June 1998
MY SOPHOMORE YEAR in high school had started with Mom alive and ended with her gone and me recovering from an eating disorder.
My return home after Better Horizons had been bumpy. Being in school felt like an ongoing contact sport. Navigating all the usual teenage stuff while ED was still in my ear was not easy.
Going to my outpatient recovery group three nights a week helped. Listening to older women discuss how their lives had been destroyed by ED served as a reminder of what was at stake for me.
But I also knew that big picture, I needed something to focus on, a sense of purpose, to maintain my recovery. I had tried joining various clubs at school—the debate team, the math club, a classic film group. But I still hadn’t found anything that spoke to me deeply until I met Jessica.
One night, she arrived to speak with us when we were eating dinner at the outpatient recovery center. She had been a patient years before, sitting in these same chairs, when she was recovering from bulimia.
She shared her history with us, how she had first developed bulimia in high school after watching a TV show about eating disorders in which a girl described how she had made herself sick enough to throw up. Afterward, Jessica went to the bathroom, pulled her hair back, and used the same technique to make herself sick, which marked the beginning of a decade-long battle with the eating disorder.
“For a long time, I was obsessed with that TV show,” Jessica told us. “I blamed my eating disorder on it. But after years of therapy, I understand that while it might’ve been the match that lit the fire, it wasn’t the only reason. I have anxiety and perfectionistic tendencies, which made me vulnerable to developing an eating disorder. I now realize I have the power to choose recovery, even when it’s hard.”
Her words made me think about how much I had blamed my eating disorder on Mom’s death. And I realized that, like Jessica, I would have to move past that narrative to maintain long-term recovery. This revelation was profound and wasn’t my only one during her visit.
Another light bulb went off when she spoke about the therapist who changed her life. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without my therapist,” Jessica said. “She made me believe I could be someone in this world. Because of our work together, I wanted to help people the way she had helped me, so I went back to school to become a therapist. Without the sense of purpose my work gives me, I don’t think I would’ve been able to maintain my recovery this long. Your life has to have meaning, not just to others, but to you too.”
I thought about Dr. Larsen and how she had helped me. And I thought about Mom and all the patients she had helped in her career. Succumbing to ED would’ve meant Mom’s death defining my life. But I wanted my mom’s life to be her legacy, and choosing to follow in her professional footsteps meant just that.
After my sophomore year ended, I volunteered at a local counseling center near our house for the summer. Listening to other people’s struggles didn’t shrink the magnitude of my own, but it did help put mine in perspective and made me feel less alone.
I spent the remaining years of high school volunteering at the center before heading to UCLA for college, where I majored in psychology. Like Jessica, I had found my purpose.