Dear Eating Disorder,
Consider this a heartfelt goodbye. It’s time for us to part ways.
This isn’t about you; it’s about me. You’re not the one at risk of losing everything. You thrive on loss, feeding off the very essence of it. With every bit I lose, you gain strength.
I am the one who is losing: losing connections, my sense of self, relationships, weight, and purpose. I’m losing who I used to be and who I have the potential to become—the person I truly deserve to be. I’ve become lost in you.
You don’t see the flaws in the mirror; rather, you view them as opportunities. Each perceived flaw—a pinch of fat, a bulge, or a touch of skin—is ammunition for your control over my actions. I let you dictate my self-image. I catch glimpses of the ugly because I feel it, wearing you like an ill-fitting jacket. It’s restrictive and uncomfortable, yet it still provides a sense of cover.
I keep you zipped up tight, afraid to feel exposed.
You don’t lie awake at night, tortured by meaningless numbers. You don’t care about them; you want me to obsess over them. It’s me who fixates on every increment, who has twisted the notion of “less is more” into a warped measure of my worth. I inadvertently amplify you by diminishing myself.
You don’t struggle to find joy in everyday moments, like the laughter of children. You can’t pursue happiness because you don’t know what it feels like; you are the void. I’m the one whose spirit is fading, just like my body. I let precious moments of motherhood slip away, floating past like dust in a sunbeam. They’re right in front of me, yet I can’t reach them. I’ve allowed myself to become empty, filled instead by you.
You’re not the one who’s truly starving. You’re sustained by insecurities and my own desire for control. You consume my vulnerabilities to bolster your power. I am the one who is hungry—hungry for peace, acceptance, and the comforting company of my loved ones. I would even trade that hunger for one of the cupcakes I made with my children today.
I choose deprivation over fulfillment, isolation over family. I’ve prioritized you over my own well-being.
You’re not the one who cries at night, your tears soaking the pillow, promising that things will change tomorrow. You don’t wake up in the morning, feeling defeated, knowing that nothing has shifted. You don’t despise what you’ve become.
But you’re not the one who hears “Mommy” called as I drag myself out of bed. You don’t experience the joy of being hugged from both sides while preparing sippy cups of milk. You’re not the one flipping pancakes at the griddle, listening to toddlers sing along to their favorite show. You don’t feel the warmth in your heart when they call out for help with their toys.
You’re not the one who places breakfast plates before eager little hands, only to have my youngest offer me a pancake, asking sweetly if I want some. And it’s not you who is finally realizing that I deserve that pancake, that I deserve love and laughter, even with all my perceived imperfections. That maybe I deserve to be called “Mommy” and so much more.
Eating Disorder, it’s not you who should continue to exist in my life. You have nothing outside this toxic relationship. The truth is, I’m the one who deserves to thrive, and I no longer need you.
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Summary
This piece explores the complex relationship between an individual and their eating disorder, depicting a poignant farewell as the speaker acknowledges the damage it has caused in their life. Ultimately, it serves as a reminder that self-acceptance and love are crucial, and that it’s possible to reclaim one’s identity.