Four years ago, I made a decision that drastically altered the path of my life; a decision that, ultimately, would lead me towards the path to recovery. But first, the really scary, really awkward, really intimidating initial step.
I stepped silently down the creaky basement stairs in the old house my college had converted into an office space. My boss had told me I should speak to one of her other workers about “my problem”; “she could really help you” she said. At the bottom of the stairs I saw Miranda (name changed to protect privacy), her brown bangs escaping her pixie cut as she sat in the floor putting together a display for the farmers’ market.
“Hey Rhea,” she said cheerfully with her typical enthusiasm and broad smile, “What’s up?”
I sat crossed legged on the floor near her as silently as I had crept down the stairs, admiring her work while picking at my nails. I noticed the vibrant blue of her eyes and the beauty of her tattoos as we sat there in awkward silence. I took a deep breath, “Miranda, the reason I came here today is that I spoke with Lynn (our boss, whose name has also been changed) and she said we might share some similar experiences. And I was just wondering if I could ask for your help because Lynn said you would be open to helping people like me and I just don’t know what to do because therapy isn’t working and Renée (my therapist, name not changed) doesn’t believe me that I’m sick and I am just so confused” I rambled in one long sentence while fighting back tears. I had done it; I admitted my disease to someone and things were never going to be the same…but for a positive this time. Miranda, the angel that she is, did not judge; she took my frightened, college student self under her wing and mentored me towards recovery for the next sixth months. And, on November 21, 2011 even though we had not spoken in months, she helped me through the anxiety and fear of my intake evaluation at the Lindner Center of Hope.
On November 11, 2009 I asked Miranda for help for a disease I had let rule my life for at least ten years. On November 11, 2009 I took the first step to recovery…to freedom.
Since that date:
I have moved…three times.
I have attended therapy sessions.
I have learned that my self-worth is not AT ALL correlated to my size.
I have learned that Ed never ever speaks the truth.
I started this blog and had it featured in NEDA’s blogroll.
I have given presentations and written articles to destigmatize EDs.
I have emailed the Secretary of State about passing bills and amendments that support research and funding to ED awareness.
I have continued with my passion of educating children.
I have begun to separate myself from Ed…and I have never been happier or healthier.
Psalm 34:8 and 18
8: Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him
18: The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit