*Trigger Warning*

September 2nd, 2014, a day I will never forget.

I remember waking up that morning, or rather getting up, as I had not slept a wink the night before. I rose from my bed, put on shorts and a t shirt, brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, and stared in the mirror for what seemed like an eternity.

The hollow shell of a human I had become stared back at me. I had come to a place where I knew I wasn't okay. My skin had taken on a more waxy, colorless appearance, the dark circles under my eyes gave the outside world a glimpse into how exhausted I was, and my normally green eyes didn't sparkle back at me. They looked hollow and empty, reflecting how I felt.

I raised my shirt and did my usual morning routine or examining my body for the possibility of "fat" that had been gained overnight. I traced my ribs with the tips of my fingers and let out a sigh of relief that I could still feel them without any issues. I pinched my arms and legs and felt myself start to meltdown. I know now that what I was pinching was skin, but at the time I felt it was proof of my obesity.

As I came downstairs, I shook. This morning signified the end of an era. For the first time in my life, I was declaring war on the voice inside my head.

My mother said nothing, she just hugged my limp body, I could feel the strength of her hug, willing me to fight back, and I held onto that. As we got in the car I steeled myself.

When we got to treatment, I was put in a gown and poked and prodded and weighed. As I stared at the BMI chart that hung on the wall (an outdated and ridiculous standard) I felt panic swell in my chest. My BMI said I was fine, my growth charts, weight loss, and overall condition screamed otherwise, but the voice in my head screamed at me, telling me that this was a mistake, that we were better together, that I was weak and a quitter and that I was giving up control of my life.

It was wrong. I was finally taking back control of my life.

As I sat with the various providers that attempted to orient me to the program, rage swelled in my chest. They listed off rules like "you must consume 100% of your meals" and "you cannot do cardio in the state you're in." My brain processed the words, but the monster inside my head told me that the people who swore to be on my side just wanted to make me fat and ruin my life.

The four months I spent there were the hardest four months of my life up to that point. With that said, those four months gave me my life back.

In treatment I learned a few things:

1. You never know how strong you truly are until you come face to face with your worst fear, and conquer it.

Mine was pizza. It took my three months of exposure therapy to finally eat it, and when I did, I felt like a complete and total badass. Since then, I have had the courage to zip line, ride roller coasters, free fall (on belay), and try countless other things that previously terrified me. I always say, nothing can be scarier than my worst fear, and I conquered that.

2. I deserve the same love, compassion, and grace that I show the children in my life.

I love making others feel loved, especially my campers. I am so patient, and so kind, and so nurturing towards them. My therapist always asked me, "what would happen if you treated yourself the way you treat those kids?" I always give her a million excuses of why I can't, but it's something I'm working towards because self love is the best love.

3. Therapy only works if you're willing to let it.

I remember being so frustrated and angry towards every therapist I'd ever had. I felt like it did nothing. Come to find out, therapists are not actually mind readers, and if you don't talk about meaningful things with them, they can't actually help you.

4. Eating disorders are horrible, ugly, terrible things that truly destroy lives. They aren't glamorous or superficial or any of that nonsense. They also have very little to do with the actual weight of the person afflicted. Many eating disorders don't actually cause a skeletal appearance, and they are just as detrimental to those afflicted.

I learned early on in my experience that because of my weight, people didn't take the severity of my condition seriously, that includes medical professionals. When I began coughing up blood due to cardiac hypertrophy from malnourishment and over-exercise, I had a doctor tell me that it was likely strep. Despite the recommendations of my treatment team, the first treatment center I sought help from denied me based off only my BMI. They didn't care that I had lost fifty pounds in four months, or that every E.D. specialist that had seen me said I needed residential treatment immediately, all they saw was a number. In 2014, the diagnostic manual actually changed the qualifications of an Anorexia Nervosa Diagnosis to exclude BMI from the diagnostic criteria. Instead, it includes rapid weight loss, restriction, possible over-exercise, body dysmorphia, and several other symptoms, all of which I had. Some people I met in treatment suffered from disorders like orthorexia, bulimia, and binge eating disorder. Their lives were just as broken and hellish as mine, but people (including me before treatment) refused to see their eating disorders as "dangerous" because they didn't appear skeletal.

5. The standard of normalcy in today's culture is not normal. As a matter of fact, it is very, very, very disordered.

This has quite possibly been the hardest thing for me to accept. I often rant to my dietitian that "everyone else is doing it, so why can't I" in regards to fad diets, over-exercise, skipping meals, cutting out food groups, juice cleanses, and any other horribly unhealthy thing you can think of. The media portrays "healthy" as skinny, no matter what it takes to get there. It attributes moral characteristics such as "good" or "bad" to foods, and paints unrealistic expectations of body composition, diet, and exercise. So next time you look at a magazine, or ad, or whatever and think that that's "normal" take a second and ask yourself: Are they eating everything in moderation? Do they exercise for the joy of feeling their body move? Does their body have enough fuel to do what it needs to do? If the answer to those questions is no, then pay them no mind. If anything, feel bad for the skewed perception of health they've adopted.

Treatment isn't the "cure-all" solution, but it does something nothing else can do for you--it gives you your life back. It gives you resources, support, and overall a fighting chance at slaying the self-deprecating monster in your head. So choose to fight. Choose to live...

For resources on Eating Disorder awareness, prevention, and treatment, I encourage you to check out the National Eating Disorder Associations website:

https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/

If you think you may struggle with disordered eating, I encourage you to take their free screening test:

https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/screening-...