by Cristina D’Alto

How I embraced recovery 

The beginning of my anorexia recovery was hesitant. I ate more, but only just enough to classify as not restricting. I followed my meal plan, but never went a bite over. I told myself I would be beautiful and happy at any size, but never fully believed it. It was when I went to a pediatrician specifically for eating disorders that my mindset flipped. 

I was dressed up in a nice outfit for my last day of junior year of high school. Normally, I would be in a sweatshirt with my eyes half open, but I was excited for the day ahead. The final day promised sweet goodbyes, flipping though memories with friends, and relaxing at classroom parties. I told my friends I would be late, but only planned to miss my first couple of classes. In reality, I watched hours upon hours pass at the doctor’s office. My carefree last day was replaced with tests and crying over being told I had to eat my mom’s dinner instead of the one I cooked myself. By the end, I was too emotionally exhausted to even participate in the after-school festivities. Even during treatment, my eating disorder continued to isolate me. The ways that anorexia had wreaked havoc on my mind and body demanded I spend more time at appointments and in heavy conversations than normal teenage life. I realized that would never end unless I threw myself completely into recovery. In order to resume my life, to grasp onto my teenage years, I needed to first make sacrifices and fully commit to getting better. Otherwise, I saw how doctors appointments and emotionally-taxing days would keep me floating in between recovery and full-blown anorexia. 

With this new mindset, I opened up to therapy, family meals, and carbs. However, I was still missing a piece. Despite the forward steps I took, I still wanted to hold onto the compliments about my body and control over how I looked. This ended with a shocking letter from that same doctor. The results of my EKG showed a dangerously low heart rate; exercising would put my life at risk. My mother discussed not letting me work as a camp counselor anymore, concerned about something as mundane as me running after kindergarteners. It seemed that even the most simple things were barred by the anorexia; I was unsure what was left that I could do without worry. I was trapped in my own body — literally. My options were severe: maintain my slimness in the gym, burning off the excess calories I agreed to eat, or save my heart. I became more aware of the seriousness of my eating disorder than ever. Recovery became about more than resting my mind, it was about winning back my entire future. 

Within about one year, I was able to be weight-restored and eat regularly. The forces that put me on such a trajectory were harsh and terrifying, but I am grateful for them nonetheless. Eating disorders often produce numbness, recovery depends on breaking down that barrier, looking the monster in the eyes, and grabbing back what has been stolen.