by Stefanie N
Note: This post originally appeared on faithfoodfear and has been cross-posted with permission.
Your body is really nothing more than a pair of shoes.
They start out spotless, like a blank canvas.
They carry you from place to place.
After a time they come out with scuffs, dirt and cuts.
The stories they would tell if only they could talk.
I will stop trying to beat an unbeatable system.
You cannot argue with science and biology, as much as you try.
Your body will not thrive on inadequate nutrition just because you want it to.
You feed things you care about, your pets, plants, etc.
This should include yourself as well.
I acknowledge there is no room for shame.
Shame says “I am bad”.
I will not beat myself up for being human.
I am human, and will embrace the imperfections that come with it.
There is no guilt for having to send for a search party,
Especially when it looks like motivation and hunger cues ran off again holding hands.
Asking for help is not a sign of weakness.
It takes strength to realize you cannot do this all on your own.
I will trust my OP team, when I feel like I can’t trust my own thoughts.
I will not believe everything I think.
Every body tells a story,
At times it may seem like a tragic love story, or even a fantasy that you only dream about happy endings.
Recovery Record showing up for the third time, asking the same question, “Are you going to eat today?”
The teeth marks on the back of my hand reading like braille, trying to remind me why I started.
Exercise is optional, eating is not.
I accept that exercising is not like a carpet.
Spot treatment does not work.
I acknowledge that my self-confidence should never be based on what I’ve eaten.
What I’ve eaten should never be determined on how I’ve exercised.
How I’ve exercised should be focused on body kindness and recovery.
If muscles are just the result of repeated heavy lifting, maybe I’m sore from figuring out where this self-hatred should fit.
Moving this self-hatred again, like I’m rearranging furniture.
Remembering that I don’t want it, but somehow feeling its necessity, as if it is my license to drive my own body.
Getting pulled over for something ED deems illegal, but showing my license as proof of, “don’t worry, I still feel entirely inadequate and inferior.”
I will realize that my body is mine, and I don’t owe anything to anyone. It may still feel like I owe something to others, but I will learn to not pay for the space I take up in apologies or miles.