What Recovery Means to Me

The following post is to raise awareness for National Eating Disorder Awareness Week (Feb 22-28). The goal of this week is to educate the public, spread a message of hope, and put lifesaving resources into the hands of those in need. #NEDAwareness

Back in April I dove headfirst into my greatest fears and opened up about my 13 year battle with my eating disorder, Anorexia Nervosa - a part of myself that has previously come with immense shame and embarrassment (the stigma surrounding eating disorders is another post altogether).

My perception was that I was that girl who people were whispering about in the cafeteria or who my teachers or coaches would pull aside to ask if "everything was okay." Whether or not this was rooted in truth, I was allowing others determine the narrative. My first lesson in recovery: I write my own story.

When my ED was running the show, she tried to convince me that I needed her to maintain control and inch closer toward her warped version of perfection. In actuality, all my authentic self ever wanted was to feel safe and worthy.

So, what drove me to throw caution to the wind and put a very personal battle out in the open?

I wanted to give ED the middle finger. I wanted to prove that I am proud of the fight. I am proud of my body. I am proud of my mental toughness. I wanted those reading my post to step out from under their internal bully's thumb and have the courage to find strength in their stories.

Each discouraging doctor's appointment, therapy session, and weekly weigh-in brought me one step closer to being the beyond happy, healthy, and confident woman I am today. The fight is never over, but I know that by capturing the lowest of the lows on this blog, I am holding myself accountable.

There have been several moments throughout my life when I never imagined writing this post, and it reminds me how far I have come. The fourth grade girl who poured her orange juice down the drain when her mom wasn't looking, the high schooler who backpacked for 14 miles on half a bagel, and the college student who skipped her best friend's birthday dinner - they are all pieces of myself I no longer view as broken. I honor their pain and the fight they put forth to get me to where I am now.

Instead of striving for perfection, I strive for my best.

Instead of exercising to burn calories, I exercise for mental clarity and energy.

Instead of avoiding people at mealtimes, I embrace community and connection.

Instead of only valuing my size, I value my health, empathy, intelligence, passion, kindness, humor, and loyalty.

So, what does recovery mean to me?

It means choosing nourishment over starvation, community over isolation, and self-compassion over self-hate. It means I'm am done regretting the moments I lost numbing myself with the emptiness. It means I forgive myself for holding onto ED for comfort, knowing that she was hurting my body.

Above all else, it means honoring myself enough to actively participate in life and invest energy into those I love. These are the things that bring light, so much so that I refuse to hide in the shadow of ED's lies any longer.

For those of you facing your own unique battles, I hope this post shows you that there is NOTHING to be embarrassed about. No more swallowing the pain. Shed light on the struggle and own it as a part of what makes you so incredibly strong.