The theme for Eating Disorder Awareness Week this year is “Let’s talk about it.” So, y’all, let’s talk about it. I try to be open with my process of recovery but the things I share have typically been through several ED-free filters, for several reasons: mainly my well-being and staying true to what I’m comfortable sharing and not making social media my diary where everyone knows every aspect of my eating disorder because heck, I don’t even think I know every aspect of my eating disorder. So, if this is your first time here, this is probably going to be the most honest thing you’ve read about my recovery so far.
When I say recovery sucks, I mean it is literally the hardest, most miserable thing I have ever decided to do. There is not a day that goes by that I don’t question my decision of starting this whole process in the first place. It is me fighting back to thoughts that have manifested in my brain for as long as I can remember. It’s breaking rules that have been engrained into my head over the last 11 years. It’s fighting with myself basically every meal and snack. It’s having my mirror covered up because sometimes the thought of looking at myself is too much to handle. It’s making myself sit with feelings that I haven’t allowed myself to feel for years and trying to accept this body I fought so hard to separate myself from.
Recovery is taking 25 minutes at the grocery store staring at the nutrition labels on boxes of oatmeal, debating if the 20 extra calories in the flavor I like more are really worth it, before eventually reminding myself that calories don’t matter.
It’s putting my meal plan on the fridge so my roommates can know if I’ve been completing it or not. It’s asking Marie to make me dinner because I panic at the thought of having to both make it and then eat it. It’s eating mac & cheese several times a week for practically a month because that’s what it took for it to not be a fear food (my roommates are saints for living through that)
It’s wondering if I’m really worth all this effort everyone is putting into me.
Recovery is deciding to hang out with my friends on a Friday night instead of studying my life away. It’s remembering that getting a C on a test (or even in a class) does not define my self-worth and neither does getting an A.
It’s going to get Chocolate Moose with my friends and not worrying about how I’m going to compensate. Heck, it’s going to Chocolate Moose by myself because Chocolate Moose is freaking delicious (Plz come back).
Recovery is being vulnerable and open and forming deeper connections with people. It’s realizing that asking for help doesn’t mean your weak and makes your life so much easier when you don’t try and do everything alone.
Recovery has shown me the love of God and a whole new side of my faith that I never could have imagined. (Post on that later.)
Recovery continues to demand everything of me and then when I reach my end, it demands a little more. It’s something I continually choose. Every day. Every meal. Every bite. And I continue to ask myself is it really worth it?
The answer is my friendships. The answer is my functioning body. The answer is my life. Eventually this disease will kill me. There are two options: recovery or death.
It doesn’t get easier but instead simpler, and my answers get clearer. So, I’m going to continue to choose it. Until it is no longer and choice and until there is no longer an answer.
So there it is, my attempt to start a conversation. A conversation that is hard but needs to be had and I’m gonna try with everything in me in the most healthy way possible to keep it going. It’s time to end this shit.