Keep tying your shoes

Whenever someone goes through something challenging or arduous and makes it to the other side, we can’t help but feel proud and thankful to see them doing well. But the funny thing is people don’t want to know the details of the struggles, the low valleys, or the times you almost didn’t make it. Our world focuses on happy times and the success stories. We praise the big weight loss more than we are thankful that the suicide attempt failed. We worry more about the size of our bodies, than the size of our hearts. This toxic cycle is what creates toxic behaviors and leads to more and more struggles people have to endure. Struggle was never a word in my vocabulary about three years ago. I was healthy, I had good friends, I had straight A’s, and I was happy. Sure, I had to move once, I had some skin issues but nothing that ever put me in the category of going through a “hard time.” Until I walked into my high school building. It’s like they were magical doors that taught this life to students that they had to be smart, skinny, respectful, and put-together to fit in. No one is there teaching that, but it is a norm that has been present for many decades. Girls are taught to show more skin but not too much to distract, to just skip lunch, or to be just a body for men to use whenever they please. Boys are taught to treat women like garbage, be masculine, and to be muscular and lean. All physical things. As I got older, I wanted to fit in like everyone else. I noticed only the pretty and thin girls had cute boyfriends. Only the attractive women had successful jobs. I realized compared to everyone else I was not as smart, and I was not as attractive. That left one option. I had to get all of those things, or I wouldn’t make it. I began being labeled the “healthy, thin girl” before I could figure out my own identity. In my mind I had to fulfill that duty. I abandoned myself to be someone others wanted me to be. I put my mental health on the back burner and decided to starve myself instead. I decided to lose 2 hours of sleep so I could run on the treadmill. But with that comes intrusive thoughts, depression, and obsessive behavior. There is nothing more isolating than an eating disorder. Staying home from the ice cream trip because I can’t count the calories, living in jackets and blankets in the spring because of the lack of body fat, or eating your own meal before you go out to save calories. It’s a disease that doesn’t let you out of your own head. You become selfish, ignorant, and sick. You become someone else. You lose general emotions like sadness or happiness. I remember sitting there while my friend cried but ignoring her to recount how many calories, I had had so far that day. I remember shivering or having so much pain in my entire body but still running ten miles, or only being able to stand for a few seconds before almost passing out or staring at the mirror and only seeing bones. It seems scary right? Not when you’re in it. You feel temporary satisfaction, and then you think I can push a little harder, lose a little more weight, eat a little less. I was on a one-way street. People tried to reach out, or give me helpful advice, or go for coffee to “check in.” I saw no reason for this. Nothing was wrong. I looked good, I was finally thin enough to be that girl. But yet that happiness I was striving for wasn’t there. I continued and continued fueling my eating disorder, committed to finding that happiness. Little secret, it never came. I remember when the last of my hope of it coming left. I had lost my period for almost a year, and I was told I might never be able to have children. An eating disorder is an illness where you only focus on what you can do at that moment. But that was the first situation where I was able to envision my future and see that I needed a future where my eating disorder wasn’t in control. It seems impossible. Your eating disorder becomes your only friend, the one person you can count on. I know at that time I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. However, my friends and family were ready to say goodbye. They saw my hurt, my body transformation, and this person I should have never become. With a lot of force, they got me to go inpatient. It was my only option, and it wasn’t one I wanted but, tough love is what got me to where I am today. I missed my high school graduation. I had a mini one before I left but I never got to do it with everyone else. I spent 5 weeks in inpatient working, struggling, and overcoming this disorder. I remember denying, and denying for my first week there. “I’m not sick enough”, “I don’t need to be here.” Just like a break-up there are stages. Denial is a long stage. To say that was one of the hardest months of my life would be an understatement. Not being able to see my family, forcing myself to fight through the thoughts and eat the cake at lunch, and to start giving myself the control back. I worked, but my eating disorder still felt in control. It was like I sent him on a 5-week vacation. I had the wrong thoughts that it would just go away when I got out. No, an eating disorder sticks itself to the strongest people because he is also strong. Any meal, any free second, he will try and come back. Fighting the voice, and finding your own voice is the hardest of it all. Learning that you are two different people. Your eating disorder is a part of your story, it does not define you. What your eating disorder puts you through isn’t worth it. I still think about what I missed out on. I remember how alone I felt, how defeated I felt, the pain I was always in, and how hungry I was. It is physical and mental. You think about it EVERY second of the day. It’s a rerun that never ends. The self-talk is too much to bear. “You’re so much better than this”, “Are you stupid, you’re not aloud to have that.” And I wondered why I didn’t have good grades my senior year, probably because my eating disorder left no room for my education. I had no love for myself. I didn’t want to love myself. I didn’t know who I was. The work you have to do is very personal and individual. You have to work on how you got to where you are and how to get out. Let me tell you getting out of that place is possible. When people told me I was gonna die, I remember saying in my head, “well at least I will die skinny and in a memorable way.” That’s sick. You matter. Your life matters. Every part of who you are is special and unique to you. You have to get rid of that voice so you can hear yours and discover who YOU are outside of the illness. It took me almost another year of recovery, and many experiences to meet myself. I met her recently and she’s pretty great. She laughs a lot, she eats peanut m and ms every night, and she is in control. I am learning to be ok with being alone. No eating disorder voice, no boy to fill the void, just me. It’s uncomfortable at first but the person you end up meeting and learning about, makes it all worth it. You are capable of climbing the hill, but before you start make sure your shoes are tied. Then take your steps by yourself or have someone hold your hand. But when you make it to the top, know there are many hills on the other side. But you keep tying your shoes, and you keep going.

-A 19-year-old client in recovery from Anorexia Nervosa