Story One - My Body

I starved myself down to a 98-pound shell of a human.

Writing this story is difficult to do, let alone process and fully admit to myself even today.

Twenty-two years ago, I hated my body and my life so much, I chose the path of physical destruction. I don’t have a degree in psychology, therefore I cannot pinpoint specific processes that led me down this path. I suspect the path of starvation gave me a sense of control over an internal world that was so out of my control. At only 21 years of age, I was truly struggling to live in this world. I felt lost, alone, and unseen. Only eight short years prior to starving myself, I endured a childhood of instability, physical abuse, upheaval, chaos, and emotional turmoil. I was told on a daily basis by the woman who brought me into this world, of my worthlessness. I was reminded on a daily basis by her that I wasn’t wanted, that I was a burden, and that I was useless. I was told over and over again that I wouldn’t amount to anything, that no one would love me, and that I was a piece of shit.

When you are born to someone, you look to them for your sense of safety and a sense of place in this world. You place your trust in that person to provide you with all of the tools needed to create a solid foundation from which to grow from a seedling to a beautiful plant. I didn’t have that. All of the trust that one normally develops as they move through childhood, was a foreign concept to me. Over time, you begin to believe all of the stories told to you on a daily basis, and that becomes your reality.

So, at 21 years of age, I think I was truly in that place of believing that I wasn’t worthy of anything good in my life. I made a series of decisions from my teenaged life to my twenties that weren’t very wise. I walked a path of destructiveness because I was remembering every day the engrained belief that I wasn’t worth shit.

Leading up to this bout with anorexia, I had sought out the love and attention of every person I came into contact with. I shared my body more times than I even care to admit to myself to this day. Over time when that promiscuity wasn’t filling the void anymore, I found starvation.

Sitting here in a healthy and strong body, this version of me can’t even fathom not eating or depriving myself of sustenance. When I found starvation, I had convinced myself that I was doing this to lose weight and look better. I got it in my mind that by deprivation, I would finally shed those extra pounds I was carrying around and if I looked amazing on the outside, maybe that would finally fix what was so dark on the inside. I also believe that a part of me rationalized starvation as a way to starve out the darkness within me. That maybe through deprivation, the brokenness, the heartache, and the wounds, would somehow disappear.

Another form of my mother’s abuse was having to watch her abuse herself too in my early years. She was never satisfied with her body, there was always something she hated about herself. I grew up not only abused by her in every way imaginable, I also witnessed the obvious unhappiness that residing within her. She also survived on little food, and obsessively exercised in the living room with the old Jane Fonda VHS videos - sometimes three times a day. This was my first encounter with exercise and “healthy living”. Fast forward to my 21st year, my version of healthy was similar, sustaining life on a mere 600 calories and a pack of cigarettes daily. I would wake up and consume two cups of coffee and 2-3 cigarettes for breakfast. Lunch would be a sandwich baggie filled with baby carrots and one small cup of yogurt. Dinner would be barely a palm’s worth of Annie's mac n’ cheese, and maybe if I was feeling like I needed more, I would throw in a few processed chicken nuggets. Because I’m a creature of habit, this was pretty much the template I was married to for two years.

Starving oneself and exercising excessively becomes a habit. Inside you know that it is all wrong. You look at yourself in the mirror and face the truth in your face every day when you see how hollowed out your features become. Yet, there is always an excuse, a reason, a nugget of falsity to justify these actions to yourself. This keeps it going with no end in sight. Even now, the thought of it as I write these words, causes me so much pain. I wrap that young version of myself in a giant hug, knowing that words just don’t cut it. You see, when you are in this space, words are meaningless to you. No matter how well-meaning your loved ones are with their concern and worry for your well-being, you continue to convince yourself that they are wrong, they just don’t understand.

Many who have been in my shoes before, have sought out treatment - checking into facilities to get a handle on this disorder. Luckily for me, I didn’t have to do that. What saved me from slowly killing myself, was my first-born son. I don’t know if you believe in miracles, but I sure do. To say that my son saved me and was conceived as a way to get me out of this darkness, is an understatement. The exact moment his soul arrived and implanted into my body, was the moment I was saved from destroying myself.

I won’t sit here and say I was perfect the moment I found out that I was pregnant. I tried to hold on to my ways, trust me. After the initial shock of actually getting pregnant, I then moved on to worrying about gaining weight because of being pregnant. It was a tough-as-nails maternity nurse who snapped me back to reality and set me straight. My second check-up and weigh in had me feeling panicked. I can’t remember what comment I made, something to do with how much weight I had already gained. The comment was enough to get that nurse to come down hard on me in response. She gave me some true tough love and released me from my fog. To this day, I send her so much love for what she did for me. From that day forward, I worked on healing little by little and eating more calories to help my baby grow healthy and strong. Towards the end, I had put on 70 pounds from that measly 98 pounds I was when my son was conceived. When he was born, I was at a healthy weight, and had adopted a healthy mindset. My focus then was just becoming the very best mother I could be. I no longer felt alone in the world, my son had given me a purpose to live, to thrive, to survive and be so strong.

Today you’ll find me at an extremely strong and healthy 185lbs. I’m not ashamed to admit that number because it’s just a number. My health exams, fitness capabilities, and mental state all tell the deeper story of just how powerful and strong every aspect of my health is presently. I have overcome tremendous obstacles and things that should have beaten a person down. There were times I thought they would, but I kept climbing despite how difficult it all was. It is my life's work now to teach women how to love themselves for who they are, as they are in this moment. I teach women how to feel beautiful and empowered - to take this life by the balls and make something of it. It is because of this experience I can proudly say I have a solid platform from which to stand to teach these things. I’m grateful for the lessons they have provided and for how many people have been impacted by it.