The first thing I noticed as I walked into the room was the food. Of course, there'd be food. It was an hour-long Bible study, people need to eat — eating disorders or not.

I was the last girl to show up. I had been moving nonstop since 8 a.m., and my energy was quickly wearing off. After I sat down, the girl next to me began to talk. Introductions.

"Tell us your name, age, major, and your first thoughts to the food on the table." She smiled at me, a silent request for me to start. I smiled back.

"Anna, 20, political science and history, and, uh," I stopped. I stared at the three snack options on the coffee table. I took a deep breath and quickly spit out, "Looking at the Oreos I felt sick, the clementines didn't appeal to me, and I considered taking an apple but I just ate so I decided against it." The other girls in the room smiled at me and slowly, they all introduced themselves and shared their reactions to the snacks.

It was the most soothing and most bizarre experience. For ages, my thoughts with eating and food have been just that: mine. It's so easy to feel like no one else in the world could possibly think the same awful things about food as I do. But there I was, in a room with six other girls who made me realize that those thoughts aren't my own. I am not alone in thinking the way I do. And while that doesn't fix anything, it makes the thoughts a bit easier to bear.

I don't like talking about my eating disorder.

I see a therapist and will respond when a friend asks if I've eaten that day, but it's not something I ever want to sit down and have an hour-long conversation about. It's a shameful thing, to be honest. Eating disorders and disordered eating are endless cycles that completely warp your understanding of yourself. They feed off irrationalities; they thrive off insecurities. And people can sympathize, but sympathy is my least favorite emotion that exists. I won't talk about personal issues like this because I can't stand to see the look on people's faces. I have one friend who means well and is always trying to check up on me, but he looks at me as if I were made of glass. Even within a group, he'll whisper the word "food" around me. He'll watch me eat as if I were going to break.

In our Bible study, though, no one looked at anyone like we were made of glass. We saw each other as we were: young women who are trying their hardest to love God and love themselves. We aren't made of glass. We aren't going to break. But I think we all need this. I do, at least.

I needed to be surrounded by other people who love God as much as I do and who are working as hard as I am to overcome this illness.

Thinking of food takes up so much of my day, it's ridiculous. I have more important things to worry about, to think about. I have other relationships that I want to mean more to me than my relationship with food. I want my relationship with God to be as important in my life as my relationship with food.