Diaries of a Dancing Queen

I’m starting this post with some affirmations:

You can forgive yourself for your mistakes and imperfections.

You are capable of more than you know.

You are worthy of love.

You are not a burden.

Last weekend I ran my first half marathon. Despite running a few 10ks over the last year, I was not as prepared as I wanted to be. The day before, I was terrified that I’d embarrass myself by not finishing, having to walk or somehow injuring myself in front of spectators. It wasn’t until I got to the starting line that I realized, that I didn’t really care how long it took me. What mattered was that I kicked off from that starting line and that I gave it my all — finish line or no finish line.

In some ways, I’ve always struggled with appearances. I always had to be the best, the fastest, the strongest, the undefeated champion of whatever I was doing. It made the things I loved to do hard because of course, there was always someone better. Even when I went undefeated in my school’s badminton league two years in a row, I wasn’t satisfied. I always had to be more than I already was. In some ways, that mindset motivated me and kept me going, but in other ways, it never allowed me to reflect on my accomplishments.

Two years ago, when I was on the couch of a residential treatment facility getting treated for Anorexia, I never thought I’d be able to do something like this. I felt broken; Like my life was hit by a pause button and once I stopped to care for myself, to heal, I would never be able to start again. Sitting there stuck on a couch, I didn’t care that I wasn’t the most flexible during yoga, that I wasn’t the best dancer, that I wasn’t the fastest runner. I just wanted to be able to do those things again. I couldn’t picture a life without my eating disorder. A life where I can wake up, eat breakfast, go to a job I love, eat lunch, decide to take a break from the gym today, and meet up with my best friends and a man who loves me to have dinner. I didn’t believe that I could be loved in a body that wasn’t starving. That I could be a messy, emotional, size large with way too many pairs of shoes and find someone who thinks that’s enough.

As I stood there on the starting line last weekend, I saw groups of friends running together, I heard the swell of excited voices as the countdown began, I read the signs written by spectators cheering us on and I remembered. I did start again. On a warm day in March of 2021, I got off that couch. I made breakfast, I ate lunch, and I had dinner. I got up and I started to run. Bite by bite, mile by mile. It didn’t matter when I stopped to grab some water, it didn’t matter that I had to walk a little. I was capable of taking a break, of caring for myself. I could stop, and I knew I had it in me to start again.