The Road to Residential
Two years ago today, at 5 a.m. on a frozen Tuesday morning, my fiancé and I rented a car and drove 100 miles from New York City to Philadelphia, where I would be entering residential treatment for anorexia. I’d been in a day treatment program for a little more than seven weeks by that point, but it had become clear that I needed more help. My weight, already dangerously low, hadn’t budged, so my treatment team determined that my best chance at recovery would be in a 24/7 care facility.
I had no idea how long I would be gone. I didn’t tell anyone what was happening. With the exception of my fiancé, my mother, and my therapist, everyone assumed I was safe and sound in New York City going to work and planning my wedding. Not even my bridal party — who by January were finalizing dresses and accessories — knew that their texts to me were, in fact, being answered by my fiancé, because I was not allowed to keep my cell phone at the treatment center.
I worried that I wouldn’t be discharged in time for my bridal shower and I’d have to find a way to explain my absence. I worried what would happen when I arrived at my first dress fitting with vastly different measurements than the ones that had been ordered for me months earlier, while my weight was plummeting.
Nothing was certain other than the fact that we were on the road and there was no turning back. From the passenger seat, I watched the city skyline recede in the side mirror and tried not to think too much about the radical action I was undertaking.
More Than Weight Has Been Gained
When I wrote about this day last year, I was only just starting to realize how much I had lost to my eating disorder in the eleven years before I walked into treatment. I felt sad thinking about the frightened, confused, empty young woman I was.
Now, in this second year, I’m conscious of how much I’ve gained throughout this recovery process. I’ve gained physical health, emotional wellbeing, and mental strength. I’ve gained friends and community, as well as meaning and purpose. Perhaps most important of all, I’ve gained a more intimate and honest relationship with my husband, which I wouldn’t have been capable of having if I were still preoccupied by my disordered inner life.
For all of this, I feel immensely grateful to the team of people that has helped me along the way. These treatment providers — therapists, nutritionists, psychiatrists, counselors, mentors, and more — are truly heroic. I am alive because of the care I’ve received from them.
In this spirit, I want to share an interview with you, because I think it demonstrates what I’m saying here. I recently had the opportunity to speak with Dr. David Susman, a clinical psychologist who runs a website dedicated to mental health, wellness, and recovery from mental illness and addiction. Dr. Susman regularly posts “Stories of Hope” on his site, and he was kind enough to include me in his latest installment.
Click here to read the Q&A, “Living in the ‘Middle Ground’ of Recovery.”
(Thank you again, David!!)
The Only Way to Heal
Along with the gratitude, I can’t help but re-experience some of what I was thinking and feeling about on this day last year. The thing is, I don’t feel these emotions as sharply as I did then. I’ve spent a solid amount of time in therapy feeling and processing and then feeling again, because that is the only way to heal.
Leaning into these feelings seems to be working. Each day, I feel a little less angry that anorexia is part of my life story. A little less afraid of a future without weight loss as my go-to coping mechanism. A little more convinced that this eating disorder will be a chapter of my life and not my entire story. I’ve begun to make peace with this whole ordeal.
Thank you for joining me on this journey.
217 Days | 17 Hours | 55 Minutes | 14 Seconds
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I'm a writer, a mental health activist, and a 20-something in recovery from an eating disorder. This blog chronicles my journey through the middle ground toward full recovery.
