As a young girl, there wasn’t much more to life for me other than my grandparents’ garden, rope swings, butterflies, and my family. My fondest memories come from camping at the beach, weekend trips to the mountains, picnics at the zoo, and being tucked in at night. I was encircled with love and hope as I looked at the world and my life with an outline of glitter. All I had to worry about was whether I played with my toys equally, if I was quick enough to catch a grasshopper, and how high I could swing at the playground. Over the years, my friends came and went. I had birthday parties, playdates, and street hockey competitions. But something was never quite right.
I was never able to spend the whole night at a friend’s house, no matter how hard I tried, as the guilt consumed me and my thoughts swirled around how my parents were feeling. I would make excuses as to why I couldn’t play, oftentimes blaming myself for the anxiety I would feel.
I once felt the most immense amounts of sadness and guilt from a simple dream. A dream in which I didn’t make it to the phone in time to hear my dad’s voice checking in on me at a friend’s house. I woke up in tears, calling out to him as a wave of sadness and desperation flooded my heart. This soon became the norm as I turned to him for everything; he was my guiding light and the voice in my head with every decision I made. But the guilt and the nightmares didn’t end there. It soon seeped into dreams of having to choose between my mom and my life, wanting to take her with me as I continued to move forward. In a way, this has stayed true through the rest of my years. The guilt I have felt over growing older, finding independence, transitioning into being a teenager, and then into adulthood has been all-consuming. I started to fear natural life stages as I yearned to stay close to my family, forever sheltered under their wing. I remember, during a choir concert, crying over Taylor Swift’s voice singing “never grow up” and “stay this little” already mourning my loss of childhood while I was still in the midst of it. I was so heartbroken as I felt so strongly the sadness of my parents in that one song, feeling the grief and loss of innocence and adolescence.
As I moved into my middle school years, I started to become more aware of my being; I started to become more aware of my body. I became self-conscious as I didn’t look quite like the rest of my friends. I held my head high and my heart strong as I walked through gruesome years of deception, degradation, embarrassment, and sadness. I was never quite good enough; with friends, sport, school, or family. I began my habit of isolation as I became even more selfish with how I spent my time. I dove into resentment for how I looked. I worked increasingly harder on everything I did, trying to be the best I could be. I was motivated by my desire for acceptance and being just like everybody else. I took the fall for close to everything, never wanting to lose what I saw as friendship. Self-blame became my automatic response to conflict as I placed myself beneath all of my friends, knowing this was the only way to move past any dispute. I thought I was worthless in comparison to them. I turned to scrutinize my body for all of this pain and loss; the most tangible reason as to why I didn’t hit a stride with them. This took away any chance of me loving who I was. One of my strongest memories of this time was standing in a dressing room, looking in the mirror as tears streamed down my face and frustration bubbled inside of me. I hid all of this, miraculously. I never let my family into the dark crevices of my heart and mind as I felt this was something I must fight alone.
As I transitioned into high school, I was hit by my first major wave of depression. For weeks I slept on the floor next to my parent’s bed, having the deepest sense that they were the only people I could rely on; they were the only constant in my life. I wish I could say this belief went away over the years as I grew into myself, but that is not the case. I had lost my appetite, felt a sense of dread with each waking day, and clung to anything I could to get by. The highlight of my day would be softball practice, as this was the other constant in my life that I could always rely on. However, it was different. I always felt inadequate, having the recurring notion that I was never pushing hard enough, that I was “coasting”, that I wouldn’t succeed and reach my goals. After a little while, I began to find my grounding as I threw myself into school, softball, and the few friends I had. I had a bout with a toxic girl and found two of the best friends I have known to have. One of these friends has been in my life for years but was never a connection either of us bothered to nurture. We became closer over the years, having the typical ebbs and flows that many friendships go through. The other I quickly grew fond of as he made me feel seen and acceptable. He was one of the first people I could talk to for hours, letting little bits of myself be seen and voiced as I would extend some level of vulnerability. I slipped into a state of dependency as I let myself be immersed in him. Yet, my perception of extending a hand of vulnerability was never quite clear enough as the friendship continued and nothing new ever blossomed. This relationship eventually ran its course as I started to realize the extreme desperation I was putting myself through, repeating the cycle of yearning to be wanted by him in the same way I wanted him. I became so frustrated with myself as I came to realize the spiral I threw myself in over him.
I then began my year of independence as I found so much passion for running and the joy it provided for me. I became so sure of myself as I felt so much achievement. I had a couple of good friends that I was close with, but never close enough to feel the pain of loss. I dipped in and out of everything else as I was on cloud nine with what I was doing. I often refer to this time of my life as my “peak year” as I have yet to experience another period of time in which I felt this happy for so long. I made such deep connections, traveled, hiked, ran, and danced through my life on a high I hadn’t experienced before. I made my decision to be a Ram, committing to play softball at CSU; I ran my first half marathon; I hiked a 14er; I played on the beach and made new friends. I had achieved so many goals and reached my dreams. But oddly enough, it still wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t good enough.
Over the summer, I found myself in a phase of contentment. I lived day by day, dipping into new friendships and exploring a new boy. We flirted, I was confident, and life was good. I looked again at the world with a border of glitter, the memories I have are illuminated by a sunshine glow. Unfortunately, I took second place, once again, in this relationship. What I thought of as me being vulnerable was not received that way. I found, again, that piece of self-doubt as I picked apart every interaction with him. I internalized all that he said to me, feeling as if I wasn’t good enough, wasn’t direct enough, wasn’t seen. I caught myself in a bind as my experience of overdoing things clashed with the new sense of not doing enough. I was put on the sidelines again, but really, I put myself there.
I jumped into the next year with so much gumption and hope. I had made two new friends who let me in as we made a “perfect” trifecta. I had so many new friends and spent so many nights out of the house. I had hopped onto a high-speed train, my life becoming a blur as I let go of almost everything. I lost myself in this constant motion as I lost touch with my family, my values, and my sense of sanity. I simultaneously built up and destroyed my self-respect and sense of worth. This was the year softball was first taken away from me, part of me feeling so much grief and another part feeling so much relief. I was finally given the order to take time, to take a break; something completely unimaginable to my determined and driven self. I didn’t feel a sense of inadequacy for taking a break, for giving time to build relationships. I spent every weekend with my new circle of friends, being caught up in dating and the blind sprint of being a teenager – something I hadn’t quite felt I could identify with before this period of time. I neglected my family, my needs, and my values as I once again emerged into a pool of people-pleasing. I never felt the space to be able to say “no” as I was shamed for ever missing one night out. I was blamed for all of the small things that could go wrong in a situation, belittled for making my own decisions, and blocked out for choosing myself. I internalized this all, blaming myself for the faults of these relationships because I couldn’t bear the thought of losing them. For once in my life, I felt that sense of belonging, I felt like I was one with all those around me. I fought tirelessly to keep stride with the people around me, not realizing the quicksand I was struggling against. I had my first true experience of being in a relationship – if one can call it that. I threw myself into this connection, forcing myself to change my ways of backing out, of fearing that deeper connection. I resent that period of my life as I completely lost my grip on who I was, what my heart really wanted, what my mind needed. Eventually, I came to my senses as I cut off these toxic relationships, exhausted from trying to keep up, holding a strong front, and minimizing my own experiences. Unfortunately, this did not entirely lead to happiness. Instead, I was blindsided by a swell of loneliness, sadness, despair, and disorientation. For the first time in my life, I could not feel God’s presence in my soul or His Light in my heart. I lost all connection to the things that tied me to this earth, feeling like I was alone in a maze with absolutely no direction. I sent prayer after desperate prayer to God, hoping that something, anything would change. I started my journey of self-reflection and discovery as I dove deep into who I was, my experiences, and how to move forward with my life. I found myself searching for any way to start feeling again- whether it be painful or happy. I then built one of the strongest beliefs I could have: I only need myself. I am the only person who will never let me down, who I can trust, who I can believe. I downsized all of my connections to my family and one friend, finding solace in those people. I spent the summer building this sense of self, feeling good again, feeling content. I built walls up, brick by brick until I felt safe again. I guarded my being, so afraid of what would happen if I let people in again, knowing all of the pain I had gone through up until that point. I promised myself that I would only rely on myself, wouldn’t allow others to hurt me any further.
I then transitioned into one of the happiest but hardest times of my life. I decided to go vegan, feeling the calling and the need to live a lifestyle that completely aligned with what I thought were my values. I was moving in the direction of improving my health, improving the environment, and saving the animals. I saw the effects it had on me almost immediately, feeling accomplished, superior, confident. I could finally say “no” to food I didn’t want, because it was easier to say I couldn’t eat it. I soon came to realize the symbolism in this idea: that I finally found my voice to say “no” to things I didn’t want to do, people I didn’t want to see, experiences I didn’t want to take part in. Sadly, this turned to rigidity. I had a few successful months in this state, having a healthy balance between food, exercise, and life. I had the strongest sense of self I had ever felt, feeling confident, happy, belonging, connected. As my body changed, my mind changed. I thought I was acceptable, lovable, seen. I felt that sense of belonging once more as I felt I could fit in without really trying. I have come to realize this was all an illusion- my mind was shrinking, my soul diminishing, my heart breaking. I started to reinforce the walls I had built to be unshakable, to diminish any doubt that they could be broken down. I pushed away all the pain as I turned all of my attention to what I could control- my body and the food I ate. I slipped into the shallow, surface-level thinking that all my interactions required. I was content in my safe bubble of being, not getting too deep into connections to allow the possibility of being hurt. I was self-assured. I knew who I was and on some level who I wanted to be. At least this is what I believed. My life and mind turned into a magic show for my eating disorder, as it became the best illusionist I have come to know. It blinded me from all things important, isolated me from all connections, directed my attention to my body and my stomach. I fell in love with feeling empty, putting myself on a pedestal for not needing or wanting to eat. I pushed through everything with so much determination, telling myself that the guilt of eating would far surpass the let-down of allowing me to nourish my body. Quarantine fell into place during this time, sparking a head-first dive into my loss of life. Fire alarms blared in my head as I could not understand the idea of idleness, of being unproductive. I felt so trapped; in my home, in my body, in my mind. I felt the sneaking presence of depression once again as I felt my life wasn’t going anywhere. However, this time, I could cure this with something I was sure would work: exercise. So I went further into my compulsion with the hopes I would feel better, to give myself the idea that I was progressing toward something, anything, during a time in which the world was stopped. I could not let myself sit still, resenting myself for anything less than 2 hours of movement. I then strode into the belief that I don’t need or deserve food on the days that I don’t exercise. I lost all hunger, physically and emotionally. I didn’t have needs, I didn’t want to have needs. So I suppressed them.
As the months wore on, I started to see huge pillars in my life being kicked to the ground and crushed. I lost celebrations, parties, connections, desires. I found myself wanting more. But I was terrified that this would be found in a place I didn’t want to find it. So I found it on walks, on runs, on emptiness. This is not to say that there was all despair and sadness and deception during these months. There was also immense amounts of elation, spirituality, gratitude, and enlightenment. I went through Bible studies, throwing myself into the Word of God, and connecting with my life through His Truth. I found so much gratitude and grounding in nature as I learned to appreciate all of the small things. I fell in love with the sunsets, the green grass, the chirp of birds, and the sunshine pelting through the leaves. Life was in full bloom around me and inside of me. I connected with my mom like I never had before as we spent all of our days together, bouncing between trails, crafts, and gardening. I was seeing life through a bright yellow lens, seeing everything as purely good and feeling the same as I had myself under control. Or what I thought to be control. My disorder took the front seat as I restricted everything in front of me, pushed myself over the limit daily during exercise, and neglected any natural need I might’ve had.
The months continued to roll on; I went on hikes, laid in the sun, went to the lake, and lived my life. My thoughts were consumed, but this was normal for me. The gradual increase of noise over the year had gone unnoticed. Then it all came crashing down at one time, my mind exhausted from spinning. People started to come forward, one by one, speaking out on how I had seemed sick, deteriorated, sad, lifeless. My family and I started to notice the small things which had gone overlooked for so long, realizing the hole I was digging myself into.
I am now at the part of my journey in which I am dismantling all of my beliefs, unraveling my being, and rebuilding myself to live the life I want to live. I am growing into who I dream of being, stepping into the part of my story in which I can find connection, grace, God, joy, and adventure.