Meant to be, not made to last

New York City reminds me of heartbreak.

It’s a long story about a short relationship--too short to merit such a long, lingering heartbreak but dating just be like that sometimes.

The day things fell apart is the same day I was going to book a flight to visit him. Timely. I had a tab open on my laptop with all the flight details ready to go, my cursor hovering over “complete booking.”

Well freak, do I still go? The travel dates worked perfectly with my schedule, I was excited to see other dear friends and relive the east coast in the fall... but I wasn’t sure I could stomach it.

Would every subway ride and slice of pizza and couple holding hands in Central Park just exacerbate the sadness and hurt I already felt? We had just broken up. I wanted to be as far away from him as possible--both emotionally and physically--yet I was about to book a flight to the city he had told me so much about and stay at a friend’s apartment two blocks away from his.

I didn’t know if I could do it.

Suddenly, I remembered staring at my laptop two and a half years prior when I had faced a similar gut and heart-wrenching decision, but worse.

I had dated someone during my recruiting season for accounting. Things with him had been going really well--so well that moving to Seattle after graduation didn’t feel as right as it had before. (Graduation was still 2 years down the road but the accounting program really expected us greenies to make life plans that far in advance 🙃) So there we were.

At the time, the most logical assumption was that our relationship would continue on its good, happy trajectory so I decided to recruit in two cities: Seattle, where I had planned to be, and Salt Lake City, where he would be. After a couple months of applications, interviews, and traveling to the firms, I narrowed things down to 2 firms I loved, one in each city.

As it turns out, everything fell apart the week I had to make my internship decision. So timely.

There I was on my couch, laptop open, eyelids swollen from a week of crying, my cursor hovering over the acceptance button of my internship offers. Ironically, even after taking him out of the equation and isolating all the other decision factors, I was still leaning towards the firm in Salt Lake.

But I didn’t know if I could do it.

Would every trax ride and hike up the canyon and couple holding hands around temple square just exacerbate the pain and longing I felt? I wanted to be as far away from him as possible yet I was about to pursue my career in the city closest to him.

I didn’t know if I could do it.

HOW DID WE GET HERE? How was something so good and so fun ending like this? I closed my eyes and transported myself back to that January night when he had knocked on my door for our first date.

“I wish I had never answered the door. I wish I’d never gotten in his car and heard New Light by John Mayer playing in the background and never shared that stupid dessert or talked about Oregon and Jerusalem... I wish I’d never met him.”

That night, there was no way in my mind that it had been meant to be if it wasn’t meant to last. There must have been some mistake along the way--some sign or prompting I had missed that said:

WARNING: DO NOT PROCEED. THIS ROAD ENDS IN HEARTBREAK LIKE YOU’VE NEVER KNOWN.

But I never got a warning sign. Why didn’t I get a warning sign??? I wanted to rewind everything, never answer the door, and spare myself the pain.

Tonight, that’s not how I feel.

Both of those decision points, two years apart, became pivotal moments for me.

I booked the flight to New York and I accepted the offer in Salt Lake. I had the time of my LIFE in New York (the people, the weather, the bagels, the dance party in Brooklyn, I could go on) and I LOVED my internship in Salt Lake (whose coworkers play Secret Hitler every day at lunch??). The cities I had once dreaded because they were punch-in-the-gut reminders of heartbreak became cities I love with beautiful new memories.

I probably would’ve never ended up in either city if it weren’t for those boys. So in a way, I have them to thank, not to mention all the experiences shared and lessons learned during our relationships (heartbreak and all) that shaped my current self.

“We were meant to be, just not made to last.

I don’t wanna keep you waiting,

it’s not as simple as a yes or no, it’s kinda complicated.

But I would leave a 5-star review, ten out of ten,

recommend you to a friend, if I could.

Cause I think you’re the one for someone else

and that sh*t’s hard to say but it’s okay,

you feel the same and I can tell.

It’s hard to leave us in the past

but perfect’s just a lot to ask.

We’re meant to be, not made to last.”

^ this song dropped the DAY BEFORE my trip and I don’t believe in coincidences. Thank you @heythereitsber and @charlieoriain.

It’s hard to admit that your ex is the one for someone else and it’s hard to say goodbye to something you thought was made to last.

But I’ve realized that it can be both.

Both meant to be, and not made to last ❤️

My worst breakup was with diet culture

A couple years ago, I was dating this guy (not diet culture, a real guy lol) and I could tell something was off so one day I was like “hey, if there’s ever anything bothering you about me or us, just tell me. I want us to be completely honest with each other.”

He’s like “okay, here’s something... I don’t like how you play Secret Hitler.” (a board game, for those who may not be familiar)

.... “sorry, what?”

“I don’t like the version of you that comes out when we play Secret Hitler.”

I thought he had to be kidding but as it turns out, homeboy really couldn’t handle how competitive I was and we broke up shortly thereafter (for that and other, more important reasons haha).

All jokes aside though, even my breakup with my fascist ex-boyfriend did not come close to how bad THIS breakup was:

my breakup with diet culture.

Let me take you on a little journey of diet culture and I’s relationship, starting 10 years ago with...

The Early Dating Phase:

I remember the day super vividly. It was a Saturday. I was 15. The day I started my period. I remember driving to my ballet rehearsal and silently vowing that I would never let it happen again, or at least that I would delay the next period as long as possible. This totally irrational but fierce resolution stemmed from messages I had internalized from my peers and my environment growing up. Comments like:

“You’ll start your period later if you’re an athlete and don’t have a lot of body fat” and “if you just exercise a lot and don’t eat as much, you won’t have to deal with a regular period.”

And so it began.

What started as just trying to eat “healthier” and cut back on sweets became tracking everything I ate and skipping meals. What started as an effort to just lose a little bit of weight became an obsessive fixation with changing my body. This was my junior and senior year of high school. What should have been some of the most fun, care-free years of my life quickly turned into my own, personal, living hell. And that’s

When Things Got Serious:

My freshman year at BYU is when I hit an all-time low. During that year, I had this habit of going on runs in the middle of the night as part of my compulsive exercise and weight loss regimen. I’d start at my dorm at Helaman Halls, run down to Lavell Edwards Stadium and then up a neighborhood street to the Provo temple and back around to my dorm. At the time, the neighborhood street didn’t have street lights. It was pitch black. I remember not even being able to see one step in front of me. Obviously, looking back it was wildly dangerous that an 18 year old girl was doing that by herself at 1am, but that was far from my mind at the time. I would have never admitted it then, but I was in the trenches of a full-blown eating disorder.

The cycle went like this: I would set extreme weight loss goals, restrict my food intake and exercise compulsively until my mind and body were so weak I couldn’t think straight, and then I would binge. A lot. For a long time. Bingeing would inevitably lead to feelings of deep, deep shame and failure which would have me setting new goals and the cycle would go on, and on, and on. I was trapped. And while I blamed myself, I’ve since learned that diet culture was to blame.

Now, when I say “diet culture” I’m not just referring to the diet industry and its hundreds of diet companies. I’m referring to the BELIEF SYSTEM that they promote: it’s this idea that weight loss and thinness equate to health, beauty, and success.

While I never actually subscribed to a conventional diet program, I was totally subscribed to that belief system and, unfortunately, I had evidence to support it.

During my chaotic eating disorder cycle, my weight fluctuated. One time, I was approached by someone with concern over the weight gain. Months later, when I had lost weight, I got subtle but unmistakable positive attention from others around me. They had no idea--no idea that I had an eating disorder and no idea that they were also subscribed to this fatphobic belief that smaller is better. Since I didn't get the chance to say it then, I'll say it now:

She hears you.

I was only 17, but I heard the message loud and clear.

Who profits off that message?? I’ll give you a hint: it’s not you or me.

The diet industry is a $70 billion industry. It’s a business. They care a lot more about making a profit than they do our health. You would think that with numbers like that, the product must be wildly successful, too... but here’s the reality. Studies show that 95% of dieters will regain all of the weight back plus more in 1-5 years, not to mention the negative health effects of weight cycling. So they’re making $70 billion a year with a 5% success rate and when it doesn’t work long term, guess who takes the blame? Not them--not the PRODUCT-- it’s us.

It’s a sneaky and corrupt system and quite the toxic boyfriend, if you ask me.

Now, before I incite a full-out war against diet culture (which I’m planning on), let me tell you why this is so personal for me:

Dieting is the #1 predictor of eating disorders.

No, not all diets will lead to eating disorders. But nearly all eating disorders come from diet culture.

I saw this firsthand when I worked at Center for Change, an eating disorder treatment center in Orem, this past year. I worked with moms, teens, students, athletes, military personnel, grandmothers, women of all ages, backgrounds, and body sizes. Just a few months ago, I was sitting at the dining room table with a 13 year old girl who was refusing to eat. As I sat next to her, she lifted up her shirt, pointed at her stomach and said,

“I would rather die than have tummy rolls.”

My heart broke. I don’t blame that sweet girl or her friends or her instagram or her TikTok, I blame DIET CULTURE. And if war is what’s necessary to protect her and every other 13 year old girl afraid of tummy rolls, then to war I will go.

Which leads me to...

The Breakup:

So, how did I get out of the longest and most toxic relationship of my life? It was roughly a 5-step process. I hope that as I’m going through these, it will get you thinking about your own relationship with food and your body.

#1 It freaking sucked.

Breakups in general suck. I know you guys know. But this one was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It would be like breaking up with someone and trying to move on when everything around you is telling you to get back together. Not only did I not just magically stop wanting to be skinner, but the culture continued to tell me that I should be. It took a long time to deconstruct that in my brain, but it was so worth it. If you’re also going through a breakup of sorts with the diet culture belief system, give yourself some grace. This is going to take time.

#2 Therapy is cool.

There is no setting where I have learned more about myself than therapy. It is the coolest. I’ve had so many breakthrough moments in therapy but let me share just one of them. It’s a quote that my therapist showed me years ago:

“And I said to my body softly: I want to be your friend. It let out a long sigh and replied: I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.”

Viewing my body and myself as two separate entities rebuilding a relationship with one another was an absolute game-changer for me.

#3 Ditch the scale.

I used to work out at the women’s gym in the Richards building on campus. There’s a scale in the gym and I would notice girls weighing themselves before, during, and after workouts. I debated stealing the scale and throwing it in a dumpster... but instead, I settled with pasting a sticky note to it:

If you have ever been emotionally affected by the number you see on the scale, then it’s likely that your sense of health and/or worth is attached to your weight. It’s time to notice that and start to challenge it.

#4 Intuitive eating.

How many of you have seen labeling like this on food packaging: “guilt-free” “clean” “skinny” “low-calorie”? Or have heard phrases and comments like these: “cheat meal”, “temptation”, “gotta work out to make up for that burger” or “I’m so bad for eating this brownie.”

This is diet culture in action.

At best, this messaging suggests that certain foods should be labeled as good/bad and at worst, it suggests that WE are good or bad based on what we eat, setting us up to feel the kind of guilt and shame that marks a disordered relationship with food.

So how do we combat this? Enter: intuitive eating. It’s a book that I would HIGHLY recommend but the short of it is this: we can trust our own bodies. We don’t need food rules or diets to tell us what and how much and when to eat. We can trust our own bodies. I didn’t believe this concept for a second when my dietitian brought it up to me the first time but experience proved me wrong. Intuitive eating changed my life.

#5 You are not alone.

Last year, I started a project called ED stories on instagram. Essentially, I collect personal stories from people who have struggled with disordered eating and body image. In the first year, I received over 120 stories from people, men and women, all over the world. All those years when I felt like I was the only one...turns out, I was never alone. And you aren’t either. If you’re wondering if something might be up in your relationship with food and your body, it’s definitely worth exploring.

If you need someone to talk to about it or resources to get started, I’m here. I’m also here on social media: @christine.parks @ed__stories

Moving On:

So it’s over. Diet culture and I are so done and we are never, ever getting back together.

Since breaking up with diet culture, I’ve had a lot more time and energy for all the other relationships in my life, especially one that I had neglected for a really, really long time.

It’s the relationship that’s been around the longest and that will be around the longest. Come what may, breaking up is actually, literally, not an option. We’re in this for the long haul.

My body & I.

As if He didn't create both

 

We were driving down a highway in Alaska alongside some of the most massive, beautiful mountains when my cousin Kathryn pointed to some of the grooves winding down the mountain and said

“it’s like nature’s stretch marks.”

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

We marvel at the marks left on mountains as they’re stretched

by seasons

and wind

and melting snow

and then we try to erase the marks and layers left on our own bodies by their own

seasons

and hardship

and growth.

As if He didn’t create both.

Since that trip, I can’t drive along the Wasatch Front without stealing glances at Lady Timp and her sister peaks.

I see stretch marks and prickly trees, thick boulders and thin streams. Layers of history and beauty that have been a sacred refuge for so many, especially me.

Emotional, I come home and enter my room to see my tall, gold-rimmed mirror. I get closer and I see her; stretch marks and prickly legs, thick thighs and thin hair. Layers that have carried me through a beautiful life of

breathing

moving

growing

and loving.

And I wonder— if I treated her with the same reverence and awe that I do Lady Timp, what kind of peace could be mine?

Could she become the kind of sacred refuge to me that Lady Timp is for travelers, begging to spend time with her?

We marvel at the marks left on mountains as they’re stretched

by seasons

and wind

and melting snow

and then we try to erase the marks and layers left on our own bodies by their own

seasons

and hardship

and growth.

As if He didn’t create both.

I'll walk with you

I remember one night laying in bed in my freshman dorm room. I was fantasizing getting hit by a car. It was my first experience with suicidal ideation but it didn’t take me by surprise. At the time, existing in a body that I believed was fat and unacceptable was absolutely not worth it. I wanted to disappear.

I believed that my body was at best, flawed, and at worst, disgusting and unlovable. I had picked up on that message over years of swimming in diet culture-infested waters. Ballet, the media, shows like The Biggest Loser and diet trends like Whole30 sent the message loud and clear: thin is better, beautiful, and more worthy of love and acceptance.

It took 4 years to unravel that belief system in my brain and chip away at the layers and layers of shame that had buried me for so long. Even 4 years later when I pressed “publish” to share my eating disorder story publicly, I wondered if I would be loved and accepted.

I guess after experiencing that night in my dorm room, I never want anyone to feel that kind of pain.

But chances are that tonight, somewhere, there is an LGBTQ+ kid laying in bed. They’re wanting to disappear and they’re fantasizing ways to make it happen. They believe that existing in their queer body isn’t worth it.

They believe that their identity or orientation makes them at best, weird and out of place and at worst, disgusting, unworthy, and unacceptable. They’ve picked up on the messages— homophobic comments at school, misguided comments from church members calling it a “choice” and a “struggle”— and they wonder if they will ever belong or if they would ever be accepted for who they are if people knew.

They desperately want to fit into the mold that’s been associated with happiness and success: a heterosexual relationship between a man and a woman sealed together in the temple with children. Kind of like I desperately wanted to fit into the mold of a thinner body. They may even be trying to will themselves to “change” and fit into that mold. Kind of like I punished myself trying to lose weight.

Studies show that all it takes is one accepting adult to decrease the risk of an LGBTQ+ kid attempting suicide by 40%.

What would tonight look like for them if they had a friend, parent, sibling, or leader by their bed to tell them that who they are is okay and what they feel is valid? What if someone was there to tell them that they are unconditionally loved by Heavenly Parents and unconditionally accepted by their family and friends? I know what that would’ve meant to me that night in my dorm room.

Whether or not you’re concerned about the message delivered at BYU on Monday, I hope you’re concerned about the effect that it had on some of your LGBTQ+ brothers and sisters. I know a few and I saw them hurting and in pain. Rather than defend doctrine to them, I’m going to (figuratively) sit by their bed tonight and mourn with them.

I’ll walk with you, I’ll talk with you, that’s how I’ll show my love for you.

ps. my old apartment had rainbows like this appear almost every day on different parts of the walls/doors in the living room. I considered them little love notes to my LGBTQ+ friends. Sending you a love note tonight, my friends 🌈✊🏼❤️

Quarter of a century

I had my whole life planned out as a teenager and that plan largely paralleled my parent’s journey and their timeline as young adults (because they’re the coolest).

If everything had gone according to plan, I’d be married right now with a baby in the backseat of this picture and maybe one more on the way (lol)

But… things rarely go according to plan. And sometimes that sucks.

The first couple heartbreaks I experienced were so hard because it wasn’t just losing my “person,” it was losing a whole future I’d pictured. Double the grief and double the pain.

This wasn’t part of the plan.

I had one of these episodes a few months ago and I was not okay. The relationship was short but long enough and special enough for it to really, really hurt when it ended.

I remember one day at work I was assigned to work on a unit with my pregnant co-worker friend who’s roughly my age. Instantly, I had this sick feeling in my gut. Literally just seeing her 8 1/2 month-along belly reminded me of everything I’d just lost: the potential for falling in love, staying in love, and starting a family.

That shift sucked.

After sitting with this discomfort and grief for a month or so, I decided to take a hiatus from dating. Going on dates had become more triggering than helpful. It reminded me of him, it reminded me of what could have been, and it reminded me that things weren’t going according to plan.

That hiatus turned out to be a really good move for my mental health. I realized that I had been waiting for a relationship to fill unmet needs that I was capable of meeting on my own, already, in the current life I lived.

I asked myself:

What do you think a relationship will give you?

Is any of that possible right here, right now?

Connection.

Validation.

Love.

Learning.

Fulfillment.

Growth.

Fun.

Yes, Christine. It’s all possible—right here, right now.

I’m learning that I’m capable of meeting all of those needs ^^ (with the exception of a baby in the backseat) via connection with family and friends, an exciting new career, a continued journey of discipleship, planning some hella cool trips, dreaming up some big dreams, and finding contentment in just being me.

“You have not missed out on what was meant for you”

If @morganharpernichols' words are true (and all of her words are gospel truth)... then what’s meant for me, right here right now, is already here.

It’s been a quarter of a century.

Things rarely go according to [my] plan

and I’m so glad they don’t.

Body image & dating: part 2

We were at Cubby’s on our third date. We had just sat down after ordering our food, including a side of sweet potato fries with maple sauce to share. (Apparently, the maple sauce addition is Cubby’s best kept secret and he insisted it would change my life. It did, and so would he.)

This was more than 2 years ago but I can still walk into the Cubby’s in Provo and show you exactly which table we were sitting at; it was a tall one in the middle of the room with tall seats. He got up to grab napkins for us and I remember immediately thinking about the angle of my body that he would see when he was walking back to the table--parts of my body that I despised. I told myself “just get through the date. He’s going to realize soon that he’s not attracted to you but just try to be present and get through this.”

We talked about our families and showed each other pictures. I remember taking note of his sisters’ body types. As we ate, I remember paying attention to how many fries he was eating, making sure I ate less than he did. When we walked to his car afterwards and he held the door open, I tried to slip in to the passenger seat quickly so he’d have less time to observe my body and notice that my thighs had to be at least twice the size of his.

I remember getting home and having the post-date debrief with roommates.

“How was it??”

“It was fun! I mean, we connect really well, conversation is always really good...”

“..... but what?” my roommates prodded.

I didn’t know how to phrase my next sentence...

“I just don’t know if he’s too... lanky for me.”

What I really meant to say was, “I don’t know if I’m too big for him.”

One roommate knew about my eating disorder and she threw me a silent, empathetic look while the others went on a rage: “He’s asked you out on THREE dates and wants to see you AGAIN and you guys connect so well and you obviously have fun every time - what are you talking about??”

Their rationale just wasn’t convincing me and I couldn’t get on board with their excitement. I had already decided, on that tall chair in Cubby’s while he went to get napkins, that our bodies didn’t “go together.”

Translation: I was too big for him.

We kept going on dates but this nagged me for weeks, even after our first kiss, holding hands, and when he told me he didn’t want to date anyone else. The reality was, nothing he could say or do was going to get me over the hurdle I’d constructed in my brain over years with the help of diet culture and this scarring comment someone made to me when I was 17:

“Guys are more attracted to thin girls. That’s just the way the world is.”

When you’ve repeated that quote in your own head for 5 years, using it as your anthem on runs and your motivation while drinking green smoothies and when it’s been confirmed to you by your scrolling on social media and the disgust you feel trying on clothes in the mirror... it becomes your reality and your truth.

“That’s just the way the world is.”

I had been in recovery for my eating disorder for almost 2 full years at that point but my brain was still deep in the trenches of it. Over those 2 years I had opted out of lots of social activities and generally dreaded getting asked out on dates because I had convinced myself I wasn’t ready for a relationship until I lost weight. I’m a very logical person and I had hard evidence to support this belief.

• If I don’t love myself (and so far from it), how would I ever expect someone to love me?

• If all my thin friends get more attention and get asked out on more dates, then obviously that’s the body type that’s more attractive and worthy of love.

• If all of the couples I observe include a girl who’s shorter and smaller than the guy, then that must be what’s societally acceptable.

“That’s just the way the world is.”

One day I was in therapy and told my therapist about an upcoming FHE activity. My ward was having a music video competition and my group had planned to film ours at a pool in swimsuits. I wasn’t going. I distinctly remember telling my therapist: “I will lie to them about an exam to study for, getting called in to work, contracting the flu, literally anything but I will not go to that activity. I just can’t.”

I was expecting her to be empathetic and validate my crippling anxiety but her response that day was different. “Christine, you’re waiting for your life to start.”

I wanted to fire back and re-emphasize the terror of the situation (swimsuits! cute boys in my ward!) but instead I sat there silently and let the tears pool up in my eyes.

Christine, you’re waiting for your life to start.

I absolutely was.

I’m writing this almost 4 years after that conversation with my therapist. Reflecting on those “waiting” years is painful. It’s painful to revisit the deep shame and unworthiness I felt and it’s hard to unpack the heavy discomfort and resentment I experienced living in my body at the time.

Simultaneously though, I feel immense compassion for that girl and admiration for her resiliency.

Body image work is some of the hardest shiz women will go through in this life.

Dating is just one trigger that exposes and exacerbates our anxiety and discontentment towards our bodies, fueled by the age-old diet culture belief system that worships thinness and equates it to health, beauty, and moral virtue.

I want to sprint back in time to the moment 17 year old Christine heard the words: “That’s just the way the world is” and the moment 22 year old Christine was sitting in a tall chair at Cubby’s and tackle them both in one massive hug and tell them:

That person was WRONG.

That is NOT “just the way the world is.”

Don’t spend one more minute waiting for your life to start subscribing to that lie.

We’re unsubscribing right now.

Your life starts right now.

Coming home to this body

A few months ago, my therapist posed a scenario to me that blew my mind:

Let’s say you knew that your body was going to remain exactly the way it is right now, in this moment, for the rest of your life and there’s nothing you could do to change it.

How would that change...

how you eat?

how you exercise?

how you take care of it?

I kind of just sat there. Then my throat tightened.

Let me tell you what imagining that scenario would have felt like for me 4 years ago:

absolute panic.

denial.

resistance.

grief.

& I would have preferred to not exist than consider a life stuck in my current body.

It’s been 4 years. My throat still tightens imagining that scenario, but not for the same reasons. This time around, it felt like:

freedom.

relief.

like a weight lifted off my shoulders.

like the battle I had fought since age 15 would finally be over and I could finally rest.

It was really, really interesting to think about. 

If something on my “can control” list suddenly moved to my “can’t control” list... what happens next?

Let’s explore this together for a moment. If you knew your body wouldn’t change an inch or an ounce for the rest of your life... how would you feel?

If going to the gym produced zero aesthetic results, would you still go for other reasons? How would you choose to move your body?

If drinking green smoothies or eating Chick fil A waffle fries had zero effect on the flatness of your belly, for what other reasons would you eat them? What other foods would you choose and why? Would you have any reason to feel guilt or shame about eating?

And before you say “I’d just go ham and eat whatever the heck–-”... hold up. Alright, how long would that last? Would your body eventually crave more variety than the those “bad” foods you’re thinking of? 

(news flash: yes, yes it would.)

If there was absolutely nothing you could do to manipulate the size or shape of your body... what’s left?

*This is the part where we cue diet culture SCREAMING at the thought of this imaginary world of forced body acceptance in which their entire multi-billion dollar industry would be brought down instantaneously.

Think about it. If we were all forced to accept our bodies as they are... what’s left?

Interestingly enough, my body is virtually the same as it was 4 years ago.

Same body.

One girl was miserable, obsessively fixated, resolutely convinced that she would never achieve anything in life: happiness, success, or love, until she was thinner.

The other... is fully engaging in her life and mindfully, compassionately investing in her long-term relationship with her body.

Same body.

Body image has very little to do with our bodies and everything to do with our brains.

As long as we believe that it’s a body issue, there’s a $70 billion dollar diet industry profiting off that desperate, disordered belief system.

Once we realize that it’s actually not a body issue at all, we can re-wire, we can heal, and we can be free.

So let’s say I woke up one day and was frozen in time in this body... it might be uncomfortable at first. I might resist the idea and at the very least, I would grieve.

But after the dust has settled, what’s left?

I guess my only option would be to...

accept her

listen to her

take care of her

honor her

befriend her

and maybe...

come home to

this body.

“You can never truly feel at home in a body that you view as temporary.”

- Krista Murias

Seeing and being seen

I waltzed into therapy on Thursday morning and said “GOOD THING we’re meeting today because I have a LOT to talk about.”

I had just started my BYU takeover and shared my eating disorder story with 150k people— which was 149,999 more than I had ever planned to share it with the first time I told that story.

Yet here we were.

My therapist asked me what I feared most. Without hesitation, I said: being seen.

I told her about my freshman year. I had a 9am physical science class in the engineering building. It was an 8 minute walk but I would leave my dorm at 8:35, walk through a mostly deserted campus, and find a spot in one of the back rows.

I had a meal plan at the Cannon Center cafeteria. I would go at 3pm between lunch and dinner when no one was there. Only the salad/fruit bar was open. I’d eat my salad alone.

I can’t really explain what was going on with my psyche; all I can tell you is that I had this crippling fear of being seen... as if people would be able to detect the cloud of suffocating shame surrounding me or see the product (my body) of my “failure” to “control” myself around food.

I want to sprint six years back in time and tackle that girl in one massive hug and never, ever let her go.

Since I can’t do that, I’ll at least open a window—just a crack—and let her pain be seen. And maybe in that process, help someone else.

My phone was on “Do Not Disturb” during therapy but afterwards I scrolled through the DM notifications coming in.

“My best friend just told me...”

“I have been struggling...”

“I’m a dance major...”

“I just wanted to say...”

“I am terrified to get help...”

“Currently in recovery too...”

“My younger sister...it’s been really hard...”

“I haven’t told anyone about this...”

“I’ve struggled for as long as I can remember...”

“My daughter was just diagnosed....”

A hundred.

Then two hundred.

Then three.

Suddenly I remembered a very clear prompting I had had 4 years earlier while sitting on a couch in my first therapist's office in tears:

Someday you have to talk about this outside these walls.

4 years and a hundred more therapy sessions didn’t eliminate the fear or anxiety leading up to this moment, but it did amplify the courage and conviction I needed to follow that prompting.

If I had never let myself be seen or opened a window into my own pain, I would have never experienced the honor of seeing other people and getting a sacred window into their pain.

It’s an unanticipated blessing from this journey. 

Even more than being seen, I am grateful to see.