2007 is over now and it was the healthiest year I've had in a long long time. Even as a kid I know I often was far too skinny for my own good, though I wasn't yet aware of the way in which my issues were manifesting themselves. I was feeling so thankful for having such a great year--a year of health and happiness, complete with an engagement, buying a new home with my fiance, and planning my wedding...then I realized--I'm not just thankful--I'm proud of myself too.
I'd go as far as to say that 2007 was my best year to date. I know that part of that is because of all the wonderful things this year has brought me, but a large part of it is because I was in a good place...a place where I could enjoy them. I was not obsessive, I was not anxious, and I was not unhappy. It took work to get to this place. I think, at times, I felt I was there before I really was. But now, I know that I can safely say I am in a good place. A place of which I can be proud. A place I can call home. I place I can call life.
At about 25 pounds heavier than my lowest weight, I feel healthy. I like my body. I still have my moments where I grimace when I look in the mirror or where I sigh when putting on a pair of pants, but these moments are fleeting and I do not think about them after. I think a lot of women, eating disordered or not, feel this way sometimes. But all in all, I like my body the way it is. It's pretty. It's me.
I'm still considered slender, but I have breasts now. I have shiny hair. I have legs that have shape. I eat right, I have snacks when I want to, and I work out--but not in excess. I'm taking care of myself. My stomach is still flat, but now I have enough body fat to be able to have a child. Before, when my body fat percentage was dangerously low, it would have been impossible to conceive. I had to buy new pants. It stung a bit at first, but in the long run, I'm glad. I told my best friend proudly that I had to get rid of some size 0s and 1s that used to be big on me because I couldn't even zip them up. I rejoiced in filling out my bras again. I look good, not ill. But most of all, I look happy.
I looked at old photos the other night...photos in which my collar bones jutted out grotesquely and my face looked drawn. I saw photos of me--of a concave stomach, a torso with protruding ribs, legs that were sticks and not feminine. I was so sad for that girl. Until I realized that girl is me--and I'm okay now! Better than okay. I don't know if it's strange or not, but I keep those old pictures of myself in a special folder on my computer so I can look at them when I want to love the body I have now. When I want to remember what it was like to be sad, dejected, hungry, and plagued by something I could not shake.
And now, when I look at those photos, I can tell that poor girl that it's going to be okay. Because it is. It really is.