how sad it is that we do these terrible awful things to ourselves.

    You are worthy, and beautiful, and talented. And taking back your power – that’s what it’s all about: taking back our power and not giving it away to those who scratch against our brain the messages that we are not worthy and thus must disappear.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:45 pm

      My heart about broke, reading about your starving childhood belly. Anorexia definitely takes away perspective and gratitude.

      I remember that thrill, and more so the horror. It takes a great deal of honesty and maturity to observe such feelings when they crop up post recovery… May “the voices” never wreak havoc on your life again. Those messages are tough to beat down, even after we stop fearing/presuming “fatness”—which isn’t really what any of it’s about.

      I’m grateful that I haven’t had major ED reflux (ha) in a long time, and don’t for see any coming. That said, I’ll never forget or take for granted the wreckage or healing. I believe in full, past-tense recovery, but not in stripping away that which helped make us who we are.

      Thanks for the precious insight, Kat. Taking the power back, YES!

      Reply
      • katmagendie says

        January 22, 2013 at 5:35 am

        *POWERFUL WOMEN!* (and we can’t kickarse if we’re starving, y’all!)

        Reply
        • August McLaughlin says

          January 22, 2013 at 2:24 pm

          Amen!

          Reply
  12. magdamarcella says

    January 21, 2013 at 12:19 pm

    Reblogged this on Miracle Mile Girls and commented:
    “Does Dirt Have Calories?” Something Jessica would worry about…

    Reply
  13. magdamarcella says

    January 21, 2013 at 12:24 pm

    I love this. I’ve struggled with ED and this hits home.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 21, 2013 at 5:46 pm

      I’m so sorry to hear you’ve faced ED, too. Wishing you much wellness and joy!

      Reply
  14. Kourtney Heintz says

    January 21, 2013 at 1:08 pm

    August this post is so poignant and personal. Thank you for sharing this. I was at a store this weekend and it broke my heart to hear this teenager repeatedly call herself fat and ugly and say nothing looked right on her body because it was fat. The viciousness with which she attacked herself really shocked me. I forgot how cruel adolescence is and how cruel we can be to ourselves.

    Reply
  15. donnagalanti says

    January 21, 2013 at 2:16 pm

    August, it pained me to read this – so sad and yet so uplifting. And to know all the horrible things you went through. I hope your sense of peace and well being stays lifelong. I can relate to food issues as I had them as a young child into adulthood, due to a trauma. I would gorge on food until I was sick trying to fill some empty hole. I didnt get help for this until my 20s, but it still lingers as I continue to battle with food and binging. I try not to be too hard on myself as I always get back on track to a healthy lifestyle after a day or two – and I know I need it now to feel good, physically and mentally. I worry at times that my son has an obsession with food as he loves eating and plans his meals and treats days in advance – then I laugh, as I look at how healthy he is and that he is just a big, growing boy at 10 and not becoming overweight. Bravo to you for conquering the dark inside! You continue to inspire us.

    Reply
  16. Lynnette Conroy says

    January 21, 2013 at 2:50 pm

    This is such a stunning story. And so important. Thank you.

    Reply
  17. Raani York says

    January 21, 2013 at 2:53 pm

    Dearest August,
    I was reading this blog post with great interest and sympathy. You had to go through so much and I had tears in my eyes through reading.
    A friend of mine fought this kind of battle as well – but didn’t do as well as you did! And there was nothing I could do to help her.
    I admire you for your inner strength and for your hope and not giving up!!
    You’re such a beautiful, strong and great woman!
    I’m proud to be able to call you my friend!

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 23, 2013 at 9:08 am

      Aw. Thank you for the lovely words, Raani! I’m so sorry your friend’s battle didn’t end well. That’s the case for far to many, and it’s incredibly tough on everyone affected. Lots of love! Some of recovery’s greatest gifts are friends like you.

      Reply
  18. colinfalconer says

    January 21, 2013 at 3:22 pm

    Brilliant.

    Reply
  19. amyshojai says

    January 21, 2013 at 6:05 pm

    Thank you.

    Reply
  20. liz blackmore says

    January 21, 2013 at 6:17 pm

    Reblogged this on little box of books and commented:
    Interesting!

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 23, 2013 at 9:08 am

      Thanks for the support, Liz!

      Reply
  21. Kristin Barton Cuthriell says

    January 21, 2013 at 7:03 pm

    I admire your courage!

    Reply
  22. Victoria-writes says

    January 22, 2013 at 5:28 am

    Your story is so inspiring!

    Reply
  23. Daphne Shadows says

    January 22, 2013 at 2:01 pm

    You’re a strong woman. Thanks for sharing. I don’t think people realize how hard an eating disorder is or just what it does to a person.
    I’m glad you had the will power to become healthy; because you wanted to.

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 23, 2013 at 9:09 am

      Right you are, Daphne. Eating disorders are incredibly complex, and difficult to comprehend if you’ve (fortunately) not had one. That’s one reason I channeled my story into fiction. Little is as terrifying as ED.

      Reply
  24. Gloria Richard Author says

    January 22, 2013 at 6:04 pm

    This post was the first I read from The Beautiful, Passionate, August McLaughlin.

    It moved me then. It moves me now.

    I think you know my story. I struggled with alcoholism for years; filling a hole in soul. I did not think I would ever live a day, let alone nearly 1,700 days without my best buddy, Pinot Grigio.

    I don’t how or why or when I crossed the line. Much like you probably don’t recall when your disease took control of you. But, it doesn’t really matter, does it? It doesn’t matter how our metaphorical cars ended up in the ditch. They did. But you, through your own strength, journaling, and determination got back on path.

    I did the same. And guess what? I can speak in public, be fun, have fun, attend parties where alcohol is served, dance alone in public, do silly things, and enjoy life more on this side of that hell.

    It does not surprise me you pulled on those memories and experiences for the character arcs in your stellar debut novel. KUDOS!

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      January 23, 2013 at 9:14 am

      Indeed, Gloria—the whys and when exactlys matter not in the grande scheme of things. Hitting bottom can thrust us up toward recovery and beyond, if we let it.

      I know exactly what you mean about the greater joy on the other side. There’s a whole lot of thriving to be savored once we survive. Thank you for being the bright light you are, Gloria! Everyone who knows you or reads your work is blessed by your recovery.

      Reply
  25. kindredspirit23 says

    January 22, 2013 at 7:47 pm

    Before I forget, I have tagged you for a game in my current post.
    Now,…
    I had sought for many years to work through my depression, my OCD, my fears, my high blood pressure, my insomnia, and so many other things that stemmed from my lack of self-esteem and my guilt. To say I was a mess was such an understatement. I hid a lot, but some of it showed through … if you were looking. Some were; many weren’t.
    I read hundreds of self-help books, studied, went to some seminars, talked to dozens of people … all the things that helped me to help others when I counseled and taught. Finally, God helped me directly – he allowed me to have my stroke. Don’t get me wrong. The stroke was not a good thing; I should have died (did die) should have stayed dead, but it also reset all my filters, and I chose to leave a lot of them off. I am a new person. I am much happier and more fulfilled. I can’t work, but do so many other things like write, blog, make comments, talk to people, and share what I have gone through. It is all good; God does take everything and work it to the good…just believe in yourself and have some faith…God does the rest. Listen; it’s in everything!
    Scott
    PS- I am adding this post to my “Intriguing Posts I have Found”. I hope that’s all right. This is a fabulous post; it almost had me in tears.

    Reply
    • Gloria Richard Author says

      January 24, 2013 at 6:34 am

      I so connect with much of what you said. Self-esteem? Nope. Self-nurturing? Nope. Self-help books? Not unless they could cure me in 10 minutes or less.

      The person who lived inside me wasn’t the person I shared with the world until God conked me on the noggin with that last bottle of wine.

      He is the one who took away my desire and need to drink. He is the one who connected my inner and outer selves.

      I am so glad you also found your path to the whole you.

      I’d apologize for the blog-jack, August, but I know you don’t mind those.

      Reply
      • kindredspirit23 says

        January 24, 2013 at 6:53 am

        Wonderful, Gloria. It’s wonderful in how many ways God can do what He does. I had an awful lot of really bad days that I can now look back on and see how God worked them all to get me where I am now.
        Scott

        Reply
  26. Shakti Ghosal says

    January 23, 2013 at 2:42 am

    Great story, very inspiring. I particularly loved the post title. As I ponder about it, I ask, What is calorie? It is energy. And of course, dirt,. either in our minds or in the environment, can become a shifter of energy. So yes, dirt can have calories.

    Cheers

    Shakti

    Reply
  27. Diana Beebe says

    February 2, 2013 at 1:17 pm

    August, I don’t know how I missed this beautiful post. You have such an amazing strength! Thank you for sharing it again!

    Reply
  28. factorymaid says

    February 5, 2013 at 4:20 pm

    August–I was sick for years and i too found solace in writing. I will be following your blog for sure! If you ever get a chance can you give me writing feedback? I’d love a mentor like Mike was for you!

    Reply
    • August McLaughlin says

      February 5, 2013 at 9:13 pm

      Lovely to meet you! I’m happy to hear that you’ve too found healing. Creativity is powerful medicine, right? Please do consider me a resource.

      Reply
  29. Jan Morrill says

    May 7, 2013 at 9:19 am

    I love that you thought about what you’d feed a dear friend, then made that for yourself. Now that I’m on my own, I have a hard time cooking for one — just no fun in it. But, I’m going to try your idea. Thanks so much for sharing your triumph with us!

    Reply

Trackbacks

  1. Announcing: The Beauty of a Woman BlogFest II! « August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    January 24, 2013 at 6:05 am

    […] more powerful. When I was enduring the darkest time of my life, the eating disorder I shared in my last post, this poem struck me like a dart between the eyes, pinning me to a wall of “What if?” […]

    Reply
  2. Every Day – A Belated Post for the Beauty of a Woman Blogfest | Day Williams Al-Mohamed says:
    March 3, 2013 at 9:57 pm

    […] ideas, and inspirations about beauty.  Inspired by Sam Levinson’s poem, August shared the story of her experience with an eating disorder that almost ended her life, and then took that struggle and thought about how to use that experience […]

    Reply
  3. Abercrombie & Fitch: Who’s REALLY Uncool? | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    May 13, 2013 at 5:35 am

    […] would stop me, I decided. And nothing did, until countless shoots and weight loss tactics later, I lost consciousness while running toward the Seine in Paris, my heart and body too weak to carry […]

    Reply
  4. #GirlBoner Beauty Part II: 10 Outer-Beauty Tips That Work | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    September 23, 2013 at 6:13 am

    […] first time I spoke publicly about my eating disorder, I emailed my college mentor and asked if I should try to dress down, and not so […]

    Reply
  5. 5 Benefits of Therapy for Creative Artists | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    October 4, 2013 at 6:13 am

    […] of therapy when I’d returned to Minnesota from Paris, where I’d been diagnosed with an eating disorder. I figured the doctor of behavior and emotions would supply the answers I lacked and I’d soon […]

    Reply
  6. Announcing: The Beauty of a Woman BlogFest III! | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    January 23, 2014 at 6:06 am

    […] I shared a story of my personal turning point with ED two years ago, I was so blown away by readers’ support, I decided to launch a […]

    Reply
  7. The Beauty of a Woman BlogFest III: Original Edition | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    February 27, 2014 at 6:38 am

    […] started this fest two years ago, after readers were beautifully responsive to a post I shared about moving past my eating disorder. Thanks to remarkable readers and writers like you all, it’s become a positive light in the […]

    Reply
  8. Is “Pretty” A Privilege? Thoughts From #BlogHer14 | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    July 30, 2014 at 10:11 am

    […] an eating disorder and empowering myself helped me reach a point of self and body acceptance I feel too few women, […]

    Reply
  9. When Depression Strikes: 5 Ways to Cultivate Hope and Healing | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    August 12, 2014 at 1:12 pm

    […] my case, depression led to a severe eating disorder. Though I was never technically suicidal, I knew more than once that death was possible, or even […]

    Reply
  10. Healthy Resolve: How to Lose Excess Pounds Without Losing Yourself | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    December 31, 2014 at 5:08 am

    […] In all my work in the wellness field, I’ve encountered little as effective as these steps. I’ve witnessed their magic in hundreds of lives, from those with anorexia to morbid obesity. I’ve seen them improve people’s moods, energy, digestion, skin health and relationships, end to yo-yo dieting and lower cholesterol, high blood pressure and physical pain. I’m not sure I’d be around today without them. […]

    Reply
  11. #HeelFree Campaign: Going a Year Without High Heels | August McLaughlin's Blog says:
    June 8, 2015 at 6:09 am

    […] photographer’s prediction proved true. While living and working in Paris, I nearly died of anorexia. It took nearly a decade, but I’m now fully past the eating disorder and the dysmorphic […]

    Reply
  12. Do Men Care About Women's Wrinkles? - says:
    August 17, 2015 at 1:31 pm

    […] Frankly, that pissed me off. After years of hard work overcoming body dysmorphia and a serious eating disorder, I was fixating on skin crinkles? Seriously? My frustration quickly shifted to the cause. Women are […]

    Reply
  13. Time Tested Beauty Tips - A Poem - Lynn Kelley, AuthorLynn Kelley, Author says:
    March 6, 2018 at 3:34 pm

    […] August McLaughlin found the following poem helpful during her recovery from an eating disorder, and the theme of the Beauty of a Woman Blog Fest was actually derived from this poem. Read August’s story here, Does Dirt Have Calories? […]

    Reply

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