An open letter to my body:
Look at how far we’ve come. I spent years agonizing at the thought that things would always be the way that they were – That for the rest of my time here on this earth, my relationship with you would debilitate me the way it always had.
I met my eating disorder for the first time when I was nine. We’ll call her Ana. She promised me that if I just trusted her, I could be worth something. If I just let her take control, happiness would just come to me. I could finally get a boy to like me without him being embarrassed about it, maybe I could even be beautiful like those girls on America’s Next Top Model. “Trust me,” she whispered in my ear, “Things will be better with me around.”
And so I did. I put every ounce of trust I could muster into this monster that promised me something better in exchange for myself. My relationship with Ana ebbed and flowed throughout grade school, into junior high and high school.
I don’t really know too much about the person she made me into. That person traded in art making and sincere connections for gym time, calorie counting, and preserving my energy for a fast. That person traded in colored hair and a dare to be different for a yearning to fade into the background; To go unnoticed.
Who was she? I don’t know her.
And what saved me from her? Was it therapy? Maybe a little bit. Was it my friends? They were there and they tried but there was only so much they could say.
Today, as a young adult, not even 21 yet, I consider myself recovered.
How did I get here? I ask myself this question a lot and I learn new things about my process of recovery all the time. I think that queerness saved me, abandoning the confines of a female barrier. And veganism, a sense of morality and purpose in the fuel I consume. Lastly, reclaiming my identity as an artist and finding a community in folks who process their pain, pleasure, and questions through tangible mediums.
So again, to my body, I say this: Look how far we’ve come. Look at how you love yourself after never thinking you could. Look at your hands and think of what you’ve created with them. Look at your legs and think of where they’ve carried you. Look at your core and think of the balance and harmony, the strength you’ve found. I’m so proud of and grateful for you. Thank you for your resiliency in the trauma you’ve faced. I admire you, my dear body. You’ve made me want to be better. And I am.