I am in eating disorder recovery.

It’s not as scary as it seems. I have a nutritionist and a counselor I meet with every other week. One helps me helps me remember what “normal” eating looks like. One helps me remember how this whole thing got started.

It doesn’t make me uncomfortable to talk about it. It probably makes other people uncomfortable. But, you see, I think most of us are unaware of how insanely common it is. In fact, I know many people who are not in recovery, who don’t see their eating as disordered, who need help. So I think it’s important that I write this. I think it’s important for you to feel maybe just a little uncomfortable.

It was at its worst last semester when I became overwhelmed with school. That’s when people started telling me they were worried, that I needed help. It’s almost scary and yet hopeful now, looking back. I remember days walking home from school where I would have to self-talk to keep myself conscious.

Two more blocks, two more blocks, you can do it. Keep your eyes focused. One foot in front of the other.

I remember being freezing cold when it was 80 degrees out because I didn’t have enough body fat to keep me warm. I remember having panic attacks over small things I couldn’t fix because I couldn’t focus long enough to troubleshoot the problem. I remember very little, actually, because I was hardly awake for months.

Eating disorders are an isolating thing, that’s their nature. It keeps you from going out to dinner with friends because there may not be anything “safe” on the menu. It keeps you from scheduling things for certain times because it may interfere with your exercise. It makes you push people away because they may notice you’ve lost weight. It makes you irritable and unbearable to be around a lot of the time. You’re exhausted, you’re starving, you can’t think straight and, especially for an introvert, you are left with no energy for others. You are completely consumed with yourself. And you don’t want to ask for help because they might fix you.

Recovery is its own kind of isolating too. Don’t get me wrong, it’s far, far better than the isolation that comes with the eating disorder, but it’s there in a different form. While the rest of the people on your Facebook feed are talking about their new diets and cutting out “junk” food, you’re pushing yourself to eat that slice of pizza. While the rest of Pinterest is pinning #fitnessmotivation posts, you’re trying to cut back on the exercise. You even have to distance yourself from your friends that are on diets sometimes. I remember how bizarre it felt one day when my nutritionist congratulated me for skipping the gym and then encouraged me to eat more sweets.

But it's worth it, the recovery. I remember right before I started seeing my nutritionist I was walking with a friend of mine who had gone through recovery when she was in college. I told her my biggest fear of starting the process.

I’m just afraid I’m not bad off enough to get help.

She did two things in response that gave me all the courage I needed to start. First, she laughed. She laughed and told me that she felt the same way before she started. She told me how she was afraid that they would tell her that she wasn’t at risk enough to help and then she would have to keep living the way she was living. They didn’t. They won’t.

Second, she looked at me, right in my eyes, and said,

And you are bad off enough.

She didn’t look at my body and say it. She didn’t say, You’re too thin. No, she said it to my eyes, my heart, my brain, because that’s where the true disorder lies. It’s not in the fact that you’ve lost weight, it’s not in the fact that you’re dizzy and constantly fighting for consciousness (as concerning and horrible as those things are). No, it’s the thoughts that fill your mind every time you encounter food. It’s the way you view yourself and constantly compare yourself to others. It’s the fact that, beyond just your body, you truly hate yourself. That’s worth getting help for.

I remember the night I drove home from my first meeting with my nutritionist. I called my mom on the way and exclaimed, I can’t believe how much I’m allowed to eat! And then coming home and opening the fridge for a snack and realizing I had nothing to eat but fruit. I looked at my husband and said,

There’s nothing good to eat.

And he said, Thank you!

It’s not all exciting and easy. By that night I was crying saying, I can’t believe how much I have to eat. But now, even just a few steps ahead of where I was, nowhere near where I need to be, I am so much stronger. I am so much more joyful. I am so much more awake.

Why do I write this? I don’t know, maybe because it’s constantly on my mind. But I think I have a point. I think I have two points.

Point one. It would be unreasonable to assume or even hope that the world would stop posting about their diets. But never feel like one person’s idea of nutrition is right because they cited an article on Buzzfeed. Most of the world is poorly informed about nutrition.

Point two. If you feel that isolation of the disorder, get help. Recovery is uncomfortable and, yes, its own kind of isolating. But it's miles, light years, better than the disorder. One of the worst things I was told over and over again by women I sought counsel in was,

This is just what women deal with.

No. Don't accept that.

You honestly can't imagine the peace that comes with not thinking about your next meal (or how to avoid it) all the time. You honestly can't imagine the freedom that comes with not being consumed with yourself.