I’m coming off full on honest: I am not fully recovered yet.
I don’t even know if I am 50% recovered.
While I label my eating disorder time to my late middle school and early high school years, internally and emotionally I am still very much suffering with my eating disorder.
^You probably can’t tell too much of a difference here of my weight fluctuation, but to give you a rough estimate, I’ve gained around 20-25 more pounds. What’s the same in these two photos is Serena (who I am constantly grateful to have since day 1) and a Stephanie who is insecure and unhappy with herself. That’s already three years of self-hatred rather than self-love .
Yes, physically, I am back at a healthy place. My weight is normal (more than normal actually, leaning a bit towards the heavier side), my hair no longer falls out in clumps, my hands and feet aren’t icy cold, and my period is back. But yet, there is so much noise inside my head. So much noise.
Whenever I eat or whenever I see myself in the mirror (let alone even taking a selfie), I see an unwelcome version of me, a version I don’t want to embrace … just yet.
And that’s the problem. I keep on pushing back when I’ll love myself again. And this has been going on for 3 years. And I’m sick of it.
At the height of my eating disorder, my parents begged me to get professional help. But I refused – partly in vain and partly because I didn’t know how serious my eating disorder was. I think part of this vain came from how I was brought up. Unlike the Korean culture of sending kids to cram-schools and loads of tutors, my parents didn’t send me to any of these cram-schools or tutors because they just didn’t believe in the value of them. They trusted and knew that I had enough self-discipline and motivation to study on my own. And I did – I attribute my academic success to myself and to the friends and teachers that have supported me, not to any other outside professional help.
Along the same vein, I was resolved that I didn’t need any outside professional help to treat my eating disorder. Back then, I would have called myself perseverant — taking initiative into my own hands. But looking back, I was being simply stubborn. I was too prideful and blind from the unhealthy and restrictive actions and thoughts I’ve been doing to realize that I desperately needed help.
Thinking to myself better late than never, I finally told my parents this spring break that I needed and wanted help. They told me that they were suspecting I haven’t fully recovered seeing from how I acted at home and what I was writing on the blog. Without any question but more so relief than confusion, my parents and I both decided that reaching out to professional help is the first step in the right direction to ultimate recovery.
So to those who are perseverant stubborn like me, I understand. I know you think that you can do this all alone, but you can’t. There’s no gentle answer to that. I promise you, the agonizing days, weeks, months and years of continually failing and disappointing yourself to the verge of relapsing back is not worth it. Are you stubborn or perseverant? That’s totally up to you. But from someone who’s been there, you’re more blindly stubborn than you think.