The Wolf At The Door
What is being kept 'under control' in quasi-recovery?
The camp of opinion is divided on whether a person can ever fully recover from an eating disorder. Some say it leaves a person forever changed, like a werewolf bite. A lifetime managing the monster that might emerge. Some insist, and exemplify, that not only is full recovery possible, but that once the monster is slain we’re left better immune to the social nonsense of body ideals and diet culture.
I am firmly in the latter camp. I’ve seen what freedom looks like, and I know it’s an option available to everyone with the right support. BUT (and it’s a big but) recovery from an eating disorder is complicated, and many health professionals sadly still prioritise physical recovery over the mental reparations required. As such, many partially recover, only to ghost around the land of quasi-recovery, living a half-life of what’s considered a ‘healthy’ body but with a mind still plagued by demons.
I know this space all too well. I’ve spoken to countless friends and clients who consider it the final destination. Those who believe their half-life is the best it gets. The words ‘manageable’, ‘better than it was’, ‘less of an issue now’ echoing around the land of Quasi. It’s worth challenging. Is it really a belief that full recovery isn’t possible, or is it a deeper fear of letting go?
To let go of the disordered parts of ourselves, we first have to recognise what they gave us. Why they emerged and what their role was. I often use demonic rhetoric to describe ED’s, but the truth is we hold onto them because we invited them into our lives as allies who became friends. They were our comfort, our soothing, our solution and our escape. We might desperately want to recover, but there’s a part of us that holds an emotional attachment rooted in a fear that we can’t, or don’t want to, live without their support.
(Sidenote: this support function in some cases develops in place of support that was missing from someone in our lives - often a parent or other significant person in childhood. If this resonates, a big part of healing is addressing the pain and grief of that relationship)
Recovery is painful and often deceptive. To be quasi-recovered is without question the hardest phase. It requires the most vigilance, the most courage, and the clearest mindset. Yet it comes at a time when we’re already exhausted. Ravaged by the fight. Aching for normality and willing it to all be over. We can see how far we’ve come so surely that’s enough now? Please someone tell me it’s enough now?
Imagine it was a werewolf bite - let’s say to the thigh, so we can visualise. Early on, the wound would be distressing to see. There’d be great concern and others would hopefully rush to get us the medical attention we need. Teams of professionals would help us get strapped up, take the right quantities of the right stuff, and have a space to rest and repair. The wound would start to heal and in time, the physical improvements would satisfy those concerned that crisis had been averted. Soon we’re just left with a scar - an area of the tenderest flesh practically invisible to the outside world, yet it’s all we can see. This is quasi-recovery. We’ve been treated for a dog-bite without even a check for rabies, never mind an understanding of the killer wolf that now lives inside. The wolf whose endless unnerving growl is a constant distraction. The wolf who waits until we’re alone to attack without warning, tearing open the scars of our healing wounds in a frenzy that’s full-on full-moon-esque. No-one sees this wolf, we keep it locked away. Telling ourselves that it’s under control. But locking away a murderous wolf will only make it more dangerous.
"The wolves in the woods have sharp teeth and long claws, but it's the wolf inside who will tear you apart." - Jennifer Donnelly.
At the risk of labouring this metaphor to death, containing and restraining this ‘wolf’ in quasi-recovery is what keeps us forever stuck in this space where mental torture is always banging at the door. Imagine the tension, the pressure, the inevitable fury when this wolf breaks through. And it will break through. Ravenous with hunger, murderous with contained rage, it will rip through anything it finds. Destroying and devouring with an insatiability to remind you not only of its needs but its power. Anyone who’s experienced disordered binge-eating will recognise this scene. As the moon changes and the rampage subsides, we’re left frightened and alone with the horror of what just swept through us that we could not control. Utterly ashamed at the freak-show of it all. Our secret demon that real people don’t fight with.
We should consider our relationship with the wolf, who was invited into the home of our mind as a mere pup. Man’s best friend giving us singular focus and attention. A guard dog of loyalty and fierce protection. We trained it. We told it what we feared. We pulled it close to defend us against the outside world. We made it strong, we channelled our anger and trauma through it and then were shocked when it turned our hate back on us. Then we labelled it a monster and shut it away. Keeping it ‘under control’.
“The Canis Lupus, both wolf and man, were meant to be a family with one another. We gain strength through our bond with each other.” – Quinn Loftis
A beautiful irony in my metaphor is that the wolf is an ancient symbol of freedom. It emerges to us as a guide to trust our instincts and identify what threats are real or simply perceived. Full recovery requires making connection with the part that’s being restricted. Compassion for the part that’s been demonised. An understanding that this was a part trained to keep us safe but became distorted. Became separated out - two sides of ourselves now fearing and raging against one another, instead of communicating. Instead of working together.
If I’ve made it sound simple, it certainly isn’t. It requires rigorous training to get that wolf back to the pup it wants to be. To heal the mental wounds of the werewolf bite. There’s no silver bullet, just blood, sweat and plenty of tears. I highly recommend getting a psychotherapist or recovery coach as your designated dog trainer. There’s also so much resource to be found in community - in speaking out rather than going it alone. Happy wolves exist best in their pack, after all.
As for whether full recovery is possible, it absolutely is. I promise. Werewolves are terrifying, until you realise they’re just hungry traumatised dogs, trying to do their best. They, like us, just need to be cared for properly.
“She slept with wolves without fear, for the wolves knew a lion was among them” - R.M Drake
If you’d like to discuss coaching support or joining an ‘are we nearly there yet?’ community then drop me an email for more details.
The Takeaway
Recovery is exhausting but unfortunately the hardest part is when we’re closest to the end. This is where many give up, but freedom is on the other side - through the dark and the fear.
Pathologising the disorder can often keep us stuck because it teaches us to fear its power.
Eating disorders develop as a way to self-regulate and keeps ourselves safe (which is not negating how incredibly dangerous and damaging they are). To fully recover we need to connect with the part that still feels it needs that protection, and work to let it know it’s now safe.
One of life’s guarantees is change. None of us have to remain stuck in anything that doesn’t serve us. Change is inevitable, choice is optional.
Full recovery is HARD! Nobody needs to (or should) go it alone. Community and support make such a difference (and not just for recovery but overall wellbeing).
More to Consume
Mel C talking about her eating disorder on the How to Fail podcast - and getting even more real on Diary of a CEO.
This gorgeously written post, Full of Something, by Cat Sarsfield
I also adored this post, On Polarity, by Anna Haines
Comedian Joanne McNally shares her experience - and check out this ep where she talks to Annie MacManus (2 legends, 1 episode)
Pretty much anything posted by @selfesteemselfesteem
Also... loved the shot from Buffy! 🐺
Wow what a perfect metaphor. I've been thinking a lot lately about how pathologizing/demonizing the disorder can keep us stuck. This hit so close to home. Also didn't know Mel C struggled too, excited to listen to the pod. Thank you thank you thank you!