When I first decided to get help in my quest to get rid of Edie, I was sent to a doctor to take all sorts of tests - including an EKG. Pads hooked to wires were placed all over me, as the nurse tried to make sure she had everything set to obtain an accurate reading of my heart.
As I laid there, deeply breathing in and out as she instructed me to do, I wondered what my heart was telling them. My therapist was afraid my heart was telling them I was weakened, that by having Edie in my life for so long, my body was slowly breaking down - dysfunctional at best. My doctor was afraid my my heart would tell her that I had done irreparable damage, and that she would have yet another victim of an eating disorder.
What did I think my heart was saying? While everyone else feared for what my beats sounded out, I was wishing my heart was strong, was healthy despite what I had put it through. I was wishing that even though I had given up on myself long ago, there was still a chance my heart was strong enough to pull us both through - to give me a second chance to be rid of Edie.
So, what sounds did my heart make? It wasn't dysfunctional, like my doctor feared. It wasn't weak, like my therapist deemed.
It made the sound of a resilient heart - a resound and steady beat of hope.
What Thin Privilege Really Looks Like
1 week ago