And I will find new beauties in each equinox.
**Content warning: This is one person’s story; everyone will have unique experiences in recovery and beyond. Some stories may mention eating disorder thoughts, behaviors, and symptoms. Please use your discretion when reading and speak with your support system as needed.
Katherine Stancoff (they/she) is a 20-year-old mental health advocate and former client of The Emily Program. You can follow her on TikTok and Instagram at @thereispurposeinthispain and @katherinestancoff, and see more of her literary work at www.thereispurposeinthispain.com.
Comparison was my constant nemesis as a child. I’d compare my home life, friendships, personality, interests, skills, and talents to everyone around me. Quickly, I’d fallen into the deep waters of never feeling adequate. I’d try to excel the way others seemed to, but I always believed I’d fallen short somehow. I soon internalized the notion that I am defective.
This utter despair made me feel like a failure, and my mind began to tear itself apart, skinning itself dry in desperate search of a solution. Consequently, this exploration of “fixing” myself led to self-isolation, then a vow of silence, until it spiraled into disordered behaviors.
From this deterioration, I fell into a distorted “love” with my eating disorder. It convinced me that once I reached my goal weight, I would achieve “perfection,” setting me apart from my peers. I did as it told me, wholeheartedly believing that losing weight to an idealized number would “perfect” me, would satisfy the void my depression and OCD had created.
I reached this weight. It was euphoric.
After a few moments, I got bored. I was at a loss. A question circulated throughout my mind.
“What now?”
At this point, my life was on the line. My psychiatrist told me he wasn’t waiting any longer — I was going to treatment. I decided on admitting to The Emily Program in Atlanta, Georgia. Before I arrived, though, I affirmed to myself to “refuse recovery,” to block out all my providers’ attempts to help me reclaim my life. The ED told me I had everything, a beautiful life derived from my self-destruction and self-“control.” I mentally rejected any notion that I was not, in fact, truly living.
I went about every session with my team like this while in IP/Res. In PHP, I had a particular therapist who ended up breaking this concrete wall. So much so that one random Tuesday afternoon while I was getting a sparkling water from my garage, I stopped what I was doing and said to myself that relapsing wouldn’t be worth anything. “Recovery is actually really nice, I like where my life is heading. Relapsing is not worth it.” So from then on, I decided to truly recover and be honest with my team.
Unfortunately, my physical health challenges replaced my mental health struggles. I was nauseous, anxious, and in pain at all times. It wasn’t long after stepping down to outpatient that I had to return to residential to figure out my gastrointestinal problems.
My second time in IP/Res, I had quite a difficult time not comparing myself to other patients’ struggles. The desire to reach “success” rebranded itself into being the “sickest” patient. But everyone in my unit and treatment team never gave up on me, always staying by my side. They did this in so many ways, one of them being a pre-meal/snack ritual.
“Buen provecho” is Spanish for “enjoy your meal.” Originally, this was said just between two patients, but it soon made its way around the whole unit. Because of this expression and the kindness of my peers, I always felt comforted and supported. In fact, when I had a lunch inning with my parents one day, I stepped out of the side room before eating, and said our happy “ritual” to my unit across the room. They said it back. It was our way of bonding and encouraging each other before the toughest parts of our days.
While I once found comfort in my self-isolation and destruction, I now found immense joy and solidarity by connecting with my new friends. We were a very tight-knit unit, to the point where one day, we made a shared decision to complete every meal, snack, and supplement for the entire day.
This companionship didn’t erase my personal troubles with recovery, but it made them a lot more bearable. And even though this was two-and-a-half years ago, I am still in contact with many of these wonderful, beautiful people. We FaceTime, write letters, and encourage each other to stay in recovery while understanding the hardships that can come with it.
When I went to residential for the third time (at a different facility) last summer, I made a promise to myself to be 100% honest about everything, since the past two times, there was one thing I never spoke about with my team. The first thing I told my therapist was about my struggles with substances, and from then on, we worked through these desires and patterns.
But once again, I struggled with comparison. I opened up to my dietitian, and she encouraged me to make a self-motivating placemat for my spot in the dining room. Based on this recommendation, I put all my favorite photos on it: my dream college and major, my best friends, my family, and a quote that I made: “You can’t expect a better life while destroying it.”
In the past with my eating disorder, I’d expected all my dreams to fulfill themselves, despite destroying my vessel to achieve them. But I realized that if I don’t fuel my brain, I am unable to do anything. In fact, I’d die before ever seeing a single one of them come true.
What keeps me going is knowing that relapsing brings severe rage episodes, cognitive dysfunction, self-isolation, and becoming so obsessed with the ED’s desires that it’ll take over every waking second of my existence. And going through treatment four times and how much effort I put in to save my life reminds me to refuse relapse.
This is because when I was at my absolute worst, I saw no color. I experienced no healthy joy, only a skewed euphoria every now and then. I was completely lifeless, a ghost and bystander within my own life. And I couldn’t do my first love and passion anymore: songwriting, the thing that brings light within my life. And I cannot create if I cannot pursue my healing in place of my destruction.
I refuse to refuse recovery. I refuse to ruin my potential, to revert back to a dangerous place with a monochromatic soul. As I often say on my platforms, beauty in life can be found and grasped onto again, even more so than as a young child. And as I said in my final high school original oratory, Ethel Cain once sang, “But I always knew that in the end, no one was coming to save me / So I just prayed, and I keep praying, and praying, and praying.”
No one is going to save me from my eating disorder except myself, so I must. Not by myself, but with the knowledge that no one else can reverse the behaviors and mental habits. And if I have the power to make it to my age, then I still have the power to make it even longer.
To the person reading this: if I can overcome the ED’s brainwashing and suffocating grasp on my life, so can you. When I accepted help, I also accepted all the beautiful watercolors in the portrait of my life. Creating a life from scratch without ED is terrifying, but after a few strokes of the acrylic, you’ll get the hang of it. I promise life is worth it, beautiful and rewarding. You just have to be brave and make those first few brushstrokes.
Lots of love,
Katherine Stancoff
If you or a loved one is experiencing an eating disorder, help is available. Reach out to The Emily Program today by calling 1-888-364-5977 or completing our online form.
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