Note: This is something I wrote in April 2019. In it, I use some quotes from others to help me make progress when I feel stuck or lost on this journey to recovery from my ED.
I see a vast chasm in front of me, and looking down reveals no bottom, no place to land if I fall. There is a rickety bridge, one that supposedly crosses the chasm and connects to a place of self-acceptance and peace. The first few steps are visible, but the rest is obscured in fog. I could choose to try to walk across this bridge, but it seems so unstable, and the idea of falling is terrifying. I consider, just consider, taking a step—only one, to test this bridge. I can step back if I need to, back onto this place of safety. I live in a place of self-doubt and self-judgment, but it’s comfortable—it’s my home.
“you’re the only one willing to see you in pain.”
I suppose it’s not all about me; I suppose my self is not all about me. There are connections with others, others who care about me and don’t want to see me in this place.
I take a tentative step. The bridge feels unstable. Should I turn back? I rest for a moment and wait for the world to settle around me, for the bridge to stop shaking. This, too, can be a safe place. I’m within a step of my home, and I can go back there if I feel the need.
I reach out to others. I share insights into this place where I live, and I see more and more that this is not a good place. This is not the kind of place I’d want anyone else to be, so why should I stay there?
I tell myself I don’t need to hate this body I live in. I should ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist. Pretend I don’t care that it’s not the way I want it to be, pretend I don’t care what others might (but probably don’t) think.
“You need to think more of yourself as a physical being. I have learned to accept that I am who I am, and that my body is part of that equation.”
Another step? Another step. I have a body, and that doesn’t have to be a terrible thing. It isn’t perfect (what would that even mean?), but it usually allows me to do what I want. I can be grateful for that.
I see myself as a person, for just a moment—a glimpse of myself as I see others. My body isn’t something to be judged or found wanting; it’s just a part of me. Asking if I’d be better if I were smaller is absurd. Why would being smaller affect who I really am? Why would it matter?
Things snap back to normal, and I see myself again, I judge myself again. How could I have thought my weight wasn’t important? What if I go too far with that thinking? What if I gain weight because I don’t have that judging voice? It feels like it’s time to retreat to that familiar haven, time to get off this bridge.
“Any kind of activity that you turned to in the past for normalcy is going to pop back up in your mind occasionally. Being able to recognize that you no longer need it is a strength all on its own.”
Do I need to return to safety? I pause. I wait. I stay on this bridge one moment longer, and then another. I consider carefully. I do not turn back.
“Hunger is not a virtue.”
I don’t need to be hungry to be a good person. I don’t need to deprive myself to be a good person. I don’t need to be thin to be a good person.
I can exist, I can be, I can take up space. I can see a little further down the bridge than I could before. It’s still unstable. Should I take another step?