My Eating Disorder Told Me to Be Ashamed
I’m speaking out as I work toward silencing the voice in my head
I am walking through the snow before sunrise. Pristine, untouched—the first snowfall of the year. Branches bend as the flakes continue to accumulate. Little by little over time, they become powerful. They break what’s in their way. They speak.
I have been told it is my turn to speak. I am crushing the snow with my boots. I’m scared. I’ve never spoken about this before. I walk beneath the arch of a tree, hunched over, its backbone rounded, heavy with snow. My voice is frozen beneath my tongue as I move my lips. I hear nothing. Deep breath. Try again.
Over the past year, I have been recovering from an eating disorder that has been following me around since I was a teenager. For months, I’ve woken up before dawn to unlearn the most basic lessons I had internalized about food and my body. I’ve attended group therapy and individual therapy. I’ve watched my body change. I’ve outgrown clothes. I’ve cried and bought new ones. I’ve talked to myself in the mirror. I’ve fought against the voice telling me this new way of life is wrong and a waste of time and that being thin is more important.
For years, that voice consumed my mind. When I look back at old journals, they are full of numbers: actual…
