eating disorder recovery

I talked to you about the scale last week. It’s a tool I’ve proven that I will use to punish myself. I said I wouldn’t weigh myself. I said numbers don't matter. And then I broke my promise to you. I made the same promise face-to-face with my oldest and dearest friend — a pinky-swear. I broke that one, too.

I told her in graphic detail about my binges, about the amount and type of food that I forced into my mouth long after I was full, about the lengths I went to to make sure that what I was eating was as unhealthy as possible, maximizing the damage I could do to myself.

What I’ve (amazingly) learned is that if I eat what I want, when I want, and as much of it as I want (what my stomach wants, not my eyes, which are two separate measurements), my digestion regulates itself again.

What I’ve (amazingly) learned is that if I eat what I want, when I want, and as much of it as I want (what my stomach wants, not my eyes, which are two separate measurements), my digestion regulates itself again.

It might take years before you can hold a cupcake in your hand and not nearly have a panic attack.