Black Lives Matter.

Recently, I have been thinking a lot about how dieting is said to be the greatest, most effective political sedative of our time. Dieting has the almost astonishing ability to silence voices that otherwise would be speaking out. The collective silence adds up to have an impact that, ironically, is deafening. How would our world be different if those voices had never been shut done by the all-consuming trap that is diet culture?I would venture to say that our world might be a better place.

To be completely honest, recently I have been struggling with understanding where my white, extremely privileged voice fits in in the fight against racism, discrimination, and gross inequality. I have chosen to stand in solidarity these past few weeks, to listen and absorb, because I believe that what is needed more than anything right now is the amplification of BIPOC voices.

I have a long road ahead in doing the inward work of combating the white supremacy within me, a system that – whether I like it or not – has benefited me whilst harming others. Of course, I feel guilt and shame about this, but my guilt and shame is not productive. I need to channel those feelings into action. ‘Feeling’ a certain way has never started a revolution, but acting on those feelings and channeling that emotion into something positive – I believe that is where we start to see change happening.

Ever since I developed my eating disorder, I knew that I had to recover. It was like this sneaky attacker that came up behind me with absolutely no warning. Suddenly, I was in a world of apathy. Where I had once been an intense ‘feeler’ I suddenly felt no emotion, the gnaw of hunger was my sustenance. If diet culture is a potent political sedative, just think about the immense power that eating disorders hold to utterly silence. I was a walking shell of a human in my eating disorder. I say that not to evoke sympathy, but to highlight the juxtaposition of the human I am now – and the human I was before my eating disorder. Now, I feel. I feel deeply. And we need to feel something in order to act. In order to make a change.

Right now, our world cannot afford to have any more humans silenced by diet culture and eating disorders, especially BIPOC who are disproportionately affected by eating disorders. And that is why we continue to pursue recovery, even when we might feel guilty focusing on recovery amongst the extreme injustice of our world today. But the fact is, when we continue to pursue recovery, we also pursue our voice. Voices that are a necessity to keep this movement – this revolution – alive.

So I will continue to speak, and write, about eating disorder recovery. Because I believe that it is deeply intertwined with the Black Lives Matter revolution. As more and more people recover and begin to feel again, their voices will continue to add to and sustain a revolution that is already well on its way.


Thin Privilege

I was not exactly sure how to word this post. Not because I don’t have a lot to say, but because I questioned how I could, in some words on a blog post, try to express the deep and fundamental issues of our society that would allow me to have ‘thin privilege’ while others struggle daily with discrimination and inaccessibility based on their size – based on something as fundamentally unchangeable as genetics. How could I possibly put into words the absolute injustice of our healthcare system? How could I express my abhorrence at the fact that people are turned away from eating disorder treatment based on living in larger bodies? I have not lived through this injustice, and thus I cannot imagine how it would feel. But I figured that trying to express this, despite my words perhaps jumbling together and my emotions getting in the way, is better than saying nothing at all.

I want to make the way I feel about thin privilege, weight bias and weight discrimination very clear. And how I feel is this. I feel immense sorrow for those who must face this discrimination on a daily basis. I feel immensely regretful for my past ignorance and for posting pictures on here that, though unintentional, perpetuate the insidious idea that eating disorders have a certain ‘look’. I feel anger within me every time I am taught in nursing school the arbitrary scale of BMI and the labels that go along with it, determining a person’s health status based on some random numbers created in the 1800s. I feel like screaming out loud when I read in my nursing textbooks that the first thing I should advise a patient to do is to ‘lose weight,’ as if that is a magical cure-all treatment. As if we haven’t proven time and time again that intentional weight loss and dieting does more harm than good.

But more importantly, if I feel this way – if I feel this angry and sorrowful – then I cannot begin to imagine how people living in larger bodies feel facing this reality every single day. They don’t have the choice to live in ignorance as I did. They are faced and confronted with it everyday and that is a fact that our world must acknowledge and must change. Words are a start, but words alone are not enough. We need action.

All of this to say, I feel that it is imperative that I recognize my thin, white privilege here on this account and state clearly and boldly that this is NOT fair. This is unjust and we must do better. I wish I had recognized and stated this earlier, but I will do all I can now to educate myself, acknowledge my privilege and work to fight against the inherent fat-phobia and discrimination of our society.


The Danger of Diet Culture

Diet culture has led us to believe that if we listen to and trust our bodies, things will go all wrong. We will lose control. That we can’t be responsible to feed ourselves. “But there’s no reason to despair!” Diet culture says under the false veneer of compassion – “Here’s a new fad diet I have created just for you; I will save you from yourself.”

Really diet culture? I should put my trust in you – an external source who has no idea about my individual needs, my food accessibility, my lifestyle? I should trust you over my own body, which has been created specifically for me with hunger and fullness cues to guide me? Oh yeah, you’re right, that makes much more sense! (I hope you can sense the sarcasm)

I didn’t realize how engrained I had become in diet culture until I started this all in process of recovery and really started to do some deep reflection on it. Whether it was intentional or not, I had attempted to recover from my eating disorder following the rules of diet culture. I chose to stick to “good” foods because they were safer for me and because society praised them. I could easily go for an acai bowl, but to order a burger and fries? I would have been scared to death. I was trying to recover, but I was doing so with conditions. It was a conditional recovery – “Yes I’ll recover, but I will do so on specific terms that align with society’s preconceived notions of ‘health.’”

But pointing out the ludicracy of diet culture isn’t for people recovering from an eating disorder – it’s for all of us. All of us who have had our joy and freedom taken away by a multi-billion dollar industry that profits off of our insecurities. All of us deserve food freedom, all of us deserve to listen and respond to our own bodies. That is a right we were born with and, I would argue, that is a right diet culture is trying to take away.

However, we can respond. We can decide not to comply. Diet culture will only be sustained as long as we allow it. This message has started to be spread, and there are some amazing people on social media advocating for an end to the madness. If you’d like to separate yourself from diet culture, I would encourage you to seek out accounts and people who promote this message. Do research and dig deep. Read amazing books such as Health at Every Size by Linda Bacon and really ask yourself what your values are. I say this, because this is the journey I am currently embarking on. Not only has it helped me in my recovery, but it has also helped me in life.



I really want to become more active here on my blog. Ever since I was a little girl, writing was always a passion of mine.

As I aged though, I began to get more critical of my work. Did that really sound good? Did that story even make sense? I went from writing at least once a day to only writing when I had to complete essays for school. Then, I would often get pretty poor grades on my essays, because they were “off topic” or “used too much colorful language.” With writing, I was never good at following a rubric or adhering to rules, because I’ve always used it as an expression of self.

Once my eating disorder took over it steered me clear of all the genuine things that brought me joy. My life slowly narrowed into restriction, exercise, and school. I was constantly performing a balance act, trying to keep these three essentials in check. So much so, that I had absolutely no time for anything else.

This is why writing is so important to me as I go through this all in recovery process. I became such a perfectionist in my eating disorder, that I didn’t even want to attempt something like writing. If I couldn’t be perfect at it, then why try? Going all in means I m challenging those beliefs in every aspect of my life. I am constantly reminding myself that my words do not have to be perfectly written, and my grammar can be all over the place. That is okay, that is not the purpose of my writing. In my mind, writing is for self expression and connection. I think writing is a powerful tool and I no longer want to allow my eating disorder to take away such a passion.

So, as I said, I hope to be posting here more often. Maybe short posts that are just a mess of thoughts or more laid out pieces that I have thought through. Either way, I hope to connect and share. 🙂


Eating Disorders Do Not Have a Look.

When I was scared, but I didn’t think anyone would listen, I decided that I could use my body to communicate. To tell people that I needed help, without actually having to say anything at all. It wasn’t a conscious kind of decision – it was a small, gradual realization that losing weight made people notice, losing weight caught attention. Not only that, but losing weight was praised.

We – I – have to learn how to voice and communicate my needs independent from my body. Even this most recent relapse was driven by an intense need for more help in my recovery, but fear of being perceived as “dramatic” or “emotional” because my body didn’t fit the picture. This, I now understand, is not only a misinformed and seriously biased mindset, but a dangerous one as well. I don’t take the phrase “eating disorders do not have a look” lightly. If we want to recover, we have to internalize that phrase and really start believing it. Because eating disorders do not have one, generalized physical representation. It is a mental mindset that cannot be judged or based on physical markers. Gaining weight does not mean recovered, getting to your set point weight does not mean recovered, nothing about physical appearance can tell whether someone is recovered or struggling.

I have gained weight in this all-in recovery process, and I will continue to gain weight. I have put on weight faster than my mental shifts have occurred. I have three years of neural rewiring to do – that won’t be accomplished in just three weeks. But my body is putting on weight because it is trying to protect me, it only wants health for me. So without judging my body or trying to slow the process down I will continue to lean on my support system for help, educating them on the fact that just because I might “look better” does not mean that I am better. 

If you feel like there is a barrier to you attain full recovery, I encourage you to ask yourself why? Do you feel like you can’t reach out for help, because the eating disorder has deemed you “not sick enough”? Realize that that is one of the eating disorder’s most skilled attacks. It is a lie and the ED is only trying to keep you from chasing full recovery and the life you really want. Don’t listen to it, because there is no such thing as “sick enough”. There is just you and your life. What do you want for it? When I realized that no one else can force me to fully recover, that I had to make the decision for myself and for the life I wanted for myself, that made all the difference.


Psuedorecovery or Real Recovery?

Sometimes I think that doing the hard things in life, the things that make us the most uncomfortable, actually serve to grow and strengthen us as people the most.

And that is an unfortunate truth. I don’t know about you, but I would much rather stick around in my comfort zone, never pushing myself into the fear and anxiety that lies beyond. But if I did that there would be no personal growth. I would stay stuck and stagnant.

When I got my eating disorder I thought I could recover through bargaining and reasoning with the ED voice in my head. The truth is, recovery cannot be comfortable. In fact, the way to gauge if you are doing it right is in finding that uncomfortable place, and then going a step forward.

For the past year and a half I was living in “psuedorecovery” – an in between state where the eating disorder thoughts were still present, I would challenge them sometimes, but then I would fall back into those behaviors that gave me immediate relief. I traded immediate comfortability for long term gain.

Well recently, I started nursing school, and with the beginning of a rigorous program and some other personal life events, the eating disorder took a stronger hold. What I realized during this time was that I had not fully recovered at all, if I had I wouldn’t be slipping back into old patterns. This period was the wake up call that I needed. About three weeks ago, I decided to go “all in” on recovery. What does this mean? It means waking up everyday with a promise to myself and my body that I will respond to its absolute every desire with unrestricted eating. This means breaking every single eating disorder rule that has been conjured up in my mind, and doing so intentionally. This means finding places where the fear is the strongest and running directly into those places. Eating at times my eating disorder deems “inappropriate”, eating foods my eating disorder recoils at, essentially doing every single thing I can to make my eating disorder mad.

Is this comfortable? Not at all. Is there anxiety? Yes, a lot. But I wouldn’t be doing this for no reason, and thousands of people recovering from eating disorders before me wouldn’t have either. Full recovery is possible and it is worth striving for. I have committed to unrestricted eating, to feeling the fear and doing it anyway, and I won’t look back until I have achieved food freedom.


Let’s rewrite the story.

In fifth grade I stood with my hands on the counters, levitating myself above the scale.  First my big toe, then my entire foot – what would the number be? I saw the real number and shuddered.  No, that can’t be it. At ten years old I held onto the counter and lifted some of my weight off the scale to see the number plummet.  A lower number, I was satisfied.

In sixth grade I refused to wear pants because I wouldn’t let anyone see the size of my thighs.  I wore only long skirts and dresses. At home I would stand in front of the mirror and stare at my legs. Why? I thought to myself.

In seventh grade I had to go swimming.  I wore long swim shorts so no one could see the real me.  I pulled the swim shorts down so that they could practically reach my knees – only then was I comfortable, only then was I safe.

In eighth grade I stood in front of the mirror before changing and imagined cutting off the parts of my body I was not satisfied with: my hips, my stomach, my thighs.  I wanted them to disappear, I did not want to be associated with those things anymore.

Let’s end the stigma around our bodies.  Let’s not allow little girls to grow up thinking that their body parts are things to be hidden.  Let’s celebrate health at every single size, because there is no one size fits all.  Let’s stop advocating for diet fads and start celebrating everything in moderation.  Let’s rewrite the story the way we want it to be:

In fifth grade I stood with my hands on the counters, staring at myself in the mirror and smiling.  I noticed my curly brown hair and laughed – I loved how much I looked like my dad.

In sixth grade I wore skirts and long dresses because I loved the look of them.  I loved how the fringe would flutter in the wind.

In seventh grade I got to go swimming and I wore my favorite swimsuit that my mom and I had picked out together before cannonballing into the lake.

In eighth grade I stood in front of the mirror before changing and said thank you to my body.  Thank you stomach for digesting my food, thank you legs for allowing me to run, jump, and dance.  I felt fortunate for my health, and appreciate of my body.



There was a time…

There was a time…

When I feared upcoming doctor appoints,

When I was scared of the fine line I walked between school and treatment.  

There was a time…

When I felt utterly numb and closed off to my emotions

When food was my absolute enemy

When even the sight of butter made me squirm.

There was a time…

When my life was reduced to what I was eating – or rather, what I wasn’t eating, and how much I was walking in a day.

There was a time…

When I thought that this way of living would be my forever

When I truly could not fathom a life without Anorexia.

There was a time…

when the number on the scale defined absolutely everything.

This was one year ago.

And now today, there are times…

When I choose to eat ice cream, to go out to dinner with my friends, or to snack while watching a TV show

Choosing recovery means that today, there are times…

When I feel truly happy with myself

When I feel like I am really enough.

There are times…

When I look around at my life and I wonder why I gave all of it up for Anorexia.

When my brain isn’t thinking only about food.

When I live utterly in the moment.

I don’t wan’t to oversimplify or minimize recovery.  There are still times when I really struggle with the person I am now.  There are times when I miss the simplicity of being “sick.” A lot of my identity was tied up in being that person, and now I feel almost bare without the cloak of malnourishment.  It can sometimes be scary to feel as though the real, true me is now exposed. But it can also be invigorating.

The happiness I have found in my recovery journey thus far so outweighs the struggles I still go through.  Actually feeling my emotions is so much better than stumbling through life, barely aware of what is going on.  I would say I still have a lot of work to do and I am definitely not “there” yet. But what I think is so exciting is that despite only being at the beginning, I am already reaping the benefits of choosing recovery.  

I have learned that I am not going to wake up one day miraculously “recovered.”  It is going to take time for my body to trust me again, for my brain to realize that food is literally just food, not some kind of frightening monster.  But I have also learned that if I simply choose recovery every single day, then that will be enough. Eventually, I will get “there,” it will just take time and a whole lot of perseverance.  


Three Simple Crackers

How does it feel to get in a fight with your mind over crackers?

That probably isn’t a question you’ve ever asked before.  Or maybe it is, and you understand exactly what I mean. Maybe it’s not specifically crackers but something else – a piece of fruit, a granola bar, some nuts.

“Georgia.  You think you need those three crackers?  No you do not. You’ve had plenty of food today” says Ana.

“But I’m actually really hungry.  I had lunch a while ago and I don’t think that this will ruin my dinner.  It’s just a few crackers” the real Georgia says in response.

“You won’t be hungry for dinner, and then what will happen?  You won’t be able to eat for a long, long while. I don’t want that for you.  Let’s put the crackers away. That’s it, right back into the bag.”

“Okay, but what about if I walk the long way home after this?  Then surely I would deserve the crackers and some dinner.”

And maybe Ana gives in here.  If she does, she still won’t let you get off that easy.  If you eat those crackers, there is still a trade off, a due that must be payed.  It is not as simple as munching on an afternoon snack. Because that snack has repercussions, it continues to play in your mind long after you’ve eaten it.

When eating is no longer just about popping a few crackers in your mouth, when it becomes a mental obstacle course you must navigate every single day, it gets exhausting.  But we must press on regardless, because each time we successfully complete the course, it gets just a little bit easier. We engrain it into our muscle memory, we memorize every twist and every turn.  Next time, that voice that argues with you over crackers is just a little bit less defiant.

And I know that someday, I will pop those three crackers into my mouth without even a second thought.  I’ll forget five minutes later I even had them in the first place. I won’t dwell on it, it won’t matter to me in the slightest.  Because Ana will have been outnumbered, beaten down by persistence and determination. She will no longer have a say in my day to day life.  She sure as hell won’t be allowed to have a thirty minute argument with me over the merits of eating a few simple crackers.


A Piece of Chocolate

Yesterday, my family and I headed out in the early morning for a road trip to explore Minnesota, a state we visit annually in the summer.  We travelled down roads lined with looming pine trees and passed glimmering lakes that sparkled under the morning sun. We stopped at some landmark destinations, including two lighthouses and a waterfall, and eventually ended up back in the car, tired but content.

On the way home, my brother enthusiastically convinced my parents into stopping at a quaint candy shop he had seen on the drive up.  It was a little red and white house complete with two large windows and an inviting porch. It looked exactly like something I would have delighted over in my younger years, but this time I kept quiet in the backseat as my anxiety built.

My mom peered over at me with a hopeful look in her eyes, “Will you try a piece of candy?” She asked.  But all I could muster in response was a harsh, “No!” I flinched at the words as they escaped my mouth, Ed was clearly not going to let this happen.  He was going to ruin a perfectly normal time, and suck the fun out of stopping at a cute candy shop on the way home from a long road trip.

I slouched defeated against the seat of the car and popped my headphones in, returning as I often did to the music that soothed me.  As I sat with my head against the window I began to really think and I could feel the voice of old Georgia battling with the powerful and strong voice of Ed.  At first, he did not waver or falter but rather persisted on, “What have you done to deserve a piece of chocolate candy?” and I didn’t know how to argue with that.

Then I thought of all the times my family and I had made this trek up to Minnesota before.  Every summer since I was born we have packed our bags and relished in the sacred family time this state has given us.  It is our two weeks of respite, our time to get away from the real world and just be with each other. I thought of the trips I had made up here without my eating disorder, how happy I was, how I would not have even hesitated at the thought of a piece of chocolate.  And then I reflected on my trip up here last year, how it was ruined and tainted by the darkness of Ed that all but consumed me. How I spent my time plotting and planning reducing my food intake and obsessing over exercise. And in that moment, I made a choice. The old Georgia grew stronger with each passing mile and by the time we had reached the candy shop, I had all but won the battle in my head.

We walked in and I selected a chocolate coconut piece of candy.  I will not lie, I felt guilty and undeserving and I walked out into the cool, crisp air as soon as I had made my order.  The rest of my family delighted in the treats offered at the store, and picked out two to three pieces of candy. We all piled back into the car and I took a bite of my sweet treat.  For all of the anxiety it stirred up, there was an equal amount of pride, because I had just wholeheartedly defied my eating disorder. It may seem like such a small step, a piece of candy may seem like no big deal, but to me, it meant a whole lot.  If I keep continuing to win these battles and continue finding these recovery moments soon I hope they will become natural to me. Eventually, I hope the anxiety will fade, and one day, I could be a girl who jumps at the chance of a piece of chocolate.