2014 was a messy year for me.
It was one of the most difficult years of my life, and I don’t say that lightly.
I rang in 2014 by binging and purging as soon as Demi Lovato got off stage on the E Canada NYE special. Shortly followed by a week of hell trying to get myself to treatment thanks to a polar vortex that was sweeping the continent. Once I finally got there, I spent the next six months of my life in various levels of care at multiple treatment facilities. My life consisted of three meals and three snacks a day, hours and hours of group therapy, weight gain, new diagnoses, family work, insurance woes, and a crapload of radical acceptance.
I experienced profound loss – with thirteen people whom I cared about at one point or another in my life passing away over the course of the year. Grief takes a lot out of a person. Just when you think it’s passed, another wave hits. Sometimes I still read a post or see a picture and burst into tears. For years, I had put all my grief in a box on a shelf and kept it there. That box was blown to shreds and I felt like I was drowning. I’m just starting to feel okay again. The waves of grief come, and then they go, and that’s okay. But…it’s messy.
2014 was a year of identity issues. By that, I mean that everything I thought was true about myself and my future has shifted and for a very long time, I felt cracked, broken. I felt like trying to get better just made everything worse. I was in constant pain, and utterly confused about who I was and what certain things meant about me. I was wrong in every way possible. Just when I began to maybe possibly kinda like myself again, the bandaid was ripped off and the wound was ripped open again. I hated myself more than ever. To be honest, I still sometimes do.
The funny thing is, I think it’s the messiness of it all that made 2014 the best year of my life as well.
Despite the chaos and the grief and the shame, I accomplished so much. I completed a full step-down in treatment, which made all the difference in the world. I turned home into a safe place. I repaired old relationships and built new ones. I feel things now. I have realized that people love me not because I’m sick and broken, but because I’m simply worth loving. I’m well enough to volunteer in the nursery at my incredible church. I’ve learned what it means to be loved in a way that I least expected.
This year, I learned that it’s better to be known as the girl who loves brave purple chevron penguins than the one who’s too wrapped up inside her own head to pay attention to other things. This year, I found myself working in an office at my school where I feel appreciated, but I also feel competent and I’ve been able to actually see events that I’ve helped to plan run smoothly and effectively. This year, I stopped introducing myself as the girl with the eating disorder and started entering into new situations as Alexis – plain and simple.
I’m proud of myself for the way that I’ve risen up to each and every challenge that I’ve come up against this past year. I am proud of myself for letting myself not be okay. I’m proud of myself for allowing myself to be okay. For allowing myself to love and be loved. For allowing myself to feel a wide spectrum of emotions. For creating new patterns. For honesty and resilience. For learning to internalize an attitude of celebration and gratitude. I’m proud of myself for getting to the point where I can be proud of myself.
I rang in 2015 on a family vacation to Florida (two of which I missed out on last year because I was stuck in residential). I went swimming in the ocean on New Years Eve, ate dinner with my grandparents, aunt, parents, and brother, played cards, and watched the ball drop on TV. It was a drastically different day than last year, and for that I am grateful.
I would say that I hope 2015 is a better year – but honestly, I think my biggest hope would be that I continue to embrace the mess that is life. After all, that is when the most growth occurs.