How Did I Get Here?

I want this to be the last I write about this.

I want this to be the last day I hold any resentment or regret.

I want this to be the day I unshackle myself and become free.

There was a moment tonight when I started to really wonder, more than I ever had before, how I got to be here. How did I blink and become 34? Why did the years pass on without a long lasting love? Why did I make a decision at 22 yet now I am living the life I suffered to avoid?

How did my life become everything I tried to escape?

Where did I go wrong?

I mean, I do genuinely feel in some respects I’m in a place I was meant to be. There are certain situations and people that have come into my life and it feels like a piece of the puzzle has been solved. Yet on the flip side I have so many holes, so many stones left unturned, dreams unfulfilled, pages unwritten, life unlived.

So how did I end up here? Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance? Why didn’t I live while I had the chance?

These emotions rear their ugly heads from time to time, and I know full well it’s because I haven’t yet accepted where I am. I haven’t accepted that my life hasn’t gone at all according to ‘plan.’ I haven’t accepted that, yes, some of my own decisions got me here. I sure as hell haven’t fully accepted that this is it, for always and forever, until I draw my last breath. And at times I can’t even imagine my life any differently.

So how do I finally put these feelings to rest? How do I fully step into where I am and who I am? How do I make peace, forgive (others and myself), and put the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’ to rest?

Sometimes I think I’m getting there. Until that moment I get tripped up, lose sight, begin resenting, and eventually land in the question of ‘how did I get here?’ It’s a vicious cycle. A cycle I am desperate to escape.

I know there is no well traveled road to get me there, that no one can really guide me. Because everyone’s journey is unique. No matter the similarities, the variables are too great and ultimately I have to step into healing on my own. I have to forge my own path. I have to heal my own heart, mend my own fences, and find my own way.

I’m ready now though. Really ready. I’m ready to let go of this baggage I’ve been carrying around, using as an excuse, stumbling over, and trying to hide. I’m ready to be set free. Ready to become someone better.

I’m ready to roll up my sleeves and do the dirty work. I’m ready to dig in, tear my heart out and finally stitch it up. I’m ready to be someone to another. I’m ready to not be alone in this life. I’m ready to be part of something greater than myself, leaving behind ego for selflessness.

I’m ready to step into my divine power. Own my life. Own my shit. By any means necessary.

I know it’s going to hurt. Like hell. I know it’s going to be emotional and painful. I know I’m going to have to tear down my walls and actually FEEL all of this. I have to bleed it out, throw it up, and flush it away. I have to drag myself through the muck kicking and screaming until I’ve finally expelled every last bit of the past from my limp body.

And then I have to pick myself back up, take a deep breath, face the sun, and start walking. Only then will I have truly let go. And only then will my heart be healed.

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There.

Throughout the last few years of recovery, my top priority was getting to a place where I felt comfortable in my body. No matter what shape it was in, what the scale said about it, or how it looked in any piece of clothing. I longed to feel at home.

You see, once I dove head first into learning everything I could about anorexia, I came to realize how long the seed had been germinating. It didn’t begin when I was working out six to seven days a week. It wasn’t caused by a certain situation I’d gone through or as a result of any break up. Society’s idea of beauty had absolutely no part in it whatsoever.

In reality it had begun long ago out of a desire to feel seen and accepted by my family. The symptoms would ebb and flow depending on what my current situation looked like, and I eventually spiraled out of control when I couldn’t seem to effectively handle everything going on in my life. At that point I wanted to shrink and disappear, matching how invisible I felt to everyone around me anyway.

I’ve written before about bits and pieces of my recovery journey. This time of year tends to bring it to the forefront because it was this season years ago that I was slowly wasting away. Once I’d decided to choose life, I made it my mission to find some way – any way – to feel at peace in my body.

Here I am, now nearly six years into recovery, and finally living what felt impossible for so long.

Looking back I can see the ways in which my eating disorder was still very much present in my recovery. From the desire to lose weight to calorie counting to hurting my body and using negative internal dialogue. It’s been a bumpy road for sure, and realistically I know that little voice will always be lingering. But I know I am much stronger now and capable of loving myself just as I am, just as I always wanted to.

So often getting to this moment seemed like a pipe dream. I thought I would forever be in the chase but never arriving. I would have fleeting moments of total acceptance followed by a big trip and sometimes a hard fall. It made me feel like I would never really ‘win’ against my eating disorder, and at times I felt like giving up.

Intuitively I knew better though. I knew this story in my life had a purpose beyond myself. I had some beautiful people who stuck by and believed in me and now have these two little girls who need me to be more than this. Resigning myself to suffering isn’t an option.

Over the last few months I’ve been doing some deep soul searching. My mind, body, and spirit have been opened to acknowledging, feeling, forgiving, accepting, and healing. As I sit here with the cool November air skimming across my thick bare thighs, I feel good. As simple as that.

I’m no longer concerned with how my body, my vessel, looks. I’m not afraid to take up space or be loud or weird. I do yoga, meditate, light candles, use crystals, go to spiritual cleansings, breathe deeply, eat intuitively, laugh a lot, curse, sing badly, connect with others mindfully, and I have never felt better.

I’ve learned and accepted that I am not meant to play by anyone else’s rules. No one else gets to set the bar for me or tell me who I should be or how to live my life. Only I get to determine what is best for me, what is going to light me up, and in what direction I move.

I’ve prayed. I’ve cried. I’ve written thousands upon thousands of words. I didn’t think I would see the day. But I kept at it anyway. This is who I wanted to become for so long, and I’m here living it and it’s beautiful. All of it. The ups and downs, the waves of calmness and madness. Every little detail.

This journey doesn’t have an ending. There is no stopping point or finish line. I will forever be a student of my own life, consciously walking this path, bringing everything into alignment, and doing my best to live wholly.

I’m grateful for my struggles. Honestly and truly. They may have taken me the long way but without them I’m not sure I would have made it to this point. This gloriously messy and fulfilling point.