A new identity

Some days, recovery feels like a loss of my identity.

I was so used to my too-thin body. I secretly loved the sharp, protruding bones; flat, smooth stomach and incredibly thin legs.

But anorexia almost killed me, and since March, I have worked hard every day to gain and then maintain a healthy weight. And Ensure after Ensure, meal after meal, the pounds came on. First one or two, then finally about 15. I was at a normal weight, albeit at the low end of the spectrum.

Curves came back. My stomach is no longer flat, my thighs seem huge, and every day, I struggle with this new body. It still feels foreign.

There's no going back, now that I'm in the midst of recovery. There were many days I didn't think I could recover. There are other days that I look longingly at a too-thin woman, knowing that was me just a few months prior.

I sometimes still long to be that thin, but I know it would kill me at some point. I decided I had to choose - live, or die from anorexia.

And so I relish in this second chance. This second chance with life, and my husband. This second chance to continue in my career as a writer. And most days, that's enough.