This article was written by my best friend, who happens to be one of the smartest and strongest women I know- Katherine Carbeck.

About this time three years ago I found myself in the ring unprepared for the fight. Although I am not a boxer, I happened to be facing the unexpected, fierce opponent of my eating disorder.

For about half my life, I have struggled tirelessly with an eating disorder. However, for a majority of this time I evaded ever putting a name on it. I spent much of this time warding off comments on my appearance attributing it to being a “distance runner” (I will address why I put this in quotes later). While some people might say I was lying to my friends and family to protect my eating disorder, they are wrong. I was lying to myself to protect it. This is the terrifying relationship someone has with their eating disorder, keeping all their anxieties and fears in a neat, compartmentalized box that they hope is never unlocked.

The problem is it does get unlocked, and when it does you have to come to terms with the fact you’ve hidden so much of yourself away in it that you don’t know who you are anymore. I attached so much of my personality to my eating disorder. From predetermining what type of day I would have based on the calories I ate to attributing my successes to this horrible disease. I always credited my disorder for maintaining my drive. I was focused and determined to be successful, and I thought it was my eating disorder that was helping me get through all the difficulties I faced. To my dismay, it was my disorder throwing me face first into those problems, rubbing my face in it a little bit, and like a playground bully, picking me up by the nape of my neck only to tell me to stick with it to be fine.

Three years ago I was forced to face the horrible realization that I had been lying to myself for many years. I had inadvertently been lying to my friends and family. I had been hiding from facing the question that I hoped I would never ask out loud: “Who am I without my eating disorder?”

The simple answer is “better.” But I can only write that truthfully three years later. The process of getting “better” was a very dark time. I experienced so many emotions during my months of treatment. I felt failure for having to withdraw from college only a few weeks into the semester. I felt embarrassment for leaving my team with little more than a disjointed goodbye. And worst of all, I felt shame. I felt shame because I thought I was weak. I had relinquished control to doctors, my family and just about anything and everyone else besides my eating disorder. I experienced shame because I put my life on hold to address an issue that not only my family and myself had not come to terms with, but society had not either. I had been told, “just eat” too many times to count. However, I don’t blame people for offering this solution when the problem is so misunderstood.

An eating disorder is not about the food. It is not about wanting to look perfect for the cute girl or guy you just met. It is not about attention. It is not about looking like the girl on the cover of vogue. It is not a choice. I would’ve never chosen to put myself through this, just as someone who has depression does not choose to struggle to get out bed each morning. It is a complex mental illness that, for me, stemmed from anxiety and control.

After I got out of treatment, I tried desperately to figure out who I was without my eating disorder. I was angry at what it had taken from me, but all I knew was what was familiar. As a DI runner, I tried to jump back into the sport, asserting that I was going to go about it the right way this time. But very quickly I found myself slipping. Falling back into old habits led to more stress fractures, anger, and frustration. I spent so many days analyzing what I could do to leave this disease behind me. I took it out on myself much of the time, getting so frustrated that it was not over despite my efforts.

But three years later, I realized all I needed was to make my eating disorder angry. I had experienced yet another running injury and decided to finally sever the last tie to my eating disorder—running. I hobbled back to my apartment in pain from a four and half minute run that was cut drastically short and did something very out of character for me. Something that I knew would send my eating disorder into the depths of hell to hopefully never return. I called a gym to learn how to lift weights. This sounds very simple, but gaining weight, muscle or fat, was my disorder’s ultimate fear. And to do it on purpose?? What was I doing??

I did not realize this phone call would be the first step in dimming the ever-nagging voice in the back of my head or cutting out the thoughts that creep up on you just when you think you’re doing OK. However, I made my eating disorder just angry enough to leave me alone. I am a whole person without it. There were countless other steps that I took to get to where I am now, all just as hard, but the final one is the most freeing.

While I spent much of my life ashamed of this aspect of myself, now at 22, I realize I am proud to have fought through it. I can now welcome the thought that my strength speaks to my nature as a human, not the disorder. Everyone experiences trying times in his or her life, some unspeakably tragic, but it should never be thought of as a source of shame or weakness. I fought in that ring for three years, and I don’t think that should be ignored.

** Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any psychiatric disorder. If they are not identified and treated in early stages they have a greater potential to become chronic and life threatening. If you feel you or someone you know is suffering please don’t be afraid to get help!