Under the Table. Beneath the Skin.

The first thing I did every morning was step on the scale. I tracked every step I took as I walked to class. During lectures, I counted my calories for the day and came up with better workouts. Before I fell asleep every night, I tallied up every calorie I consumed that day, and after reaching the total, I planned my food out so that tomorrow I could eat less. Sleep and Repeat. (I’d say eat, sleep, repeat but there wasn’t much eating involved).

Needless to say, my thoughts and actions were completely saturated with my eating disorder. People might assume that I controlled my food and exercise so that I could have the best body. One might read those rituals and think that I was vain for caring about my appearance so much. And yes, appearing “perfect” was an aspect of my eating disorder, but oh it was so much more.

For me, thinking about food, exercise, and my body prevented the real feelings from arising. With every minute tied up in my eating disorder, there was no time to address my fears, anxieties, scars. My eating disorder kept me safe from the feelings that I thought would kill me if I allowed myself to feel. In its core, my eating disorder wasn’t about beauty and having a great body. It was rooted in the belief that I wasn’t worthy of being seen. I believed I needed to disappear because I wasn’t deserving of life on earth. And really acknowledging that truth was too much for me to bear.

Beneath the skin, under the table was a little girl who was beaten, battered, and broken. From the outside looking in, it appeared that I was scared to gain weight; but in reality, I was scared of so much more. I was scared of not measuring up to my own expectations. I was frightened of never amounting to anything in life. I was terrified that I would never be loved. And above all, I was afraid that if I opened up and talked about my true pain I wouldn’t be able to cope and that honestly, I would want to die because of how excruciating those feelings were.

However with the help of incredibly patient therapists and the safe environment of treatment, I proved to myself that feelings won’t kill me. My emotions are not too dangerous. I am safe. I. am. safe. Addressing the real issues leads to true freedom. So even today when I default to talking about my body and wanting to lose weight, I’m thankful for my therapist and friends who call me out on my bullshit (sorry mom for the language).

Through the ever-flowing grace of God, I am worthy of life. I am not defined my pain. The real issues are not too much for God to handle. He is bigger than my eating disorder, and I can rely on his comforting hands to guide through those difficult feelings.