Eating honestly - listening to my hungers and thirsts and taking in real food over the course of a day - is still the hardest part of OCD for me to release. Yesterday, in that OA meeting, the sincerity and vulnerability from everyone really shook me. I am in awe of the commitment I felt not only to the process of recovery but also to each other.

I am a recovering anorexic. Which means I'm not over it. Which means no matter what I eat or how I eat or whether you see me stuff my face with chips and guacamole and cheese or I sit at the dinner table and say no thanks I'm really fine, I am constantly calculating whatwhenhowwhyandwhere I will take in my next bite.

It takes up a lot of time and energy to think this way. The sad truth is that I spent way too long in front of a full-length mirror before dragging myself to this high school reunion. I'd actually planned to bring my eight-month-old to the reunion so I could feel his giggly warmth and unconditional acceptance. And have him attached to my stomach in his carrier. But it felt a bit cruel to him since the party started after his bedtime. Then two days before, I lifted a heavy piece of furniture and wrenched my back. Again, my body telling me to slow down. My mind spinning in a thousand directions. I finally found an outfit that I thought hid my belly and boarded the train up to Westchester. And then,

"Hey Abby! How are you? Are you pregnant?"

Maybe she thought my skin was aglow or my boobs looked huge. I could choose to spin this any way I want.

I can also see where I've made some pretty thoughtless and revealing comments lately.

My friend Liz's cousin has just been diagnosed with a rare tumor and is my age, with two young children, facing a blinding unknown. It could be five or fifteen years, say the doctors. And then there's the hope that the newest research will outpace the slow-moving growth and she will be cured. And my inane and ugly question is,

"Does she have something she really wants to achieve before...?"

Liz is gracious about it.
"I think she loves being a mom. She just wants to be with her family and...be," she says.
"Oh yeah," I reply. "That makes sense."

I'm shaking my head even as I write this because career is the other place I hide. It's as obsessive as my meal plans. I am equating myself with either the untouched chocolate in my cabinet or the bylines I want to bite into just as ferociously. And neither of them will ever be enough.

So I hold on to these identities for how long before I evolve?

A reunion is a great/horrifying place to take inventory of what I think I am or how I wish to appear. Without my children or husband; without a resume or even a nametag. Without the shape or stature I'm sure will make me whole. Who am I?

I am a recovering anorexic. In my body and in my brain. Next week, I will go back to that OA meeting. I will speak up too, and say even if I'm eating more healthful foods, I am still feeding my mind a cruel soundtrack. I am still holding fast to these twisted ideals of deprivation and fame equaling virtue.
I am still convinced that I can somehow conquer hunger.

That's embarrassing to write because I know how misguided and egotistical it is.

So I commit to you, dear reader, that I will go back to that meeting and ask for guidance. I will keep my food logs for this week and show them to my therapist.
I will write not the next great American novel, but an honest entry in my daughter's book of milestones.
And tomorrow morning I will eat something called breakfast, even if it scares me.
Especially if it scares me.