I believe in peace. Peace within your life, or my life I should say, and peace within oneself.

I found peace in my life - and myself - when I hit the one-year mark of being recovered; the peace where I knew that I finally had control over myself and how I acted upon my feelings. I found peace in being able to wake up, look in the mirror and actually feel like I liked who I was. It was no easy feat getting to where I am today; it was a lot of hard work, lots of tears, and LOTS of days filled with self-doubt. But I found peace somehow.

I look back on myself five years ago when my disorder first took ahold of my young 14-year-old mind. Back then, it felt normal to dislike things about myself, even though many of them were insignificantly small. I had just settled into my freshman year of high school and found my group of friends. It was a shame that I was jealous of most of them.

I look back on myself four years ago when my disorder had not only taken ahold of my head, but my body as well. I look back at the very few pictures I have of myself during that time and nearly cry about not only how unhealthy I looked but how unhealthy I was. I look back and I remember all the awful things that come with an active disorder, like being cold all the time. I remember shivering in the middle of the summer. Constantly getting asked if I was sick or over tired due to the perpetual dark under eye circles on my face. The agonizing chest pain that kept me up most nights and kept me unable to do the things I used to enjoy. The protruding bones, where I used to need to feel my bones to feel whole. The constant sore, dry throat and the lack of concentration. Internally hating my parents for bringing food home that I love and forgetting how to make meals for others. Looking at dieting website after dieting website until the wee hours of the morning. Feeling like I had to lose five pounds whenever a situation occurred. I remember delaying plans with my friends because I hadn’t lost enough weight since I saw them last. The constant stream of numbers going through my head all day, every day. The insomnia at night that left me alone with my thoughts... Thoughts that only encouraged self-loathing and hatred. I look back now not missing any of these things and wonder how I ever lived with such a demon.

I look back at myself at 16 when I had decided that I would no longer let my disorder control me. I was cuddling with my niece when she sat up and started poking at my bones. She said, “Tia, you’re not very comfy,” as she touched my bones said, “You’re not soft like Mommy,” and that’s when it clicked for me. This sweet little innocent 3-year-old noticed my bad habits. She’s everything to me and looks up to me and there’s no way that I would ever want her thinking that what I do or look like is normal and healthy. So I decided to try recovery for good this time. Recovery is some tough stuff. It’s filled with times of doubt and sadness but also a lot of happiness. In the beginning, all I could do was keep questioning if I even wanted to be doing this. Then I remembered my niece and how she deserved a better role model than what I was now and I remembered how she deserves to actually have me around and not six feet under. I remembered that she deserves to have me in her life and how I deserve to be in it, so I persevered with it. I started to feel like my own best friend when I could get through an entire meal without hating myself. I started getting compliments on my skin and hair that were once brittle and dry. I started to feel more comfortable wearing clothes that weren’t a size or two too big. I started to see the numbers on the scale grow and I didn’t seem to mind. I started looking at myself in the mirror and liked what I saw. I started to feel peace with myself for once. I remember hitting one year of being recovered and feeling like I was on cloud nine because I actually did it. I won.

I look at myself today, a girl who only three years ago weighed 92 pounds and today weighs 112. I’m 19 today; there was once a time where I believed I wouldn’t make it this far, and I feel grateful that I have. I’ve learned so much about life and about myself through this process, and I don’t ever plan on going back to who I once was. I’ve learned that everyone has rolls when they sit. When someone gives you a compliment, they’re not lying. That stretch marks, freckles, moles, and scars are something to be celebrated, not ashamed of. That confidence is more than okay to project from yourself. And that loving yourself has a greater reward than hating yourself. I believe in peace. And I believe that it’s completely up to you to find it.