Dear Eating Disorder,
Consider this a heartfelt farewell. It’s time for us to part ways.
It’s not you; it’s me. You don’t stand to lose anything, do you? You thrive on loss and despair, feasting on my vulnerabilities. Each lost moment and each ounce shed is a gain for you, yet it’s me who pays the price. I find myself losing connections, losing my sense of self, losing relationships, and losing my purpose. I’m no longer the person I once was—or the person I aspire to be.
You, with your distorted lens, don’t see flaws but opportunities. Every little imperfection in the mirror becomes a reason for you to tighten your grip on my life. I let you define my reflection, seeing only the ugly parts because I feel them deep within. It’s like wearing a coat that no longer fits—restrictive and uncomfortable—but I keep it on to shield myself from vulnerability.
You don’t lie awake at night consumed by numbers; that’s all me. I obsess over every calorie and every scale reading, measuring my worth by what I lose rather than what I gain. I give you power by subtracting from my own life.
It’s not you who struggles to find joy in my children’s laughter. You don’t understand happiness—you are the embodiment of despair. I, on the other hand, feel my spirit withering away, allowing precious moments of motherhood to slip through my fingers like sand. They’re right there, illuminated and alive, yet I can’t grasp them. I’m left feeling hollow.
You aren’t the one who’s truly starving. You thrive on my insecurities, feeding off my fears and my desire for control. I’m the one longing for peace, acceptance, and the simple joy of sharing a cupcake with my kids, like the ones I baked with them today. Yet, I choose to let you take precedence over fulfillment and connection.
You’re not the one crying into your pillow, promising that tomorrow will be different, only to wake up feeling defeated. You don’t experience the heartache of becoming a shell of who I used to be.
But you also don’t hear the sweet call of “Mama” as I step out of bed, nor do you feel the rush of love when I’m tackled by my little ones at the kitchen counter. You don’t experience the joy of flipping pancakes while they sing along to their favorite tunes. You’re absent in those moments when they offer me a piece of pancake, asking, “You want some, Mama?”
And finally, you’re not the one realizing that perhaps I deserve that pancake. I deserve hugs, laughter, and the chance to dance in the living room with my kids. I deserve to be called Mama—truly, I deserve so much more.
No, Eating Disorder, you don’t deserve to persist in my life. It’s time for me to reclaim my narrative and let go of your hold. I don’t need you anymore.
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In summary, it’s time to say goodbye to my Eating Disorder and embrace the life I truly deserve.
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