Let's Talk about It.

Let’s talk about it. When two people love each other very much…no wait. That’s not what I meant to talk about. 

Let’s try this again. Eating disorders. There we go. Let’s talk about eating disorders. 

• 30+ million people struggle with an eating disorder in America alone

• 42% of 1st-3rd grade girls want to be thinner

• 33% of teenage boys and girls use unhealthy weight control behaviors such as skipping meals, fasting, smoking cigarettes, vomiting, and taking laxatives

• Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness

• Every 62 minutes someone loses his/her life as a direct cause of an eating disorder

Did you actually read those statistics? If not, back up and look at them. They are shocking even for me who is far more educated in eating disorders than the average bear. These statistics are great for getting a panoramic view and seeing the pervasiveness of eating disorders. But, these numbers fall flat because people with eating disorders aren’t just numbers on a paper. They are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters, sons, babysitters, best friends, students, coworkers, and so on. They have a story, and each one is unique. 

The problem is so often our stories are silenced. Silenced out of fear. Silenced out of shame. Silenced due to the stigma and myths about eating disorders. Silenced because the words simply won’t come.

See, eating disorders thrive in silence. All the lies that feed the eating disorder are reinforced when we remain silent. Well, I’m done letting eating disorders thrive. Since starting my recovery, I choose to use my voice and talk about my eating disorder and eating disorders in general. And that’s exactly what I did about a month ago. I shared my journey with about 100ish college students. And this time the roles were reversed: I, my true self, was thriving while the shame, self-doubt, and fear have in my eating disorder was silenced. Although my voice quivered at times, I have never felt more empowered. It is my hope that when I spoke, I touched one person. That one person felt heard, understood, and loved.

And I will continue to talk. I will continue to share my story and be an advocate for eating disorder recovery. I will continue to open up about the things that are still hard and not let my eating disorder swallow me whole.

I will also listen. I will show compassion and help dismiss the shame, so that someone can open up and talk about their struggle. I will not simplify a person to a mere statistic, but I will see them as human. A person who is hurting, who is fighting, who is doing their very best, who…is just like me and just like you. 

365 Days of Choosing Life.

In 365 days, I have moved 2,335 miles away from home, lived in 6 different houses/apartments, and spent 196 of those days in treatment. Needless to say, I’ve made a lot of changes in 365 days. And it all started with the decision to choose life.

June 3, 2015—exactly a year ago—I embarked on a journey to start living again. At the time, I had no idea what that entailed, but a timid little knock on the door was my first step in choosing life.

Looking back on this year, I see so much I have gained. The most important thing that has aided me in choosing life day in and day out has been using my voice. I’ve learned to speak up for myself, and it has made me more courageous than I ever thought possible. I have been able to voice my needs and feelings in friendships, at work, and with family where a year ago I would have turn inwards, beaten myself up, and taken it out on my food. I have learned that I only have one life, and I am the one who lives it; therefore, it is my responsibility, right, and privilege to make sure the things in my life are congruent with the way I want to live. By using my voice, I align my actions with my commitment to choose the life I want for myself.

In addition to using my voice to meet my own needs, I have taken a brave step to use my story as a source of advocacy. A year ago you couldn’t pay me a million bucks to tell my friends and family how sick I was. I was too scared and ashamed to speak the truth. Now, 365 days later, I am an open book, willing to share what I have done this year. I couldn’t be prouder of my recovery and the hard steps I have taken (and will continue to take) in order to be recovered.

With every blog post, part of me is filled with fear because I am allowing myself to be vulnerable to the world. But a bigger part of me is empowered. Empowered that I can use my story to make a difference in other’s lives. Empowered that I can advocate for recovery from an illness that goes unseen by most of the world. Empowered that I can speak truth to my peers when they struggle. Empowered that I, in spite of my hardships and brokenness, can be a light in this world.

And the responses I have received in return truly touch my heart. My eyes fill with tears of gratitude when I receive responses of encouraging affirmations, ways you can relate, and questions on how to get help. Taking a risk, although terrifying, is beyond rewarding. The incredible experiences I have gained by being vulnerable outweigh the lure of my eating disorder.

So much has changed in 365 days. Yet sometimes I feel like I’m still that withering girl waiting at the front step. In those moments, I thank that girl for taking the first step through the doors of Vista, and for choosing life. And, in honor of that brave soul, I will continue to choose life.

The Space Where Choice Lies.

a piece from my brother's senior art portfolio

There comes a point in gymnastics where it is just you and the beam. You’ve done the drills, you’ve trained your body to do the skill safely, and all that is left is the deciding. Standing on the beam, arms pressed strong overhead, feet aligned, hips square, and I’m ready. I am the only thing that stands in the way of me staying frozen in that position or flying through the air as I connect two back handsprings. So often I stood there frozen. For hours. For days. For weeks. I was stuck. The fear of the unknown, of the potential failure outweighed the possibility of performing the series successfully. But what I didn’t grasp at the time was that staying in that ready position and not going for it led right to the failure I so feared. My rationale was that not giving myself the option meant that I couldn’t mess it up. What if I tried my hardest and still failed? In my mind, I thought that it would feel worse than not trying at all. Now I realize it feels the same. Incapable. Inadequate.

The situation is different now, but the energy is the same. Lately, I’ve been in this limbo of wanting to get better while also wanting to hold onto the safety in my eating disorder. The self-hate and criticism, the story that I replay over and over, somehow seems more comfortable than the risk it would take to go all in. Having the space to decide to tell myself a different story is terrifying. With the power of choice comes responsibility. I tell myself if I don’t allow another option then there isn’t a possibility of failure. I don’t have to wonder “what if”—what if I commit to a path of self-love, compassion, and acceptance, but I fall short? I still end up with the feelings of failure and little self worth. But those are the exact lies that my eating disorder feeds me, which keep me stuck. Just like staying frozen on top of the beam leads to a feeling of failure and inadequacy, so does living in between the eating disordered life and a healthy life. I’m scared of the feelings of failure after I’ve given it my best, but by not trying, I inevitably feel those exact feelings.

What I am realizing is: there is hope in having the space to choose. It subdues the fear. I know I’m already experiencing the very things I am scared of, so why not try? Why not eat my food, and keep it? Why not fight those urges of letting my eating disorder morph into new behaviors? Why not take the risk and trust the process? In allowing the option to succeed I am honoring the part of me that wants to get better. That believes my story has a purpose. That trusts I am loved, cherished, and worthy simply because I exist.

I end with this quote because 1. the image is hilarious and 2. it speaks to so much truth.

“Be decisive. Right or wrong, make a decision. The road of life is paved with flat squirrels who couldn’t make a decision.”

The Two Paths.

Sometimes I feel like living in recovery isn’t any better than living in my eating disorder. Sometimes it feels a lot harder—the lies about my body, food, exercise, self-worth are all still here; yet, I’m choosing not to listen to them. Sometimes it seems easier to just give in and stop fighting all together. At times like this, I have to remember:

There are two paths in front of me.

The one that is familiar and known is my eating disorder. It is alluring. It is enticing. It seems like the less strenuous path. However, I know where this path leads. It dead-ends leaving me alone, depressed, and dying. I know there is no potential for good that comes from my eating disorder. I’ve been there, I’ve done that, and I’ve gained evidence that is not the life I want to live.

The second path is unknown. It is just being paved with each step I take. I can’t see what lies ahead of the hills. I don’t recognize the twists and turns. But at least this path has potential for good. And for now, I have to hold onto that hope.

I’m clenching onto the hope that the chatter from behind trying to convince me to change paths will cease as I continue to move forward. I’m gripping onto the hope that this path is jam-packed with grace for each time I stumble or take a few steps backward. I’m not letting go of the hope that there is a finish line at the end of this road.

The in between of recovery, of no longer wanting my eating disorder and not yet being recovered, is like climbing Mt. Everest. But I cannot lose hope. There are many times where I’ve cried out and asked God why—why me, why an eating disorder, why such the struggle. So many times in this past month I have begged God for some peace and quiet from my own torturous thoughts.

But amidst those nights, I also see little glimmers of my hope coming to life. Moments of singing my favorite song at an amazing Ben Rector concert (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m2fFKKkcx70). Of standing in awe at the beautiful coast of California. Of meeting Mickey in the most magical place on earth. Of getting lost in a good book (I’m joining the Harry Potter clan, and I got sorted into Hufflepuff)—these moments remind me to continue forward. They remind me that there is freedom from my eating disorder.

So I will trek on, and I will not lose hope.