I remember exactly how it started. I stood in front of the mirror wearing only a sports bra and my oversized University of Vermont sweatpants. The reflection of the girl in front of me began to blur as tears filled my eyes. I was fat. As I pinched the fat around my hips I murmured, “You’re gross, and no one will love you. But don’t worry, I am going to fix you.” My secret promise to my reflection started me on a slippery slope that quickly became dangerous, changing my life forever.
By the end of my senior year of highschool, my body had shrunken considerably, and I was in love with it. I confidently walked the halls, driven by the dull ache in m empty belly. I constantly admired my collarbones, the way my hips bones stuck out, the gap in my emaciated thighs. I had done it. In my mind, I was finally worth something to society. I was not the smartest girl in my class, not the most athletic, not the best singer or artist, but I was most definitely the skinniest. I was convinced that I had the most self control because I had the ultimate power over my body; I was able to deny myself something that everyone needs. Without food, I thought, I am better. What I did not see was how sick I had become, and how much I was hurting those I loved by shutting them out.
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When they offered me advice or tried to get me help, I lashed out angrily, sure that they were simply jealous of my skeletal frame. When my parents delivered an ultimatum, go to a treatment center or do not go to college, I was devastated. How could my own parents rob me of the one thing I had? How could they not see that I had worked so hard to be under 100 pounds and that I was happier this way? Feeling betrayed, but wanting to be able to go to college, I resentfully began getting the help I needed. Just wait until I go away to school, I thought spitefully, I’ll lose all this weight and even more. You can’t take away my body. It’s mine.
Flash forward three years
As I sit in the living room of my sorority house, I cannot believe that I used to be that girl. Today, I am no longer under 100 pounds, and my thighs do touch. Today, I am not “the skinny girl,” I am something much more: The happy girl. The fun girl. The crazy girl. The weird girl. The girl who loves her friends and Spongebob Squarepants more than anything else. The girl from Boston who drives like a maniac. I’m not the skinny girl anymore, and yet I am so much more.
I decided to write this article as I was sitting around the table with my family for Thanksgiving. As I consumed obscene amounts of stuffing, I pondered what I was thankful for. I’m pretty damn thankful for this stuffing, I realized. In years past, Thanksgiving had been an incredibly stressful holiday because I had to remain outwardly calm in the presence of food, while inwardly willing myself to abstain. I remember passing up stuffing, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, gravy, corn bread, and even pie for the sake of my waist line. Now, I can enjoy the food in front of me, while reminding myself that one day will not destroy my diet.
I am thankful for this new body because it can do more than my anorexic body ever could. Today, I go to the gym regularly, perform in musicals, go out dancing with friends, compete in Spartan Races (which are wonderful by the way, 10/10 would recommend. Shout out to my friend Allison for getting me into them), and get late-night Frostys with my friends. Admittedly, I do still care around both internal and external scars in the form of painful memories and stretch marks along my thighs. However, I am thankful for those burdens I carry because they have made me stronger, and hopefully sharing my story will give others strength, too.
I still have days when I look in the mirror and tell myself that I might want to go to the gym, but exercise and food no longer rule my life, and for that I am thankful. I am no longer a size zero, but I love my womanly figure (I have boobs and a butt now) and for that I am thankful. In a strange way, I guess you could say that I am thankful for my eating disorder, because it has given me resilience and determination that I never knew I could possess. I am thankful that I was once so sickly and small, because now I am able, most of the time, to look at who I have become with pride. Embrace your demons, they can make you stronger than ever before.
