Think of a time in your life when you have persevered -- when your mental commitment to achieve something pushed you beyond your limitations. During your struggle, you want nothing more than to make it stop, to throw in the towel, to relax, to feel at ease and at peace. But part of you -- the part that overrides your inclination to listen to your body or your emotional desires -- that part of you says, “No, you can’t stop.”
Oftentimes, this ambition and determination is a positive thing, allowing you to aspire toward becoming the best version of yourself, convincing you of the need to achieve goals. But what happens when it starts to eat away at you? That voice in your head that keeps telling you not to stop will push the line between “driven” and “compulsive.”
When you fail, that voice becomes vitriolic, beating you down with the same determination it had when it was demanding you do those 20 extra push-ups, run a few extra miles on the treadmill or nix the 500 calories you allotted yourself for lunch.
Suddenly you’re down 10 pounds. Your knobbly knees protrude from the legs around them. The skin stretches across your forced smile. The voice wins again, but those 20 extra push-ups leave you exhausted, out-of-breath and angry at your inability to fight back. “I don’t want to,” will never overcome the power of “I have to.”
A lot of people will never know what it’s like to starve yourself, exercise compulsively for hours on end, force yourself to vomit after every meal or binge at the end of the day. A lot of people will never know what it's like to be pursued by insurmountable shame and guilt.
Even fewer people will know what it’s like on the other side of recovery – to fight back against that voice and win. And, eventually, to not feel guilty for listening to your body. “I don’t want to” becomes okay for today. You tell that pestering voice that it’s not an excuse, but rather an expression of compassion for yourself, your body and mind.
A select few will reach a point where they can consider themselves, for the most part, “recovered.” They’ll look like they’ve hardly struggled a day in their lives on the exterior. But, they’ll go to the gym, see the skeletal girl on the bike, the pale runner sprinting endlessly on the treadmill, shoes pounding rubber, threatening to snap those toothpick legs. These select few, like me, will get a lump in their throats, a sinking feeling in their stomachs and a twinge of jealousy and longing for a skinnier past.
“How did they get that bad?” you think, but then you remember how powerful that damn voice can be, how isolating it can be, how it can turn you against everyone you love. At my most desperate state of starvation, lying awake in a hospital bed with my mind racing, I felt alone, angry, rebellious, but also helpless. I was determined that nothing would get better, regardless of how many health professionals threw their therapeutic strategies at me. More than anything, though, recovery just took time.
I look back on my experiences with my eating disorder and, while I’m doing okay physically and my social and mental health have improved, I can’t help but, on occasion, let that voice infiltrate my mind. How nice it would be to not feel the need to exercise, how nice it would be to not have to think or worry or obsess over the food that passes my lips. I think that voice will always be with me. But, more and more, my rational mind is able to win those battles, allowing me to listen to my body more and enjoy what life has to offer.
If someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, it is imperative that you reach out. It could save their life or at least initiate the long process of fighting back against that voice. If you yourself are struggling, I promise that it is absolutely worth it to fight your demons -- you will be stronger for it.
