Ciara: Free From Self-Loathing

In hindsight, I can see I fell victim to my eating disorder in high school. Its development was patient, unhurried, calculated, and slow-burning – the devastation building to a plateau towards my last two years of university.

I believe I knew, subconsciously, my behaviours surrounding food and exercise were not indicators of a healthy mind.

Nor were the anxiety and depression I suffered as a result of them.

However, it took me until this past spring to finally acknowledge these facts. I was in the midst of a work trip to Ibiza, facing an outspoken colleague antagonizing me over my decision to exercise. Backed into a corner by their remarks, trying to defend myself, I blurted out five little words which woke me up – “I have an eating disorder.”

It was as though this single, yet ultimate, moment of realization lifted a veil from over my eyes.

I could suddenly see why I acted in certain ways, why my brain worked the way it did, and why I had such trouble looking in the mirror without experiencing pangs of the self-loathing which had darkened my past few years.

I realized the voice I had always thought to be my own – the one who bullied me when I ate something she forbade or didn’t go to the gym when she instructed – didn’t belong to me. My own inner voice had been stifled  by the derisive voice of my eating disorder for as long as I can remember.

Having realized this, I decided it was high time to shut her down.

The most notable feeling I experienced following my outburst in Ibiza was relief.

For so long, I had resigned myself to this somber way of life, completely devoid of self-love while faking my smiles to the world. I thought this was just the way I was made, the way I was meant to be. But suddenly, it was as if a door had opened to shine some light on my reality.

Knowing what I was up against, I could start fighting.

And fight I have. Although Ibiza was only a few months ago, I feel as though I’ve been fending off this enemy for years – I just never had the right awareness, nor the right weapons. Now, I receive counselling, self-help with a cognitive-behavioural therapy book, mindfully practice yoga, rely on family support, journal my thoughts and feelings, and try to shout louder than the disordered voice.

Still, it hasn’t been easy. I have good days and I have bad days – but when attempting to override nearly half a lifetime of negative thoughts and destructive behaviours, this is to be expected.

Focusing on how far you have already come is crucial to a strong recovery effort, with an emphasis placed on rising above the bad days trying to take you down.

Recovery is a journey made up of each small change building to the bigger shift in mentality. When I can look in the mirror and not instinctively tear myself down, when I can order from a menu and pick what I actually want instead of what the disorder dictates I should have, when I can exercise for the exhilarating joy it brings and not the calories it burns … these are the moments that make recovery struggles worth it.

Acceptance is the first step out of the darkness towards the path to recovery.

Believing in yourself is the second step, and having faith is the third.

Don’t give up, always keep fighting. If you stumble across a bad day, when you’re drained and exhausted and feel like it isn’t worth the struggle, remember why you took those first steps. Remember the good days, how far you’ve come, and keep striving for the light of recovery.