Goodbye, 2018

It feels like just yesterday we were gathered around the TV at the bar, counting down the seconds until the ball dropped, bringing in 2018.

It's now December, and as I type this, I'm on the other-side of the country.

I feel as if things have come full circle in a way. This year brought many changes, both positive and negative, but I wrote my way through them both.

I look forward to the new year and seeing what new opportunities it has to offer.

I'm entering the new year with hope, optimism, and fearlessness.

What I'm grateful for this year:

• 

  At the 2018 NEDA walk with my sister in Santa Monica, CA. This was the second year we fundraised and participated in the walk.
  
  

• Participating in the 2018 NEDA walk. This was the second year we started a team, raised money, and participated in the walk. It means so much to me that our friends would give up their Saturday morning to support this amazing organization that provides life-saving information and resources. I will always be happy to support this organization.

2018 NEDA walk in Santa Monica, CA. It means the world to me that our friends would give up their Saturday to learn about and support this life saving organization and support my recovery.

• Meeting an amazing group of friends in LA. I struggled in LA navigating a different way of life than I was used to. I was lucky to find a group of genuine friends.

With my sister at her birthday celebration. Welcome to the last year of your 20's!

We rented a boat in Marina Del Ray for my sister's birthday

• My sister and I getting to celebrate our birthdays together. We don't get to do this too often. Welcome to the last year of your 20's, Alex!

If you're a bird, I'm a bird

At a polish restaurant for Alex's birthday. One of our favorite places in town

Celebrating my birthday with friends at the Saddle Ranch

• I was happy to celebrate my birthday with friends. I never really planned anything big for my birthday since I was a kid, so it was nice to have my friends come together for this night. We saw a comedy show, then went to a country bar in Hollywood.

The third Kwasnik sister?

• Getting to share the story about my eating disorder recovery in a Sunday edition of The Tampa Bay Times. This was a hard one for me to write. Though I write about my recovery journey often, this story gave me the opportunity to share with a much larger audience. I wanted to express certain points and provide helpful tips to any families that may be experiencing similar things. I didn't know where to start- I had so much I wanted to say! I'm so grateful for the Times for their support, and their willingness to publish a story like this, and for the editors sensitivity during editing, and checking in on me that I was comfortable throughout the process.

My story online

I was blown away when I saw the space they gave my story. The artist did an amazing job depicting what I wanted readers to take away from my story

My former editor, friend, and journalist role model, Ernest Hooper, even gave me a shout out in his column. I was so surprised by this !

• Growing in my yoga practice. I used to never be a huge fan of yoga, because it has always been hard for me to slow down and be present, because my depression always caught up with me. I felt like the wheels always had to be in motion, and I always had to be moving. I was on the run, and I was tired. My practice has helped me tremendously with repairing my relationship with my body: I appreciate seeing the progress in my strength, and what my body can do.

I never thought I would be able to do this!

Yoga has taught me that it's OK to go slow, be present, and take the time needed for yourself

• Getting to live in Santa Monica, California, for a year and a half. Despite coming to the realization that this life wasn't for me, living there, and with my sister allowed me to heal and fully immerse myself in recovering from my eating disorder and depression, and get over that hump from being out of the hospital. I met an amazing group of friends, I had some great opportunities in my career. My sister and I had the opportunity to bond and spend a lot of time together that we don't often have, living on opposite sides of the country. I will forever be grateful to my sister for her patience with me during this time, her support, and overall, just being there for me. Always. I love you, sis.

Santa Monica is incredibly beautiful. We were fortunate enough to live nine blocks from the beach and Santa Monica Pier. Everyone should spend some amount of time here.

Spending time with my sister and some of my closest friends, before I left for the airport to fly back to Florida. 

• Accepting a full-time journalism job at the Charlotte Sun in Port Charlotte, Florida. The opportunity provided me the ability to do meaningful work that I love every day. I immediately fell in love with my new community and the people here, and feel honored to be able to elevate their stories to a larger audience.

• Moving back to Florida: the first and only place that I fully considered my home. I feel as if I breathe easier without the pressure to put on some kind of show, or keep up a lifestyle that doesn't fit who I am.

I'm only a few hours from my mom, so I can go home whenever I want and cuddle with this sweet angel. I realize I can never be too far from my family, or I will feel lost.

Punta Gorda, Florida

• 
  New friendships and new relationships. I've had some amazing friendships develop this year, which I'm truly grateful for. Friendships are extremely important to me, and I feel lucky to have friends around the country, who I work hard to stay in touch with. You put in the time for things that matter to you. I believe everyone comes into your life for a reason, whatever that reason may be, to provide you whatever you need at that specific time in your life. Regardless of how long that relationship lasts, I never harbor negative feelings. I thank them for what they taught me, and wish them well. 

Goals for 2019:

-Focus on myself, my career, and only things that make me feel happy and alive.

-Cultivate positive friendships

-Eliminate friendships and relationships that no longer serve me

-Write something at least once a week

-Read 25 books this year

-Do things that make me happy and stop asking for permission

-Stop seeking validation from people I shouldn't need validation from

-Be a little more selfish

Joining a gym post-recovery

"Recovery is something that you have to work on every single day and it's something that doesn't get a day off." -Demi Lovato

Early in my recovery, working out was my biggest fear. For me, exercise has always been a slippery slope, as I didn't know how to do it halfway, in a healthy way.

When I was in the thick of my eating disorder, I remember working out until I felt faint. I would go to the boxing gym on an empty stomach, throwing all of my weight at the bags as if my life depended on it. Because in my eyes at that point, it did. My mom was worried because of my weight, I might break a bone. But, I refused to take a day off.

I wanted to work harder than anyone else in the gym, never realizing that no one else was competing. I felt frustrated when my body refused to run on fumes, instead, forcing me to tap out of my workout early.

I felt there was no bigger failure. No bigger embarrassment than people thinking I couldn't make it through a workout.

I had rules when it came to the gym. Lots of them: what I would eat beforehand, how long I would stay, what muscles I would work, what to eat afterwards, or what not to eat.

Two years into my recovery, I had to admit that I'm still not positive how to workout healthy all of the time. I worked at three different gyms, never understanding what my mom meant when she said it was like an alcoholic working in a bar. I thought I could handle it. For me, it was like working in a bar. I could workout whenever and as often as I wanted. And I took full advantage.

I worked out six to seven days a week for an hour and a half to two hours. I was already in the gym for my shift, so it was very easy to work out for thirty minutes before and after work. I was already there, so I would feel guilt for not working out. Not using my time wisely.

When you have a history of exercise addiction, it's a very thin line between healthy behavior and obsession. That line was not often clear to me, especially since I was still trying to hide from my friends and family how much time I was actually spending in the gym.

Behaviors and habits from my eating disorder were still there, and I thought that I was on top of it, but I often acknowledged them, then ignored them.

A co-worker would comment on how much weight I lost... I would briefly worry that I was backtracking, then feel a sliver of pride that I was losing weight again.

When I moved to Florida, I was worried about not having access to a gym, and whether I would gain weight. My mom thought it would be best if I didn't join a gym right away, I thought it'd be best that I did, and not mention it.

But, I wanted to approach it in a healthy way. To do so, I would need rules. A lot of them. A different kind of rules. So, I asked for help. I asked my friends and family what negative behaviors they saw I had surrounding the gym, and made a base list of rules for me when I decided to work out:

• Never skip an invitation, because I have to go to the gym (regardless of how bad I might not want to go)
• If I'm tired/sick, etc., do not force myself to work out
• Do not spend longer than an hour and a half
• Do not use the gym as punishment for having ate/drank anything
• Practice intuitive exercise/ intuitive eating
• If I feel faint, go home, eat, re-hydrate and rest
• Do not step on the scale under any circumstance
• If I feel like I'm struggling with over-exercising, ask for help. Be honest about how long I'm spending in the gym
• Eat to fuel my body, refuel. 

For those looking to get back into a work out plan post-recovery, I would say it is definitely possible. Intuitive exercise is the best approach. Find a way to move your body that makes you feel happy (dancing, boxing, swimming, etc.) Moving is not a way to punish your body. Also, don't rush getting back to the gym. Allow your mind and body time to heal. Ask for help from your support system when and as often as you need it. And most importantly, be kind to yourself. Two years into recovery, I mess up often. When I am stressed, it is easier for me to over-exercise as a form of distraction. When I am hurt, upset, or any other negative emotion, I feel triggered easier, and head to the gym. You will mess up. It's OK. Hold yourself accountable, be honest, and start again. Ask yourself what triggered you, and find an additional method of comfort/distraction besides the gym to practice self- care. 

Goodbye, LA

"If you go anywhere, even paradise, you will miss your home."

-Malala Yousafzai 

From the day I arrived in LA, I felt like I was on an extended vacation. Never home. Maybe it didn't help that all of the people around me never seemed to be working. Rather, walking around the promenade in and out of shops, sitting in coffee shops on their laptops, tablets, or what-not. But, I did not feel motivated whatsoever.

I even put off buying furniture for two months. (Besides the fact that I couldn't afford it, it just felt too permanent for me, if I wasn't sure if I wanted to stay.)

My mom accused me of romanticizing Tampa. But for me, it was the only place that ever felt like home for me. In Florida, I felt comfortable right away in my surroundings. I didn't get that here. I felt as if I was constantly folded into myself, cringing from the brightness of a non-existent spotlight, always being judged. I was on-edge all of the time. I didn't feel like myself.

I've noticed people put a high priority on brand names: what label your clothes are, what kind of job you have and how much it pays, what kind of car you drive, and even what your significant other does for a living. When dating, the first question people would typically ask was superficial or surface level. Boring.

Everyone has their own set of priorities, and I realized right away that mine did not match my surroundings. I didn't and don't care about going out to clubs and being "seen" or having people follow me on social media (just read my writing). My priority is being at home with my family. My priority is my career. The best compliment I could ever receive would be based on those two things, nothing surface level. I can't help the way I look (or don't), I didn't work for that and am not interested in that.

LA to me is a show, I like to say an artificial New York. The majority of the people are transplants who go there for a reason. They want to "be" somebody. They work so hard to be seen by people who don't really care to see them. It feels like everyone has an agenda. As someone with a large following himself told me, everyone you see in the club has an agenda. 

People in LA don't have the authenticity that New Yorkers do. You never know the real person, because they are always performing. People want to have the best clothes, the newest model car, the best career- but what's real? What interests you? What scares you?

People will agree to plans, until something better comes up. Smile to your face, and as soon as you walk away say 'F- that guy!' At least in New York, if someone has a problem with you, they will tell you right to your face. And if not, you can see it in theirs. There's no hiding.

I am grateful for the experiences I've had in LA. I've met extremely genuine friends, who I am sure I will keep in touch with for life. I'm grateful for experiences both good and bad, because it will always give me something to write about.

The lifestyle very quickly proved it wasn't for me. I've never been one to care about the label on clothes, whether it be for myself, or on someone else. I don't care what you do, how much money you make, or what kind of car you drive. That does nothing for me, and it doesn't impress me. I care about what kind of person you are.

It's weird to me how with dating back in the day, your family and friends would make sure your guy had a job, now they want to know what kind of job.

Who cares?

(please don't work for Magic Mike)

I've been in Florida for three days now, and I already feel as if I can breathe much easier. I want to live a life not curated for anyone's feeds, and that life is here. I drive a beat up car- the AC doesn't work, and the speakers are blown out, but it has four wheels and it moves. I don't like to wear makeup and I walk around with no shoes. I like going to country or dive bars and drinking cheap beer and sharing appetizers with my mom.

I've never stopped writing and I've never given up on journalism. My hands ache when I'm not writing. I am grateful beyond words that writing afforded me the opportunity to be closer to home. I can't wait to get out and explore my new community and share their stories.

I Watched Insatiable Here's What They Got Wrong

I've been hearing a lot of mixed reviews about Netflix's new show 'Insatiable'. The premise of the series is the main girl is bullied for being overweight, and after getting into a fight where her jaw is wired shut for three months, she loses a significant amount of weight. Once she is viewed as skinny, she suddenly has the attention she craved from boys, and to her, all her problems are solved.

People on Twitter voiced their concerns fast. Was the show perpetuating negative stereotypes about women? Was the show perpetuating the idea that only a skinny body is a good body? Was it glamorizing eating disorders?

My first concern was its target audience is young girls.

The show opens up by explaining that the main character has been dieting and struggling with food as early as eight years old. Unfortunately many kids in America do. 80% of ten-year-old's have a fear of getting fat.

I start to feel bad for her, because I can see her mom, as well as the bullies at school contribute to her negative perception of her body. The mom jokes that she's very serious about food, and says, "it can't be easy looking like that and having a mom like me."

This shows how if your mom, caretaker or someone close to you is always talking negatively about themselves, or has a disordered view of food, it can be passed on and picked up by the children around them. This was and still is one of my biggest fears about someday possibly having kids. I want to make sure she has a healthy perception about her body and a healthy view of food.

Before her jaw is wired shut, she is using unhealthy behaviors in attempts to lose weight, like skipping meals, obsessively counting steps, etc.

The girls in her family and her close friend seem to be competing with each other when it comes to food, and if one eats 'junk' food, they are seen as weak. I think women especially can work to actively support each other when it comes to healthy body image and view of food. We can work not to shame each other about our bodies and things we can't change, and instead lift each other up. If someone eats 'junk' food, it does not mean they're weak. Food is meant to be enjoyed, in moderation, of course. But if you want a treat, you're more than entitled. You don't have to 'earn' it.

After she loses the weight, things seem to magically fall into place for her, which is not the case at all.  I think this is an extremely dangerous idea to put in the mind of young girls. The size of your body will certainly not fix all of your problems if your perception and thoughts about your body and food are still unhealthy. The show fails to acknowledge the anxiety that can come as a result of losing that much weight in such a short amount of time. Just because her outside looks different doesn't mean her mental state around food and her body has changed, because she still has an immense fear of being fat, and she still views junk food as something 'bad' and puts herself above that.

I think the show perpetuates the idea that only skinny girls can be seen as desired in our culture.

"She was a beauty queen waiting to happen," one character said about her.

I think if one decides to watch the show, it's important to remember that eating disorders are one of the deadliest mental illnesses, and it is grossly under-treated, and not nearly talked about enough. Your worth has nothing to do about what your body looks like and the physical traits of your body. Your worth is defined by your character, and that doesn't change as your body does.

Overall, I do not think the show intended to do harm. I think it was an attempt at satire that fell short by perpetuating age-old stereotypes, rather than take a different stance or message.

If you or someone you know is struggling with disordered eating, visit nationaleatingdisorders.org

I Finally Watched 'To the Bone' Here's What They Got Right

It took me a year and a half, but it finally happened. I watched Netflix's "To The Bone", about a girl suffering from anorexia and her recovery journey.

When it was first released I was very fresh into recovery and triggered by nearly everything. I would say I was in recovery, but not really sure if I was ready to commit to it. I put on the movie, and in the first ten minutes, I cried and turned off the movie.

Here's what I'll say: it's a good movie. For those who don't have first-hand knowledge of eating disorders, it can be an educational and eye-opening film. The intended audience is probably not intended for those who have suffered. It is not intending to be triggering or make light of a serious, life-threatening disease.

If you feel uncomfortable by the movie, put it off until you are in more stable footing in your recovery. If you still have you heart or mind set on watching the film, watch it with someone you are comfortable with. Pause the movie if you are having a hard time with a particular scene and talk about how you're feeling and why you feel this way. This can also help the other person understand the way you think about certain scenarios.

Now that I can look at the film objectively and with my first-hand knowledge of what treatment was like for me, I can see what the film did right. And they have many things right.

-People don't know how to confront the sufferer- this is frequently the case and people have different approaches which can be anger, giving up as a result of frustration, or trying to shock them into recovery. In the beginning, Ellen's step mom is upset seeing her body and the number on the scale. She takes a picture of her body and shows her what she looks like, asking her if she thinks it's beautiful. (often times, which was also the case in my own experience, the person suffering will have a skewed vision of what their body actually looks like), however, trying to guilt-trip them into recovery is not beneficial.

The sister says "I don't really get it just eat." She says she doesn't get to have a sister and every time she looks at pictures of the two, she remembers when she was sick. The sister believes her eating disorder was a conscious choice, as she asks her "every time I ask you why you do this I get some stupid, non answer."

A lot of people who don't have knowledge of eating disorders do not understand the internal struggle or how it came to be and will beg, plead, and maybe yell "just eat!" This is frustrating for both parties, as "just eat" is not a viable solution.

Her mom bought her a hamburger cake that says "eat up, Ellen" telling her it's supposed to be funny. This was a 'joke' that used to cause me to freak out, too, because people just didn't seem to understand!

-The sufferer doesn't comprehend the seriousness of the problem: Ellen uses humor to diffuse the situation, which was a coping mechanism I relied heavily on, too, to get the attention off of myself. Her step mom asks her "are you proud of yourself?" to which she responds "I'm maintaining".  Even if you're maintaining your body weight, your weight is not at a healthy level. You cannot see the damage that was done to your organs and the nutrients you may be missing (electrolytes, potassium, etc.).

-Parents/ caretakers feel guilt: Most likely an eating disorder cannot be attributed to one problem or cause, but likely a series of influences that accumulated overtime. Parents often feel guilt of "how did they not see things were getting so bad?" or "how can we not have stopped this from happening?" The mom feels helpless, saying "I don't know what to do, she's dying right in front of us." This is how my mom felt with me, too. Unfortunately, it is something the sufferer needs to confront, and be ready and willing to accept help to get better.

-Isolation: The sufferer will often avoid social situations that involve food/alcohol to stick to their strict food rules, and as a result will spend a lot of time alone. Depression/anxiety can also lead the person to avoid outings.

-Eating disorders don't discriminate: in the treatment center there was a man, a woman of color, a young girl, and a pregnant woman. It can happen to anybody.

-Talking about food/numbers is triggering: in treatment, patients aren't allowed to discuss food, weight, numbers with each other and parents and doctors are encouraged to avoid this type of talk as well. Ellen sent another patient into a panic when she told her how many calories were in each bag of her feeding tube. When I had my feeding tube, another patient said "damn, they're really feeding you, huh?" and from that point on I would "forget" to re-plug my feeding tube after going to the bathroom, I would encourage doctors to turn it off for a period of time, or to slow down the rate of feed.

-Restricting food messes with your body: After an extended time of restriction, you can lose your period. You can start to grow extra hair on your body, as your bodies way to try to keep warm. After your body has fed off the fat tissue, it will go to feeding off muscle, than organ tissue.

-Food rules: The sufferer might have a strict set of rules surrounding what they will/will not eat, the times they will/will not eat, who they will eat with, where and how. These rules most likely will not make sense to anyone else, but to the one suffering they seem perfectly valid and justified at the time.

-More often than not, getting to the root of the problem is not black/white: 
"How do you do it? Eat? I get all panicky thinking about it"- Ellen
"Feel the fear, do it anyway."
"Aren't you scared you aren't going to be able to stop?" - Ellen
"I'm not going to lie... I'm really fucking hungry"
"Whenever I can't sleep I draw food"

This was a big concern of mine as well when I was first recovering. I was so scared that my body would go from one extreme to the other, and that once I started taking in food again, I wouldn't be able to stop. This was not the case at all. My body would crave the things it was missing, if I was tuning in and fully listening to it. I wondered why I would crave things like peanut butter, and my dietitian told me our brains are mostly composed of fats, and my body was deprived of it for so long, my body is telling me that's what it desperately needs to start to heal.

-You can't force someone into treatment- You can, but if they're not ready to accept recovery into their life, then treatment will only be 30 days, their electrolytes and nutrient levels will be stabilized, then most likely they will return home and revert back to their old habits. What you can do is be a friend, be patient, listen, try to understand to the best of your ability, and if you can't listen with empathy to your friend and ask them what you can do to help.


If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, you can visit nationaleatingdisorders.org for more information and resources.

Intuitive Eating

"If you don't love it, don't eat it. And if you love it, savor it."

-Evelyn Tribole, Intuitive Eating: A Revolutionary Program That Works 

During my time in recovery, and much while I was suffering with disordered eating habits, I heard a lot about the intuitive eating approach. 

What sounds simple in theory, tuning into your body to ask "what do I really want?" "what will satisfy me?" and "am I full yet?" seemed like an impossible feat for me. 

It came to me as a rude wake up call one morning, when I realized I would be late for school...again. 

In the depths of my disorder, I spent every morning trying to do a small act of self-care before I got started on my sometimes 10-12 hour days. This for me usually meant coloring or writing in my journal. In hindsight, this was very much not an act of self-care, but rather a way for me to waste time, so I could use "lack of time" as an excuse not to eat breakfast before heading out to school or work. 

I spent a lot of time trying to push back meals as long as I could, because the simple act of sitting down for a meal brought me so much anxiety: what would I eat? How much? When? Where? I couldn't get through the grocery store without a panic attack, if I wanted a snack or a drink I would run into the kitchen like a thief in the night, grab what I needed and run back to my room. 

The first step I took towards intuitive eating was taking inventory of what I was actually eating. This was alarming to me, as I could count the amount of foods I would eat on one hand. I realized that the foods that I was eating and was willing to eat, weren't foods that I actually liked. I was eating them for their nutritional content on the label, or lack-thereof, considering everything I had conditioned myself to eat was low-cal, low-fat, low-carb, or all of the above. I was scared to eat anything of substance.

I made a list of foods I liked before my disorder started, foods I might be willing to try, and foods that I definitely wasn't ready for right now.

It became a fun exercise for me, because for the longest time, I couldn't remember when I ate food for enjoyment. I asked my mom if she could remember how I used to eat, back when I didn't have any rules, and I begged her to help me eat normal. My mom and my doctors helped me to remember things that I enjoyed eating as a kid, which became my new favorite, the classic peanut butter and jelly- something I hadn't had probably in ten years!

To make mealtimes easier, I stuck to making the same meal for breakfast, lunch, and dinner everyday. Which I know now, is still not intuitive eating. The problem was, I was told since I was in recovery and early into it, I wouldn't be able to trust my hunger cues, as they likely no longer existed. So I had to eat even when I wasn't hungry, because my body needed it to heal. This felt like punishment, like force feeding. I still did not enjoy mealtime. I hated the act of sitting down to have my "required" meal. 

I could have made it a lot easier on myself at the time if I had actually been intuitive. "what do I feel like having?" "Do I want a sandwich, maybe a pasta dish?" "What will satisfy my hunger?" 

One of my biggest fears during recovery is that I would go from one extreme to the other, and never be able to stop eating. I thought if I asked my body what it wanted, it would tell me it wanted chips, and cookies, and ice cream, and burgers, and it would just have a party in my stomach- I wasn't willing or ready to give up my rigid healthy rules.

Knowing what I know now, I can see how I was in no way, shape or form ready to take on the practice of intuitive eating. I think the concept of intuitive eating might seem impossible and might actually be for those recovering from an eating disorder or disordered eating habits. However, I think it's something beautiful to strive for, an end goal that will reduce anxiety around mealtimes and the act of eating. 

It took me over a year to be able to tune into my body and ask what I want, to have a craving come up and listen to it. I still make mistakes and resort to where I'm comfortable, which is strict healthy eating, but every time I am able to tune into my body, and give it what and how much it wants, I feel so proud. 

During my disordered patterns, going out for an ice cream was never a possibility on my mind- I just didn't do it. I would say I was allergic, I didn't like it, or I just didn't eat it. Now, to me there is nothing better than being able to go to the store during the heat wave in Los Angeles and treat myself to an ice cream cone- something I haven't enjoyed since I was a kid!

I feel so proud every single time I am able to remember to tune into my body and ask what might satisfy it best. Like after the gym, recognizing I am hungry, and asking my body what it wants after it carried me through a nice long workout, and best of all, listening. 

And to answer the question, and settle my fears, your body will not only crave treats. After a weekend of indulging, my body will crave a salad for balance. On a hot summer day, I will crave watermelon, or something light, over a hot meal. 

Listen and trust your body, it's on your side.

Intuitive Exercise

"The mother of excess is not joy but joylessness."-Frederich Nietzsche

 I'm sure we're all familiar with the quote how too much of a good thing can be a bad thing, right?

For people who have experienced 'black-and-white thinking', also known as the 'all-or-nothing attitude or mindset', we have a hard time wrapping our minds around this concept. If it's good for you, wouldn't the more you do it be better?

Wrong.

This was my opinion on exercise. Slowly, my obsession developed from a harmless three times a week, if I could fit it in my schedule, to a no-excuses seven times a week regimen. I didn't take days off, I didn't rest, and did whatever I had to do to make my workout happen.

As my obsession with exercise developed, so did my obsession with following what I thought was a clean diet, which turned out to be extremely and dangerously low in calories.

For someone who was obsessed with fitness and obsessed with feeling progress in every area,I definitely wasn't succeeding. I remember feeling too tired to complete my workouts- having to take a knee while my trainer had tried to convince me I had the ability to keep going. I felt defeat, shame, and weakness. I often felt lightheaded from not eating enough to fuel my workouts, or feeling too full because I took in too much after a period of restriction. I remember pushing my body to the brink of exhaustion in order to complete a workout and hit an unrealistic quota which I set myself. I would walk out in the middle of an exercise class and sit in my car and cry, waiting out the period where I felt faint or dehydrated, whatever it was that stopped me from continuing.

When I was pushing myself and my body, the workouts no longer felt as if they were giving me a release of those 'happy endorphins' which caused people to work out in the first place. I felt pressure and stress, like if I didn't perform at a certain level, I had somehow failed. But, I often failed to realize as much as I valued fitness in my life, I was not and am not an athlete in training for anything. I am a regular person, who enjoys working out, because I like it and it feels good.

When I first learned about the concept of Intuitive Exercise (working out how and when it feels good for your body) I thought it was a nice idea in theory, but given my background, I just didn't think it would ever be possible for me.

I had developed strict rules around being in the gym: the days I'd go, the exercises I would perform, how long I'd be there, etc. I couldn't imagine simply doing nothing.

A week after I was discharged from the hospital, I tried to go for a bike ride, despite my doctor telling me to remain on bed rest. I only wanted to see if I could ride a mile, but felt as if I was barely moving. My legs weren't cooperating with me.

After realizing how mean and unforgiving I had been to my body for all it had gotten me through, I took almost a year off of serious exercise. It was extremely hard for me, but I knew it was what I had to do to start healing my mindset around exercise and my relationship with food.

I learned to appreciate things about myself that weren't related to my body, and how to feel accomplished about things that didn't have to do with my workout, my ability to 'stick to my diet' or things of that nature.

When I decided to start up in the gym again, I was extremely nervous, unsure if I was ready, and unsure if I would be able to properly manage a routine without overdoing it again.

Disclaimer: I am still and will always be working on this as it takes a lot of practice, self-reassurance, ability to forgive yourself and patience. Sometimes you will mess up, and that's OK, that's part of the process.

In committing myself to the gym, I also knew that if I wanted to work out, I had to properly fuel my body to do so. I believe intuitive eating goes hand-in-hand with intuitive exercise, but for me I had to set a few rules. If I wanted to do a more intense workout, I had to fuel myself before and after. Our bodies are like cars and cannot function properly if we don't give it the gas we need to run. I would not count calories, but I would have a minimum. I knew I had to eat all of my meals and snacks, and if I felt like eating extra, that's great. Food is like science. In order to run properly, we need a certain amount, and in order to feel well at the gym, we can't eat too close to when we intend to be moving our body and allow time for digestion.

Going into the gym for the first time, I had already made a promise with myself that I wouldn't step on the scale or ever use that as a determining factor of my journey, as I know it would cause me problems.

I didn't want to compare myself to anyone else in the gym, their ability, or what they were working on, I simply wanted to appreciate the fact that I was there and I was able to move my body at all.

The key to intuitive exercise is being in tune with your body and ask yourself what you feel like doing, what movements will make you feel fulfilled that day? I think the most damaging thing someone can do when going into the gym, is forcing themselves to commit to an exercise you don't like. If you hate running, and put 30 minutes on the treadmill timer, you're going to be miserable starring at the clock for 30 minutes, and you're going to dread coming back. Instead, if you love dancing, see if your gym offers a Zumba class. It's a great way to meet like-minded people, and have fun while you're moving you're body, and you'll be doing it in a way that doesn't feel like a chore.

For me personally, I enjoy boxing, and working out my legs, so I like the stair master, the bike, and things of that nature, so when I go to the gym I have fun.

I also think another thing that can be damaging for someone who is recovering from an eating disorder is committing to a workout plan right off the bat. For example, dedicating a day to a specific area to workout. (ex: Monday= arms, Wednesday= legs, Friday= full body). Say you're really tired after work on a Wednesday, you're going to dread thinking about having to do a leg workout when you don't really have the energy to spare.

Before you get into the gym, take into account how you feel. Do you have extra energy? Are you a little more tired? Ask yourself what kind of movement will make your body feel good. Maybe it's some light stretching, maybe it's a cardio kind of day, or maybe it's a day to lift some weights.

Trusting your body that it knows what's in your best interest feels really empowering. I used to not trust my own intuition, and force things on myself. However, I've been learning to trust that my body will let me know how long it feels like working out- some days it's just shy of two hours, and other days it's not much more than 20 minutes. And that's OK, our energy levels will be different each day.

Treating your body like it's on your side and you're on the same team as your mind is a great feeling and goes a long way in healing your relationship with food and exercise. It will take time, practice, and patience, but the progress you make will feel like a great accomplishment when it comes.

How to deal with diet culture and triggering comments

"I don't care if you think your body is beautiful. Your body is not your power. I want you to not hate it, so you can go out and do meaningful things with your life." -Summer Innanen

I remember being just about two weeks out of the hospital, and still very unsure about my place in recovery, and if I truly had even wanted it yet. I was out to dinner with my mom, uncle and his girlfriend, something I had been reluctant about in the first place. I hated going out to dinner. I hated the uncertainty of not knowing the nutrition of my meal, and not knowing everything that went into it. Add the fear of liquid calories to the mix, and it's a recipe for overwhelming anxiety. At least it always was for me.

I had always had a fear of eating in front of people I wasn't comfortable with. Even though our company was my uncle and his girlfriend, I had not really talked about what I had went through the previous few months, and I felt like they would be judging what I ordered, how my body looked, etc.

Just looking at the menu gave me anxiety, but I ordered a vodka diet to ease my nerves a little bit. After I ordered, my uncle's girlfriend began to talk about how she had lost so much weight, how her pants didn't fit, how she had to see doctors, and how my uncle was pushing her to eat, but she just couldn't seem to find her appetite.

I grabbed my mom's arm and looked at her wide-eyed. Is she kidding me? I thought. As she went on and on, I whispered in my mom's ear that I was upset and that I knew I wouldn't be able to eat dinner tonight.

My mom had told me that unfortunately I will never be able to avoid diet talk, especially with women and I would have to get used to hearing that kind of talk at the table. I knew she was probably right, but also knew that I was extremely sensitive and in a vulnerable place.

Dealing with diet culture is hard. It's extremely intrusive on something that is such a personal decision and unique to each person. Not every diet will work for every body.

In order to be able to possibly avoid or reduce these triggers, it is important to note what triggers you. A journal can be a very helpful tool to note how you felt by certain things and keep track of progress.

For me, when I was very early in recovery, I seemed to be triggered by everything, which I assume would be common for most people starting their journey. I couldn't see or wear work out clothes, I couldn't work out, hear about anyone working out, hear about diets, or even what people were choosing to eat, without comparing it to what I had to eat. I couldn't read about diet or fitness. I couldn't hear comments about my changing and healing body.

An important step for me was to clear my feeds. I un-followed any accounts on social media related to food or fitness, whether 'good' or 'bad'. I was already thinking about it all of the time, I didn't want to think about it any more. I replaced my feed with positive quotes and happy pictures of animals or landscape. I unsubscribed to health magazines that came in monthly toting a new fad diet or quick fix.

Two of the biggest things for me during this sensitive time were: clothes and my body and other people.

As my body began to heal, I started not to be able to fit into certain clothes in my closet. I cried to my mom, and she reassured me that my body was never meant to fit in these clothes, anyhow. That when I fit into those sizes, my body was very sick and so was my mind. To avoid further frustration, I didn't let these clothes linger in my closet. I knew what clothes were the sizes that were not meant for me, and I removed them from my closet and placed them in a bin to donate to Goodwill.

I had always preferred clothes that fit loosely on me, because I had never been comfortable with showing off my body, so that is what I reverted back to. I wore what I felt comfortable in and I believe everyone should do the same to feel confident in their wardrobe. Trends don't matter if they don't make you happy.

Another big concern for me was that people would notice my body and comment.

"You have an ass now!"

"Your face/chest looks really full."

"You look healthy" (I don't know why this always seemed to be the worst one. In our disordered minds we equate healthy to mean 'fat' which is NOT the case, and certainly, not what the person meant at all. If you choose to respond to this you can simply say 'thank you' or 'I FEEL healthy (if that's true).)

During this time, it might help to know that no one who wasn't a close family member or friend ever commented on my body, besides saying that I looked healthy or well. During my recovery, my mom was my biggest supporter and aid in helping me cope with triggers and helping others understand which topics to avoid.

I would always tell my mom when I felt triggered or uncomfortable by something. My mom had told relatives to please not comment on my body or the food that was on my plate in advance to seeing me. She also reminded them not to discuss diet or weight in terms of themselves, which was a big help for me.

Sometimes, it seemed people couldn't help themselves and would make a comment saying I looked fuller or X body part grew, to which I asked them 'please do not comment about my body, as this makes me uncomfortable' or 'this is still a sensitive area for me, and I would appreciate if we could talk about something else.'

Overall, the things that made the most impact for me during this time was having open communication. I had my mom, who had grown to understand how my brain was working and what I was going through. I was able to talk openly with her about what was on my mind, and what was bothering me, and in turn, she was able to convey that to the people around us to help them better understand how to talk to me and listen with compassion. If  I felt comfortable enough, I would also take it upon myself to politely ask someone if they wouldn't mind steering the conversation in a different direction. As I am further along in recovery, this is something that has become easier and I don't mind telling people things that I have learned during my course of treatment. And lastly, if something is triggering to you, don't pour salt on that wound. I know sometimes with our disordered minds we might keep something around that we know is tempting to us thinking we will be un-bothered by it. However, then we get in a depressed or down mood, and we use that thing as an excuse to justify our bad behaviors. It is best to eliminate the potential trigger, before it becomes a problem.

My first experience with therapy

"Talking to a therapist, I thought, was like taking your clothes off and then taking your skin off, and then having the other person say, "Would you mind opening up your rib cage so that we can start?" -Julie Schumacher

 I started middle school just after my parents announced they were getting divorced.

For awhile, my relationship with both of my parents was pretty much nonexistent, while I tried to figure out how I felt. Growing up, none of my friends parents were divorced, so I didn't ever consider it an option for my parents. Until it happened.

I don't remember who was in touch first: whether it was my mom with the school guidance counselor, or her with my mom. But somehow the pair ended up working together in attempt to get me to talk about my feelings.

"I don't want to."

"Brianna Kwasnik to the guidance office," I heard over the loudspeaker one day during class.

I rolled my eyes, and told my teacher I would go in between classes, as an excuse to get out of it.

I would have hall passes written for me and sent to my class to excuse me, but I would crumple them up and throw them in the trash.

The next day, one would came laminated. And I threw that out, too.

When I finally went to the guidance office, I stared back at the woman like she was speaking in a different language. She told me all of the things she was supposed to say to make me feel safe, like how her office was a safe space, and everything I said to her would stay between us.

I felt like I was wasting my time and hers, because I didn't feel like I was old enough to have any real problems. I didn't want to talk about my parents divorce, because than that would make it real, and I didn't want it to be real. When my parents first got divorced, it was a lot of back and forth with both my mom and dad trying to vent out their frustration with the other one, and me being the soundboard for those frustrations. I felt exhausted. I wanted to love them the same as I did when they lived in the house. I didn't want to think of them different or see them any less. I didn't want it to be real. But, I didn't want this stranger to know that. I didn't want anyone at school to know that. I didn't want anyone at school to know what was going on at home, it was none of their business, I thought.

I was really concerned about being seen walking out of the guidance counselor's office. I grew up with a stigma of sorts surrounding therapy, that talking to someone made you 'crazy' or weak, and I didn't want to be that, because I knew that wasn't who I was.

My dad was against it completely, and didn't want me talking to a stranger.

Eventually, I had warmed up to the idea, and when something would happen at home whether it be my dad talking poorly about my mom, or my dad not answering my phone call, or when he moved out of the house, I couldn't wait to tell someone about it and get it off my chest.

My school guidance counselor had sent my mom a list of therapists that I could see outside of school. I think her referral was a combination of not wanting to take me out of class anymore, and seeing how much my parent's divorce really affected my spirit and confused me.

It's always weird when you switch therapists, and you feel like another person knows your whole story, and this new person should just pick up where she left off. Like what do you mean I have to start from the beginning? Where do I begin? How far back do I go?

At first I did not want to talk to a new therapist. I never do, and usually spend the first two sessions having them prod me with questions and me giving generic one or two word answers, and nothing more. When I started going to counseling for the first time out of school, I had my mom sit in on every session. I wanted her there as extra support.

Once I felt comfortable enough to open up and talk about how I felt about what was going on with my parents divorce, it was like a faucet that wouldn't turn off. An hour came and went, and never in my life had felt shorter. Every week I didn't know I had so much to say.

The great thing about therapy, is that the person isn't there to judge you, but to help you make sense of a certain situation with an outside perspective.

If I was talking about my mom, maybe she would be able to help me see things from my mom's perspective. Maybe she would be able to give me advice on how to work things out with my mom. If I was talking about my dad, she might be able to point out a pattern in his behavior that I couldn't see.

In time, I was able to take her analytical skills, and when I would talk about things, I would share, then cut her off, already making my own inference about why things happened the way they did, or why I reacted in a certain way.

It quickly became a relief for me to get my feelings out and not have them pent up inside of me. I wasn't carrying around burdens that weren't mine to bear, and if they were mine to bear, I can put them down in her office, and move on. My therapist and my mom encouraged me that if a bad feeling came up that I wouldn't stew in it, I could open a journal, write about it in the moment and release those feelings on paper.

Between therapy once a week and writing in my journal, which I could do whenever I needed to, it felt like a purge. It felt like the feeling you get after an intense workout and the happy endorphins are released. You feel lighter, at ease.

Like anything else, everyone's experience is different, but I'd say therapy is always worth a shot. It's important to research therapists in your area- see if they take your insurance, maybe you prefer a female therapist over a male, or the other way around. If you're currently in school, see your guidance counselor or school therapist, most colleges include therapy in the school insurance plan- use it to your advantage! And most importantly, develop your own opinion on the topic and don't pay any mind to what other people think. If someone is putting down the idea of therapy, they could just not have a lot of experience with it or know a lot about it. If it helps you, that's all that matters.

My thoughts on medication

"All the commercials on TV today are for antidepressants, for Prozac or Paxil. And they get you right away. "Are you sad? Do you get stressed, do you have anxiety?" "Yes, I have all those things! I'm alive!"- Ellen DeGeneres

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I used to be extremely anti-medication to treat depression. That's just the way it was in my house, and the way we were led to believe that taking medication for depression or anxiety would alter your personality, or numb your feelings to the point of living in a zombie-like state. 

A large part of what turned me off from the idea of taking medication, was that it was the first 'solution' offered to help me with my depression.

I was eight years old when my doctor first recommended a prescription. I don't remember exactly what the medication was. My parents had just announced their divorce, and my dad would be moving out of the family house. 

Of course I'm depressed, I thought. My dad is leaving!

As I got more and more passionate about writing, I wanted to stew in the pain that I was feeling. I can use this, I told myself. I'm sure there's other kids who are feeling like me, who feel they are alone in receiving this news. When you're a kid and your parents announce they're splitting, you feel like that is the end; like you will never be part of a family again and that's it. Things don't look hopeful. Add in some messy components, with the transition of starting middle school soon, it's naturally a very turbulent time.

Most of all, I didn't want to feel like I wasn't normal, like I had to depend on a little white pill in order to feel alive. Why couldn't I just be alive? At the time, I was hiding the fact that I was going to therapy from my friends. If they had asked what I was doing after school, I would just say that I had plans with my mom. I couldn't fathom my friends finding out I had to go to therapy, let alone take a pill for my happiness. When you're a kid, you worry about these things, how people perceive you. 

My mom thought I was much too young to go on medication, she didn't want me to have to rely on a pill, and she thought that as my body adjusted to it, I would have to take more and more to get the same affect. We had no real experience in the side affects of antidepressants, because people around us just didn't talk about it.

Having been diagnosed with depression from such a young age, I have tried every natural remedy there is. I incorporated tea into my diet, I was already vegetarian and regularly consumed large quantities of fruits and vegetables, I minimized processed foods, I exercised more than anyone I knew, I did yoga, meditation, I listened to calming music. But as soon as the activity was over, the sadness was still there, roaring like a wildfire. 

The thing about depression, my therapist told me one day, is the more you try to conquer it naturally, the more likely it is to come back, and the more severe it will be when it does, and the less time you will have between bouts. 

I was told this during my freshman year of college. I was having an extremely hard time being away from home for the first time and on my own, and had fallen deep back into the throes of my depression. I had a hard time getting up to shower, I didn't enjoy going to work, or exercising. Nothing seemed exciting to me. Life had begun to feel like a chore. 

I told the therapist my concerns, and fear of side affects. I was very in-tune with any changes to my body and how I was feeling, having managed my depression naturally for so long. But, she was persistent. And I agreed to try the lowest dose of Lexapro. 

The doctor warned me to give it some time for my body to adjust, but to take note of any adverse side affects I was experiencing. 

The first night, I woke up in the middle of the night with itchy skin. I felt like my arms and my back were burning. I walked to the sink and rubbed water up and down my arms and splashed it onto my back. 

The next day, I told the therapist it wasn't for me. 

She insisted that maybe that specific type wasn't the right fit, but to try another. 

I insisted my ability to conquer it on my own was greater than whatever concoction was inside that pill.

I didn't try another medication until the summer after my sophomore year of college. I was staying in my hometown for a few weeks, and my surroundings again were pretty new having not spent a long amount of time there in a few years.

I went to my family doctor and told him about the anxiety I was experiencing. Even in places I used to feel comfortable and with people I used to feel comfortable around, suddenly I'd become overwhelmed with anxiety.

My depression was not new, I had become more adept to dealing with it, but the constant bouts were causing me to lose hope of ever shaking it 'naturally'.

My doctor prescribed me a fairly large dose of Prozac. I was not hopeful, but I felt desperate to give anything a shot at feeling normal and comfortable again inside my own body. I would give it a longer shot for the side affects to wear off and even out.

About two or three weeks on the medicine, it was the first time I ever truly contemplated suicide.

I remember first losing track of time. I was laying in my bed with no motivation to get up, just staring at the wall. I felt hopeless that my life would always look like this and it would always be an up and down battle of bout between feeling sort of 'OK' and feeling restrained to my bed, buried by my depression.

After becoming afraid of the thoughts the medicine produced in terms of wanting to take my own life, I called my doctor and immediately went off the medicine. I decided it was just something that didn't seem to work for me.

I did fairly well managing my depression through a combination of writing, drinking tea, limiting alcohol intake, and exercising regularly.

However, my depression resurfaced during my senior year of college in a way that I did not recognize.

Suddenly, it became hard to eat. I felt like physically I could not sit down and eat a meal. I was too sad to take the time to slow down and have that time for myself. I became afraid of the food that I knew would properly nourish my busy days. I was scared of what would keep me alive.

In September of 2016, I was admitted to ICU for the second time with severe depression and anorexia. My heart rate was in the high 30s, and I signed a 'DNR' because I did not want to live anymore.

My doctors had asked me if I wanted to speak with a therapist, but I declined. I didn't think there was any way that they could help me. Just like the doctors had done, I had wrote myself off as being a lost cause. They recommended trying an antidepressant or an anti anxiety medicine, but I declined, because of how my body had reacted in the past.

Eventually, it became so overwhelming, where I was not able to properly take in food, or concentrate long enough to hold a full conversation, that I turned the corner and was willing to try anything one more time to give me a shot at life.

My doctors started me on a low dose of antidepressants, one I have never tried or heard of before. I had told them my previous history with medication, and she told me she had a high success rate for this one. I felt hopeful and trusted her.

Two days after I started the medication, I felt like a cloud was lifted from my thoughts. Things had turned from a dark shade of gray to a mild one. I was able to sit up in my bed and greet my mom. I was able to focus on our conversation and I felt like I wanted to talk. I wanted the company. Things were going in the right direction.

The medicine had helped me get my will back and slowly I began to care less about the food I was putting in my body. My brain was no longer rejecting it for whatever reason it could come up with to avoid the food. My brain wasn't preventing my life source.

I've been on the same medication now for over two years, and sometimes I am in awe of how my life looks like today. Having dealt with depression for so long, I didn't think it was possible for me to feel genuine happiness and feel comfortable in my own skin and my body. I think back to these low times and I feel grateful for those people that did not let me give up.

I have people ask me how I managed to get my depression under control, like there is a one-size-fits-all approach. Believe me, I know how disheartening it can be to feel like there is no hope. I know how frustrating it can be to try natural approach after natural approach and not see the results that you had hoped for. I know how scary it can be to try a medication that you have an adverse reaction to, or does not work well enough for you.

Treatment is a lot, a lot of trial and error. And ultimately, patience. First, decide what you want as a treatment approach is a very personal thing. If you believe your specific instance may require and benefit from medication, do your research and talk to your doctor. In talking to a doctor, I would question any doctor who jumps to prescribe you medicine before fully understanding your diagnosis and your situation. Are you in a particular time of stress? (moving, break up, loss of a family member, starting school, etc.) These may not require medication, but could benefit from journaling, or eating more fruits and vegetables, moving your body with exercise, talk therapy, etc.

I would recommend keeping a journal throughout your treatment to document how your mood changes with each treatment approach. This is the best way to find out what works for you and what didn't, and go back to the drawing board.

Remember: what works for one person will not work for everyone. Some people will benefit from a low dose of medication, and others may need a higher dose of a different medication. 

Trying on clothes post-recovery

Like everything else in my life post-recovery, I have a complicated relationship with shopping.

Through mainstream media and fashion, we are sold the idea that a size zero or size two equates to happiness: the best clothes, the hottest men, etc. 

For awhile, I bought this idea, too.

I worked hard to lean out my normally size eight body. I always ate well and exercised hard, so I couldn't understand why my body naturally gravitated and felt comfortable at a size eight.

That's too big, I told myself.

As I fell down further of the path of restricting, the weight started to slip off my body. Fast.

One would think this would have made me happy, but I was more uncomfortable than ever before.

Trying on clothes, I wasn't sure what to do. I have always preferred my clothes to fit me loosely rather than tight. It's a combination of the fact that I live in Florida, and want lighter, and looser fit clothing in the heat, with the added factor that I have always been uncomfortable with my femininity. Having what I deemed a 'larger' body, i.e a bigger chest, bigger legs, etc. I didn't want to show that off. 

I was always sold the message of small, and to do what you can to make your body smaller, take up less space. 

Now that my frame was smaller, I thought I might try on smaller, tighter clothes. Having a distorted perception of my body, I thought I looked good and wanted to show it off. 

But I was still unhappy. 

My body started to feel like a shell. An overworked, under-nurtured shell. There was no longer anybody home. No one inside.

As I looked in the mirror trying on clothes, I would begin to get upset as bones replaced where skin once protected what was inside.

I looked away before the tears started to fall.

I was sold the idea that a size zero would make you happy, you would look your best, feel your best, etc. However, having strayed so far from where my body felt naturally comfortable, I was anxious all of the time. This wasn't my body. 

I would throw the clothes over my head quick enough to tell if it fit, than I would take it off just as fast and decide whether or not I would make the purchase. 

I need to have something that fit.

I was going through clothes fast, and I couldn't stop.

Even my underwear began to slide off my body inside my shorts. 

It was too big. Nothing fit.

It felt like a direct daggar to my heart to watch my moms face fall as she watched me go into the fitting room with the smallest women's size in the store, and come out with three fingers in the side of the jeans, demonstrating it was too big.

My mom cried, and I returned to the fitting room so I could, too.

When the doctors told me that it was no longer safe for me to exercise, I gathered up all of my activewear from my closet and hid it in a drawer in the corner of my room, that I knew I wouldn't open and have to come face-to-face with on a regular basis.

It hurt me to see them. It tempted me to see them. I wanted to exercise.

Living in South Florida and being dangerously underweight, I spent most of the year, and all of summer in over-sized sweaters. I was always cold. 

I will never forget the feeling of immense shame when my mom had to take me to the kids section of Walmart in order for me to find clothes that fit.

I was just released from the hospital and desperate to get out of my clothes from the hospital closet. I wanted to throw them away, and never think of them again.

My mom picked out a few T-Shirts, and long sleeves from the boys section in various colors, and two sweatshirts to keep me warm.

As we walked, I held up my underwear with one hand to keep it from sliding down into my pant leg.

I was embarrassed to admit to my mom that I needed underwear that fit me. Having to hold it up throughout the day was making me angry and filling me with shame that my body was disappearing more and more everyday.

I whispered to her, and without a second thought my mom went over to the girls section to look for a pair that might fit me.

A 21-year-old woman should not have to be shopping in the girls section for clothes, let alone for underwear.

As a group of hot guys my age passed, my mom held up a pair of Halloween underwear with cat ears on them,

"how about these honey?" 

I looked at the boys and in that moment hung my head and wanted to sob. This was anything but sexy.

My once curvy body has been diminished to that of a six-year-old girl, and to add shame to the already blazing fire, it had cat ears and glitter.

As my body healed and I began to recover, my body started to fall back to it's natural weight, where it functioned best and felt healthiest finding clothes that fit again became a source of stress.

Luckily for my budget, I hadn't thrown away my old clothes before I had gotten sick, but in some way, it felt like a loss as they started to become less and less loose on my body.

My mom helped me accept the fact when she said, 

"just remember, these clothes [referring to the smaller clothes I had purchased] were never supposed to fit your body."

Rather than becoming disheartened when the smaller sizes didn't fit, I took my mom's advice and stopped trying them on. They were never my clothes. That was never my body. 

I rounded them up in a bag for GoodWill, and donating them, almost as if disposing the evidence that they had ever existed in my closet. They were never intended to be mine.

When it came time to purchase new clothes, I reunited with my old enemies- the fitting room, and the mirror. 

I tried not to look at the sizes of clothes past the point of picking them off the rack. 

If they fit and I felt comfortable, I would buy them, if not I would simply return them to the rack and try again.

To this day, I hate trying on clothes, but I take a few steps to make it easier mentally on myself.

First, I try not to judge my body. Which is the most difficult of all. If I am feeling bloated, I opt not to go into the fitting room at all, knowing the disordered part of my brain will have a field day dissecting my flaws and reminding me of them. In relation with this, once I feel that disordered part of my brain start to pick, I take it as a sign that it is time to stop. Shopping is no longer fun, and it is time for me to call it a day and do another activity.

Second, I don't focus too much on the size. I choose the size that I feel most comfortable with, which is a larger, looser option, and if it doesn't fit, I don't berate myself on why I can't fit into that given number. Every store has a different cut of clothing, so in some stores, you may be a different size than in others. In some stores, the clothing runs small or runs large. 

Third, I'm trying to put in practice more to stop following trends and what I see in magazines, and stick with what I know I like and feel comfortable in, that way the pieces will have longevity for me, and will be a staple in my closet.

For me, I like activewear, leggings, shorts, and T-Shirts when I'm at home, when I'm working, I like a loose blouse with pants, or a dress and cardigan. Those are my staples and what I feel best in. It works for me, may not work for everyone else. It's not supposed to. That's why they call it personal style.

I think given my past of distorted body perception, trying on clothes will always be a source of stress for me. But, I'm slowly realizing that it doesn't have to be. There are steps to make it easier and a more pleasant experience.