I was a recovering teenage anorexic working at a critically acclaimed restaurant—the irony never failed to escape me. Bay Wolf Restaurant in Oakland, California was my first job. It taught me how to love food and myself again. I had moved to Northern California from Southern California for an eating disorder rehabilitation center a month earlier. I learned about the position from a girl at rehab and was hesitant to look into it. I could not afford anything to cause a relapse at this fragile time. Ultimately, it did not matter—I needed the money and had not had any luck finding a job elsewhere. From there on out, I was living paycheck-to-paycheck and fighting meal-to-meal. Although recovery and independence were an ongoing struggle, it was the happiest I had been in a long time.
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There were curves, dips, and breaks. I purposely moved to Northern California to try and eliminate any sort of turbulence on my journey to recovery. My Southern California family home felt tainted by my lack of emotional resolve within it. At the age of four, I began to pinch at the softness at the softness of my stomach. My brother was diagnosed with severe Autism during the same year. My parents assumed that I, as their oldest of four children, could emotionally fend for myself. My ability to talk unintentionally put me on the parental backburner. I strived for perfection and began to unravel once my disordered perfectionism delivered none of the love it promised. I became well acquainted with anger and shame as I grappled with feeling envious of my younger brother. By sophomore year I was barely 110 pounds at 5’7 and at risk of becoming a high school
There were curves, dips, and breaks. I purposely moved to Northern California to try and eliminate any sort of turbulence on my journey to recovery. My Southern California family home felt tainted by my lack of emotional resolve within it. At the age of four, I began to pinch at the softness at the softness of my stomach. My brother was diagnosed with severe Autism during the same year. My parents assumed that I, as their oldest of four children, could emotionally fend for myself. My ability to talk unintentionally put me on the parental backburner. I strived for perfection and began to unravel once my disordered perfectionism delivered none of the love it promised. I became well acquainted with anger and shame as I grappled with feeling envious of my younger brother. By sophomore year I was barely 110 pounds at 5’7 and at risk of becoming a high school