When I first began ENOUGH. Magazine I was hesitant about sharing my own story. However, after doing months and months of research, what I realized was that a crucial part of educating others on eating disorders is by learning from first-hand accounts and the stories of individuals who had personally struggled. The following is part of my story that I shared in the first issue.

Mommy, am I fat?”

By the age of five, this was a question I constantly asked my mother. She always said, “No,” but I never quite believed her or anyone else who told me the same thing. My mom is a doctor who specializes in wellness and weight loss; therefore, I grew up hearing about how diet and exercise make you “healthy.” Maybe that was why starting at a young age, I compared myself to other girls and people on TV,

Why was I obsessed with body image even though I could barely tie my shoes? By five, I was infatuated by the concept of being “skinny.” By five, I somehow knew I wasn’t “thin enough.”

"You are fat."

I was twelve years old the first time someone told me that. They told me via an anonymous messaging app. I was sitting on the top floor of Barnes & Nobles at the Starbucks cafe, ready to eat the M&M blondie I had just purchased. I put the Blondie back down on the plate. I looked at the Blondie. The Blondie looked back up at me.

I could have brushed the statement off. I was a lacrosse player, a middle school student council member, an actress in the musical. I had bushy eyebrows that I liked and a large gap between my two front teeth that I thought was cute. I was “healthy” and at a normal weight. But none of that mattered.

At age 12, I began to attempt dieting.

At first, I started looking up “healthy foods,” then “foods to lose weight,” then quizzes called “Am I fat?” or “ What’s my BMI?”. I became obsessed with numbers. I was no longer a kid. I was just a number.

8th Grade

My mental health dives and I switch schools in the middle of the year. I struggle to make friends. So I make friends with food. By the middle of my 8th-grade year, food was no longer something I frowned upon.

Rather food was my haven, my escape from everything else around me.

I developed issues with extreme binge eating. I would hide food and never revealed to anyone just how much I was eating. Unlike the world, food wasn’t going to hurt me. It was there for me when I was alone. It helped me cope with everything else I was surrounded by.

By the beginning of my freshman year -- I was nicknamed “Heavy Cream” because I was “white, fat, and ugly.” I saw myself in the mirror and felt disgusted by my reflection. To try and change, I began restricting. I couldn’t control school or the bullying, but at least there was one thing I could control, and that was food and my caloric intake.

My best friend became my greatest enemy. I isolated myself from everyone else further. I stopped going to lunch, my grades dropped, and I wouldn't say I liked school. I stopped participating in the extracurricular activities that once brought me such joy. I had low self-esteem and even lower grades. At this point, I didn’t have friends, and I didn’t have food, I was stuck. No one knew how much I was struggling. I would be congratulated on my weight loss and told how much better looking I had become, yet it never seemed to matter because it was never enough.

Change comes in waves and sometimes without a clear reason why.

I wanted to be a better and happier version of myself that I knew existed even if I couldn’t remember her. By the beginning of my sophomore year, I was determined to make a change. I made friends, rejoined my favorite activities, continued to pursue my love of singing, developed a passion for model UN and service; for the first time, I received straight A’s and made it on the highest honor roll.

But the one thing I struggled to improve was my unhealthy relationship with food. I did not go to lunch once that year; I spent every lunch period alone in the library getting ahead on work, continuing to shield myself from the “bullies.” I still needed to be in control; I needed to protect myself from everyone else who wanted to put me down.

I may have grown so much as a person, but I continued to struggle. I was constantly dizzy; my vision blurred just from walking up the stairs from the library to my advisor's room. I lost my menstrual cycle temporarily. I became irritable, aggressive, and overly emotional. I lost all of my strength; my muscles turned to flab. I was constantly cold, all due to the stress of everyday life on top of starvation.

But when I sought help, a new issue arrived. One I hadn’t anticipated. I wasn’t “skinny enough” to be considered anorexic. According to most medical classification, someone can show all of the symptoms of anorexia, but if their BMI is “too high,” they’re not considered "anorexic."

By sophomore year of high school, I was finally a healthy weight for the first time since I was eleven years old -- because I had spent the better part of a year and a half restricting, and still, I wasn’t enough.

However, if I have learned anything over the past two years, the recovery journey is not easy. After having trapped yourself in a toxic relationship and cycle with food, it is beyond difficult to escape it. That isn’t to say that it is impossible but rather the idea that it is important to remember to be kind to yourself and be patient, understanding that there will be both good and bad days, and that’s ok. Because no matter what, you are ENOUGH.