I am 40 lbs up from my lowest weight. I am a person that has gained 40 lbs (which also means I am a person that at one time lost around 40 lbs, which is even crazier to me). I am not particularly happy or sad about this, but I think being virtually emotionless is actually the best place I could be. I’m not jumping for joy because who would, but I’m also not wanting to kill myself over the fact that I weigh more than I ever had. Far from it. I’m actually the happiest I’ve ever been.
When I started this journey to recovery, I thought the day I became restored would be my undoing. I couldn’t fathom a life in which I wasn’t the small little sack of bones I had grown so accustomed to. But honestly, now that I’m restored (and then some…my doctor said this is normal and I will most likely taper) here I am, living. And I think the main reason why I am able to accept this body right now is the fact that this disorder was NEVER ABOUT WEIGHT. I never set out to lose weight. That was never a thing. It started happening and then I couldn’t stop. I was never overweight and I am still not. Which just means I was frighteningly UNDER weight at my lowest, which makes me want to go back in time and cradle myself and tell myself it’s all going to be okay.
Do I LOVE my body? No. I still feel like it’s completely foreign to me. I look in the mirror ready to see the person I was even a year ago. Growing out of clothes fucking sucks. The fact that I put on more than half of what I weighed in 2013 is actually overwhelming, and it’s something that I’m still getting used to. But now I look at pictures of myself at that time and I am flabbergasted at the fact that it got that bad. I was so incredibly sick. I don’t know how I did it. I don’t know how I functioned. When I was at my low weight for whatever reason pictures of me from high school (when I was my natural, set point) embarrassed me. I guess I just didn’t want people to compare the past and present and realize that there was something VERY wrong going on. Yesterday I looked at a bunch of pictures from then (thank you, day off boredom) and I started tearing up because I looked so happy, so free, so uninhibited, and frankly I found myself commenting in my head about how beautiful I looked. Me. Saying that about myself?? Something that has never happened. I went through high school not focused on my appearance but I would NEVER have said I was pretty.
I’m proud of myself for a few things. I’m proud that I gained the weight. It had to happen. As hard as it was and still is, it had to happen. I’m proud that I was able to do it over an extended period of time so that I didn’t suffer any health risks. While drawing it out was a challenge mentally, it was better in the long run. I’m proud that things don’t scare me anymore. When I started recovery, restoration was my number one fear. And here I am.
