Yesterday I made the decision to try on my old clothes, in an effort to accept my new body and the changes it has undergone over the past ten weeks. The action was harder than I ever could have imagined and the pride I had started to feel in my weight restored body slowly began to fade away.
Whereas my jeans and leggings once completely hung off my emaciated body they now felt snug and tight. I could see the curves in my legs and my hips. I felt a sudden desire to shrink, to become smaller and smaller until I completely disappeared. The reflection in the mirror staring back at me was a different girl than the one staring back at me two months ago. I didn’t know this new, healthy girl. I was quite caught off guard.
As I continued to stare in the mirror I realized there were many paths I could take with this new realization and my new body. I could fall prey to the eating disorder, and start restricting and over exercising again, but I realized that this option deep down did not appeal to me at all. It wouldn’t be rewarding in the long run. Sure, in the short term it would give me momentary happiness and elation, but it did not align with my long term goals. It also would never bring me true happiness, the kind I had before my eating disorder.
My other option was much harder to come to terms with, but it is the reality I am now facing: radical acceptance of my new body. This means a few things: looking in the mirror and attempting to find things I love about myself. Wearing my clothes with whatever confidence I can find, and coming to terms with my curves and imperfections. Continuing to weight restore and loving my body for what it can do for me along the way. It also means eventually getting rid of my old clothes, in an attempt to put anorexia behind me and keep pushing forward. Remember, recovery is not linear, and I have never understood this more than yesterday. I am reminding myself that I may have lost a battle to my eating disorder, but I will not lose the war.