Learning the Balancing Act

To be honest,

I hate that you can’t tell that I’ve had an eating disorder. I hate that my body has changed so much from when I was once sick. I look back at old pictures and mourn over the loss of visible bones through translucent skin. I often will tell myself that I wish I was as skinny as I was when I first thought I was fat. But I’m not. I have gained more weight than I ever could be comfortable with. My body is not the same frail figure it was 5 years ago.

I want to say I love it just the same but I don’t. I don’t know how to love the body that has formed before my eyes in such a way that I didn’t notice it happen.

This isn’t recovery anymore. I can’t be fat and be in recovery from an eating disorder. It doesn’t make sense. My own view of my weight gain invalidates my own struggles with food. It tells me that I am only sick if I am skinny. I am only worthy of help if my physical self shows it. I’m afraid to seek help because I know I’m not pretty enough to deserve it.

I miss my eating disorder.

You see, I am still sick. I still have an eating disorder. Maybe I don’t meet the requirements of being sick in DSM-5 standards but I am still so deep in my disorder to even dream of being recovered. I stare into the mirror for hours grabbing and poking at my soft body. I browse the internet for surgery options to remove fat. I scroll through countless weight loss accounts on Instagram hoping that the perfect bodies I see were mine.

I am sick.

I am fat.

I am hurting.

I am learning.

I am healing.


But this is recovery. Balance. Lack of balance. Going from eating one apple a day to eating multiple meals and snacks. Balance. Going from working out as often as possible to alternating between couch and bed. Balance. I don’t know how to balance things anymore. I take things to the extreme, always. Recovery is learning to balance the whites with the blacks. Learning to accept the greys. Learning.

So, yes, I believe I am disgusting and fat and all other negative attributes but I’m learning to accept that maybe I am okay.

That maybe its okay to be fat.

Maybe it’s okay to not have the stereotypical recovery body.

In fact, maybe… just maybe… this is normal.



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