made for this

For the longest time, I lived my life a certain way. I lived defensively. I wore everything that had hurt me like a badge on my chest. I thought I had to. I thought it was necessary to my survival.

And maybe it was. For a while, at least. Maybe that’s what got me through. But that is no longer my truth.

It’s been almost a year ago since I got new insurance and had to switch over all of my mental health providers. I was so so upset and anxious about the prospect of losing all the history I had with my providers from ERC (formerly CED). Knowing that I could no longer seek treatment at a higher level of care at ERC was also a little bit scary. But mostly the entire experience has been freeing.

Sometimes what we really need is a fresh start. I mean it was good to work with people who knew my past and how my symptoms manifest and what works and what doesn’t. It was good to have people on my side who knew what my patterns looked like. But I think it also limited me. There was an invisible barrier between me and my healing. Created by definitions and diagnoses. None of my providers were capable of seeing me as anyone other than a damaged, traumatized girl with an eating disorder. No matter how much they cared or tried to help, I would always be that twenty-something year old incapable of growth and healing.

This past year was remarkably average, which is what made it so great. It has mostly been about redefining myself. My identity. Not as a sick person, but as a living one. I used to spend so much time seeking a purpose and getting super depressed when it eluded me. I’ve discovered that there is a difference between identity and purpose. I’m hopeful that digging into my identity will lead me to my purpose, but that is no longer my only goal.

I made a conscious decision that I would take strides toward freedom. And yes, I started with selecting providers that would look at me comprehensively. People who would keep an eye on me and my behavior without placing me in a box. I intentionally sought out community and relationships outside of a “recovery” environment. I set boundaries with people who refused to allow me to be anything other than the “sick one” in our friendship.

I tried something different. Rather than leaning into an identity rooted in illness, I chose to embrace one full of hope and joy. It was a different kind of vulnerability. I’m not denying my past or hiding it. I am not lying about who I am. I’m just deciding to align myself with the positive because—let’s be honest—life is so much better that way. My past is part of me, but it is not who I am. My past has shaped me, but it does not define me. I get to decide which parts I carry and which parts I lay down.

I am 100% amazed by Skylar 100% of the time. And the changes that I have made over this past year have allowed me to be more engaged and present with my daughter than ever before. Different parents have different opinions on which ages are the most enjoyable and/or rewarding ages to raise their kids. And then you have the people that say every age is their favorite.

My journey through parenthood has been a rollercoaster (as most parents will say, I’m sure). It would be easy for me to wallow in deep regret over the times I have not been as present and engaged in my daughter’s life as I would have liked. I even had a christian counselor tell me how many opportunities I had missed and how that was detrimental to my child. But that is not a very productive way of thinking.

After much thought, I have come to this conclusion. I am profoundly grateful that if I had to be in a “good place” for any time period of Skylar’s life, THIS is the period I would select. Today. Right now. In these messy moments. Sure, I know and recognize the importance of a loving and encouraging childhood. And I know with all my heart that she received all the love and encouragement a child could require, even if it wasn’t always directly from me. But these high school years. Man am I grateful to be present for these.

Everyone talks about the importance of leaving a legacy. For a long while, I was almost as obsessed about my legacy as I was about my purpose. But in these first few months of Skylar’s time in high school, I have decided that purpose and legacy can be a lot simpler than we make it out to be.

Over the years, I had become very resentful of my high school and early college years. Everything I had once loved, everything I had once dreamed of, everything I had once worked towards became a source of bitterness and resentment. I pushed it all away because it was just too painful. I saw no purpose in that suffering. It had brought me nothing but depression and poor decisions.

But over this past year, my heart has opened. I’ve been able to remember those times with fondness. I’ve been able to remember those people with love and gratitude. I’ve been able to see that even pain has purpose.

It was in separating myself from my illness that I have been able to relate to my daughter in meaningful ways. Before, I only remembered all the reasons why I hated high school. I only remembered the physical pain I endured during college. I only remembered the unbearable loss I experienced throughout my early twenties. That caused me to wall everything off, which prevented me from relating to others.

But in allowing myself to see the good, everything about me has softened. It’s like my ability to see, give, and experience love has been dialed up a bit. My heart bursts when I see my puppy run to greet me whenever I return home. I enjoy looking through old pictures. I swell with joyful remembrance when old friends reach out. I look forward to and celebrate everything that excites me.

And I want only “better” for my daughter. I don’t mean better in the traditional way. I want to share with her my experience in the hope that she will be free of the struggles that made my life miserable for decades. I know I cannot save her from everything. I know that she will face her own challenges. I know that she will struggle in her own way. But these years are formative. In them, she will learn how to chase her dreams. She will learn how to handle stressful situations. She will learn how to navigate difficult relationships. She might learn about love and loss. She will learn who she is and start to figure out who she wants to be.

I wasn’t very good at play time or story time or scheduling playdates. But this. This I am well prepared to do. It is not easy and I am not perfect. There have been evenings where we’ve both sobbed ourselves to sleep. And I’m sure there will be other challenges down the road. But as challenging as these years are, I know that THIS is what I’ve been groomed for. THIS is my purpose. SHE will be my legacy. And gosh does that make me joyful beyond belief.

There are a handful of people who I will carry in my heart forever and they will probably never know the profound impact they made on my life. Some are alive and some have passed. Most I haven’t spoken to in years. They might not even remember my name or my story, but I will remember them until the day I die.

They are my motivation to redefine myself. To recreate my identity. To strive for something more than survival. To tell my story from a place of victory rather than victimhood. To be vulnerable in a new way. To become the person they believed I could be.

It’s easy to look back on the past and say, “I think I wasted all the time I was supposed to be happy.” I have frequently believed statements like this. But I don’t believe that anymore. I believe that there is no limit to joy or happiness. I believe these things are a never-ending source of strength. But I don't believe they come from moments of radical realization. I believe they come from the mundane and everyday. They come from little moments of awe sprinkled through life. Some seasons have more joy than others. That is a fact. But there is more than enough joy to go around. Don’t be afraid to take your share.