Eating Disorders Awareness Week: Recovery Stories
Live From Recovery
We were in the cracker aisle in the grocery store and I mentioned that a certain cracker looked good to me. My partner’s response: “eww gross” And I knew no matter how good they looked I would never be able to eat those crackers. This was not new. It was a familiar thought process. It was like a broken record that is so loud and offensive it creates a physical response. For me the physical response would not permit that (or whatever the food item of the moment was) past my lips. And let me be clear: This response had nothing to do with pleasing my partner. I’ve never been a people pleaser and he was definitely not the most important thing at that time. It was completely and utterly an eating disorder response. And for the first time, I let myself notice that I didn’t like it. I told my partner he could never make comments about my food choices again and I believe it was at that point that my recovery began.
Eating disorder recovery is slow and I did not buy those crackers, however, something inside of me stirred on that day that never settled back down. Recovery didn’t begin for me because someone else told me I had to follow a meal plan or fact checked so much that I began to believe the facts. It began because I woke up to what was happening. I started to realize that the world was not nearly as irritating as I previously thought. It was me. I was irritable. I was always hungry and I was being controlled by a mental illness.
Recovering was a long and sometimes terrifying experience but now the terror has shifted. It no longer comes from meeting my body’s needs or facing uncomfortable emotions. It is now a retrospective terror when I consider the ways I used to torture my body. When I am reminded of that terror now, I regard my body with awe and thank it for being strong enough to withstand that eating disorder I allowed to ravage it.
So what is recovery like? It is like the exact things your eating disorder tells you were never possible. More than anything it is comfort. Total comfort. I get up every day and dress in clothes that always feel comfortable. I am not ashamed of my body nor do I try to hide it. I exercise and it feels really good because my body is fueled for the exercise and responds with a sensation of strength. Gone are the dizzying and headache filled hours after a workout. And what’s more, I am rarely irritable! That’s one I never saw coming. I am proud of the long fuse I have and the stressors I confront with calm. Recovery is a million times better than your most compliant eating disorder day, I promise.
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Choosing Recovery
I truly thought I would spend my entire life obsessing over food, health, and weight. I clearly remember the intense pressure I felt to eat "perfectly" and follow all of the rules I set out for myself. My eating disorder took the better part of a decade away from me, and looking back I have immeasurable anger at my eating disorder and immeasurable gratitude for my choice to recover.
My eating disorder thrived on my intense need to be perfect. I lived with persistent fear of not being "good enough" in any area of my life. No matter what I did, how many foods I cut out, how hard I worked out, how "perfectly" I ate, or how many rules I followed, I could never be good enough for my eating disorder. She was my worst critic, and she was loud. Born from childhood bullies, my sensitive nature, and my fear of never being good enough, my eating disorder was my worst nightmare and my best friend. Every vivid memory from 12-18 years old involves my eating disorder, but it was my best kept secret. My parents never knew, my teachers all remarked on how polite and quiet I was, and I was known for my discipline and "will-power".
Choosing recovery was terrifying. My eating disorder had me completely convinced that, by pursuing recovery, I would give up everything about myself that I valued. My beliefs, my community, my passions, everything. The part of me that held that fear was wrong, of course. Once I made the decision to recover, I threw my entire self into it. I knew that I couldn't live with my eating disorder anymore, but I didn't remember life without it. I came of age with a mental illness that warped my view of reality completely, and my recovery was spent re-learning what a healthy relationship with food is like. I can't accurately quantify the hours spent crying into a bowl of food that I now eat every day, or the amount of times I had to remind myself that eating is a morally neutral activity. It was the hardest thing I've ever done.
Now, when I think about my eating disorder, I think about it in the past tense. My life now is full of color and joy in a way I never thought was possible. I've given up the parts of me that I held so dearly during my eating disorder - the ones I was so terrified to lose. Now, I'm a little less quiet, and my life is a lot more vibrant. My resilience brought out the best in me in ways I could've never anticipated. My recovery also let me access a simple kind of joy I never thought was possible - the joy of being content with my life exactly how it is. The joy of putting on clothing I love without thinking about how I could change myself to make an outfit look better. The joy of moving my body because I love it, not because I hate it. The joy of eating in the company of those who love me. And lastly, the joy of knowing that all I have to be is myself, and that will always be more than enough.