I don’t keep my eating disorder a secret. There, I said it again. I’ve been recovered for almost three years now. This might sound like a short period on paper, but in reality, it’s my signal that I’ve finally overcome it. After a decade of obsessively tracking my weight and measuring myself, I’m happily scale free and eating whatever the f* I want.
It’s such a taboo disorder that it’s deemed appropriate for us to throw labels (“she’s totally anorexic”) at anyone that’s skinny but it’s a showstopping moment when someone says they went through it or have it for real. I’m all for taking note of unusual behaviors and being concerned for someone who might have a life-threatening condition. I’m not for demeaning the number one killer in mental health world as a derogatory comment. I mean, really, how many times do you walk around and say “she has cancer” to anyone that looks a bit under the weather. Yeah, it’s that effing ridiculous. The fact that it remains taboo (mostly derived from people actually believing the illness is a choice) is equally obtuse. You might as well believe women have smaller brains.
Anyway, I’m not here to vent about my pet peeves. As the title implies, I’m here to talk about my abs. I read a lot of blogs. A.Lot.Of.Blogs. Which means that I come across all kinds of content. I come across a lot of self-deprecating comments like “I’ve been pigging out and have become a fatass, so I need to work out.” Part of me makes a sad face on the inside (and possibly outside) and wishes that we all thought we were beautiful no matter what and that there’s no such thing as “pigging out” and being a fatass. Another part of me gets it. I get the want/need to be fit.
I recently started up a more rigorous exercise routine in order to tone up and slim down. Not slim down to 90 lbs (yeah, that was totally my reality in my deep, dark past), but slim down through toning up. I’ve been staying away from anything resembling an intense workout for the past several years to make sure I don’t feed the beast and get back to old, familiar habits like burning every possible calorie I consumed in the day. Luckily, I found that after recovering, I’m actually not that motivated by calories anymore. I set goals based on miles, pounds on my weights, and reps.
It’s only been two weeks, but I’m starting to see a little ab definition! I don’t have a bathroom scale (best thing ever!), so I’m relying on how my clothes fit and how I feel to dictate how my workout routine is going. I’m excited to check back in a month and post some progress pics! I’m thrilled that I’ve reached a point where I can embrace tough workouts and work on my health without letting a disease interfere. Screw the numbers; I want to see some abs.