It’s so liberating to no longer be under the thumb of my eating disorder, which robbed me of years of mental clarity and clouded my sight with useless numbers. It wasn’t easy getting here, to a state of recovery; it took years of hard work, honesty, crying while my brain healed, and ultimately finding a routine and cadence that allows me to walk in recovery.
For me, the first step in recovery was found in a group of beautiful humans willing to call out my BS and challenge me to keep pushing. The encouragement was mutual and equally beneficial. Some of those humans died along the way, others pursued their version of recovery and freedom, while others were sucked back into the cycle of treatment. I don’t keep in touch with those people these days, but I often think of them fondly and only wish them the best.
After that group came COVID and, with it, isolation. During this time, I had to learn to fight on my own. Video chatting over meals, finding a sponsor, and phone calls with my therapist were all steps toward my recovery. It was during this time that I found myself: Connor. And with this discovery came puberty, a cutting away of the old and the birth of the new. It is in my new skin that I began to find liberty.
I now sit here, five years into recovery, thinking about how far I have come. I can now eat without knowing the calories or calculating how much I must move to make up for it. I don’t fast anymore (I deleted all my fasting apps the other night), and man, do I eat. Don’t say “no” to the pie when you only live once.