A Grateful Life Lived

The world has seen many versions of me. Few have been authentic.

It’s not something I’m proud of, but after years of therapy, I realize that living alternating realities isn’t a phenomenon unique to my life.

Many of us pretend to be who we are not, and there is a variety of reasons for that. One of the most common, however, is that we don’t really know who we are. Many humans sift through decades of life before clearing enough of the muck to answer that question. I don’t envy that delayed process, but I understand it all the same. The process of maturing as an individual is painful. It’s not glamorous. It’s often littered with shards of past trauma and hurt. I thought the best way to deal with all that (though I can’t say I imagined it would be as hard as it is) was in isolation.

But shame thrives in the darkness of our own minds. In community, though, I found a scary but valuable component of my healing. And I’m honored to have walked through a lot of it with you.

I Didn’t Want to Trust You

There’s a stigma about people with eating disorders and, if I’m honest, I totally bought into it each time I went to treatment. Despite the complexity of my own struggles, I thought the people around me would be vain, delusional, non-cooperative, and closed-off. Ironic, yes? Even when I was not committed to recovery, I looked at others with judgment, thinking that I was the only one who wanted to get better; I was the only one who wrestled with identity; I was the only one who fought for every bite.

Then I met you…. actually met you. The pleasantries gave way to deep conversations and support. I saw as you sat in the face of trauma and fear. You! You who defied everything your brain was telling you and chose to trust; who cried through therapy and kept coming back anyway. You amazed me then, and you still do.

This collective “you” is the most resilient and awe-inspiring group I have ever met. Your names and faces line the halls of my brain—treasured memories that carry strength. See, this collective you has been one of the biggest drivers in my mental health journey.

We Have a Unique Empathy & Connection

A lot of people want to know what going to treatment is like. You and I don’t have words to really explain it, though. How do we explain the hilarious games or random outings? What compares to the joy of a good day or the ridiculous songs we sang to endure tough moments? For weeks and months on end, we lived in a little world that was pressurized with pain and growth. Just as we grew immensely in a short period of time, so did our friendships.

Very few people have seen the authentic, unhinged, teary composite of who I am. Even fewer have stuck around to love me through them.

You have.

I watched you learn to identify your emotions, even as you’ve helped me identify mine. I stood in the gap for you when you couldn’t hope, and you did the same for me. We cried together, discussed commonalities, and complained about food options at program. Together.

Some of you have become strong friends and confidants—you spur me on with a unique empathy that is so hard to find, and yet: we have found ground outside of our eating disorders to build a friendship on. Other of you are an inspiration from afar, no matter where you’re at in your journey.

Like many of you, I really hate change. I hated going to treatment and I was heartbroken to leave. I was scared to meet you for the first time, but I was terrified to say goodbye. And while our relationships ebb with time and distance, the difference you’ve made it my life is concrete. No matter your sentiments about your experience in treatment (We all have different thoughts on programs and treatment centers. Totally valid.), I am immensely grateful that our paths crossed.

My Encouragement to You

I picture dozens of faces and personalities as I write these words—people I admire and long to see living in freedom. It’s hard not to cry with an amalgam of gratitude, joy, and a sense of loss as our worlds have diverged since our long days in program.

But what I really want you to know is that I’m proud of you…proud of you in a way that only a fellow recovery warrior can be. See, I empathize with the challenges you did and still do endure. Our stories are different, and yet (in many ways), I get it. I know a bite or a moment of hesitation or a choice to be self-compassionate—those choices are gut-wrenchingly hard. I get it, and I am so freaking proud of you for continuing to fight for those choices.

Need I remind you of the progress you have made? Your life has expanded beyond where you thought it could. You’ve done what you didn’t think you could do. As your brain and body have grown in awareness, you have opened up, supported others, and stood firm when it felt impossible. I remember how you tolerated the heck out of uncomfortable feelings! Don’t sell yourself short: you are strong and you are not who you were when our paths crossed. And because of your growth, I have grown as well.

Confession: I don’t love the old adage “God gives his toughest battles to His strongest warriors.” It sounds too much like a cringy Hallmark card to me. I also don’t think most of us could or would find freedom as lone soldiers—not enough ammo, not enough wisdom to go the battle alone.

No matter what you believe right now, you matter.

What I will say, however, is that no matter what you believe right now—about yourself, your family of origin, or your future—you matter. You are resilient, you are loved, and you matter.

You Did (and Still Do) Help Me Choose Recovery

Very few people have seen the authentic, unhinged, teary composite of who I am. Even fewer have stuck around to love me through those “less than glamorous” moments. You have.

Thank you for seeing me—for sitting with me as I made a snotty mess and struggled to breath. Thank you for cheering me on during meals, for checking in on those hard days, for telling me that I matter. The truth is, I’ve spent much of my life feeling unlovable. When I saw how others, how you, responded to my mess, though, I began to doubt my self-hatred.

Doubt… it’s odd to use that word in a positive context, but I’m vibing with it. Doubting the eating disorder and toxic beliefs we have held for so long is an ongoing decision, yes? I mean, I’m not “all better.” I know that most of you still fighting as well. Despite what the world assumes, we are deep in the trenches—hoping that someday this is going to get easier and believing that somehow, it will.

It will.

Friend, this journey can feel lonely and incredibly long—especially post-inpatient treatment. I don’t know what you’re feeling today, but I know how complicated my own feelings and self-talk can be. So here are three important truths to carry with you:

• You are not alone.
• Someone cares (me!)
• You must (and are able to) keep fighting

Please, please, please don’t give up. Ever. I care about you and I always will. Thank you for caring for me when I didn’t even know what that meant. I’m learning now, and I thank you for being such a part of that.

With all the Love & Respect I Can Squeeze in These Words,

Hannah