The Past. The Present. The Future.

When I left eating disorder treatment, I knew I wanted to be a therapist. At first, I was ashamed to share this desire with anyone. Even though I knew the journey to become a surgeon (my original plan) was no longer in line with the balanced life in which I am committed to live, part of me was scared to let go because I had attached so much of my worth to that goal. Another part of me feared judgement. I viewed becoming a therapist as cliché, and I worried that people would think that I merely want to be a therapist for my own personal gain – to figure out my own issues or to deny my own struggles by focusing on other people. However, as a gained self-confidence and let go of what other people think, I began embracing my story and my desire to become a therapist.

Currently I am applying to social work and clinical psychology (MFT) graduate programs. Writing my personal statements has encouraged me to reflect on the past, evaluate the present, and plan for the future. I want to share short excerpts of my personal statement with you because I believe it fully integrates how the past and present come together to influence my decision to become a therapist. Enjoy!

From the time I could talk, I always said I was going to be a doctor, a pediatric surgeon to be precise. At Baylor, I dove head first into intense pre-medical coursework and quickly got involved in every campus organization and volunteer opportunity I could get my hands on to appear the best candidate for medical school. From the outside looking in, I was the ideal candidate. I maintained straight A’s, held leadership positions in campus clubs, volunteered at a local hospital, and actively participated in my sorority. It seemed like I had it all together. However, on the inside, I was miserable. The pressure to present as perfect to the world morphed into an eating disorder that was literally killing me. Before I knew it, I had abandoned everything I value for a secret life riddled with lies stemming from the shame that I could not meet the absurdly high expectations I set for myself.

Coming to the realization that this lifestyle was unfulfilling, not to mention unsustainable, I decided to take a leap of faith and admitted myself to eating disorder treatment. As I began forming my new identity as a woman of integrity, strength, and compassion, I came to realize that I want to be a therapist and a source of hope for women struggling to fight the prejudices that stand against them.

… As a future therapist, I seek to advocate for and promote social justice. More specifically, I want to spark change in the way society views and treats women, and I believe that change starts with how women view and treat themselves. Years ago, I entered into an abusive relationship. It was during that toxic relationship that I first internalized the voice that told me I was worthless and should be ashamed of being a woman. For years, I remained silent because I believed I deserved the pain he caused me. Being an abuse survivor, it is my hope that I can partner with teens and young women who feel similar shame around their bodies and gender identity in order to help them discover their true worth in the world.

… I am passionate about working with teens because it is a such critical time for making important life decisions and identity formation. Adults often discredit teenage girl’s thoughts, feelings, and struggles. I aspire to advocate for young women’s wishes and needs, believing in them so they can believe in themselves. When I was experiencing so much pain because of my abusive relationship, I wish I had felt comfortable enough to confide in someone who would have advocated for my needs. I hope to be that person for young women in the future.

… Taking pride in my story instead of hiding in the disgrace of my so-called “failures”, I now live with dignity and integrity. I respect the progress I have made and hold space for the challenges I have yet to conquer, allowing for future growth. As a therapist, I will treat my clients with the same dignity and respect to inspire them to overcome the obstacles that stand in the path of realizing their dreams and aspirations.  

I am so excited to take the next step in my journey to become a therapist, and I can’t wait until my dreams become my reality!

Stakes are Low

Friday I left my last class holding my head high because I can now say that I’ve finished an entire year of college while keeping my sanity! This is something I have never done before. Honestly, it is something that I doubted I could ever do. So what changed? How was I able to successfully finish my junior year of college (round 2)?

Well, so much has changed, but I can narrow it down to one thing: compassion.

See, back a few years ago, I set the highest expectation for myself: perfection. But the problem with perfection is that it doesn’t exist. There is always another hoop to jump through, another rung on the ladder to climb. But, I was determined. I would do everything possible to reach that perfect ideal I had in my head. I gotta say, I got pretty close—at least from the outside looking in. However, the drive for perfection tore me to pieces. I always felt like a failure. If I wasn’t perfect in every little thing I would beat myself up, physically through my eating disorder and mentally through all the lies I told myself about how I was such a failure. The joy in any success was tainted by the intense pressure of the next task. In the end, those high expectations knocked me off my feet.

But I’ve grown, and I’ve changed my motto. “Stakes are low”. Whether it’s in preparation for a final or getting ready for a Theta formal that anticipatory anxiety creeps in. I fight the battle with perfection. What if I screw up? What if I don’t make an A? What if I embarrass myself? In these moments, I remind myself, “stakes are low”. I give myself compassion, the space to mess up and still be ok. Because even if I fail my final or make a total ass of myself, I’m still me. Those events, those high expectations I put on myself to try to make sure I end up a success, don’t have to define me. In the end, my achievements and the way people view me don’t really matter. My true friends and family don’t love me because I make straight A’s or because I’m the perfect sorority girl. They love me because I am a loyal friend, because I care deeply, because I am funny. And ultimately, they love me just because I am me. Whether I end up a doctor, a therapist, or jobless. Whether I am popular or an outsider. Whether I have a 6 pack or squish rolls. Their love for me doesn’t change. And most importantly, God’s love for me doesn’t change.

I am no longer crushed by the pressure of perfection. I am free to live, to make mistakes, to learn from them. I am free to just be—to relax and put my worries aside. Because stakes are low NOT high. Part of me wishes I could go back and tell my old self that, but a larger part of me knows I needed to go through those times to get to where I am now: living a life of self-compassion. So instead, I will share with all you who also struggle with the desire to be perfect: STAKES ARE LOW.  

Easy as ABC

For the first time in over a year, I am back in school. I still bleed green and gold, but I am finding a new home at Loyola Marymount. This time around, I am committing to doing things differently—to lean on love not perfection.

As soon I enter the classroom, I can hear the perfectionism gears start to churn. “my notes must be error-free, my answers must always be right, I cannot mess up.” But that thinking is the old me. The environment brings out my perfectionistic tendencies, but now I am able to fight back. I remind myself that perfection is simply a façade—a way for me to feel in control when really I am scared of the uncertainty. It’s easier for me to hit the books and stress out over my performance instead of addressing the underlying fears. So rather than share about my “challenging coursework”, I choose to open up about the real things that are hard about being back in school.

It’s lonely. I only know a handful of students, and some days I feel invisible. As a commuter student working 2 jobs, it is hard to devote time to meeting people at school. But I know it is highly important because my eating disorder thrives in loneliness. Loneliness turns into unworthiness which either leads to a) unhealthy behaviors that give me a sense of accomplishment or b) destructive behaviors that result in punishment for being not good enough. Siding with my healthy self instead of my eating disorder self means combating loneliness with love. Self-love through acknowledging my accomplishments and participating in self-care. Love from my Savior who accepts me with all my faults. Love from my amazing friends who listen and laugh with me. And love from new friends I’ll make as I become more involved at LMU. These relationships are what remind me that I am enough just as I am and that I don’t deserve to be nasty to myself.

It’s scary. Starting back at school, which was a huge component of my eating disorder, makes me fearful that I am going to get sick again. I’m scared that I’m going to set unattainable expectations and place unnecessary pressure on myself. Will the demands of school lead me back into my depression? Will I turn to my eating disorder to cope with the stress of schoolwork? Am I capable of doing this? The great thing about recovering in a community is that I have too many people that care about me to let me fall back into the traps of my eating disorder. I don’t need to future trip because I know I have support that will keep me healthy. All I need to do is be honest, letting those around me help when I am struggling. I am capable of this!

The Jackson Five got it right—college might not be as easy as ABC, but love is, and that is what I need in order to do school differently.

A Galentine's Letter

To My Best Friend,

Lilly Beil, You were there before I knew I had a problem. You loved me despite the fact that I was wasting away not only physically, but emotionally. I can’t imagine how helpless you felt when I was disappearing before your eyes even though I believed I was fine.

You were the first person I called when my therapist said I wouldn’t be able to go back to college if I didn’t gain weight. You cried with me. You told me it would be ok. You reminded me to take refuge in God’s ultimate grace.

When I convinced my therapist to let me go back to school my sophomore year, you stood by my side. You never gave up on me though I was giving up on myself. You were with me as I sunk into deep depression. Even when I bailed on our spring break trip, you lovingly understood. You were the only person I had the courage to tell that I wasn’t going to come back to school after spring break. Again, we cried. We cried because I was in so much pain. We cried because we couldn’t finish the year together. We cried because this disease took such a toll on our friendship.

My junior year, we lived together. You sat by me when we ate out with friends knowing that I was silently suffering over the meal. Even when I put on an act that I was all-better, you spent nights listening to me about the suffering I was still enduring. Despite the struggles I encountered, you helped me see small glimpses of joy in life. I clung to the times when we would hang out because for a brief moment I was free from my eating disorder. You gave me hope that life was bigger than my disorder.

When you studied abroad, your journey was an encouragement. Although you may not know it, your pictures and blog motivated me to want recovery. I wanted to travel and see the beauty of the world, and I knew I could only do that if I let go of my eating disorder.

And when you came back, I told you I was going to treatment. Neither of us knew what that meant, but you said we would face the unknown together. You consistently wrote me letters. We shared our struggles, but also our joys. I am grateful that you didn’t see me as weak or fragile, but strong in being able to face my eating disorder head on. You shared with me how your summer was going which was so helpful when all I saw was my eating disorder.

You’ve stood by my side forever and always. I was filled with joy when I was able to surprise you for your birthday. For the first time in such a long time, I was healthy enough to be spontaneous. You also tried to see my perspective as I explained that I was not all better just yet. Again, we cried. We cried because we don’t understand why I have this disease. We cried because we both know how hard it is to continue a friendship despite such an overwhelming illness. We cried because we have lost so much time together because of this awful disease.

Through it all, I have known I could rely on our friendship. Moving forward, I firmly believe that we will always be there for each other. We have our whole lives ahead of us, and I am excited to see all what lies ahead for our friendship. Through think and thin our love for each other runs deep. Thank you for all you have done for me!

Much Love. Forever and Always.

Surprise!!

“Surprise!” I exclaimed as I hugged my best friend for the first time since May. It was her birthday, and I flew into Waco to celebrate. After she recovered from the initial shock, her eyes filled with tears. “I can’t believe you are here…in the flesh!”

The whole trip was really a surprise. I had no agenda, no schedule, no to-do list. I simply wanted to be with my Baylor friends. A year ago, this would not have been possible. If every minute was not planned, I would panic and break down. My detailed plans kept me productive; they proved that I was successful. The underlying truth was that my agenda prevented me from addressing my pain, discomfort, and brokenness. A side effect of that wall was not experiencing any joy from surprises.

On this journey of recovery, I am learning to embrace surprises. This trip, I was able to participate in an unexpected event: breakfast at midnight. In honor of Taylor Swift and feeling 22, we cooked up delicious breakfast food to share amongst our close friends. I was not going to miss out on this experience! In my eating disorder, I would have said I’m too tired and gone to bed to avoid eating crepes and bacon at midnight. But this weekend I was able to choose relationships over food. Crepes and bacon would not stop me from being present at my best friend’s breakfast at midnight party.

While most surprises from my time in Waco were amazing and wonderful, one hit me hard. Surprise! You are not recovered! This was the first time I had been back to school since May. I slept in the same bed, ate at the same table, and used the same bathroom as I did when I was in the depths of my eating disorder. I would be lying if I said that it was easy. Au contraire—it was freaking hard.

More than anything I would like to be recovered. I would like to live in Waco and finish my senior year with my best friends. I would like to have my eating disorder be a thing of the past. But that is not reality, and that is ok. It is ok that I struggled to finish my meals and that I cried as I thought about how much I ate out and how little activity I did this weekend. It is ok that I am not recovered just yet. Surprise! Recovery doesn’t happen over night!

From someone who has high expectations for herself, this surprise is hard to bear. It’s hard to know I am missing out on my senior year at Baylor, to see my eating disorder still effecting my friendships, to try to explain my struggle to my friends and know that they don’t fully understand.

But hard doesn’t mean I’ve failed—it means I’m still fighting. I am on this road of recovery, and I haven’t reached the end quite yet. I know there will come a time where I will be fully recovered, where my eating disorder will be behind me. However, I also know this: my eating disorder won’t be the only hard surprise I will face in life Surprise! Life is not perfect!

I don’t have to dread these future challenges because I know that my strength does not come within my broken self but through my omnipotent Savior. Life doesn’t have to be easy for me to be ok. I can be ok through God’s saving grace. These bumps in my life may come as a surprise to me, but they are no surprise to God. He is in control, which means I am free to experience wonderful surprises, and I can rely on God for strength to conquer the not so wonderful surprises too.