From One Week Left to Live to Empowering Purpose Beyond Our Bodies
TW: Depiction of eating disorder voice and mention of behaviors
“If you would have continued on the way you were living, or rather merely surviving, you likely had about a week left to live.”
I remember those words as if it was yesterday. The four white walls, the beeping of the heart rate monitor, the nurses taking my vitals every three hours, the passing in and out of trays, my shaking hands opening the lids terrified of what I may have to put in my mouth for that meal, are all visceral memories. At 17, I was convinced that I was the epitome of health, except I was the farthest thing from health. When I first received my anorexia diagnosis, I blurted out, “But I eat. I can’t be anorexic.” I was severely mistaken. I began to write every day, documenting the demons in my mind attempting to unravel them as their grip remained so strong.
On July 23, 2013 I wrote:
“I have an eating disorder. It’s scary to hear those words come from my mouth, but it’s the truth. Previously I used to not believe someone could be anorexic or bulimic, being ignorant, and not thinking anything of it because I had not walked in their shoes. Though now I know ED is no joking matter. He is controlling, evil, and corrupt. Every second, every minute, 24 hours, seven days a week, my mind is consumed by these thoughts. Consumed on every fixated calorie and nutrition fact, the guilt of eating one simple cookie or having an undocumented handful of trail mix.
The necessity to get the “poison” out of my body and after eating, the obsession of checking my stomach after every meal and periodically throughout the day to see if it had gotten “fat.” Working out for hours on end, jumping from machine to machine, making myself look like “superwoman” from the outside as I tried to complete each task, though feeling torn, beaten, and exhausted inside. My foot hurt. “Suck it up and run,” ED screamed. I was tired and could probably benefit from a rest day. “Don’t you dare rest,” belittled ED. The constant battle of thoughts in my mind depleted all sense of pleasure and happiness I once had.
While my mind is still consumed by ED, I know it will get better one step at a time. It won’t be easy; it’s fighting hell. I’m ready to have a life, along with a lifestyle, of healthy food and workouts, not a life taken over by obsession with healthy foods and workouts.”
Ten years later, I read those words back and I am in awe of my 17 year old self who never gave up. The time since has been anything but linear. It’s like relearning how to ride a bike. After a year of being forced to recover, I finally said “I can’t do this anymore.” I didn’t want to keep living a life consumed by ED. In order to truly learn how to ride this new bike, I finally had to accept that I am the rider and I have to want to learn how to ride the bike – for me. Not for the doctors, for my family, or because I think I should. If I don’t learn how to ride this new bike, I may not be able to ride through life at all.
In 2014, I attended residential treatment, taking three months off of college and starting to truly reclaim my life. At the treatment center, I gained a deeper understanding of my ED; he had more than one name and instead consisted of three – anorexia, orthorexia and exercise addiction. Establishing a diagnosis that made sense to my individual experience was like getting a one-time copy of the answers to the test. I can view the answers, but I can’t refer to this sheet of paper during the actual test. The hard work was just beginning.
Throughout my recovery journey, I had to learn how to move in a sustainable way. Instead of moving from a place of force, I pause before I move and ask, why? Why do I want to move my body today? Is it because of permission to eat and because I have to? Or is it because it makes me feel strong, capable, and joyful? Relearning how to move also led me to yoga – a form of movement where I began a different dialogue with myself. My soundtrack of “You are not doing enough” slowly made way for a breath, and the thought that “I will be okay, not today, but one day.”
It led me to understand my mind deeply and how to spend years rewiring my brain, as my brain no longer functioned normally.
Rewiring my brain required me to get quiet and curious enough to understand my wise mind vs ED mind. My ED mind was degrading and told me that I would never be enough. My wise mind reminded me that my life is not worthy based on the size of my body, or by the number of calories I consumed, or how hard I moved my body.
Recovery led me to learn how to find acceptance and self-worth when I did not know if I ever could. It led me to live a life of vulnerability and authenticity. It showed me most importantly that recovery, and life, is non-linear.
I look back at my 17 year old self, depleted, defeated, and scared as hell wondering why do I have an eating disorder? I wish I could go back and tell her that one day what she thought would defeat her, would be her superpower. That this illness would not defeat her but it would empower her in leading a life of vulnerability, inclusivity, bravery and empowerment. That it would show her why mental health is so important and that each step is a part of a never ending journey filled with peaks and valleys and everything in between. That she will rise again and again, resilient, stronger, supported by a community of love. That it would lead her to pause and ask these continuous questions:
What if instead of creating spaces of shame and stigma we create spaces of bravery and vulnerability?
What would it look like if instead of robotically saying “I’m fine” when asked “how you are you?”, answered authentically and openly or even better asked each other “how is your heart?”
What if instead of looking at our differing abilities as weaknesses or parts we have to hide, we shift our lens and view them as our superpowers?
What would it feel like to be able to show up authentically, fully just as you are?
What would it look like to live a life purposeful beyond your body?
