I wonder what my former self, completely possessed by anorexia, would say to the person I am today.

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What would she say about my divorce from the scale?  About my refusal to monitor my weight?question-mark

What would she say about my moderate activity?  Would she scorn my departure from gym-trolling and nightly sit-ups?  Would she balk at my deliberate leisure, and my gentleness with the body that carries me?

What would she say or do if she saw how I cook with olive oil, cheese, even cream?  How I enjoy the subsequent meal without engaging in question-marktorturous rituals, paralyzing fear, or plans to work it off later?

What would she think about my friends, none of whom are overly preoccupied with food, body weight, or shape – and all of whom eat without inhibition or obsession?

What would she say if she saw me enjoy fresh gelato on a hot summer’s day, grill corn on the cob with butter to sweet golden perfectioquestion-markn, share delightfully stringy pizza hot from the delivery box with friends at a party?

Because all those things are a part of my life now, while she has faded far away.  I wonder what she thinks about that.

I have to wonder, you see, because the person I am now is so different from who I was back then.  The retrospect is an intriguing experience – for a moment, I sense a shadow of my disease inside, as if the reflection is an invitation for it to speak its mind and bully me again. But more present is the inspiration and drive to keep on moving forward. For that, I’m incredibly grateful.

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