I Am Free

Exactly one year ago I entered treatment for Anorexia Nervosa. I’m not afraid to talk about this. I didn’t choose to have an eating disorder. I didn’t do it for attention. I didn’t think my weight loss looked good. I didn’t want to avoid my friends. I didn’t want to starve myself. I didn’t want to exercise until I thought I’d die. ED did though, and I thought ED was my biggest ally.

I was used to rejecting invitations or watching others eat while I just sat there. I was used to looking sick and being antisocial. I was complacent with this illusion of control; feeling this strange mixture of superiority and defeat every time I pushed the boundaries of my extreme restriction. I was empty. So ED filled me and told me I could control my weight, and thus, my happiness and self-worth.

After 5 years of being a slave to my eating disorder, I met someone who made me want to change; really change. And on December 15, 2014 at 5:30pm, I walked into Renfrew and started my journey to recovery. Some people close to me assumed I could just start eating and I’d be okay. They would actually ask me “Aren’t you better yet? I thought you got over that.” Or “You eat now, you must be healthy again.” The food is just a small part of an eating disorder.

I had to retrain my stomach to hold food; I had to force myself to drastically cut down on exercise. I had to try so hard not to body-check every time I went to the bathroom mirror. I sat through so many nights just crying from the physical and emotional pain. I could literally feel my stomach expanding each time I had a meal. It felt disgusting. I’d be nauseous, I’d be constipated, I’d be moody as hell. I’d hate myself for being “weak” and eating. I’d hate the slice of pizza sitting in front of me. I’d hate it because it tasted so good but “it would make me fat.” I hated the cheese, I hated the crust, I hated the grease leaking onto the plate in a small puddle. I hated that other people could just eat pizza and laugh and smile and then eat another slice! I was furious.

I sat in front of several therapists. We dug around for all the skeletons, brushing cobwebs off of all the experiences of my past. Sometimes I just sat there wondering if this was even helping. Other times I cried my eyes out. Once in group therapy I expressed my desire to just be through with ED. “I just can’t wait until I’m fully recovered and ED’s not a thing anymore. That’s why I’m here.” Then I learned that ED never really goes away; you just choose to ignore ED.

Recovery isn’t a straight path. There were times I knew my thoughts were totally skewed and irrational, but they were my safety net. “I won’t eat this, but I’ll eat that.” “I just need to walk around the block 10 times to work off that piece of bread.” In fact, I was fine with my perception of “normal,” and it wasn’t until I was deeply invested in someone else that I decided I wanted (and had to) make a change.

Of course it was terrible. It was also wonderful. I counted every small step. I celebrated the tiny victory of eating ice cream (and eventually I no longer worried about the calories and fat in it.) I started noticing how much healthier I looked. I had to surround myself with body positivity, and in a society like ours…that was really tough. I had to ignore the ads and articles promising to help me “lose 10 pounds in 2 days.” I had to filter the body-shaming and fat-talk that so many people engage in on a daily basis, sometimes without even realizing it. I had to challenge my own thoughts. Literally, I had a journal where I would write down my thoughts and then jot down the reality next to it. For example:

            Thought: I look like a pregnant cow.

            Reality: You’ve put on weight, yes. But you are still underweight!

I had to read blogs from others who have gone through ED. Does this permanent food baby ever go away? Will I ever have a normal digestive system? Will I always get full from just a few bites of food? If it hadn’t been for others sharing their recovery journeys, I don’t know if I would’ve been able to go on. So I hope my story can help to encourage someone to seek recovery from an eating disorder or even prevent one in the first place.

I made a list of my positive qualities; none of them related to my physical appearance. I joined a support group. I journaled. I prayed. I “graduated” from Renfrew (because saying “I was discharged” sounds so gross.) Even after going through an Intensive Outpatient Program, I still had a long way to go. There were tears and outbursts and so much frustration. Yet I remember always thinking

“Oh my goodness; I did this to myself.”

So now I wake up every morning and I think about how I’m going to love my body today. I spent 5 years killing my body…overworking it, starving it, hating it, insulting it. So I made a promise to my body NEVER TO HURT IT AGAIN. EVER. The few months after treatment, I would still have urges. Just to skip a meal or to do some extra exercise or to entertain that negative thought. No big deal, right? Well I knew what would happen if I allowed myself to do something that was “no big deal.” I would get flushed down a swirling toilet bowl of self-hatred and self-destruction. So if I ever felt those urges, I told someone I trusted and they helped me get through it.

There were definitely positives to all of this hardship. I got to experience the goodness of food again. After years of eating a limited variety of food, I was tasting things for what seemed like the first time. Then I started laughing more. Wow, it felt so good to laugh. To really laugh. Then I felt loved. So loved.

The negatives? Regret. The regret that I broke so many friendships because ED was more important to me. Isolating myself became my go-to coping mechanism. If I hid away maybe nobody would know just how messed up I was. Anger. I was angry that nobody in high school or college tried harder to help me get better, even though I know at that point I would’ve just gotten really mad and denied I had a problem. I was angry at myself for spending 5 years in a destructive relationship with myself. That might be the worst part about having an eating disorder; you can’t trust yourself. You give so much effort to be in control of your life without even realizing that you are being controlled by this ugly monster inside of you. Finally, there is the sadness. I was sad that I lost friends, opportunities, and experiences. Sad that I spent some of “the best years of my life” stuck in a war with myself. Sad that there are people out there who will always remember me as “that anorexic girl in school.”

I must focus on the positives.

In the past few months, I’ve looked in the mirror and actually said to myself “You look great!” My eyes don’t immediately go to my tummy or my thighs. I notice the life in my eyes, my wider smile, my shinier hair, my more radiant skin. Even when I do look at my other body parts, I see health. Arms that aren’t the same width all the way up. I have hips now, and a butt! Oh, and the food baby does go away, given enough time (lots of time.) I’m firm in some places and soft in other places and for the first time in a long time, I actually feel like a young woman.

My body can dance and jump and skip and accept hugs without breaking. I eat chocolate and meat and all sorts of yummy food. I feed my body so that it can do all of the things I love to do. I have a healthy relationship with exercise. I lounge on the couch and do nothing. I have days where I eat a lot and days where I eat a little. I have days when I feel like rocking a dress because I look hella good. I have days where I wear sweats because I feel “meh.” I can sit in a chair without my backside hurting after 5 minutes. I can talk a walk and enjoy it without thinking about calorie burn. I can eat those foods that once were my “challenge foods” and not even think twice about it. I can try on clothes without paying attention to the size tag. I can accept a compliment. I can go about my day with an energy that I haven’t felt in a long time. I can be hugged around my waist and not feel self-conscious about having fat on my body. I talk about my feelings. I share. I’m phasing myself out of an antidepressant. I’m engaged.

And I freaking LOVE pizza.