This holiday season was one for the books. Not because I made some super awesome dish, or because I managed to not get into a political argument with anyone, or because I won all the games that we play in an overstuffed haze after dinners.
This December 2018 was monumental for me because on the car ride home to Chicago, I realized that I had not once asked my sister or my mom if I looked fat, or even how I looked at all.
My disordered relationship with food has been the longest relationship I’ve ever had. We’re going on two decades now. But I’m finally at a place in my life where I’m the one who has more control—most of the time.
It’s been a long journey with a lot of missteps. The good news is, the lows caused by my eating disorder get higher all the time.
After about 20 years of this relationship, I’m ready to share this post, which is a brief history of me, my eating disorders, and this red dress.
This post has to happen.
I have a confession to make.
It’s something I’ve been trying to keep from everyone during every hour of everyday.
It’s a life-sucking secret that I try to cover up, and I am scared to death that my friends, boyfriend, family, and complete strangers will find out.
I’m afraid if you find out, you won’t like me any more because you’ll see me for who I really am.
But it has to come out so I can stop being afraid of it being revealed.