One year ago I posted my first article about anorexia and recovery. It was my confession to the world about the things I was dealing with, and took many people by surprise. Others weren't as shocked. I was smiling, I was free

I had been struggling with an eating disorder since 7th grade in 2009. I only started seeing a therapist and being diagnosed with anorexia in the summer of 2015. A few months later I told my parents. A few months after that, I told the everyone else.

I kept people updated; I didn't want to hide what I was dealing with, to contribute to the stigma surrounding mental health. I wanted to be open about it. I freely mention it during classes or conversations, not to scare or to manipulate, but to illuminate. I wrote two more article about my journey through recovery, and now a year after that original article revealed everything, I think it's time to reflect.

I'm not cured. I'm not recovered. I still consider myself recovering, present tense. However, I am ten times better than I was a year ago. As I've said time and time again, recovery in not linear, it's a crazy mess, and there have been relapses and steps backward, but even more steps forward.

Recovery is different for every individual. Sometimes it's quick, other times it is a long arduous process. Some people have a support system backing them up, others are trying to do it themselves. Some won't make it, some will. Your eating disorder may not be the thing that kills you, sometimes it might be recovery.

Here are some of the things I've learned in the past year about recovery:

Tell people. Build that support system.

A handful of people knew about my condition before I wrote the article, but not many. After the article came out, the response was overwhelming and I saw help coming from every conceivable direction. I hadn't expected that, but it made me feel even more supported than before; I knew then that no one was going to think I was crazy, that I wouldn't be ostracized, that my family and friends would help however they could. I still feel that support, that love, and some days it's the only thing that keeps me going.

My competitive nature may be what's saving my life.

While my eating disorder stemmed from this longing for perfection, from wanting to be the best, it's possible the same thing is what's propelling me forward in recovery. I want to be the best, but I know that I can't be an anorexic and the best at the same time. I can't let the eating disorder win, I have to be the winner. This is literally what keeps me from hurting myself; I color in every day that I've gone without self harming and am almost to a year. I can't break that streak, because it means I lose. I want to win, and the prize is my life.

Be uncomfortable.

It's okay if you're a little uncomfortable. I was still nervous eating around new people for the first time, including the first time I visited my boyfriend's house. I wouldn't even send snapchats of delicious food I was eating because my internal monologue still told me "don't show people that you eat." Now, I send my boyfriend snapchats of me with half a piece of pizza stuffed in my mouth. It's going to be uncomfortable from time to time, but that's part of the process and eventually you will start to feel okay.

Go back to the things that make you happy.

Sometimes a person will focus so much on speeding up the recovery process and trying to get better that they sacrifice the things that make them happy. Or sometimes, those outlets are just not available for them. I stopped attending regular dance classes when I started college, but starting last year I was hired as a choreographer for my old high school. Though it isn't classical ballet or anything like that, for me, dance is dance. Going to the high school a couple nights a week and dancing with a group of seniors gave me that creative and physical outlet once again. I realized that if I was sick and unhealthy, I wouldn't be able to dance the way I used to, and dancing was what made me happiest. Find what makes you happy, and don't sacrifice it.

You're going to want to quit. Don't.

It's hard, it sucks, it's exhausting. I've wanted to quit recovery a thousand and one times, to crawl back into the shell of a person I was for so long because it was easier to just give up. And each time I think about quitting, I think about how happy I was the day before, or the week before, when anorexia was the furthest thing from my time. I tell myself, "Imagine what it would be like to feel that way all the time." That's what you're working towards. Keep hold of those happy moments because more are coming.