I open my eyes from a mediocre night’s rest, roll over and grab my phone. I know I should go back to sleep or meditate or stretch or do something productive, but I’m a human being who sometimes checks her phone too much. I instantly start scrolling and am reminded right away when I see photos with long captions posted like NEDA week is a religious holiday.

It’s eating disorder awareness week. All of my friends that are also maintaining a recovery are posting happy pictures of themselves, before and after photos, and confident selfies. This is the week we talk about how difficult our struggle was, how sick we were, and how far we have come. This is the week we post pictures with our significant others and express gratitude for all those who supported us on this gruesome journey.

I debate whether or not I want to share a photo of myself, but my “before” photos are painful to look at and my after photos are far and few because I hate taking photographs of myself. I’m not a different person, I’m still me. I’ve maintained a healthy weight for a while now. But the truth is it’s just too hard to look at myself. My perception of beauty is distorted, my body dysmorphia leaves me feeling ashamed, and really my eating disorder just feeds on the wrong kind of attention. My life is the best it has been in a long time; I am the healthiest I’ve been in a long time. It is still and will always be hard. Eating is not as hard. Feeling okay in this body is hard. Accepting where I am in my life is hard. I sometimes feel cheated and like I lost time. I know I am making up for it, but I will never be 19 or 20 or 21 again. I will never be 14 or 15 or 16 or 17 or 18 again. Those are all years I lost to anorexia. And I feel intense anger and frustration that I am now playing catch-up on my life. Being in a healthy body is… invalidating. Because despite how invasive my thoughts are, I am perceived as generally doing well. “It’s not a big deal.” “I’m okay now.” I’m “staying strong”.

Don’t get me wrong, recovery really is all that it’s cracked out to be. I have a life, I have friends, I have goals, I can move my body, I’m generally happy and able to focus. But there is still a large part of me that is very sad. And when life is difficult and there is no anorexia to fall back into I’m forced to face life’s demons. I feel things deeply…. And I wish I didn’t. Because in those moments I miss the false safety starving myself gave me from reality. 2021 was a slew of deaths, grief, heartbreak, and more grief. And life will always throw curveballs. When you’re recovering from an eating disorder not only do you have to deal with what life is throwing at you but you have to deal with the intense urge to not fall back into your self destructive safety net. I didn’t want to post a picture of myself today. Partially because I don’t like to see myself in photographs and also because the reality is that this illness is glamorized and I’m not here to glamorize something that nearly killed me. This blog is at least real. It’s a little vulnerable but a photo of myself smiling and saying I’ve conquered my demons is, well… a massive lie. I’ve worked on myself. I’ve come far. And yes, I’m totally okay. But it’s not easy, and when you cross that big scary bridge in your life you then reach a point where you need to deal with the consequences of the YEARS of self destruction. The osteoporosis, the osteopenia, the infertility, the stomach issues and food sensitivities, the brain damage, the liver problems, the psychological trauma that you basically bestowed upon yourself, and then the guilt you carry for basically traumatizing your whole damn family. And all the unresolved “food feelings”, insecurities, and issues with your self concept that held you down for years. You have to deal with all that.

I always thought that sitting in that hospital bed and understanding that my destined fate of eating meals and gaining weight back to health was the scariest thing I could ever go through. I thought that eating a granola bar and not being able to walk it off right after was the most painful thing I would have to experience. News flash, IT’S NOT. It really felt like it though.

Eating is hard and to some extent you might always feel like it’s hard. But what’s really hard is maintaining your health while trying to piece your life back together while also trying to be a normal human while also engaging in relationships and being hurt by those relationships while also experiencing close friends dying while also trying to finish school while also juggling two jobs so you can make money. It is hard to hold yourself together when everything in your life is going wrong. But I know that I have to because eventually things will go right. Eventually I’ll feel like it was worth it. Today I don’t. Today I miss being sick. Today I envy the lives of everyone who seems like they have gotten it together since meeting in treatment while also maintaining a hot appearance on social media. It sounds vain, and it totally is. But I totally envy them and the confidence they’ve built in themselves and their lives, I envy how they can seemingly share it effortlessly with the world. It is hard to feel ashamed of your own. Especially when in retrospect, I know I have climbed mountains from where I came.

And that is honestly how it feels to be in recovery from an eating disorder. It’s overwhelming and sometimes I just want the safety of nothingness.