My New Family.

“Do you have any friends?” the guy next to me asked during the greeting time at church. We both laughed because the question came across all wrong. Of course he meant to ask if I was finding people in LA since I’m semi-new to the area. But it made me think—do I have friends here???

When I stepped off the plane on June 3^rd, I didn’t know a soul in LA. Even my brother who normally lives in Malibu was in Philly for the summer. I was completely alone, yet it didn’t feel much different from my daily life. I had friends at school and back home, but very few of them knew the “ugly” me. 

They only knew my “pretty” side: the cute bubbly Georgia peach. They saw me as a high achieving student, a dedicated gymnast and crossfitter, a fun sorority girl, and a passionate RUF leader. And the select few I let in, only saw glimpses of my reality that I quickly minimized. Although I was all those things, there was a whole secret life I was living, which was the farthest thing from pretty. I was ashamed of my eating disorder and did everything possible to hide it.

But in treatment, I couldn’t hide anymore. As hard as I tried—I even told my therapist my life was none of her business (sorry, Ally)—I no longer could wrap my life in a pretty bow. Not within the doors of Monte Nido. Slowly but surely, I allowed myself to be vulnerable. It is the hardest, scariest thing for me to do. Still. But because of this vulnerability, I have formed a family. I am no longer alone.

I have therapists who listen to how hard it is, who challenge my eating disorder voice, who help me see new perspectives. I have friends who join along side me in recovery. They hold me as tears stream down my face while we sit and talk on the beach. They take me to get donuts when I’ve planned to never eat again. They remind me why I am doing this in the first place. And my friends see me even when I have lost sight of who I am outside my eating disorder.

This process is the hardest thing I’ve ever done, and yet I know I have a family cheering me on. My parents and siblings, my friends from all phases of life, my therapists, and I’m sure many more. So even though it’s hard, at least I’m not doing this alone anymore.

This family reminds me how blessed I am. They point me towards the love of God and display His grace every day. Reminding me I am worthy through Christ, my family lifts me up from the depth of my raging eating disorder. I never have to be alone again.

So in response to the guy sitting next to me in church, I don’t just have friends, I have a whole family. 

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.

The Life to be Desired

Today marks the first day of National Eating Disorder Awareness Week. Through my recovery, I have grown a passion for advocating for eating disorder recovery and awareness. In today’s society, eating disorders are glorified. Women (and men) are praised for doing a detox, cutting out carbs, forcing themselves to work out, and losing weight. But let me tell you first hand, an eating disorder is far from desirable. 

I was tortured every moment by my own mind. No matter how many pounds I lost, my eating disorder told me that the number on the scale was too high. No matter how rigidly I restricted my food, my eating disorder convinced me I was consuming too many calories. No matter how hard and long I exercised, my eating disorder pushed me to work out harder. And no matter how many times I purged my food, my eating disorder whispered one more. 

That life is full of misery, shame, and self-hatred. That life is not something to be glorified.

What should be glorified is recovery. 

Every day I wake up hearing the same lies I heard in my eating disorder, but now I am choosing to act differently. I am choosing to eat even when I feel awful in my body. I am choosing not to exercise even when I am want to numb out my emotions. I am choosing not to throw up even when I am flooded with more feelings than what seems to be tolerable. That, my friend, should be praised.

And sometimes, I don’t choose to act differently. Sometimes, I listen to the lies of my eating disorder and start to beat myself up for having a slip. But the difference is now I don’t stop at the shame. I talk back and remind myself of compassion and grace. I reach out to my treatment team and friends when I can’t find the words for myself. By fighting back despite using a behavior, I grow stronger in my recovery until one day recovery becomes recovered. 

So next time you catch yourself glorifying the diet culture that undermines the true struggles of an eating disorder, remind yourself of the girl, or boy, or me! who is fighting each day, turning to grace over shame, and winning the battle over the eating disorder. That is the life worthy of praise.

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.

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. 

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.

No Pain, No Gain. No Way!

Since the age of 9, I've lived and breathed gymnastics. I practiced 16 hours a week, went to gymnastics camps over the summer, and traveled for competitions most weekends. When I wasn't at the gym, I was choreographing beam routines and configuring my bars skills into a complete set. I followed the elite and college gymnasts in awe of their talent and dedication. (Rio Olympics T-203 days. Go USA!)

Being a gymnast, my body was in tip-top shape. I could do more pull ups than most boys my age, and I could hold a plank for hours. However, my focus wasn't on my appearance, but on my ability to do the sport I loved. My body was merely a piece of the puzzle that helped me experience the joy I received from gymnastics. 

As my eating disorder took over, this view of my body changed drastically. Exercise was no longer about finding joy through movement; it became the means to changing my figure. Instead of a fit body being the side effect of the sport I loved, it took center stage. Exercise turned into a way to punish myself after enjoying a meal out with my friends. It was a way to counterbalance every calorie I consumed. Movement numbed me of anxiety, stress, and emotional scarring. 

Now that I am in recovery, I am working every day to change my motivation behind exercise. Although I would love to report that my mindset around exercise is completely healthy again, I can say it is changing. When I went home for Christmas, I was able to do gymnastics. For the first time in 3 years, I didn't let my eating disorder self gloat over the calories I was burning. I didn't cling to the hope that my weight might drop from these 2 practices. Rather, my heart overflowed with love from seeing my old coaches and teammates, and my thoughts revolved around the happiness I felt from practicing a sport I love--a sport that my healthy body can do!

I hold onto moments like this to remind myself that life is better in recovery than in my eating disorder. These moments are what motivate me to speak honestly with my treatment team and get back on track when I find myself running to "make up" for a meal or to rid my mind of past pain. Flipping around at the gym, hiking to see the beauty of God's creation, ice staking with a best friend--these are my joys in my journey. These are the glimpses of hope that show me full recovery is possible. 

I thank God for the progress I have made. I thank God for this beautiful body that can take me on amazing adventures. I even thank God for the times I slip because they teach me that I cannot do this on my own; I need a Savior who loves me despite my faults and failures. As I daily take steps to living a recovered life, I rely on Christ alone. His strength continues to help me make healthy decisions about exercise, and His grace will always, always covers the times I use movement for my eating disorder.