11/12/2025
I was 12 the first time I had an intrusive thought about my body.
It wasn’t mine — someone else planted the seed.
Through high school, those thoughts got louder and became mine.
By 18, they were screaming. My eating disorder was raging.
Life kept moving, but my ED was in the driver’s seat.
From 26–29, it was the worst it had ever been.
Every day revolved around my symptoms.
My body was the smallest it had ever been — and people praised it.
My ED was winning.
Then, in my thirties, I’d had enough.
I’d lost too much of my life to this monster of a disease.
So I began to recover.
It wasn’t pretty.
I’d start, then stop.
Symptoms would come back. I’d relapse.
But somehow, I kept clawing my way out —
Day after day.
Step by step.
And now I’m here.
Perfect? Definitely not.
But alive. Free(-ish). Healing.
I still hear the thoughts sometimes.
The urges still whisper.
But the voices are quieter now — less urgent.
So I choose to swipe past them.
To keep moving.
To keep living.
✨ I just keep going. 🦋
For anyone still in the thick of it — please know there’s life beyond your eating disorder.
It’s messy, beautiful, and so, so worth fighting for.
Keep going. You’ll get here too. 🤍
