health – Page 8 – Brooke Lyn Landon

hOMe sweet hOMe

Folding my 1,000th towel, like I had been in the housekeeping industry for decades, I questioned why I was staying at this job that didn’t fulfill me in the slightest. Is this out of love or fear? I asked myself as I heard the sound of men grunting and slamming weights on the ground like they had serious daddy issues. The fact that even came to mind was enough of an indication to know this was the latter. Still, my mind refused to make a decision easily.

That week, I weighed the pros and cons about as many times as I thought about food, which is to say those were basically the only things I thought about that week. Some of the cons were, I don’t like any of the things I have to do at the gym, one of the girls treats me like shit for legitimately no reason and acts like mother Teresa to everyone else, a lot of the people there I don’t feel comfortable around, when I’m not at work I think about how I don’t want to go, and when I’m there I count down the minutes until I’m out. Pros were money and free gym membership. Though I made the decision a million times harder than it needed to be, and was still nervous about money and what I would do next, I put in my two weeks notice and felt relieved to have finally done it.

I was aware of the gym’s policy that after quitting, I was not allowed back in the facility for three months, even if I wanted a membership. Totally a logical rule because my five foot nothing stature was surly intimidating, and they must have needed a break from feeling inferior I suppose. I thought I’d spend the next three months using all of the free gym trials around town because free is basically my middle name, and hope that by the time they’re all up, three months will have gone by so I can go back to my old routine of HITT classes and BodyPump. The longest trial around town was at a nearby yoga studio, so I chose to start there even though yoga for me at that time was like a soap opera. Long, boring, and overrated. I figured I had nothing to lose considering they had really nice studios and showers, and yoga sculpt, which was basically a HIIT class disguised as yoga.

After my first class, I turned to the girl to my left who was sweating like she just took the ice bucket challenge, and said “I’ve never hated to love something so much in my life.” The rest was history. I began a work exchange program there, where I mopped up sweaty floors and yoga mats for an hour and a half a week, in exchange for a $20 a month unlimited membership. Not only did I meet Allie a few months later, but the beginning of another significant event happened then as well.

Fast forward a few months later, and my eyes widened like a Californian yogi just discovered they ate something with gluten in it. $2,500 was the number staring back at me. Immediately my decision to get my yoga teaching certification began to waver. I noticed in that moment that my excuses that were firing out about money and time were all fear based, and this all happened too serendipitously for me not to see what would happen if I followed through. As I handed over my credit card, I gritted my teeth like I was watching one of those videos that show up on my Facebook newsfeed of people making poor choices, and I know they’re about to hurt themselves. Once the transaction was made, I felt a sense of relief that I had made the decision. The relief made me know by making this choice, I was following my heart and not my head.

It made me aware that most of my anxiety comes from not making a decision, and once I actually do, I feel a million times better. It’s like when I went on a bungee swing in New Zealand. Suspended hundreds of feet in the air, dangling like a piece of bait, I looked down full of fear, nerves, and excitement. Once I made the choice to pull the cord and drop, only the excitement remained, which turned to pure joy as I swung and stared at the magnificent cliffs, luscious green trees, and lake that surrounded me. It’s the prolonging of making a choice that so often causes the anxiety and confusion. When I follow my heart and stay in my truth, pure joy is inevitable.

Though I had no idea what to expect, and didn’t even intend on becoming a teacher, I knew only good could come of it. If anything, I thought it would give me something to write about, and that it did and so much more. Slowly I began to notice people perceiving me as the type of person who would go out to eat with a rolled up yoga mat, wanting to order a BLT with gluten free bread, and no meat. To be fair, that’s not too far fetched.

A Food Junkies Journey

IMG_2428 (1) Life from my perspective was a complete tragedy. The only things keeping me from taking my own life at that time, was that it would cause my family so much pain, and this deep sense of knowing that I was going to somehow get out of this shit hole, and create an amazing life for myself.

I was lying on the floor in someone else’s house, crying as though I was a child who had just discovered Santa wasn’t real. Lost, lonely, relapsed, stranded, broken, broke, and confused, were just a few words to describe my state of being at that time. All I could wonder was why I chose to move to California because at that point it felt like the world was trying to tell me my time was up.

At that time, I had just crashed my car, and my plan to travel up north and find a place to live in the Bay area abruptly came to a halt. My destructive thoughts were running rampant, like someone trying to find their phone when they know their crush is waiting for a response. It was hard for me to do anything but pity myself and my circumstances, but I knew I had to keep going. Not in a persevering or heroic way, but because I literally needed to find another place to sleep.

After a copious amount of confusion and angst, I booked my stay at a retreat. Esalen is a retreat on the cliff of Big Sur, with hot springs full of naked people, food for days, and workshops mostly consisting of people who you would picture walking around barefoot with flower crowns, putting sage all over everything, and practicing kundalini yoga before sunrise. I went for a writers workshop in hopes to get out of the writers block I was in. With my insecurities bigger than my belly after a binge, I figured I’d keep my clothes on in the hot springs, get as much out of the food buffet as humanly possible, get out of my writers block, and have a place to sleep for a few more nights as well.

Next thing I know, I’m sitting there on a bench overlooking the ocean, but unable to appreciate its beauty. The sky was as blue as the cloth I would imagine a stork carrying to deliver a baby boy. The water washing up on the rocky shore below me, was crystal clear, like the tears that were rolling down my cheeks. With no home, no car, and resurfaced addictive thoughts and behaviors, I questioned what I had gotten myself into, and how much longer I had left to live if I kept this up. This leap of faith seemed to be turning into a leap of failure.

I felt a pain in my chest so deep and full of sorrow that it couldn’t be ignored. Sitting on the bench, I lifted my gaze and starred out at the magnificent cliffs of Big Sur, and the glistening water of the pacific ocean. With an aching heart, I thought to myself “My heart needs this.” I brought my awareness to the pain and acknowledged its presents without judgement. “Hello pain.” I thought to myself “I need to feel this contrast and pain to evolve and move forward, but I’ve felt you long enough, and you can go.”
The pain instantly vanished. I had caught my brain feeding me these lies that life was awful. It was as if my awareness made my ego flee in disappointment and embarrassment of it’s discovery.

Profound insights and circumstances were taking place, and it was only just the beginning. That night I took out my notepad and wrote “HELP” in bold letters, and closed my eyes as I prayed to the air and fell into slumber. Not soon after opening my eyes the next morning, help is what I got, but not in a way I was expecting.

Shortly after my fourth round of breakfast the next morning, I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to survive another episode. I was legitimately scared for my life, and was under the impression that I would surly be rushed to the ER if I tried again. I was hoping that when I asked for help, a mentor would have miraculously come into my life, or I would have mustered the courage and strength to stop because I had enough. I asked for help, and that is what I received in the form of scaring the living daylights out of me, and causing my body to start falling apart.

After that, I stopped my addictive behaviors with my newfound determination. I’m sure the fact that I thought I would be dead soon otherwise contributed to the change as well. Wasn’t really the way I wanted to go out. I knew I came out to California to find more of what my heart needs to evolve and become a better version of myself, not to have my heart stop entirely. That being said, the destructive thoughts and behaviors didn’t end there. This was only the beginning of a very long journey of recovery.

Stay tuned for more and like and follow my blog posts if you enjoyed! ❤

From interview to Intervention

jennifer-burk-118076 Fast forward exactly one year later from the day I relapsed at the festival, and my phone rang with different news. The editor of LEFAIR magazine called to inform me I would be interviewing an eating disorder specialist for my upcoming article I was writing titled “Our Society Has An Eating Disorder”. I enthusiastically agreed, but hung up the phone like the Grinch on Christmas day. Not wanting to have to change what I had already written, I reluctantly but willingly scheduled a time to meet with her.

It took me six months to miraculously claw my way out of the dark hole I had created a year ago, but I was still covered in dirt. I wasn’t bulimic or eating more in one sitting than a quarterback eats in an entire day, but my thoughts about food and looking at what I perceived as imperfections of my body, were about 100 times more frequent than the amount of times I go to the bathroom when I’m on a cleanse. Regardless, I thought I could figure it all out on my own until my interview turned into an intervention.

I felt about as prepared to interview her as I did taking the practice ACTs, where I randomly selected letters because I wasn’t having any of it. To be honest, I don’t really remember the questions I asked. I do however remember what came about as a result of meeting with her.

The door opened and I was immediately greeted by an old Boston Terrier with one cloudy eye. Standing tall by the side of the dog was Allie, the therapist. With her blonde beach wavy hair, and slender body, it looked like she should be featured in the next Target ad pretending to have fun with children. I nervously said hello and took a seat on her faux leather couch. Not long after we began to talk I told her about having relapsed shortly after arriving to California. I tried to make it seem as though I now had no problems with food, overeating, or my body image, but there was no fooling her.

“You know you wouldn’t have relapsed if you truly healed, right?” Her glasses were the only thing that stood between us as she spoke.

I forgot what my response was, but from how the she continued, I know I agreed.

“Look, I’m totally booked and am not looking to take on any new clients, but I feel like this happened too serendipitously, and I have to see you.”

“Damn it, she’s totally right.” I thought as I became aware of the work I was about to endeavor.

Long story long, here I am, doing the work, and ready to ride this out.

Journal entry after my first session: ” As much as I don’t want to admit this to myself, the reason I’m seeing Allie is because I’m not in alignment with who I truly am. My mind body and soul are not working in harmony with one another, and she made that clear to me by informing me about something that I like to call “The Loop” When one is not in alignment with their true self, soul, whatever you want to call it, they go through a cycle between the persecutor, victim, and rescuer.

The Persecutor is our fundamental limiting beliefs, that we may not even be aware of, such as “I’m not good enough”, “I’m not lovable”, etc. Then, the place where I’ve discovered (Rather Allie told me) I tend to reside, is The Victim, which stems from our limiting beliefs. “I can’t”, “Oh woe is me”, “something is wrong with me” and so forth. We then inevitably go to The Rescuer. We need something to take us away and relieve us from the stress The Persecutor and Victim are putting us through, and rescue ourselves by using other people, drugs, alcohol, social media, or, you guessed it, food. Until I heal myself, and change my beliefs and patterns, the loop will continue or come back when the going gets rough. The weird thing is I know I’m not those limiting beliefs, yet my brain is wired to believe it as truth. I don’t know how one goes about changing for good, but I guess I’ll find out. ”

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“Man Makes Plans and God Laughs”

rawpixel-com-191102 Just when I thought things couldn’t get worse, the universe decided to show me otherwise. The fairytale I had played in my head of everything serendipitously coming together after flying across the country without a plan, wasn’t going as planned to say the least. Where’s my prince charming? Where’s my lottery win? Where my dream career? Surely following my gut and taking a leap of faith should have brought me some clues by now, right?

Looking at the ceiling, sprawled out on the guest bed of my sisters, boyfriends, mothers house, I wished I could go back home. The only problem was I had no home to go back to. I felt like I had lost it all. Relapsed, homeless, jobless, health was non existent, and my mental health and creativity… What’s that? I forgot what it was like to live because I was merely existing at best. All I knew was that I had to keep going because not doing so would certainly be the end of me.

My mind struggled to come up with a plan of action. A part of me wanted to just stay where I was which would have been the equivalent of an ostrich sticking its head in the sand when a lion is running towards it full force. I decided to take my car that had been shipped from New York, and drive up the coast. I thought certainly San Fransisco or the bay area was where I was meant to be. Surely the fact the Golden Gate Bridge was on my vision board I had made in college was a clear sign that was my destiny! Not to mention, I’d heard its like Manhattan, so I’d feel right at home. My grandfather always used to say “Man makes plans, and God laughs.” If I had texted my expectations about this move and current plans to the universe, God, whatever you want to call it, the response would have been “LMFAO”

My car had seen very little action parked in the driveway of my mothers house as I lived in NYC, and it was clear I had very little action driving recently as I got behind the wheel. “Whoops!” is not the words you want to hear yourself say when you’re driving, but it wasn’t uncommon as I made my way up the coast. I used to drive like a boss, but for whatever reason, I turned into my 89 year old grandmother as soon as my foot hit the gas.

Ready to get out of the car like a cat in water, and wanting to explore, I chose to stop in Santa Barbara for a few days along the way to San Fransisco. With all of the worry, uncertainty, and binging I was doing to cope, It is hard to even recall those few days because I was so in my head. The day before I left however, is a day I will never forget.

Not long before heading to my next destination up the coast, I decided to go to the grocery store to binge and purge again because that’s just about the only way I knew how to start my day. As I made my way towards Carrillo St., it’s as though time slowed down as my foot hit the gas to maneuver around a giant MNT bus. Within seconds, that bus had completely destroyed my car.

Hands still on the wheel, I nodded my head as if to say “Yeah, this looks about right.” I thought to myself “My heads a mess, my car’s a mess. This is literally my thoughts manifested in the physical world.” As I stepped out of the car, I saw people running out of their homes to see if I was alright. I starred at the mysterious looking fluid running from my car and onto the pavement. “So, is there like a number to call for this?” I casually asked the bus driver who had gotten out of the bus to see the damage. Before I knew it, my car was taken away, and I was crying myself to sleep on the floor of someone else’s house.

Follow and stay tuned to see what happens next! Check out my previous posts for the beginning of this crazy journey !

Hippies and Hyperventilating

goashape-61244 (For the beginning of the story, check out my previous blog post!)

Having had only a few months to help my mother with the estate sale, fill up the storage unit, and pack up my apartment, planning my life out once I got to California was like trying to button up my summer shorts in the dead of winter. It wasn’t going to happen. The best I could do was buy a ticket to a festival where I could camp out, in the hopes that the universe would orchestrate the perfect encounter to guide me to the place I was suppose to be. However, what was orchestrated there was no symphony, it was more like a catastrophe.

If Coachella and Burning Man had a baby, it would be the festival I went to. I found myself surrounded by people dressed up like they were about to go trick or treating, with pupils the size of gum balls. Every time I would meet someone, I would wonder if they were the one who would help me get out of this mess some way or somehow. I would check out a good looking guy in the hopes that he’d be my knight in shining armor, or knight dressed like Tarzan on acid. It didn’t take me long to start completely losing it and questioning my choices.

Terrified of my own state of mind, consumed by my thoughts of food, fear of relapsing, and desperation to figure life out, I chose to not experiment with anything that might enhance my state of being. Sober, I meandered around the wide dirt paths alongside the extravagant and colorful tents and booths, full of psychedelic t-shirts, onesies, and leather outfits. I started to cry as I walked across a wooden bridge that brought me to more tents with people laughing and enjoying their lives. A part of me resented them for rubbing salt in my large opened wound, and resented myself for not being like them.

As the sun set, I stared out onto the horizon and felt like I was looking at a real life version of the sunset from The Lion King minus the hundreds of tents. I turned around and saw half naked people drinking and doing drugs, so they could continue their momentum into the night. Having been a sober mess the past few days, I figured I’d join the party and have a beer or two. Nothing crazy, but just enough to give me a buzz and take the edge off. It still doesn’t seem like a horrible idea, so long as something horrible didn’t happen as a result.

Dancing like I had Spanish in my blood, or so I thought, I began to enjoy my time and buzz. Shortly after, I started not to feel so well from the alcohol, and decided to step away for some fresh air. As I made my way around the bend towards my campsite, I began to worry far worse than my mother does trying to make thanksgiving dinner. I felt so sick that I could tell I was about to throw up, but my ego assured me that everything would be okay if I did. Deep down, I knew this could easily be a floodgate for my old addictive behaviors to resurface.

I came out from behind the bushes, relieved that I physically felt a million times better, but that was the only thing I was relieved about. The flood gate was officially open, and my thoughts after that consisted of “uh oh uh oh uh oh” and “There, there, it’s okay. Eat this and you’ll feel better.” … to be continued

Jump and the Net Will Appear… Or Not.

You know that saying, “Jump and the net will appear.” Well, I did, but there was no net, and I hit the pavement. Thankfully, I took the leap thinking the net would catch me because if I knew I was about to eat shit, I probably wouldn’t have made the jump that has been transforming my life.

It all started with a phone call. Walking down the cobblestone streets in the West Village, I felt my phone vibrate in the pocket of my black Lululemon leggings. I was relieved to see it wasn’t my friend calling to tell me about her new love, knowing she would be calling me the following week crying like she was just arrested for public intoxication saying “You were right”. I swiped the screen displaying “Mom” to my iphone to answer the call, not knowing at the time, that phone call would change the course of my life. The words that came out of my mouth after my mom spoke still baffle me.

“Why don’t you move into my apartment, and I go to California and I figure it out?” I pulled the phone a few inches away from my face and stared at it with furrowed brows as if to say “He said what to you!? What’s his address and social?”. I had no intentions on going anywhere, as I liked living in NYC, but the moment I said that to my mother, there was a gut intuitive “Yes!” in the pit of my stomach, as I felt the hair on my arms stand up, and the chills rush through my body from head to toe.

She had just called to tell me someone had knocked on her door with a great offer on her house, wanting to move in within the next few months. Though she felt like this was the universe giving her what she wanted, within our time living there, we had turned the basement into an antique warehouse, the garage into a storage unit, and my old bedroom had turned into a giant cluster fuck of clothes, toys, trinkets, and god knows what from my emo stage of punk rock posters and anime comic books. With all of the work that had to be done, she saw no way that she could move everything out and simultaneously find another place to live in that short period of time.

I had always been a planner, and could never have seen myself flying across the country without anything in place. I thought the people who did stuff like that were insane, or never wore shoes and had dreadlocks. That being said, I knew I had to take a crazy leap of faith, because to say no to that intuitive guidance, would have meant saying “What if…” for the rest of my life.

Not long after that decision was made, I began to hear old addictive thoughts and habits return. My urges to binge, purge, and restrict, creeped back into my conscious mind, and next thing you know, I was back at the bodega buying three packs of gum every day. By the time I left, I was under the impression I was the only person keeping them in business. These flags were more red than my friends eyes on 4/20, and I kept trying to ignore these subtle thoughts and behaviors in the hopes that I could hold myself together and everything would be all hunky dory once I got to California.

A few months later, I’m standing at baggage claim in the LAX airport with just a ticket and a suitcase. No job, no place to live, just a bunch of clothes with no place to put them. I felt my soul was guiding me down this path, so surely the net would appear and I’d know where I was meant to go, right? Wrong. Utterly wrong. My biggest fear quickly went from “Where am I going to go to the Gym?” to “Where am I sleeping tomorrow night!?” and those red flags continued to wave until I was blinded by them.

Stay tuned to see what happened next !

A Woman on the Verge of Everything

“Fuck. I can’t believe I ate that entire bag of chips at the barbecue last night, and waddled all the way home with a food baby the size of my ex boyfriends ego. It was nothing short of a scene from the walking dead. At least they were gluten-free. It doesn’t even matter though, look at me! I look like the offspring of a sumo wrestler and Melissa McCarthy before she lost weight. If I don’t eat too much for the next few days, I should look decent by the time I have to fit into my tight dress.” Welcome to a glimpse in the mind of Brooke-Lyn.

I struggled with a severe eating disorder for years. Though at this point one would look at me, or see what I do, and think I’m totally “normal” now, it is clear by my thoughts, that I have not healed that part of me. I’ve dedicated my life to loving and embracing every part of me, and it is time I love this too in order to truly heal and transcend these patterns of thoughts and behaviors. I have been documenting this journey of healing and self discovery, and I’m eager and excited to get this out there to inspire others to take action towards reaching a more desirable version of themselves.

You know the saying “Jump and the net will appear”? Well I did jump, but there was no net, and I hit the pavement. This past year has been like a five star adventure/ drama /comedy movie, even though at that time, I saw it as a box office bomb. I’m ready to bare it all and finish this chapter of my life with an audience, because I’d rather take people along the journey, than write them a postcard once I’ve reached the destination saying “wish you were here.”

Though the journey has just begun, I’ve already been feeling like a mix between Britney Spears during her bald head phase, and Scooby Doo solving a mystery. Through uncovering and identifying parts of my past that I have held on to for decades, I am in the process of releasing myself of that bondage and false sense of self that has been created. It appears as though an eating disorder is about an obsession with food of some kind, but it’s really only the symptom of deeper rooted issues. While I’ve been dealing with the old wounds I have found over the past few months, sometimes I feel like a part of me is dying, but I believe it’s because a part of my identity is.

For me, I think a huge part of my healing process and inspiring others is being vulnerable, expressing myself (with a side of sarcasm), and accepting where I am in this journey of self discovery and love. It may take a few more months, or a year, but this part of me will heal. The deeper I go the darker it gets, but that’s where the best treasures lie, and I won’t stop digging until I reach gold.