Personal essays about how I find the strength to heal from trauma by tuning into my body. 

I knew that each step closer to [...] food [...] was a step further away from the eating disorder I had been fostering and relying on for over a decade. Each step forward was one step closer to a life I didn't know how to live. Still, I forged ahead.

   They say to really call yourself a New Yorker; you must have survived certain New York City traumas like the blackout of ‘03 or the transit strike of ‘05. Or Sandy. Or bed bugs. Or… lice.

I was so caught up in reliving my past that I began to fret over what I perceived as my daughter's current reality. … I rehearsed phrases to console her once she crossed the finish line- words I wished I had heard when I was her age. ... I thought she needed to hear that.

The pressure of parental responsibility weighed on me like a lead coat, and I was scared of losing control of my child, not to mention terrified of what she would learn when I'm not there…

… my entire life, I struggled to be the right kind of girl, and since that meaning seemed to shift daily, I still felt like I was fighting a losing battle. How on earth would I raise a strong and confident woman when I still didn't know how to be one?

One of my biggest motivators not to self-harm is […] my daughter. She is only eight years old, and I know she is watching. I have kept her in the dark about my struggle […] But something about how she handles her emotions has worried me since she was a toddler, and it’s something I can no longer ignore.

The achievement is not in whether my running is faster on day one or day ten- the achievement is that I keep at it. There is growth with every step …. The achievement is in how many times I allow myself to be right where I am, and then keep moving forward.

I had never thought of a callus as a badge of honor to hold on to. I thought bodies- women’s bodies especially, had to be washed clean of any impurities…

Some of the most intimate and consequential moments with my mother were those we spent in dressing rooms. It was in those small rooms, with big mirrors and flat fluorescent lights, where she passed down the lessons that would shape me.…

I used to argue that the only way out of toxic relationships is to break ties and leave. Don’t look back, I used to think. Just move forward and build anew. However, now that the toxic relationship was with my family my sentiment was a lot easier said than done.