Two years ago, today, I flew home from Rosewood; I was terrified, convinced that I would continue on this revolving door in and out of treatment centers. I had heard stories of hope – you know the ones I’m talking about; men and woman who were once knocking on death’s door now living in recovery. I loved those stories, but was adamant that I would never experience my own victory; I was chronically eating disordered.
Now, two years later, it is with tears in my eyes that I can say that I am free. I have a job. I have friends. I am a doggie mommy. I am pursuing a Master’s in Social Work (yes, to be a therapist!). I have life. There was no magical cure. My recovery required persistence, passion, and an amazing treatment team. I am still not 100% there, but I believe that one day I will fully recover. I believe that there will be a day where relationships and experiences are exponentially more important than mirrors and numbers.
Recovery is hard work. It is, undoubtedly, the most difficult thing I have ever done. However, it is also my proudest accomplishment and my greatest gift. I have done the very thing I thought I could not do: I found freedom.