Dancing With A Ghost


When it hits you, it hits you. That feeling; that fleeting thought of not being good enough. Of trying to view things in a different way, yet feeling the exact same. Being stuck, regressing; any motion other than progress is hard to process, hard to explain to others; simply hard. Then there you are, stuck as the shell of this person people think or thought they knew, questioning what happened to the “old” you, or better yet; noticing nothing different about you at all, scoffing at any remarks you make to share your current mindset.

No, this exact description of events isn’t how my life is going, but to say I can’t relate to the sentiment would be false. I’ve been, you guessed it— battling with the same demons but on a grander stage. Those ones that whisper, “you’re not good enough. You’re not smart enough. Not creative enough. Not fit enough. Not small enough; you’re not enough”. I’ve been struggling with taking my meds, struggling with staying on the wagon, whatever the hell the wagon is. Struggling to get into a new routine, struggling with not letting my emotions take over my entire being, struggling with being mentally stable, struggling with my eating disorder.

To clarify that last note: no, I was never hospitalized. But if you think you need to be hospitalized to have an eating disorder, I respectfully ask you to educate yourself prior to feeling or expressing any judgement or reaction to this statement (in fact, there’s a great post I shared that goes into this in the most beautifully accurate way — you should read it if you have a microscopic view of what it means to have disordered eating).

Anyways, when you go from your family being heavily concerned with your eating or lack there of and your disappearing body, then gain the weight back in recovery mode; looking in the mirror can be hard. Stepping on the scale (as every therapist has told me NOT to do) can be excruciatingly painful; hurtful. It can tear you to pieces in the matter of seconds and depict your self worth even quicker. Sure, the level-headed individual that I have fleeting moments of being would tell myself that the number on the scale is no reflection of me as a person, that if I feel good, work out, and eat healthy; that number shouldn’t matter.

Well, tell that to anyone battling any aspect of an eating disorder and they’ll likely scoff in your face (as I am doing internally) and roll their eyes, saying something like, “Ok, you just don’t get it”, and shrug/laugh it (uncomfortably and forcibly) off. That number, though it’s just a number, weighs so much more than you, from an outsiders perspective, could ever imagine. And it doesn’t just fade to the back of your mind, either. After you see that number, for someone in recovery or really at any part of the ED cycle, it’s forever imprinted in your brain. It defines your mood, your day; you.


So now that that’s stated, let’s never say that ever again.

OK and . . . we keep moving. This number, this object that has this much power over us . . . it’s . . . it’s truly something you can’t explain but if you *get* it, you *get* it, and it’s this unspeakable truth that connects you with others. You then have a support system, someone who understands your struggle and doesn’t belittle it, and for awhile, you feel safe.

This morning when I stepped on that scale, I didn’t feel safe. I didn’t feel that there was someone to turn to and cry about my lack of progress the right way. There was no one, there was just me and this number on this screen. Sure, my boyfriend was in the other room. Sure, I mentioned this upsetting moment to him. But it’s hard to tell someone something they don’t understand, and though I know he wants to, and I know he sees how I struggle with it, but he can’t get it; truly get it.

The feeling of not having control over your life, your mind and your body; it’s immobilizing and terrifying and calls for self destruction all on it’s own. If you’ve been in this place before, you probably know the feeling; and it’s a lonely one. My issue is that I want that control back. I want to obsess and watch the number shrink by drastic proportions on the scale every week. I want to see that change and I want to know that I intentionally had a hand in it. Now, that’s not healthy thinking; you don’t have to tell me twice. But right now, today — this is what I’m struggling with.

How about you, are you okay? How are you really doing? Mondays are hard enough as it is, but they’re even harder when you feel alone.


This is Important

This is everything.

From not being able to control my weight loss to gaining it all back in recovery mode, this is everything you didn’t know about eating disorders. Guess what? They’re not a one size fits all. Not every person with an ED looks the same, acts the same, struggles the same. You can’t put people into boxes like that. Just because the pants I wore when I wasn’t eating don’t fit now, that doesn’t define your worth. That doesn’t mean you’re not worthy of all good things. That doesn’t mean you’re “fat”.

Do I believe everything I just told you? Nope. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t severely struggling with making myself eat as of lately due to being insecure about the weight I’ve gained since depriving myself of, well, mostly all nutrition besides lettuce and coffee (yes I’m serious). But I’m trying to come to terms with things. I’m trying to eat foods that nourish me instead of going back into deprivation mode. I’m trying, everyday, and that’s all anyone can do.

Anyway, I hope you find something of worth in this post and the linked one above. Happy Thursday!

Goodbye, Sweet Dragon

Well, it’s been awhile since I’ve updated this ole blog, so I figured it was about time to check in. A lot has happened, much has changed; yet there’s plenty that has remained the same. I’ve been battling demons, old and new, and just trying to get by like the rest of us. The thing about growing up; growing into yourself — you’re constantly evolving, constantly changing your disposition on certain matters, constantly battling old and new demons. When it comes to this war, it’s never simple; it’s never easy. It’s always the less painful route to avoid, to not reflect and to ignore all of the noise. It’s what I’ve been doing the last 8 months, and I’ve been walking around wondering why I’m an anxious mess on the inside 22/7 (yes, I know that’s not a phrase, but I’m making it one now, OK?!).

The thing about self reflection is it’s a painful process; it brings up demons that didn’t exist before, or that you’ve maybe forgotten about. It brings up the parts of your past you’ve been running from, the parts you’ve chosen to ignore. It’s not a simple thing, but it’s a necessary one. There’s a reason I’ve been walking around with mass amounts of anxiety that’s been built up for months closing in on a year. Yeah, it’d be easier to sit here behind a computer and say everything’s been wonderful; a dream, if you will. But that’s just not the case, as I’m sure it’s not for anyone in this life. So, as I’ve been battling with the decision to write this post over the last week and a half, I have chosen to do so with a quiver in my speech and a tremble up my spine for the sake of honesty and resolving  the anxiety that’s been hovering over me. To whomever reads this: I hope this helps you in some way, shape or form. It doesn’t matter how it helps, just that it brings some light to common issues we all face; some more intensely than others. But it’s crucial to remember we’re all humans; we all make mistakes. Accept that aspect, and get to reflectin’.


For me, it’s been a whirlwind of a year. From an ex-fling moving back to town “for me”, to dissolving my relationship I had been in for the ex-fling, to moving too fast with the ex-fling-turned-boyfriend, to it blowing up in flames a month later and begging for forgiveness from the prior relationship I then knew was meant for me; it’s been one for the books emotionally. Not to mention throughout the whole experience I was battling one of my longtime demons; an eating disorder. Sure: you probably think everyone has had some type of disorder in their life in this day in age, so who cares? Well, no girl at any age should develop this mentality, and it’s something we as a society need to shape into something more accepting.

Either way, battling with relationships is always hard. When you have someone you love, then someone you could love come into your life; someone who moved you so much in the short time you spent together. To then try it out and have it burn like a forest fire of passion and toxicity . . . it hurts. It sucks to think you had something so right, to then have it just blow up in your face. To have it not work out. To realize the mistake you made. To plea on hands and knees for forgiveness and another chance; it really breaks a person down. And these are the moments I haven’t looked back on. But with the bad, there’s the good. Did I hate every second with this ex-fling turned boyfriend? Absolutely not. We created a podcast together (RIP), and were ultimately in one of the most creative mental places I’d been in in awhile. It was passion. It was intellect. It was creativity and it was all happening at once and so fast. But I needed that to happen. I needed that passion (that was probably toxic passion the whole time, but I’m not ready to write it off as that yet).

That relationship led me back to my previous one that I had cut the cords off of solely for this ex-fling, and grateful is the understatement of the year for what I felt towards my newly rekindled love interest and current boyfriend. Yeah, the road’s had some ups and downs, some areas where I needed space to do my own thing and escape the relationship a bit, but now, looking back; I needed all of those things to happen to get me to the place I’m at now: in love with gratitude and a deep connection to the one I can now see is my truest love. Sure, we don’t agree about everything (don’t even get me started on politics), but we respect each others opinions in the long run, and value each other tremendously.

4703d239dbd1323a5afed22ac9d586d7Then there’s the even more personal demon of an eating disorder mixed with severe body dysmorphia. Yes, the two commonly go together, but I’ve rarely spoken to anyone about this portion of my life, and how I’ve struggled with it since middle school, when I began binging and purging. Though that was more of a fad than anything, the concept stuck around with me throughout high school and into my post-college-grad life. This year, that took a turn towards severe calorie counting and deprivation, where I lost 30 pounds and was the smallest I had ever been at a size 2. My family was concerned, and I played it off as if it was nothing. I wanted to be that small, I wanted people to be worried, I wanted the attention. Since March, I have gained back the 30 I lost by selectively eating under 700 calories a day, and I’d be lying if I said I love how far I’ve come. Every day I struggle with the trips down memory lane filled with pictures of myself at my smallest weight, wishing I could be that way again. Then I have to actually tell myself that I wasn’t healthy then, and that I am now. That my body can be that small, but it should be done the healthy, non-depriving way. It’s a daily struggle to love myself, and I’ll be honest it’s not going well right now, but I’m trying. I’m admitting it’s a problem, and I’m trying to not let my head get the best of me.

I also have a new job which I love, that challenges me while letting me do what I’m good at—writing and killing the social media game. Everything on the job front is perfection, and I’ve come so far over the last year and half with struggling as a freelance writer to this opportunity I currently find myself in, and I am truly grateful for this opportunity and the having the ability to not struggle or worry about how many articles I’ve written and for who, etc. There are days where I doubt myself and my abilities, but that’s a part of the human condition: we all have self-doubt, and it’s a strong force.

I don’t have the answers on any of the above, but I know if you keep plugging away at things, they’ll eventually work out in your favor, or something better will come around. Are you going through something similar, or far from relative but want to chat? Leave a comment below or feel free to email me. We’re a community, here; so it’s time we start acting like it.


Millennial State of Mind

Welcome to the millennial state of mind. What’s that mean? Well, it’s the mindset we —the millennials—give ourselves in order to get the job done. To grind it out. To work tirelessly towards what we want, no matter who says we can’t make it, or who says we don’t fit the mold.

It’s getting to the third round of interviews for a dream job and hearing you’re not right for the part, and then you keep trying anyway. You keep grinding at it. You keep going. You don’t stop for anyone, not even yourself, and you refuse to let a negative remark or response deter you from your goals. Sure, maybe you didn’t accomplish something you set out to, but it doesn’t mean you failed.

Why should you listen to me or anything I have to say? Because I’m like you. I’m one of you. I live within a millennial state of mind, and I have had my dreams (or what I thought were my dreams) crushed before my eyes after putting it all on the table. I wanted to quit. I wanted to give up, throw in the towel, and just stop trying. Stop grinding. Stop going after what I want, whatever that may be today. It’s tough when you put everything into something and feel that passion; that fire for what you’ve been striving to achieve only to be told no, you’re too good; you’re not good enough. You have too little experience; you have too much experience. It’s a double-edged sword and it feels like you can’t win, that you’re forever on the losing side of the spectrum.

From one millennial to another, you’ve got this. I doubted myself, but didn’t let it fully take over my reality. The second you say you can’t, you start to believe it. Little by little, it takes over your mentality and all you’ll hear yourself talk about is all of the things you can’t do. See—your brain; your mind. . . they’re powerful. You have everything you need. You have all the confidence and ability in the world. ‘Can’t’ is powerful. But guess what? so is can, and you can do anything you say you can. Why? Because you should. Because you can. Because you will. Because you’re a millennial and if nothing else, regardless of what everyone may think, we know what it takes to be crafty and get what we strive for.


Our Brains are sick, but that’s OK

People—it’s time to get real.
Life is hard, and no one can deny that; no one would dare to try.
But having a hard time and struggling with mental health are not one in the same.One is not valid while the other is a made up, imaginary cry for attention.

It’s time to talk mental health. It’s time to talk mental health diseases and diagnoses, and it’s time to do it in a way that’s not . . . Taboo. Controversial. Fake.

I have no issue owning up to my own struggles with mental health. I’ve talked about it on here more times than I care to count, and there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s me sorting out and explaining to myself that this is OK. This isn’t a thing to be ashamed of, and it’s definitely not a thing to run from. I am not the only one who struggles with and suffers from a mental health disorder. I am not the only one who’s ever had crippling anxiety and the inability to see the world without a haze similar to the after effects of a bomb explosion. I know that, and that’s what’s helped me accept that I needed help. That there wasn’t anything I could do anymore. I was out of resources. I had misused everything I possibly could as a solution, and I needed to get a real one. I needed to figure out why I couldn’t go to my best friend’s party that was for me because I couldn’t get out of bed. I was aware that this wasn’t OK. That I wasn’t OK, and I felt comfortable asking my parents for their support as I sought out the professional help of a psychologist. I have supportive parents who accept me and understand that this isn’t a flaw, this isn’t something that defines me. Not everyone is in the same situation with the same resources. Not everyone can speak so openly about their mental woes due to the fear of being too taboo; of making people feel uncomfortable and awkward. However, that’s not the direction of this piece.

This might be heavy on my mind because it’s been exactly one year since my first therapy session. The therapy session that I initiated by my own will. One that I realized needed to happen through the power of music. Twenty One Pilots got me through from the high to the lowest of low, then straight to the therapist to unravel the mess I had made in my head. If you’re not familiar with Twenty One Pilots and how they could possibly relate to mental health, here’s this:

“Fear might be the death of me, fear leads to anxiety—don’t know what’s inside me.” 

Alright, now that we’re all on the same page here . . . let’s get onto the intended direction of my train of thought.

Here I am, one year after making the first step to a necessary change and road to acceptance, sitting on the floor in my bedroom with Twenty One Pilots on shuffle via Spotify. I can’t help but reflect on the past year, where I was, and where I am now. The line quoted above showcasing Tyler Joseph’s struggle with his own mental health (anxiety), is now less of my journey than it was a year ago. Then, ‘The Judge’ started playing, and I wasn’t really listening fully (in part because I was thinking out what I wanted to start this series with) until I heard:

“I’m a pro at imperfections, and I’m best friends with my doubt.”

Instantaneously I realized this is the part of my journey and road to acceptance that I’m at. I’ve accepted that yes, this is my reality, this is real, and I’m ok with myself looking internally. However, I feel lesser of a person to those closest in my life. I feel either overprotected and microscopically watched, or misunderstood, therefore excessively apologetic. Why is it that I, the defender of un-taboo-ifying (there’s a word for this, but you get what I mean) mental health, feel the need to apologize to those I spend my time with for having moments of suffering out of nowhere?

Mental illnesses, disorders, diseases, whatever you choose to call them—they’re nothing to be afraid of. They’re something a large amount of the population deal with daily. So what’s with the stigma around it? Why do we, or maybe just myself, feel the need to apologize to others when an attack comes on, or panic and anxiety take over and restlessness with a side of severe sass? I don’t know, but I know that it shouldn’t, and I know that we need to talk about it more. We need to talk about it now.