If you told me six months ago my life would look the way it does today, I would have asked you if you were getting high. There are a lot of great things that have happened in the past six months but one of the biggest is consistently working towards recovery from my eating disorder. I realize that, to some, that sounds stupid.
Like congratulations you eat three meals a day and a snack and stopped excessively exercising!!!
Congratulations, you weigh more than a prepubescent child!!!
Congratulations, you don’t weigh yourself ten times a day!!
Congratulations, you don’t take diet pills and laxatives!!!
Congratulations you have a normal BMI and your hair isn’t falling out and your eyes don’t look lifeless.
The more I type this out the more I can feel those pangs you feel when you miss someone with your whole heart and soul. But, regardless of missing being sick, I have stayed in recovery for six months. I did not revert backward after 30, or 60 days, or one rough day, or two awful weeks.
A lot of the time I focus on how far I still need to go. How much work I have in front of me. I still do not like how I look everyday. It’s sometimes an hourly battle. But today I am not going to focus on how much more mountain I have to hike, I’m gonna focus on how far I have already came.
I want to thank the people who have helped me. While they did not do it for me, they can not eat the meals for me or be honest for me, I don’t think I would have been able to make it through without their support and unconditional love and acceptance. I am more than grateful for the people who let me cry about my weight and mourn the loss of my old body and behaviors. I am more than grateful for the people who have gone above and beyond to show me that I deserve to be healthy and happy.
Six months ago when I decided to get better I did not plan to get better. I planned to do the bare minimum and stay at the lowest “healthy” weight that I could. I vividly remember saying a weight and saying that is all I was willing to get up to. I realize that trying to dictate my size and weight and exercise or eat my way into a specific body, is not real recovery.
Anyway, six months ago when I decided to get better, I had no idea what I was in for if I’m being honest. I didn’t think it would be easy but I also didn’t think it would be such hard work.
Have you ever stared at a meal and wanted to eat it more than anything in life, but something inside you tells you that you can’t. It’s poisoned. It will make you disgusting. If you eat that, you might as well give up on life.
So I legit cried over a cheeseburger about one month into trying to do this stupid bullshit. Literally actual tears. In front of someone.
And something in my head was like “bitch what the fuck.” In that moment, I kid you not, I saw my future. I saw myself as an old lady in treatment again, hiding ensure in coffee and Gatorade in couches and extra butter in my hair. And I thought, absolutely not. No way. Not me.
So I cried and I ate the cheeseburger. And I didn’t die. Shocking.
And I kept doing it. I kept eating. I started crying less. Somewhere along the road it got easier. Eating became normal. It became something I had to do to nourish myself. My body has changed. A lot. Sometimes it makes me really uncomfortable. Sometimes it makes me really proud when I can lift more or run faster, enjoy food with friends, eat snacks at night, and feel things that are not food related.
These six months have been hard. I have hated recovery a lot more days then I have loved it. I have had bad days and good days. But I know, deep down, that there was no good days in my eating disorder. I know that I never liked being stuck in my ED. That I was never “happier” or “smarter” or “better” when I was sick. I know this is six months of life I won’t have to look back on and wonder about. It’s six months I didn’t waste away in a dull existence. It’s six months I have lived.
Here is to six months and focusing on how far we have come.